60 Years are X Many.

 26 July 2026

       So I spent Friday night chatting with my old friend who is visiting from Canada. He married a Canadian, smart guy, and so lives in a beautiful place with his beautiful wife. "Well...how did I get here?"

        Anyway,our conversation roamed freely and covered his job in tech that he hated for 30 years and has left...ish, Canadian healthcare,investing as a verb, The Real Cause Of Inflation, aging parents, friendships, aging parents redeux, American "health care", teaching and how much he hated his tech job.

        Primarily I wanted to write about the depth of friendships. I do not have a lot of friends, which is largely by design. I don't like people, and even if I do, I run out of spoons.*

        I will do anything for my children. But I can't think of a friend that I would do "anything" for, honestly. I have shown up and been supportive in different situations, but I don't cognitively suss out that I would do anything for whoever.

        My Canadian friends would do anything for me.

        I know this, because I've watched them do anything for other friends.

        They are not trauma free---they live in Halifax and lost much in the fire of 2023. 

        They live in Nova Scotia, not Ontario, which is currently on fire.  I have learned a lot about Canadian georgraphy from them. Even though I've managed to never travel up to see them, which I cannot explain. I want to visit, very much, and it's not as expensive as traveling to Europe, and my friends live there, but I just...the only time I got serious and looked up flights and started to really think about it was right before the 2023 fires...so...now I think I'm a curse.

        As usual, it's about me.

        He is here from Canada to help his parents out as they navigate their new normal with early onset and health issues. As I am also opening the same map, we have something in common. We used to have more in common, as he used to be a performer before he joined the Hated Tech world. Now it's age and parents and how insane it is that his wife gets to make films about plants in Canada and I have to teach. Not that I could make films about plants, I'm just jealous that her country monetarily supports her art and she has universal healthcare and I will never retire.

        Anyway, this is strictly an American issue---paying for elder care. Canadian universal healthcare isn't perfect, but nobody dies because they can't afford their meds, or goes bankrupt over medical bills. 

         I feel like Gen X is named for a variety of reasons. X marks "the spot" I suppose, meaning treasure. So that's out. 

         Stupid Fuck Twat named his social media X and pissed us all off. So it's not cool any more, that's out.

         But it is a mark, it's a moment. You stop at X? What does "stop" mean? Are we the last fully grown generation of Americans? As in, this America right now? Does history stop with us?

         OR...it's a crossing, we're in unchartered territory. Our parents are living longer than their parents did, and medicine is keeping them alive longer but healthcare costs are outpacing their ability to pay to live longer. Or even to track it, too many platforms and websites to pay and submit receipts and receive referrals is tough on those north of 70. It's tough on me and I'm 60.

        And then there's Auntie Alzheimers and Cousin Dementia.

        We did not have to watch our parents deal with their parents mental decline, so we don't have a road map. Sure, some did, of course, but in the greater game of numbers and data, most of us did not. So most of us are completely gobsmacked and shocked as we cannot ourselves retire and we have to care for our parents and we still have to work. And insurance only covers in home care if there is a medical diagnoses---so if  you're just sort of old and falling apart and in need of help with groceries or home tasks, you have to pay out of pocket. Out of pocket from your severely limited social security that won't even buy you groceries, let alone compensate a good soul whose job it is to help you. I learned on NPR about a retired teacher in Rochester, NY who receives a $1500 a month pension. She sold her car, rides a bike and relies on food banks and can't afford meds. 

        That sounds like the retirement plan I was promised! She is living the dream. What a dumb ass she was for choosing teaching, she should have had rich parents whose money she could lose frequently and declare bankruptcy repeatedly, then steal some else's ideas and exploit humans. Stupid woman.

        My dad did it right. He was having early onset issues, but refused to see a doctor. He had seen a doctor who had told him he had congestive heart failure, for which he refused to be treated (we found this out after he passed, but we knew he was unwell). He did not want to be a burden on anyone, and he was NOT going into assisted living. Even though there toward the end, we were able to talk him into at least discussing the possibility. I know we could not have afforded to do it, in reality he would have ended up living with us. But it sounds great---you get your own apartment, someone else cooks, you get new friends and scheduled activities and someone with a medical background makes sure you get up and move every day. Where do I sign? I want that! But alas, I will be a reitred teacher so...not in my future.

        Dad said nope, refused to be treated and just wore down until he was too tired to get out of bed. So he laid back down and died. Just like his dad did. Just like I will.

        It was what he wanted. No muss, no fuss, no burden.

        So we traded thoughts and blended stories of others who have been here, and drank.

        He really hated working in tech. I always knew he hated it but never why. Now I know why and it's not the tech, it's Other People. Which is hilarious, because most people who are in tech are there to avoid other people, but his particular job requires working with others on projects. I can see that. I hate people too. So he's taking some time to explore other things---like investing. Which does not require working with other people-yet. He's still learning how to do it.

        I've always been fascinated by investing. Largely because I have nothing to invest, so it's like a secret society to me. My cousin has investments, and she can speak a language I can only pretend to understand. But my Canadian friend confirmed what my cousin has said: invest in commodities. I sort of know what that means now. So when I win the lottery, I will invest in commodities. Although I guess, as a theatre teacher, I could invest in AI before the bubble pops, take all the money and reinvest it in commodities before it pops, taking advantage monetarily of an industry that I utterly hate. That doesn't seem very moral...Oh Right! We're talking about investing. Isn't this entire concept immoral?

        What else...inflation. Who cares, as long as the rich run everything and gold no longer backs our money we're screwed.

        I wish X was a mark on a treasure map. That somehow We Mark The Spot where treasure will be unearthed. If you continue that metaphor, then the treasure unearthed would be our children. So we're fighting so our kids can have the treasure.

        Which in my dreams is true freedom; unified health care, a reasonable economy run by real people-not oligarchs, no wars because we are able to just ignore the warmongers who are fewer because they have healthcare and education based on science and history and creative outlets so they aren't unstable rich entitled babies, parents who are able to raise hopeful and respectful children who are able to receive all free education afforded them, encouraging choices in higher ed, liberal arts, science, math, plumbing, electricity, architecture, puppet making, voice overs, crocheting---whatever makes them happy because the pressure to monetize every moment of their existence is gone...

        As long as I'm dreaming, I'd like to retire please. And be able to pay my mortgage and have healthcare and still buy groceries.  

         * It was pointed out to me this weekend that not everyone knows this saying. It comes from Special Needs, referring to how "many spoons" --their capability to deal with their day measured by spoons---a student arrives with in the morning. It can be gauged throughout the day, so the teacher can see when they are on their last spoon and navigate accordingly. When they are out of spoons, they shut down or meltdown. It's a phrase I have adopted for myself, and this weekend I am out of spoons.

(FB)60 Years Are Too Many: Looks Like We Made It!

     23 July

        Because I am 60 I hear Barry Manilow when I write that phrase.

       Ok. I'm on the other side of it.

        And some of this is repeat since I'm posting on FB for those who only read when I do that.

        The director asked my co-teacher if she'd like to come back full time in the fall. She's really good at this, it's clear she'd be a great asset. Also she's 20 and currently works in a bakery. I warned her that this is how we get you! It's all fun and games until you have to submit your lesson plans and sit through faculty meetings hearing deliverables teaching ecosphere classrooms authentic engagment post secondary readiness put your sticky note in the parking lot for the gallery walk and remember your why and all seven thousand acronyms.

        She will be great. And if she stays in a private pony preschool she can avoid the above rigor and equity driven solutions. Pretty sure private schools have their own problems, but I don't know what they are. Ok, I kinda do. So does she.

        My feet are swollen, my knee is swollen, my ankles are cankles and my brain is guacamole.

        I got the vacuum out of the closet today, and as I was unwrapping the cord, one of the permanent teachers who skulks around as the camp science teacher, walked past the door and yelled "KRYSSI!"

        I jumped.

        "Sorry, that's broken- the vacuum- it died. I wrote a note."

        I surveyed the circumference of the vacuum.

        "No, I mean I was going to write a note. I will. I will write 'Broken. I don't suck'."

        "No, write 'I'm fixed, I no longer suck'," because I'm FUNNIER than she is.

        She walked away and as I left she said "I compromised. The sign says 'Kryssi Broke Me'."

        She also told me "I think they're going to move you back to the older kids next year."

        Completely unaware of what she was saying, I thought they were turning the preschool into an elementary school. See above: guacamole brain.

        "No- camp, if you come back, put you back with the older kids. The Mustangs. That seems to be more your jam."

        They're talking about me?

        They think I'm coming back next year?

        And...they're talking about me?

        Leaning my swollen self on the counter I looked at her. I had to hold my head rigidly to avoid having guac run out of my ears.

        "Are you coming back? I mean...." she trailed off, looking at me.

         "This summer sucked. It was way off."

        "Ya, it did. Next summer is a whole year away," she said in that flat, uncommitted way all trapped teachers do when looking into the future.

        "Unless the democrats stop screwing up the weather, I can't do this again."

        Clearly she's One Of Us so she smiled and got it.

        I continued, as she was still looking at me. "I'm not good at preschool. I don't like not being good at something."

        She shrugged. "You don't suck at it."

        And that's about the highest praise I would expect from this person. I am a broken vacuum. Perfect.

        ___

        Remember there is now a barn cat? Inexplicably, a farm preschool needed a barn cat. So my co-teacher was at the barn with a kid while the rest of us walked to the field. She trailed behind, looking more pale that usual. Which is saying something, as she's one of those beautiful porcelain petite waifish girls who don't wear any eyeshadow but have blue hair. 

        She sat next to me, her big eyes wide. "Ummm....so I think the barn cat is beheading birds."

        I shrugged. I am an experienced cat owner. They're beheaders. "And...?"

        "I saw the bird on the ground, and it didn't have a head...and then "L" stepped on it and all the guts squished out...." she trailed off. Oh man, did she ralph in the barn?  Great. I am not cleaning that up. I just stared at her shocked face. She took a breath. 

        "Wait, where's L?"

        "She didn't even notice, she's over there by the jumpropes. She just kept running." She took another breath and I decided she may not have barfed in the barn, but she may barf on me. I waited. She spoke again, swallowing hard.

        "Should we tell somebody?"

        Now I wanted very much to say "No, let someone else figure it out," but that seemed like a poor choice. How funny would that have been to tell her to let a preschooler discover it by accident and let her believe I was serious.

        However, she was clearly distraught and I was sitting in 96 degree heat and could not think clearly. So I pushed the talk button on my walkie and said clearly "There's a beheaded bird in the barn. Thanks."

        I looked at her and smiled. "See? Above our pay grade." I stood up, and she made her way to her feet wonkily, and we headed toward the field.

        It was above our pay grade for exactly the amount of time it took for us to stand and see the office matron coming through the gate.

        The office matron,who is somehow also the Barn Bitch---she feeds the barn cat and relocated the baby bunny nest--- arrived needing to know the exact location of the corpse so she could clean it up. Poor Tori had to schlep over and show her the location. While there, they discovered an equally headless bunny.

        I have no idea why this story is so hilarious to me. Maybe I'm telling it wrong. 

        It was the way Tori asked if we should tell somebody. Because it's clearly above her pay grade and was a valid question, but it struck me funny. 

        I realized I started using her name, and I'll keep doing it. It's a shorter version and no last name and who cares? She's a good kid.

        And not just because that when we left today, she stopped to tell me "You are the coolest person I have ever known, and I mean that with my whole heart."

        Aweeee....shucks.

        All of my students know this across three buildings; if you hang in my office on my territory, you're going to be subjected to my monologues. Politics, religion, connecting what's happening currently to history, my color choosing conflicts, past students---it's my office. You're here, and for all you know I just talk to myself when I'm alone and you're just there to witness the soliloquy.

        So it's no surprise that when Tori and I were setting up craft in the morning, she learned a bit about me. The difference is, it's not my office, so I adhered to the social rule of listening equally. So her assessment of "coolest person" was not based soley on my lame ass preschool teaching skills. I was also an adult who both listened and shared. 

____________

        I told you about the three year old klepto. She'd been taking one or two toys at a time and her dad was bringing them back the next camp day. We were keeping an eye and couldn't catch her in the act. On her second to last day, her dad opened her backpack at pick up and there were ten match box cars, three monster trucks, swim goggles, two small hand held drums, a few wooden puzzle pieces and leggos. It was stuffed full!

        Tori and I were gobsmacked. We didn't see her take any of it.

        So yesterday, her last day, we put her backpack up on the cubby shelf where she couldn't reach it.

         And then watched as she loaded items over to the cubby, looked for her backpack, couldn't find it and started crying "daddy". We were able to watch as there was a third teenager in the class with us, and we realized she was doing it while we were helping with craft and cleanup. Twice we stopped her before she got to the cubby and made her return the toy or sticker. We were very proud of ourselves, as here on the last day we could finally track when she was doing it. 

        At the end of the last day of camp, as we walked through the hallway for pick up, I was the caboose and Klepto was at the front of the line. As we filed past the office matron, she said loudly "Klepto, give me my keys back please." I looked at her and said "How? How? We were on her all morning."

        There were plastic keys by the chicken chair *, and as she walked past, Klepto just picked them up and kept going. Literally didn't break her stride or let on she'd done anything wrong. In fact, she was holding the keys in her hand--she was not even trying to hide them.

        She's three years old. God Speed mom and dad.

        * The Chicken Chair is a wide, blue chair surrounded by toys for those who struggle to separate from their parent. One of the teenage boys who float/pony wrangle told me that he and his brother call it the "Chicken Chair". I love it.

_______________

         Here's why preschool is great and every human should have to teach for a month before getting their human membership card.

        * Every poor behavior in adulthood shows up first in preschool. I promise a parent saw it and chose not to address it. Greed, selfishness, stealing, unwillingness to learn social skills. I'm not talking about the spectrum kids---not gonna lie, they frequently want to fit in and will learn the social rules if they are taught. I mean regular gen ed kids whose parents are allowing them to run the house. Preschool teachers are now overwhelmed by these issues. The less parenting happens the more raising your child falls on teachers. They're doing their level best, but if you do not teach your child a baseline of respect, like stealing is wrong, all I can do is put their backback on a shelf and check it at the end of school, both are things that are difficult in a class with 17 kids. The source is you--the parent. Somewhere we lost the baseline of being kind and patient with other kids. Don't hit. Don't grab. Don't exclude. Be kind. Share. Include. It seems so simple, right? 

        *Allergies are not preferences. Preschools ask for allergies because they provide snack and sometimes lunch to your child and we do not want to make them sick. Please do not list the things your child does not like. We are not adjusting the menu for their enjoyment, we're just fueling them. In general a kid knows they are gluten intolerant or allergic to peas (that was a new one for me) or dairy. If that's the case, the child will have their own 'special snack' in their backpack that you provided, or you've left his gluten free Cheez-Its with us. Which we label and put on a shelf and inevitably there will be 16 kids who want to know why they can't have the Cheez-Its. You can also just say "egg allergy" without listing every product that contains egg. But weird stuff like "sugar free cocoa" and "lolipops" had me scratching my head. Why only lolipops, but cupcakes are OK? Now I have to ask you if it's a sugar allergy, only to discover that they don't like lolipops, and here is time I've spent tracking down what you mean instead of...well, anything else productive. Now, if it's the gelatin or the way lolipops are processed that they are allergic to, then I want to hear that story which I hope ends with "So we had to go to the hospital and they called Dr. House". Because who else could figure that one out?

        All in all to sum up, unless it's going to be a cool story ending with Dr. House, we don't have time to research what you listed.

       * Teaching preschool is Godly. Honestly. People tell me they have no idea how I teach high school, it's foreign to them. Preschool is more important IE Godly because you're getting them when there is still hope. Preschool is not unlike high school, except that by the time you get them in high school, there is no hope. They are teenagers who are rude, disrespectful, greedy, selfish, unkind and have no hope for their own future. Yet my tools are the same as in preschool: Dear god sit down, be still, stop talking. Go play, stop hitting, don't be a bully, advocate for yourself but remain kind. Accept consequences. If you scream at everyone for not sharing, instead of asking if they will share, you will sit alone and think about how to approach the topic differently. Sharing is sharing---I get a turn, then you get a turn. Sharing is not Give It To Me Forever. And where are your parents? Who is raising you? Why do you not grasp that your behavior is rude and not serving your future? How are you 14 and already given up?

        The biggest difference is I get to cuss at high schoolers. I have to sing silly songs and say rando shit in preschool. Like my favorite hit from this summer: "My teeth are not white enough. I quit". A top ten hit with the four year old set.

        The largest similarity is how frequently I repeat myself. Age is no different. "Sit down sit downsitdownsitdownsitdown". Or repeating their name while standing behind them with their backpack waiting for them to listen. Or repeating what I just said because even though they were looking right at me, they weren't listening. "What are we doing?" will get you a withering look and the answer "I have no idea, ask a friend".

       The similarities are striking, and surprising to no teacher anywhere in the field.

       And so, all in all, in conclusion, I have two weeks of summer until I'm back in a high school, figuring out how to teach theatre without a theatre because it's being renovated

        Thank you for reading.

           Scene

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Preschoolers

     22 July 2026

        Preschool postcards.

       I'm a theatre teacher, it is not ununsual for me to make up random shit to say, songs to sing, etc.

        One day, while we were lining up for science in 90 plus degree heat, I really wanted to whine. But I'm working on that. So I just said "My teeth are not white enough. I quit."

        Before I knew it, the kids had embraced the words and created their own verb exercize in theatre.

          One kiddo who is going into kindergarten, is a very chill dude. Floofy, longer hair. Hippietastic. Happy to play alone, happy to play with others. He became a fan favorite, and was frequently being "trapped" by hula hoops on the playground. Everyone laughing and having The Best Time. 

           One day he was happily playing with the monster trucks, zooming them across the carpet. He was joined by another girl, also happily playing with him. "B", who makes a habit of screaming when "nobody will share", just walked up and took his truck. He said quietly "sharing is caring" and went back to his very important monster truck rally. She returned and took another truck. He looked up at her more directly and said  a bit more loudly "Sharing is caring" and paused. She threw the truck back in his general direction. She did it a third time, and his voice was at a much stronger volume, "Sharing Is Caring". When she returned a  fourth time, he stood up, looked around for adult support and shouted "SHARING IS CARING" and I just about lost it. I didn't laugh but I desperately wanted to.

        He didn't have the words for what was happening. He had never been in that situation before and has clearly been raised to be a sharing and kind human. But after the third attack, He Was Done. 

        Yesterday on the field, the girls tied their friend who was wearing her Elsa dress to the umbrella pole with a red and white jumprope. I have no idea why. There didn't seem to be any storyline at first, they just figured out they could tie her up. Everyone was laughing, there was nothing sinister afoot.

        Twenty feet across from them, two other girls thought this looked like a good idea. So they tied a three year old to the other flagpole with another red and white jump rope.

        Around her neck.

        I was flabberghasted. They could see Elsa tied safely around her middle. What went wrong in their processing?

        My glorious co teacher did a whole re-enactment, talking them through how to safely tie up our friends. 

         They pile up at the door and gate, which of course swings inwards-towards them. On the first day, when we approached every door or gate, I asked "Which way does it swing?" and they would back up and go "beep beep beep beep" like a truck backing up. Deeeelightful.

        Teaching them how to use motor skills and socialize is A Big Job. We do no pay preschool teachers nearly enough.

        The job is exacerbated to almost impossible levels when the kids arrive without any concept of "others". Other people. Other rules. Other adults with authority.

        And no boundaries.

        I see it in high school all the time--not just in the theatre, but the classroom. If they can see it, it belongs to them. No concept of community. The pens are for everyone to use, please return it when you are done. The lap top is mine, not yours. The snacks are to be shared, but you must ask and you must share. They stock up like they're hiking the Andes. I had a high school kid shove all of the Doritos into his backpack, leaving nothing behind. Of course there was a conversation and it made sense to him---they don't have snacks at home, so he was taking them. I had to explain sharing is caring to a 16 year old boy. If he took them all, there would be none for other classes. There is no magical fairy replenishing the snacks  under cover of darkness, only me schlepping to Costco on the weekends. It was all New Information to him.

        This happens in preschool, but with toys. Their brains say "If I can see it, I can take it home". Hence "C" loading her backpack with ten matchbox cars, three monster trucks, two musical instruments, goggles, leggos and puzzle pieces. 

        Dude.

        In many ways, they are truly beautiful. Everything is new. 

        Including boundaries, rules and consequences.

        In many ways, they are truly horrible. Everything is new.

        My hippie friend---of "Sharing is caring"---was happily eating his popsicle after water day, dripping wet. He said "When do I change into my regular clothes?" I replied that, as stated all week to both the campers and their parents, we just go straight to the car wet. Our water time is the end of the day, so this gives us longer to play. He shrugged, said "Ok" and continued with his popsicle.

        The Screamer asked the same question,and immediately melted down. 

        Just saying.

        This summer was off. Of course the world is literally and figuratively on fire, and they feel it. Their energy is disrupted and they have no experience, tools or vocabulary to express themselves. So they start fights, refuse to share, scream, melt down or pilfer toys.

        Today was the last day with M/W.

        I'm not sure I have it in me to do this again tomorrow.

        One more daaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy....

          Scene.

        

        

60 Years In 96 Degree Heat Again

 20 July 2026

        Once again I ask: why are we doing this?

        It's not just the heat on the playground, field and barn.

        The ponies are done with this shit. They made it through one class ride against their will. 

        Two teachers refused to even attempt pony rides at 9 am because the kids were already dysregulated and the ponies were clearly struggling. Even the kids who rode were lackadasical and slouchy because it's too hot for pony camp.

        The kids are completely over it and ready to go full Thunder Dome over ownership of the pink hula hoop.

        The adults are sapped of all will too live, yet I actually said outloud to another adult "It's too hot to commit suicide." They were not offended, they agreed.

        One of the teachers used to work in California, and they had "heat days" like we have "snow days".

        Why do we not have heat days? We needed zero snow days last winter because it didn't snow. We're a desert now; change the rules. I'll do it, put me in charge.

        It's not lost on anyone that climate change ramped it up to 11 in response to Trump and the billionaires unmasking themselves with all of the pride of a fifth grader who stood still while performing as a tree for the entire school play. "I was here the whole time and you didn't see me! See how still I was?"

        I'm so hot, I can't even simile well. Let alone metaphor.

        Because the "dumbocrats" are controlling the weather and causing wildfires.

        OR this has been coming for years and you chose to ignore it, calling it "woke science".

        But if you say a silly nonsense thing out loud near preschoolers, they will echo it loudly and with great glee. I spent my morning listening to them repeat my words, smiles lighting up their faces, using different voices and pretending it made sense. The words were "My teeth are not white enough. I quit." They have no idea they are using verbs to deliver the lines "to scold", "to sing", "to surprise", "to celebrate". I love kids. Give them the right support and words and they create theatre on their own.

         Ok, today is the 21st. It's only 90 degrees. Freeze warning.

        Today's pony camp fun included a four year old in her Elsa dress being tied to an umbrella pole with a red and white plastic jump rope. Unsure what the end game was, but it was fun to watch. I have no idea why I've never seen them figure that out before, I feel like we were tying each other up nonstop at that age.

        Rocket -the pony- has called it. He's been struggling with a leg injury, and he has spent enough time around preschoolers to learn that if you limp enough, nobody makes you do anything.

        We also have a klepto. I was aware, she takes one toy at a time usually and dad digs it out of her bag at pick up. But she has escalated, and when her dad opened her backpack to check before she got in the car, it was filled to the brim with matchbox cars, trucks, two hand "drums", two wooden puzzle pieces, two "music" eggs, a pair of swim goggles and leggos.

        My coteacher and I stood by, flabberghasted. We did not see her take them, and we were with her all day. She's good. Like...she's only three years old man, and she knows to sneak it out.

        I caught a different kid trying to steal a few things two weeks ago and shut him down before he got out of the building. He was not very good at being sneaky, he was spending way too much time at his backpack, using his towel to wrap up the jingle bells. Very sus.

        Two more days and camp is over.

        I get paid tomorrow and Friday from DPS and Pony Camp. 

        I hired H's partner to paint our spare room, for which I have much gratitude. I love to paint, but I hate step ladders and getting on my knees to do the baseboards is no longer an option.

        I assume the money pilfered for the 401K I didn't sign up for came through, but I don't check that stuff...

        That's not related to anything, just thought you'd like to know what my heat addled brain is up to.

        Two more days of camp. One more day until payday. Weird, deep dreams.

        It's fine. Mercury's in retrograde. Or as we like to quip "Mercury's in the microwave".

        True Dat.

        The weight loss has also stopped. I'm pretty The Fuck tired of being held in a holding pattern. Blow this shit up or move long, I'm done.

        Scene.    

    

        

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Billionaires, Lettuce And Paint Colors

 19 July

        I have to go buy paint today. We're having the spare room painted finally. It took Jim six months to paint the other spare room,and we know someone who would be willing to do it. So I had to choose a color.

        I have PTSD when it comes to choosing room colors. When we first moved up here, I paintd the dining room burgundy and the upstairs hallway orange. I thought it was eclectic. That was not the opinon of the others who lived here.

        So I asked opinions of two people who no longer live here, hoping that it would be OK to paint the room dark green. The "ancestor" room-the other spare room--is grey. I've decided I like grey a lot, but I don't want to paint all the rooms grey. So this spare room-the "cat" room--will be dark green. It will hold the orange himalayan salt lamps and other candles and zenesque odds and ends, and the brass bed. It'll look nice. Nicer than the off white I slapped on there when Harper moved out. The floor and door trim...I dunno...I see photos of green with white trim and I like it. But I'm probably wrong.

        So my shocked face is pretty exhausted. Finding out we have both an ecoli and explosive diarrea outbreak because a millionaire business owner denied his employees -who planted and harvested -basic need bathroom breaks. 

        As one does.

        God Bless Aaron Parnas and NPR. Those who pay attention have the information 

        I'm a geeky Cause and Effect kid, so I can track why this may have happened. I did no research, I am not a reporter. I just connect.

        His harvesters in the US were wiped out by ICE, so he had to focus on lettuce grown in Mexico. He had to make up the time and volume he was now missing, so he refused bathroom breaks to his employees in the name of time management. 

        Human beings function and need to relieve themselves. Apparently he was unaware of biology. He will use this as an excuse to build AI robots to do the planting and harvesting in the future, but there will be nobody buying his vegetables because they lost their job to AI and cannot afford food.

        Neat.

        I love this journey for us.

        Scene.

60 Years Are Too Many: Wildlife

     16 July

        I bailed on Pony Camp on Wednesday. The heat, my age, the dumpster planet---pick your excuse. I felt like I was sick with everything at once but none of it was extreme: sore throat, stuffed ears and Fun With Intenstinal Distress. But only a slight fever, small cough, and occasional bathroom emergencies. 

        Enough to just call in and stay home. Even cancelled my hair cut. I just...didn't have any energy.

        All weekend, Monday and Tuesday I have been chugging water and Gatorade, and I'm still deyhdrated. I've never been this dehydrated in my life. I'm spacey and foggy and exhausted.

        I watched something called The Lake Erie Murders on Hulu, but either I was too dysregulated to pay attention or I missed a memo, because all but one was in Erie, Ohio. The outlier was in Erie, Pennsylvania. 

        That was yesterday.

        Today is Thursday. 16 July, and I went in to work. I really could have used a second day, I feel like I'm in a fog. I will have to edit this several times for it to make any sense.

        Today's NPR highlights:

        Colorado's birth rate is down, "What Will Colorado Look Like In Ten Years?" It was an ad for an in depth interview, so no answers were given. I just shrugged and thought "I dunno...Colorado will look...ten years older in ten years?"

        Hakeem Jeffries, being interrupted by the interviewer---which is Not Like NPR at all and was frustrating. It had to do with everything going on right now, which is too much chaos, but I like Hakeem, he keeps a level head.

        Shillelelaghs---Any time I can listen to an Irish dialect I am happy.  The origin of these fighting sticks makes me wish we would adapt the same philosophy. Someone stole your great great great great grandpa's cow, so once a year, your family and the thief's family gather at a pub or festival and smash each other with shillelelaghs and then go drink together. You've probably married into the family somewhere along the way, and it doesn't matter. You still meet once a year to beat the shit out of each other and drink together.

        Another reason I Am A Fan Of The Irish.

        Today's Pony Camp was an in house field trip. They schedule volunteers from wherever, and today was the Rocky Mountain Wildlife Alliance. They rehabilitate sick and disabled wildlife who cannot return to the wild. So they live in the sanctuary. And a select few get to be "ambassadors" and travel to preschool pony camps.

       They brought Mimic the bull snake with cleft scales, Kingston the red tailed hawk who ran into a window at a young age and cannot see properly to hunt, and Atosha the great horned owl with one eye. 

        Some of it was a bit over the kids' heads, they just wanna see an owl and touch things. But I learned that owls do not build their own nests, they just move into previously occupied nests even if they are too small. That is how Atosha lost her eye, she fell out of the nest. Mimic's scales on his belly mostly healed, but he came from a breeder and has no idea how to survive in the wild. I appreciate that the breeder gave him to the sanctuary when they realized his unique defect instead of throwing him out. I believe Kingston was brought in after he ran into the window.

        These animals are gorgeous and so signifcant to our ecology, and to see a hawk up close and hear him screech is pretty cool. Not gonna lie Both Kingston and Atosha spread their wings and flapped as they settled down. So. Cool. These kids have no idea how much privilege they have. To be fair, the median age is three and a half-as  demonstrated by their "answers" when asked "Do you have any questions?"

        Do you have any questions about Mimic?

        "I had a snake on my bus."

        Do you have any questions about Kingston?"

        "There is a bird in the tree behind you."

        Do you have any questions about Atosha?

        "I liked the snake best, he is yellow. Yellow is my favorite color."

        Those were the best responses as humbly recorded by Kristen W. Martin, Sgt at Arms.

        It was not a great day, it was not a horrible day.

        I don't work in a coal mine.

        I also do not get to take the summer off.

        It sucks being a Libra. But hey. I saw fawns in my neighborhood on my way in this morning, and it appears the wild turkey has made an appearance as well. No pic of turkey lurkey, sadly.

     Fawns in my neighborhood this morning

snakeie me no likeie

Atosha--the beautiful one eyed wonder

           

          Kingston chillin'                                                    Kingston flappin'

    

        I can't focus any more. I think I'll lie on the couch and see what other states have a Lake Erie in them.

            

            Scene.