The Saturday Post: Political ads that don't make you wanna puke edition

Are you as sick of political ads as I am? I don't believe a single word said in a single ad this time around, from either candidate. Such hatefulness and negativity does nothing for me, certainly doesn't make me want to mark my ballot for someone who only denigrates their opponent rather than honestly lay out their plans and raise up Americans to proudly follow their lead.

Dwight Eisenhower was the first to air political campaign ads on television, in 1952 (according to this post from Open Culture). What a long, downward spiral we've taken since Ike's happy jingles and direct answers.

(This last one is erroneously marked as from 1956, but it's 1952.)

I agree with Ike: It is indeed time for a change—starting first with elimination of all the negative and mean-spirited campaigning.

Best wishes for a weekend free of all political ads. Other than those above, of course.

Happy Saturday!

9 ways to lift a grandma's spirits

I've been feeling a little down lately because I can't get my <cuss> wireless network to work in my house. Why is wireless that important? Because my work takes place online, and I prefer—sometimes need—to do that work wirelessly. Plus, I just plain want it, and that should be good enough reason.

These are my wireless devices that previously networked nicely, some for years:

• My computer

• Jim's computer

• My iPhone

• My wi-fi radio

• My printer

• Netflix

They did just fine up until last Wednesday. Then *poof* the wireless went wacko for reasons unknown. Now the only devices working are my computer and my wi-fi radio. No computer time for Jim. No Netflix for either of us.

Not being able to figure out why is making me crazy. Even more so now that when the Comcast tech visited yesterday, he tested all the vitals, replaced cables, scratched his head, said, "I've never run into such a thing," then apologetically told me I'm on my own since I do have one computer working, proving my Internet works and wireless connectivity isn't their job.

In light of the craziness (and crabbiness) my computer connectivity issue has caused, I'm in need of some serious spirit lifting. I'm fortunate for these spirit-lifters that made a difference the last few days:

1. A weekend visit from my youngest.

2. An afternoon with my mom and sister, at the urging—and chauffeuring—of my youngest.

3. Friday food and fun with my youngest, oldest, and hubby.

4. Videos of Bubby and Mac.

5. A text from a friend telling me she's at an outdoor wedding at a public garden venue and it reminds her of my back yard.

6. Picking my one and only zucchini from my garden. (At least I got one, which I keep telling myself is far better than none.)

7. New reading glasses—three pair, in fact, courtesy of the combo pack at Wal-mart.

8. A check for freelance work that came sooner than expected.

9. Only 16 days left until Jim and I fly to the desert to see Bubby and Mac again.

Despite still seeking the ultimate spirit lifter of all—a solution to my wi-fi woes—those are the things that helped, those are the things I need to keep in mind and focus on.

And I'll do exactly that—after I check just one more setting that just might be the answer...

photo: stock.xchng/channah

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

__________ always lifts my spirits when I'm feeling down.

Wherein Gramma punts and boys play guitars

One of the few things I know about football is this: When all else fails, punt. 

Consider this my punt.

I am having Internet connectivity problems. I spent all day yesterday (and I do mean all day) having online access for a minute...then no access...then a bit again...then it was gone.

As I serve as my very own IT person, I plugged, unplugged, turned off, turned on...and called Comcast, my provider. Who didn't help much at all.

Then I replaced my modem and router. It worked! For a second, before it went out. Then it worked again, but not on Jim's computer. So I called Comcast. They didn't help much at all. Then all access—wireless, at least, which is the way I roll, the way I need things to roll—just plain disappeared.

So...here I am with an ethernet cable running over and around the desk, hoping to stay connected just long enough to get a post up for today. I've never missed one single day of posting since starting this blog the end of July 2009, and I refuse to let connectivity issues ruin my record.

So I punt.

It's a cute punt, though—a video of Bubby and Mac getting their first taste of the LeapFrog products I brought them a few weeks ago. It shows so well the difference between the boys: Bubby takes his time focusing on one thing until he gets it right; Mac is all over the place, sampling this and that with abandon.

I hope you enjoy my punt.

Over and out. But not for long. I hope.

Today's question:

Who handles the techy issues and connectivity around your home?

Ten ways movies and television have warped my reality

Yesterday morning as I walked my dogs, the route was eerily quiet and desolate. Not a single deer, car, or neighbor crossed my path. Planes usually criss-crossing the sky were absent. As I walked, I couldn't help but think that maybe the apocalypse had occurred and somehow I'd not been informed.

Crazy, I know, but that's the way my mind works, thanks to watching too many movies and too much television during my formative years. Heck, during all my years, if truth be told. Not a day passes by that cinematic moments don't creep into my thoughts. To wit:

(Clicking the arrows by each movie title shows that clip on this page.)

1. Something akin to yesterday's apocalyptic fears happened once while undergoing an MRI. I hate the procedure—the closed-in space, the loud noises. But because I have MS, I've had a few done on my brain over the years. Gah! The machine clangs and bangs while I'm stuck deep within, unable to move for fear I'll screw up the expensive test. Once, the long and loud banging and clanging became so disconcerting that I reached near panic, fearing a scene from a disaster film (think Earthquake, Independence Day, Armageddon) occurred while I was in the machine, and the medical staff had dashed from the building, leaving me alone. At just the moment I planned my escape and exit, the attendant called through the intercom, "You're just about done, Lisa, just a few more minutes." Sweet relief!

2. When I first started my job at the newspaper, I envisioned my workdays would be similar to scenes from Lou Grant or Mary Tyler Moore. So not the case. I knew I wasn't alone in my illusions of newsrooms and the impact of cinema, though, when a goofy deejay from a local radio station whom I escorted through the department after an interview turned to the sea of reporters' desks and faux cried out, "You gotta tell 'em! Soylent green is people!!"

3. Meeting new acquaintances can be awkward when I'm introduced to someone named Ben, as I immediately think of the boy and his rat buddy in Ben. Or when the person is named Charlie and I can't help but imagine Eric Roberts crying to Mickey Rourke about his thumb being nabbed in The Pope of Greenwich Village. At least I never forget the name of Ben or Charlie, though, even long after meeting them.

4. My first thought when my sister told me there is a (perfectly legal) family burial ground on her property was of Pet Sematary.

5. I can't hear Beethoven's Fifth without thinking of Saturday Night Fever.

6. Used to be when I'd consider tightie-whities—which I assure you isn't often!—Tom Cruise in Risky Business would come to mind. Now I can't shake the image of Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad.

7. Similarly, pea soup makes me think of Linda Blair and The Exorcist; excessive flies on a window elicit visions of James Brolin and Amityville Horror; and wax museums remind me of Vincent Price and House of Wax.

8. I've never looked out a plane window at the wing without thinking of gremlins upon it, á la The Twilight Zone. Nor have I ever not considered Fearless with Jeff Bridges when unexpected turbulence mid-flight elicits exclamations of various sorts from fellow passengers (and myself, I admit).

9. I try not to, but I can't help but think of Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan each time I use an air dryer in a public restroom.

10. I also can't help but think of The Waltons every single time we have overnight house guests and everyone heads off to bed. I just wait for the "Goodnight, John Boy"...which usually comes by way of Jim, for he's warped in much the same fashion as I.

There are more—far more—I promise you. I'll stop there, though, lest you think of Sally Field from Sybil each time you consider Lisa from Grandma's Briefs.

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What movies or television shows have warped your reality?

Farewell, summer whites

For reasons not perfectly clear, wearing white after Labor Day has long been rendered a faux pas of magnificent proportion.

With that in mind, I bid farewell to summer's flora and fauna that will soon cast their garments of white to the wind.

Today's question:

Do you flout or follow the fashion advice to not wear white after Labor Day?

The Saturday Post: Too Soon edition

This song first stirred my soul several years ago, when EastMountainSouth was the opening act at a Tracy Chapman concert. I've loved the song ever since, yet never really in relation to one specific person. Until now.

This is for Margie, who left us Friday morning, far too soon.

What matters

As I write this, someone in my family is dying. I told myself I'd keep this out of my blog, away from here. Because here is where I do my best to create an upbeat, positive spot for folks to visit. This isn't upbeat, positive.

Mostly, though, I wasn't going to write about this because it's her story, not mine.

But my story is that I'm struggling with this, need to write about this. This person I love, dying as I write.

I wonder what to make for dinner as she wonders if the breath she's taking may be her last. I pack for a trip, try to catch up on things that matter for my future, when she doesn't have one.

That sucks. So much.

That's my biggest thought, that's my biggest struggle.

My struggle, though, is nothing compared to her struggle. Or the struggle of her kids, saying goodbye to their mother. Or the struggle of her husband, who's trying to come to terms with his wife being told she has only seven more days to live.

And that was several days ago.

I love this woman like a sister, can't imagine our family without her. But we're not close. Unfortunately. She married into the family I married into nearly a decade before her. Though we've been part of that same family for years, miles kept us apart, distant. Thirteen hours worth of distance by car, I keep thinking, as Jim and I contemplate the logistics of attending a funeral.

She and I would send cards and photos at Christmas. Occasionally "like" something of the other on Facebook. Consider the good, the bad, the ugly, the sad of this family we both married into. For nearly twenty years we've done all that together yet seperately, from our own homes while attending to our own families.

She's only a few years older than I am. Her two kids are a few years younger than mine.

Her two kids who are now married.

Her two kids who have not yet had kids of their own.

She never got to be a grandma.

And that makes me so very sad. For her. For her kids. For her grandkids who will never know her.

And so very sad for her husband. My heartbroken brother in law. Her biggest fan, her greatest admirer. The one at her bedside—a hospital bed now set up in their home—watching this strong woman who changed his life die, decades upon decades before she should.

Not that anyone should die young, but this pillar of a person especially shouldn't. She's the best of the best. One who does what needs to be done. Cares for those who need to be cared for. Loves without limits. Makes the plans no one else feels like planning. She remembers and does and is. In all the right ways, at all the right times. Effortlessly.

She would have made one helluva grandma.

And that makes me so very sad.

Cancer doesn't care though. Doesn't care who's young, old, grandma or not. Doesn't care who it makes so very sad.

The last few days, I think of what she's doing as I'm doing what I'm doing. None of it makes sense. None of what I'm doing seems to matter at all, when what she's doing matters so much.

What she's doing just plain sucks.

So very, very much.