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  • a happy, ordinary, middle-aged, suburban woman who paints odd pictures, gardens in a straw hat, lives with the love of her life, is owned by one cat and the ghosts of several others, and walks a little funny 'cause she has a fake leg. She started this website because there's more to life than what we lose, and we need to let each other know what's possible, even if it's only a happy, ordinary life.

November 2011

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    sara at saraarts dot com

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Good reads, grownups only

« Tuesday, Shoes Day | Main | Lovely, Lovely Thursday Meme »


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Not too bad. Hope it came in useful :)

Michelle | Bleeding Espresso

You're good at this. I particularly like your very first moan. Wouldn't that Room 101 be an interesting place if all the violent, killing types were thrown in together? And you know who I think should watch with popcorn and biscuits served to them? All those dogs that some of those people in there surely made fight at some point.

You should know that in southern Italy at least, it's very rare to see someone sick at work--there are a lot of doctor's excuses floating around. This could also be because it's quite rare to see people at work in general ;)

Ah, and good point on the President thing. That's definitely a gig someone should have to be dragged to, kicking and screaming. Seriously.

Christopher Bell

Sara - number three in your "shake violently" list is an interesting one for a UK reader such as me. You know in your MassHealth post I commented vaguely about legislation here? Well, here it is:

the DDA, in three parts, from 1995, 2004 and 2005. Warning: reading of the measures therein may cause outbursts of envy, jealousy and shouting of "it's not fair - we don't get that!" at random points during the reading of the document. Interestingly, as far as the 2004 stuff is concerned, the Police wouldn't have anything to do with it; instead, the disabled person would inform the company that they were going to bring a case in court against them.


Christopher - the link to number 3 was from my blog and thanks for discussing the UK law.

I just wanted to add that in the US the disabled person can bring a case to court under the ADA for refusal of service. Many folks take that route - or they can enforce their civil right to be seated and sue - or both. An incident report by the police that there was a refusal for them to seat you may be evidence because, generally even after the police arrive, I've seen these business owners continue to deny service. This really gives you a good case.


Because I'm such a very thoughtful blogger, I completely blew off answering comments yesterday! hahahahahaha -- See what I mean? Maybe not completely deserving of that award.


Freelance Cynic, the funny thing is that although lots and lots of this website has become covered with gushy gooey things like Love Thursday, there's plenty of moaning here, too. However, given my physical state this week, I did appreciate the opportunity to channel my moaniness into something other than a fight with my boyfriend or a weeping siege on the couch. So thank you very much!

Reading your original post, I also have a little tip for you. If in fact you really do feel the blogosphere is getting too sugary, I strongly recommend you hang out on the sites of more disabled bloggers. No, no, you probably won't see people moaning, "Oh, I'm so disaaaaaaaaaaaaaabled, and it sucks so muuuuuuuuuuuuuch." You are more likely to see, "Goodness gracious, the problems other people have with [my/my child's] being disabled! What a pain in the a$$!" Or you could also hang out with the feminists, especially the radical feminists. Not a lot of "my most favoritist sugar cookie moments" lists there, either. And then there are the cancer bloggers, especially the ones brave enough to say (in the immortal words of Beavis and Butthead), "This sucks! Change it!" and then detail exactly how it sucks, even though doing that probably ensures that no one will ever make a TV movie of the week or inspirational Learning Channel docudrama about them.

So if the things you've been reading lately have you feeling, I don't know, like you might pass into a diabetic coma at any moment, take a little stroll through my blogroll. Yes, yes, there is lots of love and joy there, too; even though the people I read don't hesitate to moan when appropriate, and sometimes with wicked humor, heart-wrenchingly open grief, and startling candor, as appropriate, you will still sometimes have to avert your eyes very quickly to avoid instant caramelization -- unless you finally get sick of the moaning and need an antidote to that, too.


Sognatrice, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the post. I would just like to say that I think the doggies deserve a much better time than having to spend a single moment more on those nasty people. I think they deserve romping through flowerbeds and tidbits off pie plates and patting and scritching and sweet nothings of their own. (They can still have biscuits and popcorn, of course.)

The violent people I truly think are the most scary aren't even the steroid or head cases who want to pick a fight with everyone. The ones that scare me are the ones who never get any blood on their own hands (except when they accidentally shoot someone while hunting farmed birds; hmm, whomever could I mean?) but send other people out to do their evil for them. The ones in suits. The ones in robes. The ones with pulpits and publications. Those are the creepy ones, and they have to go to the room, too, them and everyone who agrees with them.

Some of them voted to give our current president the ability to take this country to war, and some of them did it not out of conscience or intelligence but to hedge their bets with certain parts of the electorate in case they ever wanted to run for president someday. Or so it looks from where I sit.

Oh, I could go on and on. At some point, though, moaning quickly turns to rage, and my blood pressure can't take it. Thank goodness today's meme is about food! (And of course you should prepare to be tagged.)


Christopher and Ruth, thank you! Christopher, I was going to mention the ADA, but Ruth, an articulate and knowledgeable disabled rights advocate, beat me to it. And she knows way more than I do, so that's for the best.

Entertaining coincidence: this conversation even took place on the 17th anniversary of the ADA, as noted here and also over at Ruth's place, here.

And thank you, Ruth, for explaining further the role of the police here.

Cheers, all!


Sorry, it has taken me so long to find the blog, I am catching up (You keep diverting me with Haiku - an interesting use of haiku as garden maze). I like your list - and your post comments, as trying to explain how someone like Robert McNamara probably killed more people as head of world bank than as head of bombing of vietnam just gets people going, "But isn't the world bank good?" - ah, never mind. As for the flu, sicky stuff, have you ever seen people wear masks or gloves in the US? I have not, as yet.

I too lament the trust fund issue daily. No, I don't but I wish I was Victorian minded enough to do so. Of course women with limited trust funds always had to get jobs like giving elocution lessons in a dogdy mansion - perhaps Wilkie Collins wasn't accurately describing all jobs available?

Ditto on number two, though actually more tramautic is that my mother has managed to go through menopause for 17 straight years. Of course this is probably because she HAS children, a fact she reminds us children of often.


Elizabeth, the only people I've seen wearing masks and gloves outside medical settings have been some of the people who actually have the immune deficiencies. And I've seen them get ridiculed for it, too. And I've seen them get ridiculed -- or at least eye-rolled -- for it by people who routinely came to work sick at the grocery store where I used to work. Nice, huh?

I could totally give elocution lessons, although my students would all develop the habit of saying "totally" way too much. And "seriously." And "oy." (I wonder what Wilkie Collins would make of that?) Strangely, the scions of Massachusetts are not lining up at my door for instruction. Maybe that's because I don't have a trust fund.

The mere idea of seventeen years of menopause -- as a process, not a finished state -- gives me hives. How 'bout the buttoned-up aunts? Do they just not talk about such things?

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