Gun Rights? How About No-Gun Rights?

This column is about guns, and the fact that I do not like them.

Guns1I wrote about all this once long ago, on the late lamented news aggregate site True/Slant, and the vitriol that landed upon my page in response made me very glad that my T/S readers didn’t know where I lived. I mean, it was if the NRA had put out a worldwide hit on me. I’m now counting on the belief that most of my current readers are kinder and gentler – since you can sure find out where I live if you don’t already know. And I’m satisfied that most of my angry T/S readers long ago quit following this blog. We’ll see.

What has my dander up is the recent ruling by the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals that somebody’s right to carry – and show off – guns in public overrides my right to live in peace without having to worry about people swaggering around with their guns in my face. Say what?guns2

I have a lot of gun friends whom I love and admire. They use their guns to hunt legal game, and I think that’s good and proper. As far as I know, none of them feel compelled to strut around their local Starbucks with pistols on their hips.

My dislike of guns could be more correctly defined as fear. I’m not afraid of guns in the holsters of law enforcement officers, believing that their carriers are properly trained (and having grown up white I never had to fear police.) I’m just afraid of guns on the hips of unknown macho guys. If they’re swaggering around at Starbucks, I will definitely throw up my latte. Do I not have ANY right to drink a latte in public without throwing up?

Guns3When I was a child of about 12 someone broke into our home – well, nobody locked their doors in Ashland, VA in 1945 so he probably just opened the door and walked in – and made his way to the second-floor bedroom of my oldest sister Jane, who let out a mighty scream. The intruder left multiple hand prints on the newly painted walls as he swiftly descended the stairs (and left by another door.) But by the time the Richmond police arrived they pronounced the fingerprints too dim to be of use, so our nocturnal visitor was never identified. My family (4 girls + parents) that night morphed from 6 people in five beds to 6 people in two beds – Jane in between my mother and father; the other three of us in one double bed. (It took us several weeks to expand back into our individual beds.) The next day, our father bought a gun. It went to reside on a shelf in the closet of our parents’ bedroom. We all knew where it was; once or twice my sister Mimi and I stood on a lower shelf and looked at it. But instead of making us feel safer and protected, the thing created more fear. Despite all his stories about working on somebody’s ranch in Texas as a boy, my sisters and I (and our mother, I regret to report) feared our father’s probable ineptitude with a gun more than we feared another intruder. We had belatedly also begun to lock the doors. All five of us – mother + 4 daughters – also feared the fearsome instrument on the closet shelf more than we feared anyone who might be confronted by it. Overruled by us all, my father soon (I think it took less than a couple of weeks) took the gun back to wherever it came from.guns4

I had one more encounter with a gun. Working as a reporter for local newspapers in Decatur, GA in the early 1960s, I was convinced by some misguided other newsperson to go to a shooting range, in conjunction with some sort of story. The people there convinced me everything was just fine and I would see how easy it was to hit the target. Eventually I fired the stupid thing, and the noise, jolt and whatever nearly frightened me to death. I probably missed the target by more miles than was ever before known.

I submit the above only as argument that people who fear guns should have SOME rights to balance whatever the “Open Carry” (read: people who want to strut around showing off their representative lethal weapons) Second Amendment rights purportedly are.

Guns5 You need to swagger manfully around with a pistol on your hip? Fine. Swagger somewhere else – like, on a shooting range. Just stay out of my Starbucks. All I want is to drink my latte in gun-free peace.

Take that, Ninth Circuit. I only wish you would.

The Great Subversive Mail Mystery

The third or fourth time it happened, I began to be seriously suspicious. Not ordinarily a conspiracy theorist, I was starting to wonder about mysterious outside forces. In my mailbox (I live in #704 in a condo building with some 90 units) there were appearing pieces of mail not addressed to me, but to someone who lived in #704 somewhere else. Names and addresses following will be changed to protect the innocent, but I promise the basic truths are unaltered

MailI am (as you may know) Fran Johns, a fairly simple name that has worked for me since 1992. I live in Apt 704, 2400 Miller Street in San Francisco, CA 20020. I began to get mail addressed to Stephanie Yamamoto, who lives in Apt. 704, Two Cascade Hills Blvd, San Francisco 20020. OK, the ZIP codes are the same too – but still. Johns v Yamamoto? Miller St v Two Cascade Hills Blvd? You can’t mix these up unintentionally.

For a year or so I scribbled “Please Deliver As Addressed” across envelopes and put them back into the mail. I quickly learned that unless I inked out the little digital thingies USPS had affixed at the bottom very carefully they would come straight back to me. I took to indignant all-caps:

DELIVERED IN ERROR TO 2400 MILLER STREET. I hoped Ms Yamamoto would not be too distressed at the late arrival of her mail, and would perhaps understand that I cared. Occasionally I took something to the local post office and handed it to the person selling me stamps or whatever. It was, at first, mildly distressing that no one seemed particularly concerned. It was way more distressing when I picked up my mail while the mailman was still putting stuff in other boxes and there was more Yamamoto mail. “Sir,” I said as I handed him the errant letters (more than once,) “will you try to get this woman’s mail to the correct address? – and he took the letters without comment. I mean, I thought an “Oh, sorry!” would’ve been nice.ZIP Code

Once or twice, when I got something that clearly had financial implications (such as: “Check Enclosed,” or a brokerage house return address) I totally skipped the USPS and delivered the mail myself to Two Cascade Hills – which happily is only 4 or 5 blocks from my building and has its own cordial front desk person. I should note that the cordial front desk person in my own building on multiple occasions contacted the local post office people to explain that the woman in #704 was going nuts with mis-delivered mail. Nothing seemed to work.

Some weeks ago I boiled over. Dug up the mailing address of the CEO & Executive Vice President of the US Postal Service – no easy task, but I persevered. (If you want to write him, it’s 475 L’Enfant Plaza SW Room 4012, Washington DC 20260-2200.) Copied the District Manager of the Pacific Region (I’ll be happy to share that name & address if you like.) I laid out the whole sordid story and asked if he could please, please get Ms. Yamamoto’s mail delivered to her instead of to me. Within a week I had a phone call from Alexander, the guy in charge in San Francisco who, I have to admit, was polite and concerned and promised to fix the problem.

But in the meantime I had boiled over again. I received an important-looking packet addressed to Ms. Yamamoto, mailed from an address in Hawaii that was by now familiar. I took it to her building and left a note saying, “Can we talk?”

Mail1We met for tea. The very charming Ms. Yamamoto is not my new best friend, but close. The packet from Hawaii which the U.S. Postal Service would have sent floating around ZIP code 20020 forever contained essentials needed for a trip to meet her mother (the Hawaiian addressee) overseas, where she does remarkable nonprofit good work – but that’s another story.

This story is about the U.S. Postal Service. It turned out not to be about conspiracies, but probably about one incompetent (Dyslectic? Lazy? Mean-spirited? Who knows?) employee who presumably is still employed by the US Postal Service. Several weeks passed without my getting anything addressed to Ms. Yamamoto. Last week, though, we got a BevMo coupon for $10 off any $50 purchase. Knowing she is overseas and unable to use the coupon before its expiration, I purchased two large bottles of gin, a few weeks’ worth of martinis for my husband. Such a deal.

 

 

Weird Times and Guardian Angels

“I don’t know where I am,” I said. “I don’t recognize this place.”

“Well, you did get here. Where’s your car? Did you drive?”

“I don’t know how I got here.” And since I also didn’t know where I came from or where I lived, it was not going to be easy to get home.050910-F-MS415-009

My short-term memory had totally, inexplicably vanished

I had just told the story of my long-ago (1956, to be precise) back-alley abortion at a fundraising event for nonprofit TEACH (Teaching Early Abortion for Comprehensive Healthcare) in a San Francisco theater. One five-minute speaker followed me, and the program ended. When we got up to leave – I was on the second row next to my young friend Alexa and her visiting aunt and uncle – I didn’t know how to get to the lobby. Since I had met with other speakers onstage before the event and had led my guests to our seats, something was obviously weird. We finally did get to the lobby, where we had met and visited before the event, and the above exchange took place. At that point something weird turned into something frighteningly wrong.

Alexa left her aunt and uncle to find their own way back to their hotel, summoned a cab and gave the driver my address. Later I would have a dim fragment of memory about being in the cab, and another fleeting memory of entering our building, going up to our condo and then seeing my husband.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “I need to go to the hospital.” He and Alexa had long since come to that conclusion. She had been texting with one of my children on the east coast and on the phone with my husband since the exchange in the theater lobby. Finding my car safely in its garage space, she had already called a cab to get to the emergency room.  But after that moment of seeing my husband, the next four or five hours are lost to me forever.

Its official name is Transient Global Amnesia. If you have it, it’s a good idea to be among friends.

Since I come from a long line of stroke victims, that had been the immediate fear. But it only took a few tests in the Kaiser ER to rule out stroke, a few more to rule out other serious afflictions and arrive at the diagnosis of TGA. Sometime around 2 AM my conscious memory swam back to the surface of reality, which was Alexa sitting on the side of my bed. Then, with a little help from some drug they gave me, I fell asleep.Guardian angel

Fewer than one half of one percent of people in the U.S. experience episodes of TGA every year. It is most common in people between ages 56 and 75, with the average age being approximately 62 – unless I’ve now upped that by a decade or so. For the victim, TGA is really no big deal. You don’t remember anything anyway; but there’s no pain, no suffering, no after-effect and no permanent damage. All I do remember is the comforting vision of my lovely friend, who is known as my West Coast Daughter (now additionally Guardian Angel), sitting on the side of my bed. I was visited by numerous concerned physicians and nurses, several of whom said they’d never heard of TGA.

But now we all have! Before sending me home the next day the very cautious Kaiser people did an MRI of my head, and lo, my brain was still there. Actually, it was functioning on remote even while I was malfunctioning. When posing the traditional questions about what year it was (Nope, didn’t know) etc the ER doctors asked if I could say who is the president of the U.S.

“Noooo,” I said, “but I know I don’t like him.”

 

On Preventing the Worst from Happening

The following is offered as a very small and personal side commentary, on the occasion of the leaders of the U.S. and North Korea meeting in Singapore.

Have you met the Ploughshares Fund? If you’re not anxious to see the planet blown away in a thermonuclear flash, the Ploughshares folks are good people to know.

nuclear-bomb-explosion2

by Snoron.com

Ploughshares was founded in 1981 by the indomitable sculptor/activist Sally Lilienthal, who was also a friend of my good husband. When I met her, soon after arriving in San Francisco in 1992, I became an instant fan.

1981 was the height of the Cold War, and Russia and the U.S. were on the brink of thermonuclear confrontation – each having enough nuclear weapons to obliterate this beautiful planet. Ploughshares set about the work of reducing those dangerous threats and has been remarkably successful. Stockpiles have been dramatically reduced – we’re down from the nearly 55,000 worldwide total in 1980 to the current figure of approximately 15,000. Over 90% are in the US and Russia; the rest are in China, France, India, Israel, North Korea, Pakistan and the United Kingdom. There may be fewer nuclear weapons, but there are plenty around to destroy life as we know it.

Which is why the world watched with some apprehension as two of perhaps the most erratic and unpredictable leaders of all time met to – we hope – find a way to avoid nuclear war.

Fran w Joe Cirincione 6.4.18

With Joe Cirincione

I was privileged to hear Ploughshares Fund President Joe Cirincione and Executive Director/Chief Operating Officer Philip Yun talk about the situation in general and North Korea in particular recently with a group of longtime supporters.

“We have a very simple philosophy,” Cirincione says: “prevent the worst from happening.” Re North Korea and the recent summit, “There might be some surprises. Trump could stumble into a good deal.” Pointing out that “we support policies, not presidents,” he said Donald Trump “could give North Korea something that Democratic presidents could not.”

This group, progressives to the core, swallowed hard. If you want not to see the planet wiped out in a thermonuclear frenzy, keeping North Korea from starting such an event trumps all distaste for our president.

Yun offered some history lessons and insight; he is a scholar of Korean affairs who has long been involved in U.S./N.Korea negotiations. “The North Koreans like symmetry,” he said. Any movement toward denuclearization “is going to have to be phased. (But) there are a lot of moving parts that could make us safer right now.”

Those were just several snippets of a conversation that was wide-ranging and in many ways encouraging. The fact that the Ploughshares people, and the people with organizations it funds, are working every day to keep the worst from happening is encouragement enough for now.dove of peace

So this writer, who watches in horror the environmental destruction and loss of human rights going on every day thanks to the policies of our current administration, swallowed hard and wished Mr. Trump & Mr. Kim every success in avoiding a thermonuclear planetary disaster.

On Earning a Five-Star Rating in Life

My all-time favorite female keynote speaker/comedian Jan McInnis recently wrote the following piece in her regular ‘Humor News’ publication The Keynote Chronicle. (You may want to get on her mailing list.) I thought it so much fun — and simultaneously profound — that I’m sharing it here, with her permission.

What $19.99 Will Buy You

comedian and keynote speaker Jan mcInnis

Jan McInnis

I like hotels. I stay in a lot of them, and most of the time I stay in really nice ones. You know, where the bathroom is big enough for ballroom dancing, and there’s a TV embedded in the mirror? I guess if I want to feel like I’m a beautiful newscaster, I look at that instead of my reflection.

And as nice as these hotels are, they’re still worried about making a good impression. After my stay, they always send a survey so I can rate everything: did you use the internet? Yes? On a scale from 1 – 99, how was it? Did you use the gym? Yes? On a scale from 1 – 99, how was it? Did you use the toilet? You get the picture. I check “no” to all of it; otherwise there are more questions to answer. Nope, no gym, no internet, no toilet. . . I didn’t even sleep under the covers. Stop! Your hotel is nice, ok!

funny hotel article

Jan’s room in Africa

I’m still a fan of cheap hotels, however, because they kept me afloat in my early comedy years. Back then, it was kind of a crapshoot as to what you’d get with some of these hotels. There could be a TV in the mirror, but only because some drunk guest threw it there. Occasionally the bedding could be a little sketchy. I toured with a sleeping bag.

One of my first big gigs was at a major comedy club in Chicago. I was very excited, but I had to get my own hotel room. Plenty of really great comics live in that area, so no one was gonna put up an out-of-towner. No problem! I found an excellent hotel about an hour away in Portage, Indiana. . . and by “excellent,” I mean cheap: $19.99 a night!

The manager was a very nice older lady, and I explained that I was a comedian on tour. We had a pleasant chat, and I got my keys. The room was kind of what I expected: no TV smashed into the mirror, but I did have to wear my socks while walking on the carpet. . . and in the shower. But the week at the club went well, and at a little under $140 for my room, I could still go home with some money.

Funy picture

Hotel bed decoration — “To make me feel welcome, I think”

When the club booked me again a year later, I had the same hotel dilemma, so I headed over to my friends in Portage. But there was a different woman at the front desk, and the price had gone up dramatically: $29.99 per night! (Probably due to paying for new TVs and mirrors.) That $70 extra bucks was gonna break the budget, and I didn’t know what to do. This was back before cell phones and wireless internet; finding another place would be time consuming!

As I was discussing dropping the price to no avail, the manager popped out. She must have seen the panic on my face because in a moment of true kindness, she turned to the desk clerk and said, “I remember her. Give her the old price.”

Relief! I could kiss the ground (almost. . . the carpets were still the same). I had never been so happy to unroll my sleeping bag in a bargain bed. I thanked her profusely.

I’m sure she doesn’t remember now how much she helped me then, but I do. It probably wasn’t a big deal to her, but it was a huge deal to me, and she did it simply because she could. She had the opportunity to help someone, so she did. Without any fanfare, without any expectation that I’d give her a good review, without anything: she did it just because she could.

Jan & crowd

Jan onstage, well rested

There’s always an excuse to not do something: “It’s not my job,” “It’s not our policy,” etc., and many people hide behind that because it’s the easy route. (Yes, you, Mr. Airline Gate Agent who wouldn’t put me on the earlier flight recently, because you said it would be too much of a hassle.) But, I think doing things that are in your control to help someone is how you earn a five-star rating in business and in life.

I once heard Tony Robbins say that we should look at everyone on the planet as being on the same team, and I agree. So be on the lookout for ways to help out your “team members” with the things that are within your power. You’ll make a great lasting impression on them. . . without the 99 question survey.

(Jan has shared her customized humor keynotes with thousands of associations and corporations, and is the author of 2 books: “Finding the Funny Fast” and “Convention Comedian.” She has also been featured in the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Post, and on Huffington Post. I’m proud to be a fan.)

 

 

 

 

Cloud Appreciation. It’s free!!

Clouds 4.26.18

Clouds around (& above) Salesforce Tower

Here is one universal, guaranteed, free way to lift your spirits in these often dispiriting days: look up. Stare at the sky. Notice the clouds. Once you start noticing clouds – which are up there just quietly asking to be admired, after all – your passport to lifted spirits is issued.

Clouds - Ferry Bldg 5.17.18

Wisps around the Ferry Bldg

My passport number is #45,662. That is, this message comes to you from Cloud Appreciation Society member #45,662. My membership number came with an official certificate proclaiming that I joined this society on 13th May (it’s a very British society) and “will henceforth seek to persuade all who’ll listen of the wonder and beauty of clouds.”

So that’s what this essay is about. You can quit reading if you don’t want to be persuaded.

One thing the Cloud Appreciation Society brings you (via email) is the Cloud of the Day. Imagine starting your day – before you even look up, perhaps – not with news of wars and corruption and presidential vulgarity, but with the Cloud of the Day. Which on most days is stunning.

Clouds 12.23.16

Sunset from our window

I have been hooked on sunsets ever since moving into a seventh floor condo with one large window that looks directly west toward the Pacific Ocean. But my path to cloud appreciation actually started with the lovely, gently persuasive book A Sideways Look at Clouds by Maria Mudd Ruth. Ruth, author of the award-winning book Rare Bird, became curious about clouds on moving from the east coast to the rugged, foggy northwest. In Sideways she combines that daunting intellectual curiosity with a persistence few of us share. I mean, slipping into a frigid lake at dawn to experience fog? I have never met the author. But I’m a very longtime friend and fan of her famous father Roger, and her late mom was a poet – which leads me to understand that Ruth comes by her writing gifts honestly. The book is a winner.

Clouds 9.15

Clouds from airplane window seat

In addition to my Cloud Appreciation Society membership certificate and sky-blue cloud pin, I am now the proud possessor of the Cloud Selector wheel, identifying the 10 main cloud types. You thought there were just puffy white things? Wrong. The ten main groups are divided according to altitudes and shapes, whether they’re made up of clumps, continuous layers or wispy streaks. You probably know Cumulus (Cu.) The Cloud selector tells you what to look for: “Cauliflower tops, flattish bases, crisp edges;” typical altitudes (1,000 to 5,000 feet;) whether there’s precipitation (None, unless very large) and offers a picture just so you know you’re right. How better to be an instant cloud expert?

Cloud appreciation, though, is not about expertise; it’s about pure pleasure. Given the high cost of movies and ballgames, this space is pleased to recommend cloud-watching as a viable alternative entertainment. You can also buy A Sideways Look at Clouds for less than $20, or you can become a bona fide member of the Cloud Appreciation Society for $23.25/year plus a $13.29 sign-up fee. (You can also become a CAS Friend, for free, and receive their Somewhat Occasional Newsletter.) After that, you’re on your own.

The planet may be in a mess, but the skies above are filled with wonder. Cloud wonder.

Clouds1 4.27.18

Clouds from the top of Post St, unspoiled by overhead wires even

 

 

Gag Rule Harms Millions of Women

Can you muzzle a million women? Really?

Female symbol

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what the Global Gag Rule seeks to do. Reinstated by President Trump two days after the Women’s March on Washington (take that, women of America,) the Global Gag Rule stipulates that non-U.S. nongovernmental organizations receiving U.S. family planning funding cannot inform the public or educate their government on the need to make safe abortion available, provide legal abortion services, or provide advice on where to get an abortion. Thus, every one of the organizations working to provide critical, comprehensive healthcare to women around the globe who desperately need it must either promise never to mention the A-word, or lose the funding that allows them to continue. We’re talking nine billion dollars.

Never mind that Marie Stopes International has estimated that without alternative funding – not easy to come by – Trump’s GGR between 2017 and 2020 will likely result in 6.5 million unintended pregnancies, 2.2 million abortions, 2.1 million unsafe abortions, 21,700 maternal deaths and will prohibit the organization from reaching 1.5 million women with contraception each year.

Susan Wood IWHC

Susan Wood

Other statistics are equally mind-boggling. Ibis Reproductive Health data shows the harmful effects of the GGR around the globe. HIV prevention efforts suffer. Health clinics close. Rural communities lose access to healthcare.

This dangerous foolishness started with Ronald Reagan, who enacted it by presidential decree in 1984. Since then, every Democratic president has rescinded it, and every Republican president has reinstated it.

Two women with long experience and a deep understanding of the GGR and complex issues involved spoke at a recent event in Marin. Susan Wood, Director of Program Leaning and Evaluation for the International Women’s Health Coalition, and Caitlin Gerdts of Ibis shared the extensive bad news above – and a glimmer of good news:

Caitlin Gerdts-Ibis

Caitlin Gerdts

A bipartisan (though predominantly Democratic) group is behind a bill which would permanently end the Global Gag Rule. Senator Jeanne Shaheen (D-NH) and Representative Nita Lowey (D-NY), along with an unprecedented number of original cosponsors, introduced the Global Health, Empowerment and Rights (HER) Act. The Global HER Act would remove dangerous eligibility restrictions on international recipients of U.S. foreign assistance and would ensure that U.S. foreign assistance prioritizes women’s health.

The Global HER Act would also:

  • Allow foreign organizations receiving U.S. aid to use non-U.S. funds to provide safe abortion and other medical services that are legal in the U.S. and in the respective countries.
  • Promote safe, ethical medical practices by removing discriminatory restrictions on essential health care services.
  • Support and encourage democratic participation and freedom of speech abroad.
  • Nullify any existing U.S. law or policy that interferes with these provisions.

After decades of yo-yo-ing U.S. political whims, this bill would finally put the health and safety of women around the globe on a steady footing. Miracles happen.