“Bad, Bad People”




Moz’s Trip to the Dentist

Took Moz (88 years, 10 months) to the dentist this afternoon, and ohmygawd – it was like going to a comedy club! We’re filling out all the forms in the waiting area, and Moz has to put her signature on another one. “Again?!” she asks, exasperated. “Behave yourself,” I tell her, laughing, and she says, “Don’t make me laugh – I’m trying to sign this thing.” She finishes signing the paper and hands it back to me. “You know,” she says, “I’ll get all these papers signed, and then next week I’ll die.”

Missy, the dental lady comes out to get her, and Moz gets up to follow her with her walker. “Watch out,” she says, “I don’t have a license for this thing.” Missy starts cracking up.

Missy gets Moz situated in the dental chair, and turns the light on to start working on her teeth. Moz tells her to feel free to pluck any chin hairs she finds. Missy starts laughing. She hands Moz a glass of water to rinse. She asks Moz how she’s doing. Moz tells her, “I’m full of it.” Missy grins, and asks, “You’re full of it?” Moz says, “Water, that is.” And Missy cracks up.

Missy and Moz find out they were born three days apart at the end of December. “When you’re born at the end of the year, everyone always makes you a year older than you are,” Moz complains. And Missy adds, “Merry Christmas and happy birthday!” Then they discover they’re both left-handed, too!

Then Hansrolf comes in. Hansrolf is my favoritest dentist, ever. He’s like a stand-up comic. He and Moz immediately take to each other. Moz tells him she came here for the entertainment. She tells Hansrolf he should give Missy a raise. Hansrolf says what he needs to do is get all of us out of there – he is out-numbered and we are ganging up on him. Moz responds with some smartassery, and then she notes, “I probably shouldn’t have said that, eh?” And Hansrolf says, “Not just before I start working on your teeth, no.” Moz is still embarrassed about her chin hairs, and Hansrolf grins and says, “Don’t worry about any chin hairs. We’ll just work around them if we find any.”

They end by telling each other Norwegian jokes. Here’s Moz’s: “Ole says his wife is an angel. Sven tells Ole, ‘You’re lucky. My wife hasn’t died, yet.'” Hansrolf laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. ūüôā

“I have decided to concede…”

After much careful thought and a lot of agonized soul-searching I have decided to ask my many supporters in my bid to become the next POTUS¬†to cast their votes, instead, for another candidate.¬†This decision wasn’t easy for me, my fellow Americans. As you know, I have worked long and hard to win your vote for President…which… okay… ¬†maybe not so much long and hard… maybe more like sporadically and with good intention… or… okay, I’ve twice now written blog posts suggesting you might maybe perhaps consider my bid for the presidency. Anyway, putting my really serious… or… okay, mostly serious… alright, alright… half-assed… aspirations aside, I ask that you, please, dear God, do not vote for Donald Trump. I ask that you vote for the candidate who has pledged¬†to do all she can to make the Democractic Platform a reality for Americans. Yes, that’s right, let it be known that I, The Great Wingoof, fully support the Democratic platform – a platform that seeks¬†equal rights for all Americans – regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, religion, non-religion, or sexual orientation; universal health care; debt-free college; protection for our environment; and etc. And I support the candidate who has sworn to back that platform.¬†

I do not support the candidate¬†whom Tim Kaine so eloquently described for us in his DNC speech: “Do you really believe him? Donald Trump’s whole career says you better not. Small contractors… believed him when he said he’d pay them to build a casino in Atlantic City. They did the work… but a year after opening Trump filed for bankruptcy – he walked away with millions and they got pennies on the dollar… Retirees and families in Florida believed Donald Trump when he said he’d build them some condos… thousands of ’em… they paid their deposits. But the condos were never built. He just pocketed their money and walked away. They lost tens of thousands of dollars… Thousands of Trump University students believed Donald Trump when he said he’d help them succeed. They got stiffed.”

I do not support the candidate who wants to build a wall of exclusion and isolation; who has hated on disabled people, women, Muslims, Mexicans, and others. And no, this is not about people maybe getting their “feelings hurt” – this is about people being in danger of losing their lives. This is not about who is the most “politically correct” –¬†people who brag about being UN-politically correct and then use their words to hate on others aren’t somehow braver or smarter or wiser than anyone else. They are haters, is what they are. And some other words that I will not use at this time.¬†

So please – I’m begging you – if you were one of Wingoof’s many thousands of supporters… or… okay, I’m pretty sure I had at least two, right? One?! – anyway… please vote for Hillary Clinton this November.¬†

Thank you,

Karen Wingoof

“It can be frustrating, this business of democracy. Trust me, I know… when the other side refuses to compromise… (but) I promise you when we keep at it, when we change enough minds… then progress does happen. Democracy works, America. But we gotta want it. Not just during an election year, but during all the years in between. We all need to be as vocal and persistent as Bernie Sanders’s supporters have been this election… Feel the Bern! “
– Pres. Obama




Reflections on a Facebook Defriending

Reflections on a Facebook Defriending

Here’s a cool thing, for me –
and it shows progress –
when you defriended me
this time I spent only a
few seconds feeling hurt
and wondering why
and then I had more
interesting and important
things to do and no time
to spend worrying about
it, or wallowing in the
drama of it, or feeling vague
guilt over I knew not what.
But I did get a poem
out of it.

a poem out of it


“You have a beautiful home.”

Dad’s big 98th birthday bash was yesterday. I spent the week¬†before¬†the party trying to get the house ready for our guests – dusting, sweeping, vacuuming, washing curtains, washing windows, battling cobwebs, pulling weeds, planting flowers, de-cluttering, and policing every horizontal surface in the house to make sure no new piles of stuff started growing on them. But frankly, when one lives in a house full of active, busy people, it ain’t easy to hang onto one’s feng shui. By the day of the party I was completely wiped-out.

And my house was still… well… how shall I put this? Let’s just say my house is not something you would find in Good Housekeeping magazine. It is not a show house. It has been lived in, and it looks like it: The ottoman has chunks out of it from when the dog was a puppy; The ceilings have hand-prints¬†from the sons jumping up and tagging them; And the windows on the french doors have perpetual smudges at about the same level as the dog’s nose.

A¬†couple hours¬†before the party I went to fetch my parents and bring them back to the house. When I returned with my parents I found my sons, Andrew and Xander, and my eldest son’s girlfriend, Sierra, had arrived and were ready to help in any way they could. The sons moved furniture around for me, and, with the flip of a sheet¬†and a strategically-placed pillow, Sierra was able to turn a battered old chair into an attractive piece of furniture. Then the three went outside to set up the volleyball net (because what is a summer party without volleyball – am I right, or am I right?), my husband, Scott, put the salmon on the grill, and Mom and Dad got comfortably settled to await their guests. ¬†Who¬†soon began to arrive.

I hadn’t told my parents about most of the guests. I hadn’t told them, for instance, about the nephew who was flying in from Chicago; the niece who was coming up from San Francisco; the niece and her husband from Oregon; the other niece and husband from Vancouver (Washington); Dad’s old climbing buddies from Seattle; musician Tracy Spring – the daughter of their old friend, Bob¬†– and a woman they hadn’t seen since she was probably seven or eight; the son of the man who had saved my dad’s life on K2, and his wife; the daughter of a niece and her husband; and the two young women who worked for Mountaineers Books and wanted to return original artwork from Dad’s book, The Challenge of Rainier.

The house was soon packed full of people. Interesting, well-traveled people. Fun people. Amazing people.

I soon forgot all about the aesthetics of my house – my focus shifted, instead, to all the generous, wonderful folks who had taken the time and made the effort – some of them traveling hundreds of miles! – to be with Dad on his special day. I was overwhelmed by the kindness of that.

Near the end of the festivities, Tracy Spring got out her guitar and sang for Dad a song she had written herself. It was the absolutely perfect song for that time and that place and I started tearing up when Tracy got to the last verse. Then another guest, Roland, brought out his guitar and he and Tracy strummed the song Summertime, while I sang it.

Ohmygosh. It was such a fun day!

At the end of it all, as Dad was sitting in the car, waiting to be driven back to his apartment, I asked him if he’d enjoyed his birthday bash. He said yes, he had. But he was surprised. Had all those people come for him?! Why?! “Because they love you, ” I told him, and kissed him on the cheek. He blinked at me, trying to process it all.


At some point – a couple hours into the party – two or three different people came up at separate times to tell me what a “beautiful home” I have. I thanked them, but… yeah, I was surprised. They saw my puppy-chewed, son-tagged, dog-smudged house as “beautiful”?! Wow. That was very nice for them to say, but… really?!


This morning Mom called to tell me that Dad has been asking her all morning if yesterday had just been a dream. Each time he asked, Mom assured him it had all been real.

I thought again to those comments about my home and had an epiphany. My home HAD been beautiful – not because of its physicality – but because it had been packed full of beautiful people. It had been filled full of love. How could it NOT have been beautiful?

-Karen Molenaar Terrell

(originally published on madcapchristianscientist.com)

Dee bday group