The Airbnb/VRBO Dilema

 We live in trying times where first world sacrifices are painfully plausible. Especially now, for my husband and myself.  We have a tiny, one room casita in our front courtyard.  Ten years ago we decided, with the encouragement of our son, to rent our guesthouse on a relatively new app called airbnb. I was very hesitant, however, my husband convinced me.  We downloaded the app, set a price and the rest is history. When I read how airbnb began, I loved the quirkiness of its founders and the laid back approach of how everything worked. Now, in these turbulent times, we may have to decide to say goodbye to airbnb if we want to help change this toxic situation our country is now facing. 

We have an incredible reputation on airbnb with almost one thousand reviews and a 4.98 star rating. There have been many changes to, what I call, my dollhouse.  New floors, an added window, an added kitchenette, a bathroom redo, and an added, outdoor courtyard exclusively for our guests that looks like a European outdoor dining area. Airbnb manages our rental activity at 3%. That's low. (VRBO charges 10%.) Basically we've been working for Airbnb for ten years and they have served us well. Because of organization, we've paid off our house, and our now able to add a nice supplement to our meager Social Security benefits.  We, indeed, are a ma and pa business.

When I read that airbnb supports this cold hearted administration and all the crazy, cruel things they're doing, my heart sank, but I quickly looked away. What really disturbed me were the hateful comments that the left were ssying about people like me. They too were cold hearted snd quick to be self-righteously judgemental.  Frankly, it makes me angry, really angry because their anger and judgments cost them nothing. They don't seem to have any problem saying people like me are the problem. So, I thought f#$k it, we're staying with Airbnb. 

However, from the beginning, I saw an exasperating change occur on the airbnb platform.  Corporations were buying homes that could have been affordable rentals for familes, and turning them into short term rentals listed on airbnb. At first the change seemed to happen slowly, then every time I'd look at reviews of guests, it was from a "host" with several units and properties.  

People who judge others who don't immediately adhere to their ideological standards, become just like the thing they're against. They don't put themselves in our shoes and they have no idea that it's a big decision for people like my husband and myself. And not just us. There are people less fortunate than we are who have much more to lose. Yes, sacrafices need to be made, and a lot of times it's painful. So, for God's sake, give us time to chew on, let alone swallow,  the cost of our decision.  

Recently I read that Joe Gebbia, a former founder of airbnb who owns 7% of the organization, just joined with musk and the new DODGE team.  But I can't seem to find information on Brian Chesky, who owns 10% of Airbnb.  In my search, I did read that three years ago, Chesky supported the Obama Foundation with a $100,000,000 pledge.

From The Chronicle of Philanthropy: "May 2022, Chesky pledged $100 million over 5 years to the Obama Foundation to launch a scholarship program for students pursuing careers in public service. The Voyager Scholarship aims to support students in their junior and senior year of college with up to $50,000 in financial aid, a $10,000 stipend, and free Airbnb housing to pursue a summer work-travel experience; a $2,000 travel credit every year for 10 years following graduation; an annual summit; and a network of mentors.[41]"

According to opensecrets.org Brian Chesky seems democrat because he donates to democrats:

$4,384.00 New Jersey Democratic State Cmte (D) F

Money to Parties CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO 11-04-2014 $2,402.00 New Jersey Democratic State Cmte (D) F

Money to Candidates CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO AND CO-FOUNDER 04-02-2015 $2,700.00 Kamala Harris (D) F

Money to Candidates CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO/CO-FOUNDER 03-23-2015 $2,700.00 Charles E Schumer (D) F

Money to Candidates CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO AND CO-FOUNDER 04-02-2015 $2,700.00 Kamala Harris (D) F

Money to Candidates CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO/CO-FOUNDER 03-23-2015 $2,700.00 Charles E Schumer (D) F

Money to Parties CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO 05-24-2016 $5,000.00 Democratic Party of California (D) F

Money to Candidates CHESKY, BRIAN

SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103 CEO AND CO-FOUNDER 09-30-2014 $5,800.00 HARRIS, KAMALA D (D)"

As much as I tried, I could not find anything about Chesky's 2025 political stance. So, who the hell do we believe? An antitrump website who says that Airbnb is supporting trump, or the information I have found trying to research the truth.  Airbnb could indeed, support maga. What I don't understsnd though, is if Chesky owns 10% stock/ownership in airbnb, and he's shown strong Democratic support, how did this right wing backing happen???

If it is clear that my husband and myself will have a hard pill to swallow if we switch to VRBO,  (Owned now by Expedia.) we'll do it!  But not before we put a good deal of effort into finding answers to our own questions.

To all of my Liberal friends, don't be so quick to jump to conclusions or you'll become just like the people  you criticize!

You could say I lost my faith in science and progress

You could say I lost my belief in the Holy Church

You could say I lost my sense of direction

And you could say all of this and worse but

If I ever lose my faith in you

There'd be nothing left for me to do

Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world

You could say I lost my faith in the people on TV

You could say I lost my belief in our politicians

They all seemed like game show hosts to me.

I could be lost inside their lies without a trace

I never saw no miracle of science

That didn't go from a, a blessing to a curse

Never saw no military solution

That didn't always end up as something worse 

Prayer, God , Politics, and Other Musings

 I was praying this morning, yes, praying. It was right after reading divisive posts on Threads. I put down my phone, put my head in my hands rubbed my eyes, as if trying to wipe those words out of my brain. And I started to pray, "Father God, Mother God..." For the first time, I addressed God as mother, and also for the first time I felt a type of sweet nuturing, compassion and empathy. I paused just to relish the moment, then began, "Help our country! Do something!" More words came to mind. But this time from a dear friend of mine.  She said she believed in God but didn't believe in prayer.

In my stream of thought, I remembered years ago, after spending a few decades in churches that did not encourage us to entertain any thoughts that would cause us to doubt, I came to a conclusion.  If God is love, if God is everything they say, then God can handle my doubting self. 

Yet here I am, again, praying, wondering, doubting. "God, help our country! Do something!" Then again, aren't all the people who voted for this power hungry autocrat, aren't they praying too? I know some  "Christians" are ecstatic he is president, they think he will protect their middle class money.  They love him for banning abortion (and cutting public education funds, and funds to help single mothers)  they are praying God will protect this billionare. This presidential felon! This president who bragged about grabbing women by the pussy! These Christians are praying God will protect him! Did they pray for Obama? He certainly could have used it. Especially when right wing supporters called his wife a gorilla.  And Biden? Did they pray for him? If they did, I missed it!!!

So it leads me to this question. Whose prayer does God answer? 

In one corner of the world, a sick, exhausted person is praying desperately for cancer, that's eating them alive, to leave their body. Then after begging God for a miracle, it happens. The doctors confirm the cancer is gone. A joyful celebration follows with emotional exclamations of gratitude !

Alternatively,  somewhere else in the world, a horrific car accident happens, a child is in critical condition and rushed to the hospital. At her bedside, parents, church members and friends are pleading with God to spare this child's life. Yet she dies anyway. Grief beyond measure follows. The loss is beyond words.

Why one and not the other? An eternal question with, at best, feeble answers from people who haven't experienced a deep loss. Those who are veterans of profound loss, only shake their heads.

And so it goes. Praying for peace, love and liberty for all can mean different things to different people. 

Our country is seriously falling apart. Christian Nationalism is everywhere, and the ,"we vs they" mentality is kicking in on a grand scale. The "theys" are people like me who are considered backslidden or, simply put, blind. On a darker level people like me, or the "theys" are considered influenced by a demon or the devil himself. Still, I prayed. A prayer different from most of my prayers. A prayer to miraculously get white billionares out of the white house, a petition that all people and religions will celebrate  freedom. 

So, to pray or not to pray? I'm not sure anymore, but I still pray. Even more so these days, I pray. I can't stop. I choose not to stop. Last year, I tried to give up God altogether, it might have lasted a week.  One thing I've decided to believe is that God is good! God is love, God is spirit. At times, I feel God's presence, it's very peaceful. Sometimes, when I'm desperately praying for pain to go away, whether physical, mental or emotional, I don't feel him/her at all, but somehow, very slowly, I survive and climb down from that lonely edge.

 Years ago, I had the most brilliant student with parents who probably should not have procreated.   I loved that kid! He was brilliant, way smarter than me when it came to academics. A genious in a fifteen year old body. However,  his problems were insurmountable! I tried to help, but all I could do was listen and try to answer his questions.  One thing I told him, "Brett, if you don't remember most of what I say, please remember this, always move towards love! ALWAYS!" He remembered,  but the emotional darkness he lived in pulled him down too far. When I got the message from his father that he had died, I wasn't surprised, but I was devastated. 

His father believed his girlfriend shot him.  I was told they had a horrible argument and the girl was leaving him. Brett grew up with lots of guns in his house, so he had easy access. I believe he shot himself in a highly emotional moment of despair.  I prayed for Brett everyday. I prayed he would miraculously find a way out of the jaws of a toxic environment. Instead, this brilliant boy was shot and killed. His voice still haunts me. I still can see his face. Sometimes, like now, I feel him. Why didn't God answer my prayer???

So, there ya have it. That's all I've got. I'll still pray for this country.  I'll pray for what I believe is good and just. I'll pray our country moves towards love  not what some believe are morals. Just like with Brett though,  this country, or what I believe was our country, could die in an instant. And also just like Brett, I won't be surprised, IBut I'll be devastated!

Overview

Lyrics

Listen

When the war is over

And we go back to every day, every day

Will it be the same again

When you been turned inside out and outside in?

Singing from the windows

Shadows on the wall, the way they dance

It's not much of nothing

But look at this fire burning bright

Look at how the children play

Well, none of us know what's to come tomorrow

But I'm not going out today

So dance with me like the time we've got is borrowed

Singing from the windows

Sirens in the dark, where are you going?

Pretend that it's nothing

But look at this fire burning wild

This is how we keep holding on

All the days, all day long

But sometimes things just fall apart

No matter how we try, they won't stop

Singing from the windows

Something outside but I don't know

When the war is over

Picking up the pieces of every day

Memories and picture frames

Trying to put the inside out and the outside in

Singing from the windows

Walking down the hall, nowhere to go

Be good to see you

We'll get going again

When the war is over

CLL, the Pink Elephant in the Middle of the Room

 "This is Doctor..., I'll call back around five when I'm done for the day." Chronic Lymphocytic Luekemia, stage zero. That's what it turned out to be. "At least you have the good kind of cancer". Whatttttt? Okay.  Let it go, be thankful it's not eating you alive. So, after about four months of scouring the internet, wondering, obsessing, I was officially diagnosed. 

Although it's "the good kind of cancer", it turns out it's nothing but a languid, teasing, laughing at you, type of creeping mind game that will be with you until you die. "You'll probably die with it, rather than of it." I'm thinking that was probably meant to be some sort of consolation the medical specialists use to console you. And if I'm being honest, it did "console" me for a minute.

So I swept those dirty little lymphocytes under my proverbial rug and got on with my life. I mean, there were so many other people way worse than my "good" cancer. Just be grateful, keep on doing what I'm doing and let it go, I told myself.

Well, letting it go would be all fine and dandy, but IT won't let me go. And there's this tiny problem called fatigue. Even before the diagnosis, I told Phil that something wasn't right in my body. That I was tired too much, and for too long. I blamed it on age. Later I blamed it on depression. After all, I lost three dogs in a year, and in that same year, the country that I thought I knew so well turned out to be an entirely different place. Not a great year at all!

We're about five weeks into the new year. I have an amazing new dog, who I believe was sent by Milo, and another adorable big boy dog who is nothing but a misunderstood cuddlebug. But I also, just lately, have another bug. It's been hanging on to my sweet little self for  over two weeks now. Sore throat, dull earache, a little achey, and of course my partner, fatigue. 

We went for a drink the other night with a couple who works with Phil. A wonderful, fun couple. As the conversation went, and our first round of alcoholic beverages warmly settled in, I brought up the CLL. "It's really not as bad as it sounds, stage zero, I'll most likely die with it rather than of it", I confidently said in a reassuring tone. (The reassuring tone part was, truthfully, only for me.) Mo, the delightful lady from half of the couple,  told me it's a good thing I take care of myself. But at this point, she didn't know that for most of 2024 all I did was eat too much food and drink too much wine. It was one of the shittiest years of my life, and I caved; winding up in the dingy, dark corridor of negativity. 

She then told me her father died from CLL. As nonchalantly as  I could, hoping not to seem concerned by her comment, I asked her, with what I believe, was a lighthearted tone, "What part of CLL caused his death?"   "Sepsis" she replied.  "He had a bug and it turned into Sepsis". 

If you have those nasty, damn little lymphocytes, it means it takes longer to recover from "bugs". But clearly, her father didn't take care of himself. Right???

My mind didn't really race, because at this point in my life, nothing in me races. But it did cause that subtle, small voice in my head, whose job it is to question everything I hear, read or think about, come forward to get my attention. And after that depressing 2024, the voice whose job it is to question,  basically had me submit to all things negative,  "Hmmmm, do you really take care of yourself???" (Dark emphasis on the word really.) "What does that actually mean...take care of yourself?" (Think of a 1920’s,  stereo typical villain. Skinny, white, pasty skin, black haired man , squinty eyes, with an El Bandito style mustache. As he's talking, he's continually curling his thin, black mustache with his fingers.)

Then, what pursued was a serious conversation in the coffee shop area of my mind. Subjects were brought up as banter ensued. Especially the idea about pulling up positivity! Certainly that right there is where all good feelings, outlooks on life, and peace begins. 

The part of my mind whose job it is to question murmured hastily,  almost in a deep whisper, "Is it though?" ( Again envision the 1920’s villian.)

 And so it went.

I shouldn't be surprised at this point in my life with CLL. The mind game part is always wondering,  always present.  So far, for over a year, CLL shows itself in the form of a looming, somber, dark cloud; a rainy day.

Let me say right now though, I'm certainly not minimizing the fact that there are ever so many who are much worse off than me, whose lives have been forever changed and even destroyed by cancer. Indeed, I'm grateful that I have "the good kind of cancer". Even more so, for now, I'm  thankful that I'm in stage 0, which only means blood tests twice a year.

 The other day my wonderful son sent me a text asking, "How has your health been lately?" I flippantly told him I've had a bug, but that I was good. Getting straight to the point as only he can do, he texted back,  "No, I mean the cancer stuff." 

See? That's the thing! I really don't like talking about it because I'm afraid of saying how I really feel. People already have so much on their plate they don't need to hear about my cancer stuff. They don't need to hear that I'm angry as hell that I even have that word attached to my life. They don't need to hear that if I  sneeze more than once paranoia charges in and suddenly I'm thinking about Sepsis or dying. 

I guess the good news is, there's a little anger coming into play now, not just saddness, or worse yet, self pity, but my good ole friend, anger. I'm 73, 74 this year. If I live a few more years that's great; I've already outlived my parents. But...I truly want to do something about that damn cloud overhead. Thank God I live in sunny Arizona.

Take care of yourselves. Whatever that REALLY means. In any case, I'm sending you love. Love for reading this far. Xoxo

Finding Elliot

A weird thing happened the other night. I opened my email to perform my daily ritual of getting rid of spam when suddenly emails from March 18th to the 20th, 2024 popped up. It was from, and to, the same person about her dog Kobe, an Aussie, that she wanted to rehome.  I have no idea how that old email just came forward because I certainly didn't press anything to make it happen. It was out of the blue! The email had pictures of the dog and information on where and when we'd set up a time for a meet and greet. 

For some reason that I can't remember, Kobe's owner canceled our first date. Fair enough! So we scheduled another attempt at our local dog park. When the time came, all three of us, Phil, Enzo and myself piled in the car and off we went.  I was excited and nervous. It was a big deal to start again; to give your heart to another being who you'll eventually lose. Still we happily went. And we waited, and waited, and waited. The scheduled time came and went.  The excitement turned to disapointment, and eventually to the numb acceptance of defeat. Finally, about fifteen minutes after she was supposed to show up,  we received a text saying that there had been a really bad accident on the way in and she'd be hours. Phil checked traffic reports and saw there were no holdups or traffic accidents.  She lied. We left.

 Apparently it wasn't meant to be. That's all we had left. To be or not to be.

Fast forward to Sunday, May 26th, 2024. My friend sent me a photo of a beautiful Aussie who was scheduled to be euthanized at the county shelter the following Wednesday. 

If you've read any of my blogs, you know that the moment I saw "Piggie", (the horrible name they gave him at the shelter) I looked into his begging, desperate,  beautiful blue eyes and fell in love. 

The shelter notes on him said he had been brought in two weeks before by a woman who said he was a stray. And for some uncanny reason, we were able to adopt him, free of charge. That in itself is another, detailed story.

Above is the picture of Elliot being handed over to us at the shelter. Just look at his weary, sad little self. I wondered more than a few times about his past, he was already five. Was he abused? Was he loved? Was he lost? One thing for certain, it didn't take long for him to know that he was safe,  already loved deeply, and about to live his best life eever. And this is our happy boy, Elliot.

And the email that mysteriously popped up about a week ago? The one about Kobe, with pictures of him? Well...here's Kobe:

And again, here's Elliot:

 They're the same dog! But still, my boy's past is a mystery and probably always will be. I'm just elated that he's a part of my heart now. I couldn't be happier that finally, he's home!

I still had the person's email so I shot her a message. "Whatever happened to Kobe?" Of course she didn't reply. But we sure the hell got him chipped as ours!