Friday, October 31
Halloween Carnival at Middle School
The NJHS is holding a Halloween carnival at the middle school today; each grade comes in during their arts class to rotate through several stations: Horror Mansion (aka girls' locker room with scary scenes in it); dancing (LO is DJ!); pie toss (at good-natured teachers) etc.
LO asked me to come in this morning 
and paint faces. Here are pics. 
and paint faces. Here are pics. 
Note the tiara. LO is not just any bee. She is Queen Bee.
Wednesday, October 29
Bridges
You never know what you're going to stumble across on the Internet. We have a bridge nearby, on Interstate 85. It's old and crumbly and has had tons (literally) of blacktop reapplied -- making the top much heavier than the structure was designed to handle. Or so I hear.
So when I ran across a website that mentioned the federal transportation agency's inventory of bridges, I was intrigued. The federal website does not appear to impart the information free of charge, but the press can pay for the info and post it. I found one version on MSNBC. I entered Charlotte, NC to Greensboro, NC, in an effort to isolate the bridge.
I found it interesting that three bridges in a row, all on Interstate 85, are indicated as carrying traffic to the tune of 27,500 cars, 28,000 cars, and 57,000 cars -- all on the same road, within a mile of each other. The bridge I was looking up is rated as "structurally deficient" but at the same time, "meets minimum tolerable limits to be left as is." Is this fed hooey for, it's unsafe but we aren't doing anything about it?
The bridge straddles the line between 2 counties. The state has inadequate funds to build a new bridge. Yet if/when this bridge fails, the economy of much of the southern US will suffer, if only for a while until different routes are identified. 85 runs from Petersburg, VA, near Richmond, through Atlanta, to Montgomery, AL. 85 is THE major north-south artery for VA, NC, SC, GA and AL. A failed bridge in the middle would definitely have an impact on transport of goods.
Me, I say a prayer every time I cross it.
Feel free to enter your own data and learn about the safety of bridges near you.
So when I ran across a website that mentioned the federal transportation agency's inventory of bridges, I was intrigued. The federal website does not appear to impart the information free of charge, but the press can pay for the info and post it. I found one version on MSNBC. I entered Charlotte, NC to Greensboro, NC, in an effort to isolate the bridge.
I found it interesting that three bridges in a row, all on Interstate 85, are indicated as carrying traffic to the tune of 27,500 cars, 28,000 cars, and 57,000 cars -- all on the same road, within a mile of each other. The bridge I was looking up is rated as "structurally deficient" but at the same time, "meets minimum tolerable limits to be left as is." Is this fed hooey for, it's unsafe but we aren't doing anything about it?
The bridge straddles the line between 2 counties. The state has inadequate funds to build a new bridge. Yet if/when this bridge fails, the economy of much of the southern US will suffer, if only for a while until different routes are identified. 85 runs from Petersburg, VA, near Richmond, through Atlanta, to Montgomery, AL. 85 is THE major north-south artery for VA, NC, SC, GA and AL. A failed bridge in the middle would definitely have an impact on transport of goods.
Me, I say a prayer every time I cross it.
Feel free to enter your own data and learn about the safety of bridges near you.
Creativity
Other than math, which I retained well, (read that very left-brained here) and English (had great teachers and loved English), I remember very little of what I learned in school. I remember a teensy bit of Spanish: can count to 100, remember days of the week and months of the year, and one line from the dialogues: "Albondigas! No me temos el pelo!" Translates as, "Meatballs! Don't be pulling my hair!" Seems in some Spanish-speaking countries, the idiom for 'don't pull my leg' is 'don't pull my hair.' I can remember the prologue to Canterbury Tales in old English, and lots of my Shakespeare. Almost all of Frost's poems but not his essays, some Burns, quite a bit of Keats and Shelley, geez, now I'm on a roll: Emily Dickinson, Poe, and a ton of Thurber. I can also cough up a few lines of Caesar's Travels from Latin II, but I digress. The point is that I can't recall any history or science.
No, I don't remember econ, psych, civics, world history, western civ, british monarchs, biology (although I was fascinated by the way earthworms have organs for both sexes and line up with each other to have sex twice at the same time, but that's a post for another day...) , sociology, the list goes on and on. Of the things I don't remember.
This came to mind today when I talked for a bit with a local fellow who tried to start a writing group. They met twice, he was disappointed at the turnout, and he hasn't continued to pursue it. The group, not the writing. He said they used Liz Lehrman's 6 Steps for Critical Response. It worked well and is effective at controlling the inevitable TAIEG (there's an asshole in every group) syndrome. I hadn't heard of this method and he recommended I google her.
I did. Looks cool.
Then I googled him. Wow. He writes plays, has some film shorts on YouTube, and has written for the tabloids. Recently self-published a book on writing for the tabloids.
So, in looking at his work, I had to ask myself, "Why do we create?" Did I ever learn this in school?
I think the answer is different for every artist.
If you learned this in psych, or have a theory, email me. I'd love to have this conversation . I'll try to remember it afterwards.
Made It
Ol' Nigel made it just fine. DS2 received calls from the pet hotels in both San Francisco and Osaka, advising him that they had loaded Nigel on the plane and he was on the way to the next point in the trip. It's already Wednesday night in Okinawa, and DS skyped me at about 11:30pm his time, 10:30 our time, to let me know We Have Our Dog.
DGS1, who is 8, was having a hard time settling down to bed. DS comforted him, Nigel will still be here tomorrow when you wake up.
Thank you to all the well-wishers. Next time we skype I will snap a video still of him for you to see.
Tuesday, October 28
The Big Trip
Did you ever realize there is no name for the relative who is the parent of your child's spouse? In order to refer to this person you have to go down one level and back up, as in, 'my daughter-in-law's father.'
It was just this person, (father of DIL) with whom I spent most of the day yesterday.
DS2 and his family moved to Japan, I guess it was 6 months ago, and learned in the process that their dear sweet doggy had to remain in quarantine for 6 months. DIL's parents took him in and yesterday was the day for him to travel back to his family.
The task fell to DIL's dad and, as her mom was working, I was asked to go and assist. Such a trip might be manageable if the dog were 8.5 pounds, as ours is, but Nigel is 110 pounds, and it is difficult to say the least, to do anything else while holding on to him.
So PopPop-in-Law came here to small town from the Capital City and had a bite of lunch. Nigel discovered the Pet Mat in the corner of the kitchen and cleaned up both bowls, cat and dog, and drank about 2 liters of water. We walked him. Surely he knew something was up as we had Conversations of Concern while casting sidelong glances in his direction, then petted him much more than normal.
We left in separate cars, PIL and Nigel in one and me in another. PIL wanted to go together to the cargo terminal, but also wanted to visit with his brother at a town in-between here and there, afterward. So we trailed each other to said in-between town, where I parked my car at Target and got in his car to ride with him to the cargo terminal. We chatted and I navigated from the Yahoo printout while he drove. The road to the terminal was circuitous and dotted with all sorts of cargo terminals, DHL, UPS, FedEx, and so on. We had to find just the right one.
When we got out of the car, he wanted to unload Nigel so I held him on the leash while PIL did all the necessary paperwork -- and there was a ton of it.
Finally, we got the kennel out of the car and put it on the freight scales. The fellow reset them to zero and we loaded Nige in it. 110 pounds.
He was an amazingly good sport about it all even though I know we gave off vibes of worriedness, upbeat faces and "attaboys" notwithstanding.
Our concern arose from the length and complexity of the trip. The sheaf of papers attached to the kennel in which he traveled included (in triplicate) records of his recent vet visit, certification from the USDA? (I am pretty sure), contact information for PIL on this end and for DS2 on that end.
After leaving nearby big city, he was going to Chicago, San Francisco (where he would be boarded by a pet hotel), Osaka (another pet hotel) and finally Okinawa. I hope those pet hotels put a mint on his little doggy pillow. I saw the bill. Hoo-ey.
After the paperwork, the weighing, the calling HQ and asking for the correct bill of lading (they couldn't find theirs), the fixing the rabbit-type water bottle, I asked if we could go in and kiss him one more time. A young guy agreed and led us through the locked doors with "ATTENTION: STAFF ONLY" on them. We went to his kennel, still on the scales, and gave him love words. His tail thumped inside the kennel.
I asked about 10 times if all the paperwork was in order. They assured me it was. It was hard to believe that all the people at all those places in between will do what they are supposed to do, and that he will arrive at Okinawa safe, sound and happy. Man, does he love his family. I KNOW he will be happy when he sees them.
So we got back in the car, sans dog, and drove back to Target where I picked up my car to travel home. PIL scooted across that town to see his brother. Update: DS2 reported to DH via Skype this am that he made it safely to San Francisco where he had a good night. They have gotten him back to the cargo terminal there for the next leg of the trip. If all goes well, he will be reunited with his family tomorrow morning.
I cannot find the pic of Nigel that shows his big round nose, but here is an oldie that shows he truly is just one of the kids.
OH! I did finally find the one with his big round nose. Safe trip, boy. Can't wait to hear you have made it.
Monday, October 27
Ol' Dan
I posted on the blog recently about the generosity of our cats, the cats who own the place.
This evening I walked into "my" room (assuming, of course, that everything is really his) and flipped on the light. He covered his eyes as if to say, "Wouldja mind? I'm trying to sleep here."
Saturday, October 25
Change What?
Unfortunately I receive a lot of propogandist right-leaning, conservative tripe in my email from well-meaning friends.
I received just such an email today. Among other things, it said,
"I'm concerned that a growing number of voters in this country simply don't get it. They are caught up in a fervor they can't explain, and calling it "change".
"Change what?", I ask.
"Well, we're going to change America ", they say.
"In what way?", I query.
"We want someone new and fresh in the White House", they exclaim..
"So, someone who's not a politician?", I say.
"Uh, well, no, we just want a lot of stuff changed, so we're voting for Obama", they state.
"So the current system, the system of freedom and democracy that has enabled a man to grow up in this great country, get a fine education, raise incredible amounts of money and dominate the news and win his party's nomination for the White House - that system's all wrong?"
"No, no, that part of the system's okay - we just need a lot of change."
And so it goes. "Change we can believe in."
Quite frankly, I don't believe that vague proclamations of change hold any promise for me. In recent months, I've been asking virtually everyone I encounter how they're voting. I live in Illinois , so most folks tell me they're voting for Barack Obama. But no one can really tell me why - only that he's going to change a lot of stuff. "Change, change, change." I have yet to find one single person who can tell me distinctly and convincingly why this man is qualified to be President and Commander-in-Chief of the most powerful nation on earth - other than the fact that he claims he's going to implement a lot of change."
Well, I voted for Obama already, and I am a thoughtful, intelligent voter, NOT caught up in a "fervor," and, dear sir, I am so sorry you have run into some poorly prepared voters. The proclamations of change are NOT vague. Here is the change Obama has specifically detailed.
He will change the trigger-quick Texas Ranger urge to go to war and kill tons of innocent people, including over 4,000 of our own young people. (ps, Christians who declare you can't be a Christian and a liberal: where does it say that Christ condoned killing people? ...much less for a cause that has been proven to be a LIE? Remember, ...WMD? Anyone? Anyone?)
He will change the pyramid scheme taxation system where the few wealthy at the top get all the breaks and the working people can't afford luxuries like dental care for their kids or proper maintenance on their homes, much less vacations or nights out with their spouses.
He will change the perverse American medical system that makes health care a rare luxury.
He does not support laws being made based on the influence of lobbyists who contribute to lawmakers' political campaigns.
In short, he will change America so that the office at the top considers the little guy. It will be a refreshing change, and I pray to God it happens.
There are many, many other changes elicited in his more recent book, on his website, and in his refreshingly intelligent discourse. Unfortunately my fuse has burned down during the tempest of the email and this posting, so I am stopping here. Please educate yourself, if you are truly open-minded, so you can see for yourself and answer, what change? I suspect, however, that you know precisely 'what change' and you are afraid. Afraid to believe that a black man might have the answers. Afraid to vote outside your comfort zone, whether that's racially, partisan, or issue -based.
I only hope those folks who have been asking, why can't the candidates stick to the issues and not sling the mud, can hear that the first words out of McCain's mouth, out of Palin's mouth, on the robo-calls, the first two words, are "Barack Obama."
Friday, October 24
Jewel
Following is an eloquent story as told by one of my dear Artist's Way friends. He is a professional IT person for the local corporate hq of a national grocery chain, a former professional game designer, a guy who fits in well no matter how many women are in the room, and just an all-round heck of a nice guy. He wrote this as an email and I quickly wrote back and asked permission to post it on my blog. Of course he graciously agreed.
Enjoy.
T and I have done some volunteering for the Obama campaign and I just wanted to share a true experience we had (but I’ve changed the woman’s name)…
Tuesday night an elderly woman (who we’ll call Jewel) told one of the phone bank workers at the Democratic Headquarters in our town that she wanted to vote but she was in a wheel chair and needed a ride to the voting station on Wednesday morning. The staffer asked if anyone in the room could drive the woman and I generously volunteered fully knowing that I would pawn the job off on T because she didn’t go into work until 11 on Wednesday.
Wednesday came and I ended up deciding to go along with T and the woman because, as it turned out, I was staying home anyway to meet a plumber at my house at 10:00 AM and I figured we’d be back by then. After a short drive we pulled up in front of an off-white public housing duplex that had a wheelchair ramp. T went up to the door, knocked and went inside. A few minutes later T came back out to the car and told me there were two women living there who wanted to vote, both of the women were in wheel chairs and they would only go if they could bring their caregiver with them. Since our car only seated four T told the women she would be right back. Five minutes later T had dropped me off at McDonald’s. I spent the next 45 minutes enjoying a relaxing breakfast, reading USA Today, and reveling in my “me” time.
When T came back her eyes were full of tears and I thought, omg what did I get her into, but she quickly told me they were good tears. It turned out that Jewel, who I never saw, was 80-years-old and frail as tissue paper. She rode up front with T while the other woman and the caregiver rode in the backseat. On the drive over Jewel told T that she grew up during the depression in pre-civil rights era South Carolina. She had never voted before in her life and sadly said this “vote was too late to do me any good, but it might help my children or my grandchildren." It was clear to T that the act of voting was frightening for Jewel.
When they arrived at the voting station T parked in the curb-side voting station and a worker came out, verified the women were on the eligible voters list and gave them ballots. The Jewel’s hands shook so badly that it took almost 10 minutes for her to fill it out and blacken the bubbles sufficiently. The worker collected the ballots and T started up the car, backed out and headed back to the woman’s house.
Now for the good part – Jewel was wrong – this vote did help her! The entire ride back she was excited and animated. She had faced down her fear of voting and cast a ballot for the person of her choice for the first time in her life. She was literally giddy with personal power and she thanked Tracey repeatedly for helping her. T in turn thanked Jewel for allowing her to participate in this important event. As T was retelling this to me she teared up again as she remembered Jewel’s triumph and gratitude.
Enjoy.
T and I have done some volunteering for the Obama campaign and I just wanted to share a true experience we had (but I’ve changed the woman’s name)…
Tuesday night an elderly woman (who we’ll call Jewel) told one of the phone bank workers at the Democratic Headquarters in our town that she wanted to vote but she was in a wheel chair and needed a ride to the voting station on Wednesday morning. The staffer asked if anyone in the room could drive the woman and I generously volunteered fully knowing that I would pawn the job off on T because she didn’t go into work until 11 on Wednesday.
Wednesday came and I ended up deciding to go along with T and the woman because, as it turned out, I was staying home anyway to meet a plumber at my house at 10:00 AM and I figured we’d be back by then. After a short drive we pulled up in front of an off-white public housing duplex that had a wheelchair ramp. T went up to the door, knocked and went inside. A few minutes later T came back out to the car and told me there were two women living there who wanted to vote, both of the women were in wheel chairs and they would only go if they could bring their caregiver with them. Since our car only seated four T told the women she would be right back. Five minutes later T had dropped me off at McDonald’s. I spent the next 45 minutes enjoying a relaxing breakfast, reading USA Today, and reveling in my “me” time.
When T came back her eyes were full of tears and I thought, omg what did I get her into, but she quickly told me they were good tears. It turned out that Jewel, who I never saw, was 80-years-old and frail as tissue paper. She rode up front with T while the other woman and the caregiver rode in the backseat. On the drive over Jewel told T that she grew up during the depression in pre-civil rights era South Carolina. She had never voted before in her life and sadly said this “vote was too late to do me any good, but it might help my children or my grandchildren." It was clear to T that the act of voting was frightening for Jewel.
When they arrived at the voting station T parked in the curb-side voting station and a worker came out, verified the women were on the eligible voters list and gave them ballots. The Jewel’s hands shook so badly that it took almost 10 minutes for her to fill it out and blacken the bubbles sufficiently. The worker collected the ballots and T started up the car, backed out and headed back to the woman’s house.
Now for the good part – Jewel was wrong – this vote did help her! The entire ride back she was excited and animated. She had faced down her fear of voting and cast a ballot for the person of her choice for the first time in her life. She was literally giddy with personal power and she thanked Tracey repeatedly for helping her. T in turn thanked Jewel for allowing her to participate in this important event. As T was retelling this to me she teared up again as she remembered Jewel’s triumph and gratitude.
Thursday, October 23
But What about the MATCH
After receiving several emails asking HOW DID THE TENNIS MATCH GO, I have decided to post it here.
As you will remember, LO has had the Creeping Crud this week. It started last weekend; she came home from camping with DH and went to bed, stopping only for a 45 minute shower. Really. 45 minutes. She had to make up for no showers all weekend, I guess.
She has played Monday and Tuesday, winning both neatly despite the Crud.
Yesterday's match was a nailbiter. DH and I brought our camping chairs, as usual, but they sat empty as we leaned against the railing the whole time, alternately clapping for her points or looking down in silence on the opponent's points. It was tied much of the time. At one point the other girl led, 6-3. LO rallied and tied it up again, 6-6. The girl won a set: 7-6. LO won a set: 7-7. Finally, it came down to it. LO hit a net ball, then an oob and it was over, 8-7.
LO hates it, hates it, if she loses and anyone says, "nice try." If it were so nice, she would have won. She's pretty assertive about it.
Just in case you talk to her, that's a good thing to know....
Tuesday, October 21
The Crud
LO, DH and I have all had The Creeping Crud this week. DH had it first, then me, finally LO. She won a hard-fought tennis match this afternoon. They were tied throughout the match and finally she pulled ahead. We got in the car and I felt her head: hot. She is in the bed now fast asleep.
It has been a crazy week already. She has four tennis matches in a row: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. It's the last week of the season so we have final games + makeups from the rainy days last week and the week before. Tomorrow she plays the school that defeated her team earlier in the season. Watch out, snooty school from eastern part of county: we are out for a win.
Immediately following the tennis match yesterday was the first band concert of the year. With no time to take the girls home for showers, dinner, and changing clothes, all the tennis moms worked together. We brought in jugs of soda, brownies, salad, and called for pizza. The 16 girls who are on both the tennis team and band, had a blast having a (fast!) dinner in the cafeteria. Then they made a quick wardrobe change and ran to the auditorium for their concert. LO was at school from 7:30am to 8:30pm, three changes of clothes: school uniform, tennis dress, band clothing. Loong day. Whewie.
My Artist's Way group is going have to a new experience this Friday night, and I am really looking forward to it. It is called Pecha Kucha night. Up to 12 people who are creative in some way have the opportunity to show slides of some concept of their work. But wait, won't they go on forever? The essence of Pecha Kucha is its speed. Each presenter gets to show 20 images for 20 seconds each. This totals 6 minutes, 40 seconds per presenter. We stop in the middle and have wine and nibbles. The spectrum of creative people is broad. It might go from sculptor to games designer to.. say, textile artist.
Our group is meeting at one of our member's house for dinner then heading over together. Should be fun!
It has been a crazy week already. She has four tennis matches in a row: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. It's the last week of the season so we have final games + makeups from the rainy days last week and the week before. Tomorrow she plays the school that defeated her team earlier in the season. Watch out, snooty school from eastern part of county: we are out for a win.
Immediately following the tennis match yesterday was the first band concert of the year. With no time to take the girls home for showers, dinner, and changing clothes, all the tennis moms worked together. We brought in jugs of soda, brownies, salad, and called for pizza. The 16 girls who are on both the tennis team and band, had a blast having a (fast!) dinner in the cafeteria. Then they made a quick wardrobe change and ran to the auditorium for their concert. LO was at school from 7:30am to 8:30pm, three changes of clothes: school uniform, tennis dress, band clothing. Loong day. Whewie.
My Artist's Way group is going have to a new experience this Friday night, and I am really looking forward to it. It is called Pecha Kucha night. Up to 12 people who are creative in some way have the opportunity to show slides of some concept of their work. But wait, won't they go on forever? The essence of Pecha Kucha is its speed. Each presenter gets to show 20 images for 20 seconds each. This totals 6 minutes, 40 seconds per presenter. We stop in the middle and have wine and nibbles. The spectrum of creative people is broad. It might go from sculptor to games designer to.. say, textile artist.
Our group is meeting at one of our member's house for dinner then heading over together. Should be fun!
Sunday, October 19
Sunday Morning
DH and LO are away on their male-parent-and-child camping trip this weekend. They have one in the spring and one in the fall. Doubtless I have shared this in other posts, um, in the spring or fall. We have friends who have 100 acres on top of a mountain in the western part of the state, and twice a year, they invite about a dozen dads/grandpas and their kids. They have a 40' zipline that crosses a creek; a huge rope swing, a 40' square roof-on-poles for safe haven in case of rain. The children shoot skeet, run in the woods and generally act like crazed kids with no crime or childsnatchers or homework or overprotective moms/nanas to worry about. EVERY photo from these trips shows bedhead, dirty nails and huge smiles. LO even drives DH's car in the pasture.
Their trips used to always include a man named Tom who carefully taught them how to shoot. Real. Guns. He made sure they had on ear protectors and that all the kids were behind the line of hay bales. Across the way he had more hay bales with tin cans on them. Then he carefully and quietly worked with the child holding The Gun and taught him how to aim, how to squeeze. Bang. Next kid.
Tom passed away this summer from sudden and massive heart problems. He had been sweet and kind to all our kids and it was quite a loss. His generous and sweet wife shared some ashes with DH and the other men so they could have a service for Tom this weekend and leave a tiny bit of him there in the beautiful NC mountains.
Last spring, the dads prepared a treasure hunt that involved compasses The directions told each team to proceed x feet to the northeast, turn due west and go x feet. At the end there were token treasures, tiaras for the girls and I forget what for the boys, but the kids talked about it forever. They had to use math to calculate how many strides equalled how many feet and work as a team. There were two teams. I was so impressed with all the facets of this exercise.
Of course, this weekend also provides some lovely and shall I say highly deserved alone time for the women in the family. I believe most of the younger women get together for a night of wine and gossip, but I'm not in their crowd and likely wouldn't be comfortable even if they did think of me. No, I went Another Way. Serendipity provided me with a FREE writers' conference yesterday in a Nearby City. I drove the hour alone, enjoying NPR and a cup of tea, attended the conference, and drove home in the evening. Each and every speaker provided helpful information. At one point I abandoned my notepad and just turned on my iPod recorder; the guy was that helpful.
His name is John Hart and he grew up here in Small Town USA, although he doesn't live here now. His books are set here in this very town. He was nominated for the Edgar Award for Best First Novel for his first novel, but did not receive it. Last year his second novel was nominated for the overall Edgar Award, and he WON. He is published in 16 countries in 13 languages. He did not share specific dollar amounts, but said his income is exactly ten times what it was as a successful attorney. He spoke on how to find an agent, find a publisher, what to ask for, what not to ask for, how it all works, and so on. He tells everything with this self-deprecating humor and it was not only informative, but hilarious.
One speaker spoke on the different formulae for plot. She had diagrams and so on. I made scads of notes on my own novel and learned so much. Fortunately, I will not need a total rewrite, as some at lunch said they did.
One speaker talked about scene. I knew much of what she said, but hearing it out loud was a great reminder and I made tons of specific notes about how this character will need to x and this one needs to y, and so on.
At the end of the day they had a panel to share the Ten Things Authors Do Not Want to Know, and the panel was made up of three published authors, one being the fellow from our town. The other two painted a dreadful picture of how unlikely it is to get published at all, and the fellow put it in a much better light. He said it's amazing how many prisoners write books and send them in. They have time on their hands, access to computers and think they can write. He told about all sorts of people who can't write but think they can. Then he contrasted it to us, the people who think about our writing and care about it and travel to a conference to learn more, and, hey! you stand a much better chance of being published than someone whose only credential is lots of time on his hands. Without his perspective it could have been a depressing end to a nice day.
These kinds of things are typically great for networking, and although I met a few people, we were busy all day, and had little time to talk. I did run into another person from our town and she happens to be the best friend of someone I know. We had each heard quite a bit about the other from our person in common, so it was good to finally meet.
The day cost me $7 for the (veggie! Yay!) lunch, the cost of diesel to get there, (102 miles / 27 mpg * 3.40 for deisel = say, about $12...), and of course I sprung $20 for someone's book. I would say the day was well worth the $40 I spent and I felt so liberated, not having to feel as if I had abandoned my job back home.
Last night I splurged on veggie sushi and curled up to watch a Japanese classic movie that my DS2 recommended. It was quite depressing, however, and I had to turn it off about halfway through and go to bed with the newest Smithsonian.
I woke up this morning with a terrible cold; it has been coming on for a few days now. I can't seem to quit sneezing. So here I sit in my candycane pj's with a dog in my lap and the cats nearby waiting their turns.
It's my month to shake hands, distribute bulletins, and pass the plate at church, at the 11:00 service, and I regretfully had to call and cancel. Many of the 11:00'er's are 100 years old and I would hate to spread a cold.
Later today I have to tackle LO's room. I have to catch up on the laundry and put out our Halloween decorations. For now though, I plan to stay right here and write.
Their trips used to always include a man named Tom who carefully taught them how to shoot. Real. Guns. He made sure they had on ear protectors and that all the kids were behind the line of hay bales. Across the way he had more hay bales with tin cans on them. Then he carefully and quietly worked with the child holding The Gun and taught him how to aim, how to squeeze. Bang. Next kid.
Tom passed away this summer from sudden and massive heart problems. He had been sweet and kind to all our kids and it was quite a loss. His generous and sweet wife shared some ashes with DH and the other men so they could have a service for Tom this weekend and leave a tiny bit of him there in the beautiful NC mountains.
Last spring, the dads prepared a treasure hunt that involved compasses The directions told each team to proceed x feet to the northeast, turn due west and go x feet. At the end there were token treasures, tiaras for the girls and I forget what for the boys, but the kids talked about it forever. They had to use math to calculate how many strides equalled how many feet and work as a team. There were two teams. I was so impressed with all the facets of this exercise.
Of course, this weekend also provides some lovely and shall I say highly deserved alone time for the women in the family. I believe most of the younger women get together for a night of wine and gossip, but I'm not in their crowd and likely wouldn't be comfortable even if they did think of me. No, I went Another Way. Serendipity provided me with a FREE writers' conference yesterday in a Nearby City. I drove the hour alone, enjoying NPR and a cup of tea, attended the conference, and drove home in the evening. Each and every speaker provided helpful information. At one point I abandoned my notepad and just turned on my iPod recorder; the guy was that helpful.
His name is John Hart and he grew up here in Small Town USA, although he doesn't live here now. His books are set here in this very town. He was nominated for the Edgar Award for Best First Novel for his first novel, but did not receive it. Last year his second novel was nominated for the overall Edgar Award, and he WON. He is published in 16 countries in 13 languages. He did not share specific dollar amounts, but said his income is exactly ten times what it was as a successful attorney. He spoke on how to find an agent, find a publisher, what to ask for, what not to ask for, how it all works, and so on. He tells everything with this self-deprecating humor and it was not only informative, but hilarious.
One speaker spoke on the different formulae for plot. She had diagrams and so on. I made scads of notes on my own novel and learned so much. Fortunately, I will not need a total rewrite, as some at lunch said they did.
One speaker talked about scene. I knew much of what she said, but hearing it out loud was a great reminder and I made tons of specific notes about how this character will need to x and this one needs to y, and so on.
At the end of the day they had a panel to share the Ten Things Authors Do Not Want to Know, and the panel was made up of three published authors, one being the fellow from our town. The other two painted a dreadful picture of how unlikely it is to get published at all, and the fellow put it in a much better light. He said it's amazing how many prisoners write books and send them in. They have time on their hands, access to computers and think they can write. He told about all sorts of people who can't write but think they can. Then he contrasted it to us, the people who think about our writing and care about it and travel to a conference to learn more, and, hey! you stand a much better chance of being published than someone whose only credential is lots of time on his hands. Without his perspective it could have been a depressing end to a nice day.
These kinds of things are typically great for networking, and although I met a few people, we were busy all day, and had little time to talk. I did run into another person from our town and she happens to be the best friend of someone I know. We had each heard quite a bit about the other from our person in common, so it was good to finally meet.
The day cost me $7 for the (veggie! Yay!) lunch, the cost of diesel to get there, (102 miles / 27 mpg * 3.40 for deisel = say, about $12...), and of course I sprung $20 for someone's book. I would say the day was well worth the $40 I spent and I felt so liberated, not having to feel as if I had abandoned my job back home.
Last night I splurged on veggie sushi and curled up to watch a Japanese classic movie that my DS2 recommended. It was quite depressing, however, and I had to turn it off about halfway through and go to bed with the newest Smithsonian.
I woke up this morning with a terrible cold; it has been coming on for a few days now. I can't seem to quit sneezing. So here I sit in my candycane pj's with a dog in my lap and the cats nearby waiting their turns.
It's my month to shake hands, distribute bulletins, and pass the plate at church, at the 11:00 service, and I regretfully had to call and cancel. Many of the 11:00'er's are 100 years old and I would hate to spread a cold.
Later today I have to tackle LO's room. I have to catch up on the laundry and put out our Halloween decorations. For now though, I plan to stay right here and write.
Saturday, October 18
Same Old Song
I bet you thought this would be a political post, did you not? Nay, nay, "my friends," it's an homage to the lead singer for the Four Tops, Levi Stubbs.
I have always suspected that my DH hears notes and understands music in a way that I do not. There is a layer to music that he gets, and I totally miss out.
In like manner, sometimes the way a piece is written can just take my breath away. That was the case this morning as I drove to Greensboro and listened to this article about Levi Stubbs, who passed away yesterday.
I have to admit I was a tad disappointed this evening when I rushed in to look it up on the internet, only to find today's item had no transcript. Here is the closing line:
Just listen to that voice, now silent, never silenced.
I have always suspected that my DH hears notes and understands music in a way that I do not. There is a layer to music that he gets, and I totally miss out.
In like manner, sometimes the way a piece is written can just take my breath away. That was the case this morning as I drove to Greensboro and listened to this article about Levi Stubbs, who passed away yesterday.
I have to admit I was a tad disappointed this evening when I rushed in to look it up on the internet, only to find today's item had no transcript. Here is the closing line:
Just listen to that voice, now silent, never silenced.
Friday, October 17
Did You Know?
My graduation from our local Leadership program in the spring was not the end of that journey. All students in the program have to sign up to host one of the 10 programs being presented for the upcoming class. I signed up for the Local Government program. The two other classmates who signed up to host it are our City Clerk and the local home economist. She has a fancier title nowadays, but that is what she is.
The three of us worked tightly as a team to call all the presenters, organize the day, reserve meeting space, and correspond with the Chamber of Commerce, who in turn communicated with the students. We had to find sponsors for the meals and snacks, arrange transportation to the offsite tour, and in general manage the day.
Our day was yesterday.
After several meetings through the summer and an intensive week, our day happened without a hitch. We were allowed to see the evaluations at the end of the day and I was so pleased to see that a couple of folks remarked that our day seemed more organized than the other two they had had.
One of our speakers presented the following video and I found it captivating. I knew when I saw it that I wanted to blog it. Hope you enjoy.....
Early Voting
LO had an orthodontist's appointment this morning. To our surprise and delight, the orthodontist removed her lower braces! Her uppers come off next month.
As we drove back toward her school, I took a right and headed toward downtown. "Where are we going?" she asked. "It's a surprise," I replied.
I cruised around a block, looking for a parking place. Parking was especially dense in the area. "What are we doing?" she repeated. "I am giving you a gift," I said. "It's not a gift you can see and hold, but it's a gift."
We parked and went inside. Drat, there was a line. The surprise was out. "We're voting?" she asked. "I thought I would give you the honor of voting for Obama for me."
There was no, "but I need to get to school." There were no protests of wanting to see her friends, I have a test, we have xx today. She simply absorbed this information and accepted it.
We waited in line to identify me as a valid voter. We waited in another line to receive a ballot. (In my state we fill in little oval shapes on a paper ballot, then insert it in a computerized ballot box.) We went to the little room where corrals divide you from your neighbor for a teeny bit of privacy. It was filled with other voters. LO proudly filled in the oval for Barack Obama for President. Then I advised her as to which people I wanted to select for senate, statewide races, and finally local ones. You know it's a big election when your presidential candidate is on the same ballot as Board of Education candidates.
We deposited the ballot into the computer, then "fived" each other. She noted that I was voter #1,076. Early voting only began yesterday. Already the indicators are that voting will be quite heavy. I have voted on Election Day before, for a presidential race, in our little town, and there have been fewer votes at my precinct than that.
I remarked that I hope this is a day she is proud of, for many years to come.
Her student council election is today, and the students also have a mock election for President of the US. She noted on the way to school that she will vote for president three times today: President of the US, the one that counts; president of Student Council; and President of the US, the one that does not count.
So she had a big morning: braces off, voting, and anticipating voting again.
We return to the orthodontist this afternoon for her retainer and then she and DH head to the mountains for their semi-annual camping trip.
As we drove back toward her school, I took a right and headed toward downtown. "Where are we going?" she asked. "It's a surprise," I replied.
I cruised around a block, looking for a parking place. Parking was especially dense in the area. "What are we doing?" she repeated. "I am giving you a gift," I said. "It's not a gift you can see and hold, but it's a gift."
We parked and went inside. Drat, there was a line. The surprise was out. "We're voting?" she asked. "I thought I would give you the honor of voting for Obama for me."
There was no, "but I need to get to school." There were no protests of wanting to see her friends, I have a test, we have xx today. She simply absorbed this information and accepted it.
We waited in line to identify me as a valid voter. We waited in another line to receive a ballot. (In my state we fill in little oval shapes on a paper ballot, then insert it in a computerized ballot box.) We went to the little room where corrals divide you from your neighbor for a teeny bit of privacy. It was filled with other voters. LO proudly filled in the oval for Barack Obama for President. Then I advised her as to which people I wanted to select for senate, statewide races, and finally local ones. You know it's a big election when your presidential candidate is on the same ballot as Board of Education candidates.
We deposited the ballot into the computer, then "fived" each other. She noted that I was voter #1,076. Early voting only began yesterday. Already the indicators are that voting will be quite heavy. I have voted on Election Day before, for a presidential race, in our little town, and there have been fewer votes at my precinct than that.
I remarked that I hope this is a day she is proud of, for many years to come.
Her student council election is today, and the students also have a mock election for President of the US. She noted on the way to school that she will vote for president three times today: President of the US, the one that counts; president of Student Council; and President of the US, the one that does not count.
So she had a big morning: braces off, voting, and anticipating voting again.
We return to the orthodontist this afternoon for her retainer and then she and DH head to the mountains for their semi-annual camping trip.
Wednesday, October 15
More Garrison
Just an excerpt from today's column. I found the entire text on Salon.com.
Onward, America. We've all seen plenty of the worst -- the sly cruelty, the arrogant ignorance, the fascination with trivia, the cheats, the weaselish and piggish and the buzzardly -- but we can rise above it if we will only recognize a leader when one comes along and have the sense to let him lead.
The American people are poised to do something that could not be imagined 10 years ago, or even five, which is to vote for the best man regardless of his skin color and elect him president. The campaign against him is not one that anybody will point to with pride in years to come. It is a long trail of honking and flapping and traces of green slime, as if a flock of geese had taken up residence in the front yard. But Barack's cool poise in the face of blather is some sort of testament to American heart and humor. The man has walked tall and his wife has turned out to be the brightest figure in the whole political parade, an ebullient woman of quick wit and beautiful spirit. Bravo, Michelle.
Onward, America. We've all seen plenty of the worst -- the sly cruelty, the arrogant ignorance, the fascination with trivia, the cheats, the weaselish and piggish and the buzzardly -- but we can rise above it if we will only recognize a leader when one comes along and have the sense to let him lead.
Monday, October 13
Who Are YOUR Water Buffalo?
I watched this amazing video yesterday after our pastor mentioned it in his sermon. He was unable to show the video on our great A/V equipment due to the length: over 8 minutes. Please watch it anyway -- it is memorable!
When he mentioned it, LO leaned over and told me she had seen it before, and it truly is great. I am always a teensy bit unsettled when I realize she is having experiences without me. I seem to still think she is 4 years old.
So in the afternoon I sought out the film and watched it. Soon as it finished, I wanted to discuss it with her. She didn't want to be bothered. She was completing her tutoring homework and practicing her dancing, at the same time. Answer a problem / jump from the bed and dance for a sec / settle on the bed and work one more problem / hop up and dance for a sec.
"Who are your water buffalos?" I asked. You won't understand this if you haven't watched that video yet.
"I don't know," she rebuffed.
"Who are your lions? Your crocodiles?"
"I don't know. I don't care."
Wounded. I sulked and returned to my nana-esque duties.
An hour later I recovered sufficiently to try again. Door was closed. I knocked and received Permission to Enter.
She was dancing. Apparently homework was done, as she was thoroughly sweaty.
I smooched her on the forehead.
"I am your water buffalo," I proclaimed.
pause.
"Papaw is your water buffalo," I added.
"S and K (ndn's) are your water buffalo."
"JW (her confirmation sponsor) is your water buffalo."
"Mr. MEL (her principal, whom she adores, but would not admit) is your water buffalo."
"I get it -- I get it! I am dancing. Leave!"
....but....
She was smiling.
Sunday, October 12
Tick,Tick, Tick...
It occurred to me recently that my mother was 12 years older than I am now, when she died. My dad, 16 years older. Yikes. Do I only have 12 years left? 12 months? 12 days? ...12 minutes?
My health is good; I think I can rule out the 12 minutes scenario with a little certainty. Until I get in a car, anyway. I have effectively ditched cholesterol meds, diuretics, and blood pressure meds, and feel better than I have in years. Years..
At one point in my life, everything was open. Firefighter? Yes, I could do that one day, if I choose. President? Senator? It was all open.
Now my options are limited, if not by time or talent, then by age. They just don't train 50-year-old firefighters.
I waste a lot of time. I play a game of online scrabble almost every day. I do a few sudokus, and a game or two of solitaire. I blog, which some may call a waste of time. I call it 'practice.' I often use blogging as a warmup for legitimate writing, for pay.
Ironically, as I have been pondering my limited remaining time, and my poor use of it, a couple of examples of time stewardship have brought themselves my way.
Mother Earth News this month featured Scott and Helen Nearing, who used to be regular contributors. They built their home and outbuildings by hand from New England stone, first in Vermont, then in Maine. They set out upon this adventure intentionally, moving from NYC during the Depression in search of a self-sustaining lifestyle. They selected their homestead site based on three criteria: arable soil, water views, and isolation. The isolation was selected not because of an anti-social inclination, but in an effort to test their self-sufficiency.
Their first location in Vermont was a bit too isolated. They did not strike up friendships with their neighbors and didn't feel it was going to happen, so they looked for another site. They eventually chose Maine, where they built and stayed. They wrote several books on living a meaningful, simple life.
Scott Nearing worked his soil organically, even 'way back then. When he sent soil samples to the state for assessment, it flunked, coming back with a note saying his soil was too rich; lay off the composting.
The Nearings structured their days built on 3 components: four hours for 'bread labor,' four hours for music, writing and avocations, and four hours for social and civic interaction.
This method of time management has caught my imagination. DH followed the Nearings in the 70's, while they were still regular contributors to MEN. He still regrets the day he disposed of his old mags. Me, I recently 'discovered' them, but they have definitely caught my attention, even posthumously.
Another simultaneous thread during the last week has been a post on one of my favorite places, Danny Gregory's website. In the 6 months or so that I have been following him, I have NEVER visited his website without finding inspiration, motivation, and a lift of my spirits. He makes me feel I CAN. Can what? Whatever I want. His most recent post sought me out with perfect timing. Today I am using Google Chrome, which is weird with blogger, so I can't slip in the hyperlink, I just have to give it to you outright:
All the irony of these time-related threads converging this week came to a climax tonight when I called my gf to ask her over for a Glass-o'-Wine. Oooh, she sighed, I may not be good company. Why not? I asked. Well, my 55th bday is next week, and it has occurred to me that my time is limited.
This was too spooky. A really loyal gf would have let her have her own crisis, and not chimed in, but I have never been known for my subtlety. NO KIDDING? I hooted. Are you thinking the world is no longer your oyster? That your options are limited, and it all sneaked up on you??
YES! she shouted. We tit-for-tatted (in a good way) for several minutes and I for one felt much better knowing someone understood exactly how I felt.
I have in truth been struggling with my time management for some weeks, but this week's synchronicity may be a tipping point. I look forward to seeing what Danny says in his next posting. Until then...
Saturday, October 11
Another Keillor Gem
Palin's future, according to Garrison Keillor
Last updated October 7, 2008 1:41 p.m. PT
GARRISON KEILLOR
SYNDICATED COLUMNIST
We are a stalwart and stouthearted people, and never more so than in hard times. People weep in the dark and arise in the morning and go to work. The waves crash on your nest egg and a chunk is swept away and you put your salami sandwich in the brown bag and get on the bus. In Philly, a woman earns $10.30/hour to care for a man brought down by cystic fibrosis. She bathes and dresses him in the morning, brings him meals, puts him to bed at night. It's hard work lifting him and she has suffered a painful hernia that, because she can't afford health insurance, she can't get fixed, but she still goes to work because he'd be helpless without her. There are a lot of people like her. I know because I'm related to some of them.
Low dishonesty and craven cynicism sometimes win the day but not inevitably. The attempt to link Barack Obama to an old radical in his neighborhood has desperation and deceit written all over it. Meanwhile, stunning acts of heroism stand out, such as the fidelity of military lawyers assigned to defend detainees at Guantanamo Bay -- uniformed officers faithful to their lawyerly duty to offer a vigorous defense even though it means exposing the injustice of military justice that is rigged for conviction and the mendacity of a commander in chief who commits war crimes. If your law school is looking for a name for its new library, instead of selling the honor to a fat cat alumnus, you should consider the names of Lt. Cmdr. Charles Swift, Lt. Col. Mark Bridges, Col. Steven David, Lt. Col. Sharon Shaffer, Lt. Cmdr. Philip Sundel and Maj. Michael Mori.
It was dishonest, cynical men who put forward a clueless young woman for national office, hoping to juice up the ticket, hoping she could skate through two months of chaperoned campaigning, but the truth emerges: The lady is talking freely about matters she has never thought about. The American people have an ear for B.S. They can tell when someone's mouth is moving and the clutch is not engaged. When she said, "One thing that Americans do at this time, also, though, is let's commit ourselves just every day, American people, Joe Six-Pack, hockey moms across the nation, I think we need to band together and say never again. Never will we be exploited and taken advantage of again by those who are managing our money and loaning us these dollars," people smelled gas.
Some Republicans adore her because they are pranksters at heart and love the consternation of grown-ups. The ne'er-do-well son of the old Republican family as president, the idea that you increase government revenue by cutting taxes, the idea that you cut social services and thereby drive the needy into the middle class, the idea that you overthrow a dictator with a show of force and achieve democracy at no cost to yourself -- one stink bomb after another, and now Governor Palin.
She is a chatty sportscaster who lacks the guile to conceal her vacuity, and she was Mr. McCain's first major decision as nominee. This troubles independent voters, and now she is a major drag on his candidacy. She will get a nice book deal from Regnery and a new career making personal appearances for forty grand a pop, and she'll become a trivia question, "What politician claimed foreign-policy expertise based on being able to see Russia from her house?" And the rest of us will have to pull ourselves out of the swamp of Republican economics.
Your broker kept saying, "Stay with the portfolio, don't jump ship," and you felt a strong urge to dump the stocks and get into the money market where at least you're not going to lose your shirt, but you didn't do it and didn't do it, and now you're holding a big bag of brown bananas. Me, too. But at least I know enough not to believe desperate people who are talking trash. Anybody who got whacked last week and still thinks McCain-Palin is going to lead us out of the swamp and not into a war with Iran is beyond persuasion in the English language. They'll need to lose their homes and be out on the street in a cold hard rain before they connect the dots.
Last updated October 7, 2008 1:41 p.m. PT
GARRISON KEILLOR
SYNDICATED COLUMNIST
We are a stalwart and stouthearted people, and never more so than in hard times. People weep in the dark and arise in the morning and go to work. The waves crash on your nest egg and a chunk is swept away and you put your salami sandwich in the brown bag and get on the bus. In Philly, a woman earns $10.30/hour to care for a man brought down by cystic fibrosis. She bathes and dresses him in the morning, brings him meals, puts him to bed at night. It's hard work lifting him and she has suffered a painful hernia that, because she can't afford health insurance, she can't get fixed, but she still goes to work because he'd be helpless without her. There are a lot of people like her. I know because I'm related to some of them.
Low dishonesty and craven cynicism sometimes win the day but not inevitably. The attempt to link Barack Obama to an old radical in his neighborhood has desperation and deceit written all over it. Meanwhile, stunning acts of heroism stand out, such as the fidelity of military lawyers assigned to defend detainees at Guantanamo Bay -- uniformed officers faithful to their lawyerly duty to offer a vigorous defense even though it means exposing the injustice of military justice that is rigged for conviction and the mendacity of a commander in chief who commits war crimes. If your law school is looking for a name for its new library, instead of selling the honor to a fat cat alumnus, you should consider the names of Lt. Cmdr. Charles Swift, Lt. Col. Mark Bridges, Col. Steven David, Lt. Col. Sharon Shaffer, Lt. Cmdr. Philip Sundel and Maj. Michael Mori.
It was dishonest, cynical men who put forward a clueless young woman for national office, hoping to juice up the ticket, hoping she could skate through two months of chaperoned campaigning, but the truth emerges: The lady is talking freely about matters she has never thought about. The American people have an ear for B.S. They can tell when someone's mouth is moving and the clutch is not engaged. When she said, "One thing that Americans do at this time, also, though, is let's commit ourselves just every day, American people, Joe Six-Pack, hockey moms across the nation, I think we need to band together and say never again. Never will we be exploited and taken advantage of again by those who are managing our money and loaning us these dollars," people smelled gas.
Some Republicans adore her because they are pranksters at heart and love the consternation of grown-ups. The ne'er-do-well son of the old Republican family as president, the idea that you increase government revenue by cutting taxes, the idea that you cut social services and thereby drive the needy into the middle class, the idea that you overthrow a dictator with a show of force and achieve democracy at no cost to yourself -- one stink bomb after another, and now Governor Palin.
She is a chatty sportscaster who lacks the guile to conceal her vacuity, and she was Mr. McCain's first major decision as nominee. This troubles independent voters, and now she is a major drag on his candidacy. She will get a nice book deal from Regnery and a new career making personal appearances for forty grand a pop, and she'll become a trivia question, "What politician claimed foreign-policy expertise based on being able to see Russia from her house?" And the rest of us will have to pull ourselves out of the swamp of Republican economics.
Your broker kept saying, "Stay with the portfolio, don't jump ship," and you felt a strong urge to dump the stocks and get into the money market where at least you're not going to lose your shirt, but you didn't do it and didn't do it, and now you're holding a big bag of brown bananas. Me, too. But at least I know enough not to believe desperate people who are talking trash. Anybody who got whacked last week and still thinks McCain-Palin is going to lead us out of the swamp and not into a war with Iran is beyond persuasion in the English language. They'll need to lose their homes and be out on the street in a cold hard rain before they connect the dots.
Friday, October 10
Rant Response
Note: I received this thoughtful response this morning to last night's rant. It is from my DS2. I emailed and asked permission to post it, and he graciously assented. Following his text is my own response.
Hi mom,
You've hit on a number of points I'd like to address. I hope I don't confuse the situation too terribly much.
First off, you're right. People do need to practice charity before preaching it. Even out here I try to find time to volunteer, contribute to organizations financially, and help out people who are far from home.
This is actually a time of year when this topic is on the tip of my tongue as this is the time when the military kicks off its big CFC (Combined Federal Campaign) drive encouraging us to contribute even if only financially to aid in these rescue/assistance org.s in their efforts.
I used to give to the CFC each year. Used to.
Back when I was in the infantry, the company was called to formation and the 1stSGT got out in front of the company and said nobody was going home until everyone in the company contributed to the CFC. I was going to... really I was. I gave every other year, why not this one... until he said that.
I resent mandated charity. It stops being charity at that point. Do you want someone to say they're sorry because they mean it? Or because they were told to? Do you like presents given out of love? Or those given out of some obligation because it happens to be a day of the year when presents are given? Do you want a doctor who treats you as a patient because he loves medicine? Or one who treats you as a number because he is told by an HMO or government organization that he must take shortcuts in care and treat more people than he is capable?
Charity should be of the heart. I didn't know Jesus when he was down here wearing sandals, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have counted the individual's portion of the Roman's tax revenue given to the meager improvements to the impoverished as charity.
People need to give of themselves, and I believe Americans can and do just that. Perhaps not as much as we could or should, but we do. After the Asian Tsunami a few years ago, the U.S. government pledged $900 million to tsunami relief. American individuals donated $2 billion -- three times what government gave -- in food, clothing, and cash. Private charities could barely keep up with the donations. In 2005, there was an average of $900 given charitably for every man woman and child in the United States, almost $260 Billion from the hearts of Americans.
When the government gets involved in "charity" or welfare, as much as 70% of the monies get eaten up in the bureaucracy in administering those funds. Example? John Chubb of the Brookings Institute once investigated how many members there were in the bureaucracy of the New York public school system. Six calls finally landed him with someone who knew the answer, but was not allowed to say. Six more landed him with the answer of 6,000 bureaucrats working in the central office alone. Chubb then called the Catholic Archdiocese to see how their numbers compared (the catholic schools there educate about 1/5 of the kids in New York). On the first phone call, the lady on the other end said, "I don't know.... wait a minute... let me count." The answer was 26.
One more small bit of unsolicited advice in the name of IMHO... Be careful of your comments there in your retorts.
"They say the government should not take care of the homeless, that churches and volunteers should.........They don't go to church and they don't help at the homeless shelter. "
Be careful you don't fall into that same broad brush stroke you're letting them spur you with, like the "They assume all Christians are Republicans."
Don't listen to those dumb-ole republicant's. Don't let them make you feel upset. You know you're living the moral road. We know you are. I for one don't "hate" your liberal leanings, mom. I love them. I love that you are passionate about care. I love that you offer these things up for discussion. It is good to see opposing opinion, even though I may not necessarily agree with your resolution.
As for working two jobs and still struggling... would it help if they didn't have to pay federal income tax? Would it help if their employers had larger budgets from which they could pay their employees? It happened in a not so distant past.
But that's a topic for another time. (re. Fair Tax, aka, 1999's H.R. 25 proposed by Congressman John Linder which would make most everyone sleep a little better on 15 April.)
Love ya mom. Don't let the man get ya down.
t
My response:
Hey son:
This is a good email. I appreciate your wisdom.
You pointed out some areas where I could have / should have been clearer. The "they don't go to church and they don't help…" was not a broad-based bias, but a targeted complaint regarding someone's blog: someone I know. Someone who I know doesn't go to church, doesn't help anyone, just sits and bitterly judges others. In fact, the person is so bitter, I do not think he is happy at all.
I don't blame you for not giving to the CFC. That would have made me angry, too. When I worked for BCBS, they called all of management into a room and asked us to contribute to the healthcare PAC. At the time, I thought it was optional. A week later I got a letter from our president saying he had noticed I had not given yet. Grr. I gave, but it was grudgingly. I was a single mom at the time and really resented the threatening way it was handled. I felt I had to give to keep my job. I gave $50, not knowing if it was enough or too much. That was more money then than it is now. It was 2 pairs of shoes for you guys.
You're right that Americans rally when the chips are down, but only when they are 'way down. The conservative blogs are saying welfare is not government's role, that it is charity's role, and I truly don't think Americans, as compassionate as we are in disasters, will carry the poor, voluntarily, consistently. And, if we did, it would be, as usual, 20% of us doing 80% of the work. It is, in our church. It is, in our PTA. And of course it would be, in helping the poor.
I used to love Dave Ramsey. He offered good, common-sense resolutions to people's money problems. Don't use your credit cards. Don't buy more house than you can afford. Pay off your debts. Live within your means. All still good advice.
When people call in with their problems, he gives advice. Like Click-n-Clack, but not as funny. Trouble is, he is giving the same old advice in a new age of problems. Sell that oversized house and move into a smaller one you can afford. Hello? Houses are not selling. Sell that tank and get a beater with better gas mileage. Hello? I see mini-vans all over town, in front yards with posterboard on the windshield: "$3,000 OBO." Nobody wants 'em.
He said the other day that ppl have been encouraging him to run for president. That he would not run b/c everyone would hate him. He would refuse welfare to everyone. "Get a job," he says. I turned off the radio and won't watch him on TV again, nor listen to him on the radio. He's fallen in love with the sound of his own voice. He's gotten comfortable with his same old answers, but the problems have changed around him.
If he could point out the job tree to us there are lots of folks who would climb it in a hurry. Here in NC the jobless rate is astronomical; I think we are 4th in the nation. It's heartless to say ppl don't want to work.
But I digress. Your points, all of 'em, are well taken.
Hi mom,
You've hit on a number of points I'd like to address. I hope I don't confuse the situation too terribly much.
First off, you're right. People do need to practice charity before preaching it. Even out here I try to find time to volunteer, contribute to organizations financially, and help out people who are far from home.
This is actually a time of year when this topic is on the tip of my tongue as this is the time when the military kicks off its big CFC (Combined Federal Campaign) drive encouraging us to contribute even if only financially to aid in these rescue/assistance org.s in their efforts.
I used to give to the CFC each year. Used to.
Back when I was in the infantry, the company was called to formation and the 1stSGT got out in front of the company and said nobody was going home until everyone in the company contributed to the CFC. I was going to... really I was. I gave every other year, why not this one... until he said that.
I resent mandated charity. It stops being charity at that point. Do you want someone to say they're sorry because they mean it? Or because they were told to? Do you like presents given out of love? Or those given out of some obligation because it happens to be a day of the year when presents are given? Do you want a doctor who treats you as a patient because he loves medicine? Or one who treats you as a number because he is told by an HMO or government organization that he must take shortcuts in care and treat more people than he is capable?
Charity should be of the heart. I didn't know Jesus when he was down here wearing sandals, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have counted the individual's portion of the Roman's tax revenue given to the meager improvements to the impoverished as charity.
People need to give of themselves, and I believe Americans can and do just that. Perhaps not as much as we could or should, but we do. After the Asian Tsunami a few years ago, the U.S. government pledged $900 million to tsunami relief. American individuals donated $2 billion -- three times what government gave -- in food, clothing, and cash. Private charities could barely keep up with the donations. In 2005, there was an average of $900 given charitably for every man woman and child in the United States, almost $260 Billion from the hearts of Americans.
When the government gets involved in "charity" or welfare, as much as 70% of the monies get eaten up in the bureaucracy in administering those funds. Example? John Chubb of the Brookings Institute once investigated how many members there were in the bureaucracy of the New York public school system. Six calls finally landed him with someone who knew the answer, but was not allowed to say. Six more landed him with the answer of 6,000 bureaucrats working in the central office alone. Chubb then called the Catholic Archdiocese to see how their numbers compared (the catholic schools there educate about 1/5 of the kids in New York). On the first phone call, the lady on the other end said, "I don't know.... wait a minute... let me count." The answer was 26.
One more small bit of unsolicited advice in the name of IMHO... Be careful of your comments there in your retorts.
"They say the government should not take care of the homeless, that churches and volunteers should.........They don't go to church and they don't help at the homeless shelter. "
Be careful you don't fall into that same broad brush stroke you're letting them spur you with, like the "They assume all Christians are Republicans."
Don't listen to those dumb-ole republicant's. Don't let them make you feel upset. You know you're living the moral road. We know you are. I for one don't "hate" your liberal leanings, mom. I love them. I love that you are passionate about care. I love that you offer these things up for discussion. It is good to see opposing opinion, even though I may not necessarily agree with your resolution.
As for working two jobs and still struggling... would it help if they didn't have to pay federal income tax? Would it help if their employers had larger budgets from which they could pay their employees? It happened in a not so distant past.
But that's a topic for another time. (re. Fair Tax, aka, 1999's H.R. 25 proposed by Congressman John Linder which would make most everyone sleep a little better on 15 April.)
Love ya mom. Don't let the man get ya down.
t
My response:
Hey son:
This is a good email. I appreciate your wisdom.
You pointed out some areas where I could have / should have been clearer. The "they don't go to church and they don't help…" was not a broad-based bias, but a targeted complaint regarding someone's blog: someone I know. Someone who I know doesn't go to church, doesn't help anyone, just sits and bitterly judges others. In fact, the person is so bitter, I do not think he is happy at all.
I don't blame you for not giving to the CFC. That would have made me angry, too. When I worked for BCBS, they called all of management into a room and asked us to contribute to the healthcare PAC. At the time, I thought it was optional. A week later I got a letter from our president saying he had noticed I had not given yet. Grr. I gave, but it was grudgingly. I was a single mom at the time and really resented the threatening way it was handled. I felt I had to give to keep my job. I gave $50, not knowing if it was enough or too much. That was more money then than it is now. It was 2 pairs of shoes for you guys.
You're right that Americans rally when the chips are down, but only when they are 'way down. The conservative blogs are saying welfare is not government's role, that it is charity's role, and I truly don't think Americans, as compassionate as we are in disasters, will carry the poor, voluntarily, consistently. And, if we did, it would be, as usual, 20% of us doing 80% of the work. It is, in our church. It is, in our PTA. And of course it would be, in helping the poor.
I used to love Dave Ramsey. He offered good, common-sense resolutions to people's money problems. Don't use your credit cards. Don't buy more house than you can afford. Pay off your debts. Live within your means. All still good advice.
When people call in with their problems, he gives advice. Like Click-n-Clack, but not as funny. Trouble is, he is giving the same old advice in a new age of problems. Sell that oversized house and move into a smaller one you can afford. Hello? Houses are not selling. Sell that tank and get a beater with better gas mileage. Hello? I see mini-vans all over town, in front yards with posterboard on the windshield: "$3,000 OBO." Nobody wants 'em.
He said the other day that ppl have been encouraging him to run for president. That he would not run b/c everyone would hate him. He would refuse welfare to everyone. "Get a job," he says. I turned off the radio and won't watch him on TV again, nor listen to him on the radio. He's fallen in love with the sound of his own voice. He's gotten comfortable with his same old answers, but the problems have changed around him.
If he could point out the job tree to us there are lots of folks who would climb it in a hurry. Here in NC the jobless rate is astronomical; I think we are 4th in the nation. It's heartless to say ppl don't want to work.
But I digress. Your points, all of 'em, are well taken.
Thursday, October 9
OK, It's Out. I Said It. I Tried Not To...
RANT WARNING.
OK, I am about to burst. I cannot go another day without saying what I think is so so so obvious. All the ppl who do not care for my somewhat liberal belief system (family included) fair warning:
Maybe my headstone (or the plaque in the columbarium) can say, "At least she was honest."
The poor Republicans have never been so vitriolic. Hm. I have to look that one up.
OK. I spelled it correctly. ....where was I?
...have never been so vitriolic. They are bitter, harsh, scathing, all those words in the definition. I believe they are feeling threatened right now.
They say healthcare is not a right. That the poor need to just go get a job.
..........There aren't jobs out there.
I know people who are working TWO jobs and still don't have healthcare, much less the time to raise their children the way they want to. And savings? They want to save. First they have BILLS TO PAY. Not necessarily credit card bills. Groceries. Fuel. Electricity. School uniforms.
They assume all Christians are Republicans.
.........Duh? Jesus specifically talked about taking care of the poor.
They say the government should not take care of the homeless, that churches and volunteers should.
........They don't go to church and they don't help at the homeless shelter.
We are not all born into advantage, folkses.
Those of us who are, have an obligation to show our gratitude by giving our time and our resources to those who do not. An obligation to whom? To the Creator. To those who are less fortunate. TO OURSELVES. What makes our time here, matter? Making it a better place for others? Or judging others? Yes, raising your family is important. You have time left over. You know you do. Or you wouldn't be circulating emails judging others. You wouldn't have time to blog your condescending views.
Sitting on the Throne of Conservatism and looking down your nose at those who are less fortunate doesn't get you, or anyone, anywhere.
Sure, there are some on welfare who take advantage. But there are many who don't. Come visit our homeless shelter and you will see it's filled with people who are just like you and me. Except you and I have nice houses. And they don't. We have cool in the summer and heat in the winter. We have soft comfy chairs to read in and Internet and a refrigerator filled with all the things we like.
SAYING that it's not government's role to help the poor won't help a thing. WORKING to help them privately, will.
Isolating yourself among others who have the advantage of being born into comfort, and judging those who weren't, is .... well, I need to stop.
Think I'll go take a walk. :)
OK, I am about to burst. I cannot go another day without saying what I think is so so so obvious. All the ppl who do not care for my somewhat liberal belief system (family included) fair warning:
YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LIKE THIS.
Maybe my headstone (or the plaque in the columbarium) can say, "At least she was honest."
The poor Republicans have never been so vitriolic. Hm. I have to look that one up.
vitriolic
adjective
1.
harsh or corrosive in tone;
"an acerbic tone piercing otherwise flowery prose"; "a barrage of acid
comments"; "her acrid remarks make her many enemies"; "bitter words";
"blistering criticism"; "caustic jokes about political assassination, talk-show
hosts and medical ethics"; "a sulfurous denunciation"; "a vitriolic
critique"
2.
of a substance, especially a strong acid; capable
of destroying or eating away by chemical action
OK. I spelled it correctly. ....where was I?
...have never been so vitriolic. They are bitter, harsh, scathing, all those words in the definition. I believe they are feeling threatened right now.
They say healthcare is not a right. That the poor need to just go get a job.
..........There aren't jobs out there.
I know people who are working TWO jobs and still don't have healthcare, much less the time to raise their children the way they want to. And savings? They want to save. First they have BILLS TO PAY. Not necessarily credit card bills. Groceries. Fuel. Electricity. School uniforms.
They assume all Christians are Republicans.
.........Duh? Jesus specifically talked about taking care of the poor.
They say the government should not take care of the homeless, that churches and volunteers should.
........They don't go to church and they don't help at the homeless shelter.
We are not all born into advantage, folkses.
Those of us who are, have an obligation to show our gratitude by giving our time and our resources to those who do not. An obligation to whom? To the Creator. To those who are less fortunate. TO OURSELVES. What makes our time here, matter? Making it a better place for others? Or judging others? Yes, raising your family is important. You have time left over. You know you do. Or you wouldn't be circulating emails judging others. You wouldn't have time to blog your condescending views.
Sitting on the Throne of Conservatism and looking down your nose at those who are less fortunate doesn't get you, or anyone, anywhere.
Sure, there are some on welfare who take advantage. But there are many who don't. Come visit our homeless shelter and you will see it's filled with people who are just like you and me. Except you and I have nice houses. And they don't. We have cool in the summer and heat in the winter. We have soft comfy chairs to read in and Internet and a refrigerator filled with all the things we like.
SAYING that it's not government's role to help the poor won't help a thing. WORKING to help them privately, will.
Isolating yourself among others who have the advantage of being born into comfort, and judging those who weren't, is .... well, I need to stop.
Think I'll go take a walk. :)
Wednesday, October 8
Sigh.
I am writing this posting at the risk of appearing to have overreacted.
He really was assigned to go to Afghanistan.
It really has been cancelled, for now.
Sigh of relief.
I cannot begin to imagine how my DIL feels.
She is tough. She rallies when the chips are down. My MIL, who never even met her, told me, "She'll be fine. She's tough. She's a good girl. I can tell a lot by reading her blog."
She was right.
As to the cancellation, I have been mulling what to say here about it. I had an early morning meeting today, the annual orientation for a board on which I serve. I paid attention while the back of my brain cogitated on how to post this news.
When I got home at 10, I saw we had an email from my MIL. She had already read the news on DS2's blog. So I quickly pulled it up.
I realize I am a writer, but there is no earthly way I can post any better than he already has. You'll have to read it for yourself.
Love you, son.
Monday, October 6
Blog.
I haven't blogged in several days. There are two reasons, and both might be legitimate, or perhaps neither is legitimate. And besides, who gets to decide whether they are legitimate? I guess I do. And so, both are legitimate.
First of all, fall is a horrifically busy time of year for any parent. We wear dual hats, grandparents as parents. We spoil with the one hand and discipline with the other. It's tennis season. And band time. And there are football games. And PTA. And after-school clubs. And homework. And tutoring, piano, and normal old friends to visit. Nana's cab runs miles and miles.
Second of all, I have not blogged because I have had something on my mind. Some folks blog a lot when they are upset or sad. I stay away from blogging, for fear that I might say something I might regret.
Here it is: My dear son is being deployed to hostile regions for the fourth time.
He just wants to be home with his family.
He does not complain. He signed up for the military, after all. It should not come as any surprise.
But, speaking as a mom, four times??
He's been to Iraq twice. He's been to Afghanistan already. And now he's going back. For seven months.
I shared this with someone who I don't know too well, and that person said, Oh, he'll be fine. Afghanistan is safe.
It made me angrier still.
The military plucked up this precious little family and moved them to Japan, a zillion miles away from everyone they know.
They are good sports. They have learned some Japanese. They have gone to real events there, not just the tourist traps. They garden. They buy different food than they are used to. They have really made it a learning experience.
So now here they are, a zillioin bazillion miles from all family support, and he's sent to..Afghanistan.
The other 3 times I got to hug him goodbye.
I have tried to learn from his blog -- yes, he blogs, most of our family does. He has a rare talent for looking at a situation objectively and assessing it with his definitely wacko sense of humor.
I wish I could do that in this situation. I really do, but anger blinds me. Confusion sets in. I really just don't understand war.
Yes, I am proud that he wants to serve his country. I am prouder still that he wants to be at home with his wife and children.
And so, I haven't blogged. I have brooded. I have cleaned. I have walked.
And I imagine I will brood, clean and walk more than normal for about 7 months.
Saturday, October 4
It was Einstein
LO made a mistake today. No biggie, but a mistake.
I was a little concerned because she has made this same mistake 5 times before and had consequences each time.
She is a bright girl.
It was time for a talk.
She was disheartened - and I could not tell if it was because she was frustrated at having messed up, or because she was frustrated at having to have another talk.
I wanted her to talk about it, but everything was, "I don't know."
I don't know why I did it.
I don't know why punishment doesn't help.
She did say she does not want more severe punishment to help her remember.
Duh.
I explained that this seems to be a cycle. I explained that there will be times in her life that she will realize, "This has happened before -- and I am in the same place I was last time."
It might be a boyfriend who argues. It might be a co-worker with whom she has a hard time getting along. It might be a professor who is hard to please.
I explained that when she realizes, "This has happened before," -- that's when she needs to stop and figure out how to handle it differently.
People who don't learn this stay in the same cycle - with abusive partners, DUI infractions, doggie puddles in the dining room -- whatever.
We went to the computer and googled, "definition of insanity."
It was Einstein who said it.
I saw a glimmer of light in her eyes.
She got it. (sigh) We are moving forward.
Wednesday, October 1
Bigtime Palin Supporter
I knew something fishy was up when I received this envelope in today's mail.
Let me explain.
You'll think I am off-subject, but really, really, I am not.
I hate Elvis Presley.
Hate, detest, can't stand the music. The curled lip. The sleazy costumes. The greasy hair. The bump, the grind. Any of it.
I never got it at all.
When I was little, people would be all excited about his concerts. They would actually go to them.
I would think,
"Why?"
As I grew older and had children of my own, I didn't think a thing of it. We'd be in the car, and have the radio on. An Elvis song would come on. I would turn the radio off. Off. Not change the station, but turn it off.
As the children got a little older, they asked why. I explained that I disliked the music so badly I had to turn it completely off to clear the air.
When my DS's became teens, I forget how old, I would occasionally get Elvis junk mail. It would tear me up. The boys had signed me up for some Elvis fan club or something, just for the devilment.
You gotta laugh.
So of course this is what I thought of today when I got this letter from Sarah.
I realize it is too tiny for you to see; I am a tad disappointed at exactly how tiny it came out. Let me give you a line or two from the letter, and you'll see what I'm saying.
"I personally want to say thank you for the steadfast support and unstinting generosity you have given to the Republican Party and all of our candidates. Thanks to your faith and your commitment, we have the momentum and, from the crowds I see at every stop, our momentum continues to grow daily."
OK, boys, I'm on to you. A donation in my name! The question is not IF you did it, but, was it one of you or both??
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