Grey Matter Flatulence

WHAT ABOUT ME? Yeah, right.

2009-09-22T18:15:00.002-04:00

Life investments are interesting. Sometimes they go on and on. Mostly though, they tend to fizzle out when they have served whatever purpose we've burdened them with.
I saw a five year investment come to a rather wimpy end on September 10th when the Indiana Film Society screened WHAT ABOUT ME. It isn't like people didn't show up; they did. It wasn't that they expressed displeasure - they did not. It just seemed so anti-climatic.
Well, yes; compared to the other screenings which were fresh on the heels of the European release of the film, I did get a late date for the film. But a screening is a screening and I have yet to see that WAM has ever shown in the midwest anywhere other than Indianapolis.
We tend to think of our friends as investments. Those are the people whom we invest our time in, our resources, and our emotions. What we don't realize, is that as a mobile society, friends are not as long lasting as many of our other life investments. We may think we know our friends, but the truth is that we do not - at least not until it is time for them to make investments in us.
For a time, it appeared that every friend I had was going to descend upon our home for the screening. But as the time grew near, the guest list began to diminish. It isn't like people made up piss poor excuses for not coming. Most people had perfectly good excuses for not making the screening. Health was a big issue for some. Legal issues were another thing that kept some people from coming. And then there is just those who said they would make it but never intended to. We knew who they were before they made their excuses.
But there are those whom it is a disappointment to have tell us that they could not come because their new partner wouldn't approve. Or that they were simply too busy with their own baggage to support something that they seemed to care about once upon a time.

The truth of all of this is that I am coming to the point where I know that all of the stuff I spent the past 10 years working at is mostly superficial. The people I invested in are superficial, the things I thought were valuable were not the things I should have treasured. A young friend, someone who reads this blog now and then is perhaps the biggest disappointment as he is just beginning his life with a new woman and does not realize that if he allows her to control him, his life is essentially not his any longer. Not that his surrender will guarantee that this new woman will be with him in a few years.... nope, no guarantees.

Well, in essence, I am coming to a place where all this seems so unimportant now. The internet and its promise of friendship and creativity, the art 'scene' and its ageism. I guess its just time for me to re-evaluate what I will do with the next 20 years of my life. I believe it will be something different than what the past 5 years has been.

Old Dogs Learning New Tricks

2009-07-05T15:51:00.003-04:00

I wasn't much interested in setting up a Twitter account prior to the June elections in Iran. Like much of the International community, I found the news coverage of the rallies in Iran, before the elections, to be a sign of movement from Nationalism towards International citizenship.
Much of the West ignores the reality of Muslim divisions, sect differences, and, most importantly, of political moderation, or lack thereof. For those of us who make a point of exercising our planetary citizen status, all of the elections, from Lebanon to Honduras have been interesting to watch, as well as thought provoking.
In America, the election of Barack Obama as president signaled a shift of power from European ancestry based control, to immigrant and youth control. For me, as well as so many others, this was refreshing as well as invigorating.
The potential for similar shifts of voting blocks in other nations is great. For instance, in Israel, Arabic Israelis and Palestinians in Israel will soon out number Hebrews. The significance of that is enormous as Israel's leaders may have figured out with their willingness to now discuss the "two state solution". In many ways, like other pundits, I see it as too late for Israel to offer the two state solution to Palestine. Palestine, if current population growth trends continue, will undermine its position by accepting toe "too little, too late" two state solution. If Israeli Jews wish to remain the majority party in Israel, they will have to enforce draconian voting laws, keeping Palestinian and Arabic Israelis from the polls.
The educated populations of our world are settling more comfortably into the role of international citizen. They realize that without moderate and tolerant views, Humanity may not be able to survive on our planet. That without compromise and clear goals from all nations, we probably can not solve our biggest problems such as climate change, poverty, water and energy demands.
What happened in Iran was not in vain. Another mindset has emerged in the Muslim nations that is not about condemnation or control of or through, religion; it is about proper stewardship of resources so we can continue to work toward alleviating poverty, ignorance, disease and intolerance. Sooner or later, the will of the majority will be impossible to ignore and the people who feel disenfranchised by election results, will be moved again to shift the balance of their power.
What happened in Iran caused me to Twitter. What happened in Iran made me think about what happened in America in 2000 when Bush, Rove and Cheney stole the election for president and were successful at their bloodless coup. Instead of taking our passions and protests to the street when we were told that the recounts were illegal and the will of the people was invalidated, we retreated to our living rooms and to the safety of the media propaganda dream machines. Considering the Iranian people who left their homes and possessions to voice their outrage at their government and were dealth with extremem violence, while Americans were threatened with labels such as "Traitor", or "Terrorist"; and decided not to risk their material comfort to accuse the Bush regime, I have once again been humbled by the resilience of the human spirit.
No, Iran, your protests were not in vain. Next time, you will need a leader, a true Leader who will take you all the way to the seat of your new democracy (if that, indeed, is what you choose). In the meantime, gather your wits, re-examine your purpose, and prepare for the next opening - for surely it will come.

Bird-ness

2009-06-10T10:00:00.002-04:00

I don't write about my "kids", Sunkist and Mojo because, well, I would rather play with them than spend time writing about them. Looking at that last sentence, I realize that I am playing 'chicken' - I don't write about the parrots because I don't want to seem mushy and silly and 'bird-brained'. I also think that committing things to words diminishes some of the magic of what goes on.
I just spent 24 hours reading "Wesley the Owl" by Stacey O'Brien, and I've come to realize that perhaps I should write about my relationships with the birds - anyone who spends so much time with their companions, has insights that can be useful, and endearing, to others.
Sunkist is my love. He came from a big box pet store and the decision to allow myself to fall in love with him (thus buying him) was made unconsciously. I had been haunting pet stores and taking sketch pad and pencil with me to draw parrots. I was always interested in their anatomy - and once I began to learn about wild birds, parrots seemed a natural progression. What I never counted on was how much I could love such a tiny bundle of feathers. Sunkist is now 9 years old and it is human nature to think of the future. To think that he will not be with me forever is a dark spot I'd rather not explore.
Mojo is the baby. She is difficult to deal with sometimes as she is now coming into sexual maturity. She is a different kind of conure than Sunkist is; smaller and even anatomically different. Mojo has a kind of smell about her that has gotten better since she first came into our lives. She is nippier than SUnkist ever was - she did not love me like Sunkist did (before I ever brought him home). But I love Mojo almost as much as I love Sunkist - she is sweet in her own way, and she is very responsive to affection and patience.
Sunkist, fell in love first with my hair. As a 'bappy' he would nestle into my hair and poop down my back. I loved the nestling and would put up with the poop for that sweet snuggling. Sunkist began talking quite soon after coming home.
It's said that parrots mimic rather than reason - those platitudes are obviously uttered by people who don't have parrots living in their home.
Parrots reason, logic and then express themselves in a manner which a human companion can not explain away as mimicry.
Parrots wind themselves in a tight loop around your heart and not even the most passionate human lover could be as intuitive about emotion as my Sunkist.

Overcrowding? Or new extended families?

2009-06-05T16:42:00.002-04:00

Much has been said about our society being bereft of the benefits of extended family.
With the necessity of dual incomes, many parents find that getting their kids into day care, often premium day care, is beyond their economic reach.
But America, as well as urban Europe has fallen under the spell of promised personal space, and privacy. Not only do we find it convenient to have others care for the kids while we work, often many middle aged people find themselves putting their parents into nursing homes or assisted living for the same reasons.

2008 heralded a trending change in these habits as the economy collapsed and many middle aged working people found that their adult children were losing their jobs, and with the jobs, their homes, and finding a need to return to 'the nest'.

Americans deride immigrant families that 'crowd' living spaces. Americans find it inconceivable that married adults share a bedroom with their children, and sometimes, parents. Apartments rented with the idea that they hold 2 or 3 people oftimes are home to 8 or 10 people. In rental cases, this is enough to get a family evicted.

Much of suburban, and some urban, areas have thrived as communities with Homeowner Associations. As such, the Associations build into their organization sets of covenants with hopes that by enforcing same, property values in these areas can be maintained, and often made to increase. these covenants often adjudicate the number of residents allowed in a home. They stipulate that a single family house be a specific size, with space for a set number of vehicles, and have governance controlling land usage.
As families weather the financial crisis around the globe, they find it convenient, and sometimes necessary, to move in one house together to offer support during unemployment, as well as care to children and aging parents.

In some circumstances, if people made these choices freely, without the pressure of joblessness or economic hard times, they would be considered to be pioneering a new age of extended family, and applauded by sociologists. While in Homeowner Associations, situations such as these can lead to restrictions on how a owners property is used - rendering an extended family pariah.

Sometimes change comes about not because of serious contemplation, but of financial necessity. That is the case in what is now becoming a growing trend in families which are living under one roof.
Can we not simply accept that as our society changes, we begin to see habits which had no place in our community before? If we can applaud those who make decisions freely, without pressure, can we not applaud, or at least be empathetic towards those who make decisions based on economic need?
It is time we stop oppressing what is often viewed as de-evolution. It is instead, time to consider that combining families under one roof is not only conserving resources (and money), but it is enriching the very families who thought they were moving in together out of financial need rather than social commentary.

Lets all get together for a big Group Hug!

2009-06-05T13:42:00.002-04:00

Are we humans wired to be part of a clique? Is it essential for us to form group identities and rely less on our individuality?

I've been playing around in a rather large community for the last six months. It is tied to one of those Ask.com websites which were, as I understood it, originally begun as a jump point for researchers. Well, as it goes, the site has, or actually was when I joined, a big group of cliques which play off each other for fun, or, depending on your point of view, fan the flames of divisiveness.

I am actually having a hard time sticking to my goal of hanging with the site for the length of a year. This is not an uncommon goal in my observations of culture and people. Once I decided to spend 1 year watching 2 soap operas trying to understand the phenomenon. I can't say that I ever got much insight from that experiment, but I did stick it out (which says quite a lot about the state of Question and Answer websites.

It is interesting to note that regardless of the community, one will always find scammers, cons, frauds, spammers and predators. I, myself, having had a bit of a run in now and then with those kind of people, tend to stay out of situations which divulge any personal information about myself. Yet, I am always surprised at how people who profess to be so smart are so quick to accept some contrived story from a person they do not know.

In less than 6 months, I have come to recognize that the site is mostly insipid stuff - questions asked with hopes that 'friends' will raise said question into hierarchy by assigning 'points'. The questions do not have to be important, relevant or even interesting. They simply have to catch the attention of other people who have "points" to give away.
Now I find this a sad state of affairs -- research is limited to websites like WIKI which is also contributed to by people like me, some benign, some clique-ish who might, or might not, have anything useful to add to an entry.
What happened to the days of using the internet to research "real" topics, administrated by "real" professionals? Have they all been delegated to subscription websites? Is it really true that in order to access real information, a person has to pay for it?

Subrubia Is Swell

2009-06-05T13:27:00.000-04:00

What's so great about living in the suburbs anyways? It might be a nice place to raise a family; the streets are quieter and assumed, safer. The houses are roomy and allow for personal space. The yards are large, rather private, and nice for kids to play in.
The schools are often better (depending on tax base). Suburbs generally have convenience shopping, can be walkable, and, in the case of Homeowner Associations, there is a certain level of control that exists in how homes, yards and space is maintained.
But America's suburbs, like much of the rest of our country, are homogenized. The ubiquitous fast food emporiums are draws to busy working parents. Play time for kids is often confined to Gymboree establishments that promise play, music and fun - and can be compared to every other Gymboree across the country.
Life in the suburbs is convenient, and if a family finds that it needs to relocate for one reason or another, to hop from suburb to suburb is not so different or alien.

Life in the suburbs is mundane. Culture is non-existant on a real level. Oh, each suburb may have a town center, with an art gallery or two, fabric shop, craft store (more chains), an intimate little dining establishment.

One can be certain that life in the suburbs will throw few 'curve balls'. In other words, there won't be too many surprises. If the suburb is chosen based on socio-economic factors (and most of them are), the potential resident is apt to find a suburb which leans towards their own religious, political, and financial mores. Neighbors will live in a house just the same as the next house; they will attend church in the community; children will all attend the same schools; and most of the residents will vote for the same candidates.
There will be very little in the way of independent thinking.
Perhaps this is desirable to the parents of young children who wish to shelter their kids from the "big bad world" and the people who live in it. It is easier to control your children's direction when you can control who they see, where they go, what is available to them. Safety for kids is great when the children are young. But without independent thought, without outside challenges to their morals, their beliefs and their education, how can we expect those same kids to grow into self sufficient, innovative, creative, adults?

Growing up in a large city presents so many risks for young people. I remember the first times I saw, or was the target of, a "flasher", and the response of my parents when I inquired about the motives of such a person. I also recall living across the street from a city park where community theater, art classes and physical activity were available to me each day. I learned to ice skate at a city park, I learned to play softball, I was in small theater productions, I created mini-masterpieces in art class. I also recall growing up knowing that a number of my neighbors were 'gang members' who hung out at the park at night. These were often the big brothers of our neighbors; and contrary to what one might think, these same gang members were often the people who looked out for us littler kids.
I developed a unique sense of independence as a kid being able to ride city buses.

In Response to Censorship, Responsibility, Self Esteem

2008-03-24T16:21:00.002-04:00

In response to someone anonymous who commented on "Tits Up"; I was happy to see you leave a link and to hear comments from someone in the business (so to speak) of physicality.
I know of a young woman who is a dancer who spends the bulk of her money on clothes from VS ... more power to her - as long as this is what she choses to do - from an informed mind set.
I think you missed a bit of my point - most of my beef with VS is not that they sell a dream to those who can't get off without one; it's that the dream is being sold only to humans who like women. Women who like men can only have ribald "Fun" if they go to Chippendales? Where are the male eye candy in the store front windows, in "Fashion Shows", or on TV? If a male is shown in some sort of stage of undress, it is generally a joke aimed at his workman's smile.

I am pissed at what looks like backsliding to this old feminist.

No one ever said that this should not be allowed, or that should not be allowed. Isn't it misogyny to only find safety in the exploitation of women? Yeah, the old question always was and probably always will be: If the woman choses to exploit herself for money, isn't her own business? Yes, I say it IS her business - as long as it is her business alone, not that of her pimp. As long as she has explored her options and she feels that the occupation of sex worker is for her - then by all means - work away at an honorable and needed profession.
However, there is no balance to how our society views sex, gender and open minded pleasure. No, it is doled out by a culture that does so in a puerile fashion - giggly, behind the hands, look at me be "naughty", exhibitionism.
How droll.

RE VS: Someone is going to exploit those with low self esteem - it might as well be VS or someone else will or is already doing it too. The sad fact is that no one should be made to feel that they are less valued because of their body.

As my spouse always likes to say "There is an ass for every saddle".
If a person is concerned that they do not have a 'partner' who loves them, they must first examine who THEY themselves are before they can look for that partner who completes them.
Yes, you stated it; taking responsibility for being a WHOLE them and being happy with that whole person.

Not to change the subject, but yes, to change the subject:
Do you find that religion allows people to NOT be responsible for who they are - after all, no matter who they are or what they do, they have been 'saved'?

Gender Disrespect, or Low Self Esteem?

2007-12-10T16:16:00.000-05:00

Why are so many people dis-satisfied with who they are?

After numerous false starts to this blog post, I open with the above question: is it true self dis-satisfaction, or is it reactionary immediacy that brings people to spend huge amounts of money, and risk unhealthy side effects by changing their looks?

With sarcasm and humor I approached this topic because as a woman of middle years I too find that I spend more time being concerned with this wrinkle or that streak of gray in my hair. I often justify this by saying I have lived with this face and hair for 55+ years and I am taking observant steps at retaining the looks that I have appreciated all of my life. Yet is are my small vanities the same as augmentation or full plastic surgery? Is taking care of what you have the first steps to altering who you are? I personally don't think so - I think there is a line to be drawn between keeping up your appearance and altering it because you can not stand to live in your body.

Is it disrespect for gender that rushes women to breast enhancement? Is it disrespect that makes people think that they must look one way or another? I recently watched a program about employment opportunities in China. The program followed one young professional woman who believed that she had reached the Chinese equivalent of the glass ceiling in her career. The reasons had nothing to do with her gender, they had to do with her appearance. The woman profiled believed that the competition in the work place was so fierce, in order to get ahead in her field, she would need to have exceptional looks. In Chinese white collar hierarchy, that translates to "a more Western look". The woman in the program under went plastic surgery to improve her skin, give her eye folds more of a westerners look. She also had extensive cosmetic surgery done to her mouth, so her 'bite' would not be so prominent.

The problems of dis-satisfaction with who we are are not confined to the United States. Plastic surgery and body enhancement is a bigger business in Asia than in the USA or Europe. How did the Chinese so quickly come to the same spot as American woman have? Is it pursuit of money that makes people desperate to conform to whatever the populist concepts of 'beauty'?

Does this have anything to do with beauty at all?

No one, especially when young, is perfectly happy with how they look. People with curly hair pay to straighten it. People with straight hair pay to curl it. People with too little hair seek to thicken it, those with lots of hair seek to reduce it.
And no one likes their body when it first goes into bloom. However, many of us grow to appreciate who we are, we like our small physical idiosyncrasies, we embrace our individuality. Once we develop our own sense of style, we become more ourselves.
We do not understand how so many people can be searching for the perfection that is truly, nonexistent.

It is difficult to ask of Americans, who have been pampered for decades from whence comes this dis-satisfaction when China, the land of equality for all comrades has fallen prey to the same problems. If China was not able to instill self worth in it's citizenry, how can it be expected of 'gotta have it now' Americans?

Tits Up

2007-12-08T15:25:00.000-05:00

Somehow the topic of TITS has been pretty high on the list of many people these days.

My friend Staci Backauskas of Tampa emailed to talk about something she was working on, an essay about a promotion being done on either a TV or radio station in Tampa FL. The promo, actually a contest, has the dubious title of "Jingle Jugs".
Apparently, 12 "lucky" women will be chosen from all entrants, to receive breast augmentation, just in time for the Holidays!

Where to start, where to start....

A local group of concerned mothers, calling themselves The Carmel Moms, have appealed to Victoria's Secret to tone down the soft porn look of their display windows in a local walking mall. The "Moms" are concerned because they do not wish to explain the clothing on the mannequins in the store windows to their toddlers or preteen kids. The Moms also believe that while trying to teach their kids sexual values, it is hard to do so when sex and what to wear when or to have sex is confronted by those same kids in the ubiquitous store front windows. Personally, censorship is a touchy issue. I don't like being censored and our constitution says that we all have the right to free speech. I am not sure if that right extends to inappropriate clothing choices being flaunted in malls though. My take on this is if the clothing can't be worn in the mall, then it doesn't belong in the store window at the mall. It is inappropriate attire for that time and place - so why market it out in the open. Surely, every adult man and woman knows that Victoria Secret sells intimate apparel.
They also know that if someone wants to pump up their tits, (or lack of them), they can buy just such a product at Victoria's Secret (VS). I have never been able to purchase anything from VS other than panties. But since I can buy a half dozen pair of panties at a department store for what one pair from VS costs, I don't shop at VS. Not personally having a lack of breast, I don't need a pump up bra. VS is, in my opinion, one step away from having breast augmentation. It is a cry from women who feel they have missed the tit bus to get on board.

Why is it that so many people are so utterly dis-satisfied with their own selves that they would endanger their lives with breast implants anyways? And when did immediacy take precedence over common sense? Will those same plastic surgeons that implant fluid filled bags in the chests of American women also help those same women hold those droopy bags up in 15 years? Will they help those women deal with backaches that come from tits that are too big? Or will they help with the medical costs when those bags deteriorate and fill the chest cavity with saline solution or silicone?

Now we'll take this one step further: recently I read a blog by someone who said "I am now officially a FATTY. At 150 pounds I now qualify as a FAT person". Is this idiot for real? Well yes, HE is. He is considered part of obese America at 150 pounds. Now, honestly, the author did not say how tall he was. Unless he was REALLY short, there is a chance that he isn't fat at all. He is simply succumbing to the labels being applied to those of us walking the earth whose thighs touch each other. Or who have tits, or hips or an ass. I am not talking about people who can't get up because they are considered by the medical professions as "morbidly obese". I am talking about real people - people who might be five and a half feet tall and weigh about 150 pounds. 150 pounds on someone of that height is about a size 12, maybe a 10. Until recently, a size 12 was considered NORMAL.
My conspiracy soaked mind has begun to believe that "FATTY" is a label invented by people who used to be called things like BEANPOLE, or SKINNY, or TOOTHPICK, or QTIP.
Yeah, you people who are SOOO 'thin' are still beanpoles. And how funny are you all going to look with tits as big as mine perched on your chests?

Why is it that when I walk into a womans clothing store, I can not find shirts or 'tops' that are cut generously enough for my tits? My tits are not humongous. They are cup size C. Yet, stores such as J. Jill do not carry tops that button over my tits. Clothing THAT HUGE must be ordered from the catalog. Hey, come one - are you stores afraid some fucking beanpole is going to come in and be offended that you sell clothes for FATTIES? Can someone tell me where all the breast augmented women are going to be shopping? If a cup size C is just too big to stock in a retail store, where will all the DD cup enhanced women get shirts to cover those jingle jugs?

Are Americans so disenchanted with intellect that they willingly trade it in for foolishness? Is what we are, less important than how we look? What about liking yourselves? Is that too much to ask? Can we please stop dissing those with things we'd like to have, as being less than we are - even as we scurry about trying to lay our hands on those very things we have laughed at and labeled? BTW, keep your hands off my tits as you hunt for the perfect pair. I may not have much use for them, but they're mine and I like them and have never wished for others. I could hope the same for you and yours but my gut tells me that this is just the beginning.

Next, we'll talk about face lifts - you know, those things ALL the celebrities (and the wanna be celebrities) are getting which make them look like their made of plasticine, or at best, like they are suffering from Bells Palsy.

Plague then and now

2007-10-24T17:37:00.000-04:00

What more can the ancient past teach us about our future? Plague in medieval times was the pandemic that people fear now and media uses as scare tactics.
Often archaeologists work in quiet solitude rendering the minutia of artifacts into living and breathing history.
With the advent of DNA gathering and study, archaeology is a whole new field of study - one that may give us insight into how some populations fair better than others in the face of pandemic.

http://www.archaeology.org/0711/abstracts/blackdeath.html

Still Happy to Not be a "Mother"

2007-05-13T18:18:00.000-04:00

Some anonymous person left a comment on my poem "Mother's Day" about how sad it was that I did not have love in my life and could write a poem such as that.
Here's a bit of news for you: I am still glad not to be a mother. And that has nothing to do with being loved or loving in return.
If all of your life is wrapped up in children, then I feel sorry for YOU. You have never self actualized.
Additionally, these days, it is almost irresponsible to procreate because you need love. The world is already over populated with people who can't or won't admit that they are using resources faster than they can be replenished.
So the next time you want to sit in judgment of someone else's choices regarding having and making children, consider what you can do to alleviate overpopulation, over use of natural resources and how you intend to afford to raise kids in todays climate of Bush Economics.

The New Collosus - 2007

2007-03-19T14:38:00.002-04:00

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
~ Emma Lazarus

Give me your hungry, your tired your poor I'll piss on em
Thats what the statue of bigotry says
Your poor huddled masses, lets club em to death
And get it over with and just dump em on the boulevard
~ Lou Reed, from "Dirty Boulevard"

1
Oh Land of plenty and home of the free
that gave birth to pilgrims and innovators,
opening horizons to children of the blessed, like me:

Where is your mercy, your compassionate acceptance
of those huddled masses and homeless
now echoing with hushed tones of grievance?

The veneer is fading from the face of our fathers
as the rich get richer and the poor get their
tongues ripped out in the wave of profiteers and new fuhrers -

which the "greatest" generation fought to eliminate.
Where is the compassion which opened the arms of
the new colossus whose lamp no longer illuminates?

Hunger and illness litter streets once paved with gold
empty eyes and hearts filled with despair and longing
for a land of milk and honey which made them emboldened

to cross rivers and oceans, risk death and separation
only to land on cold shores with little opportunity
outside what was left behind and abandoned.

Raise your lamp high, perhaps the light will blind
those coming to these shores to look for a living wage
and conditions better than substandard , or red-lined

by industry and cheap labor. In fields and in factories
they toil for their family's well-being
picking lettuce and grapes and strawberries

thin, polished women in large SUVs shop at upscale
markets in communities manicured by the sweat
of their brows. For minimum wage they daily travail

while at night suburbanites sleep in sheets of percale
believing they've brokered the best price for labor.
Elected officials seek to assail

the tenuous hold on life immigrants have,
talk of walls and guards and jail
for those who believed what lady liberty promised as salve

for the dispossessed. This nation, sweet land of liberty,
now bought with the currency of the elite,
no room in the melting pot for a new decree.

Part 2
The children of our nation now outfitted for war
by lying politicians and corporations anxious
for stock holder accountability, greed, to the core;

of values once held in highest esteem
parlayed like collateral in a new economy
that buries all thought of the American dream.

Alone on a proscenium stage of inspection
by past allies, and those forced into
subjugation, now at war with the bedouin,

replacing one monster with another, civil
war and death to economies in the name of
oil and sweet inside contracts, wearing the laurel

wreath of failure. Young people promised higher
education in exchange for their homage to flag
and memory. In sand and death they become mired

in your new democracy ideals and citizens believe
what is expeditious today, false security and
homeland pork spending in the name of what can be achieved

in that land of sand and sun and sunni / Shiite self hatred.
Blood and red hand prints of women and children
printed on walls, like graffiti left from hennaed

sorrows. While in Cuba, subterfuge and torture
seeks to pull secrets from prisoners like thorns from feet
while denial of human rights float free of the zephyr

of news. Hide the coffins of the dead
returning home; cover them with flags that will not
wave in a vacuum of dissent and dread.

What cost our democracy to the world?
To citizens lost because of vendetta
ultimately, what flag will show unfurled

in this new world order?
In the new democracy?
In the darkness now descended upon us?

***

"My country 'tis of thee
sweet land of liberty
of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring!"
~ Samuel Smith

Lasting Impressions

2007-03-19T14:38:00.001-04:00

Before sunrise, with walking stick in hand, I begin to hike the trail leading to the pond's bridge. Brushing large, be-dewed spider webs from the path, I lighten my footsteps so as not to frighten the sandhill cranes into flight. The morning air smells 'peat-y': I notice a new path cutting across the trail and into the bog. Long, pale hairs stick to brush stands waterside. Somewhere, a white tail deer is splashing across the flowage.
Approaching the bridge I slow my steps knowing there are two crane 'colts' somewhere in the tall grass. As the sun vigorously comes up, it lights the young, tight headed cat-tails decorated with still sleeping dragonflies. Sleeping there, the dragonflies' emerald eyes do not close but glint with an green iridescence in the sun.

I take a seat on a large rock on the west side of the bridge, the silence is tangible. Splashing on my left in the deeper part of the pond are pickerel; they are heading to the lake; their journey is a slow one across shallow creeks which disappear into dark stands of cedar. Somewhere on a farm over a mile away, a rooster voices indignation.

The Door County peninsula is a rock outcrop of granite and limestone insulated between the shores of Lake Michigan and the bay of Green Bay. At it's very tip, it says hello to lake Superior; this is where it gets it's name: Death's Door - watery graveyard for many ships.
A decade or so ago, some enterprising group of naturalists began an experiment to determine how water is exchanged from Green Bay to Lake Michigan. Dyes were dropped into the waters of Green Bay as it enters the limestone cliffs on the west side of the peninsula. Some time later, as it washes through the porous rock of the peninsula, the dyed water exits on the Lake Michigan side. This is a special place of deer, martin, badger, bear, coyote, fox, raptor, crane ....

A child growing up on the peninsula might feel confined by it's isolation and neglected by fast paced advancement that happens elsewhere. An adult introduced to Door County will likely fall in love with it's beauty and freshness. In 1990 I married into a family which held 80 acres in the center of the peninsula. The tracts of land included field, forest, flowage, seasonal pond, bog and a wonderful sand hill - home to the namesake cranes who returned yearly to nest and raise their young.

Crane 'colts' are whimsical creatures of hill and swamp. Omnivorous, they consume anything that is not too big. Frogs, other bird eggs, salamanders, bugs... dragonflies. Hines emerald dragonflies, whose flashing green eyes capture my attention this morning.

Returning to my walk, I come to an area that is densely treed with cedar and white pine; the ground is dry and covered in pine needles, cedar rosettes and dwarf lake iris. There is a hollow sound to the path here; proof of the presence of that limestone sponge beneath. Tiny toads live here too; I am careful not to step on them as they lazily leap out of my way and into an open area where the ground is covered with tiny wild strawberry.

As I exit the pine and cedar forest, the cranes see me. In unison they begin to call - to trumpet in voices loud enough to wake those who chose to sleep in back at the farmhouse. One crane takes to the sky and is suddenly above me, scolding me for the interference. The other crane leaps into the air over and over, while moving southward towards the swamp. It wants my attention; the colts must be close by.
I see the colts everyday from the farmyard with my binoculars. I have no desire to disturb them or the nest area. I head back on the trail and towards the pond.

In the six years of walking the trails of the property, I have seen more wildlife than I ever had before in my 40 years. I have heard warblers sing and pileated woodpeckers try to dismantle cedar homes on the cliffs over looking the bay. I have watched as the cranes stage migration on farm fields they share with dairy cows as they come out of the mist on a chilly autumn morning. Now, those paths are closed to me. Instead of a private family sanctuary, they are home only to the Hines, to the cranes and the pickerel. And they will stay that way as they are now protected by TNC. The timeless quality which gave my heart such joy now belongs to the future of the creatures that live there and the trees which sweeten the air and the birds which serenade the sky.

MIA

2007-03-19T14:36:00.000-04:00

Apparently I have not blogged here in some time. That's what happens when you get greedy and have accounts at way too many communities.
Well I have been prolific lately. Too prove it, I am posting two new pieces, one poem and one essay.
Life is good.
:)

Laura and Phil

2007-01-11T17:23:00.000-05:00

My friend of many years called me to tell me that her husband is dying of cancer and has perhaps six months to live. One of the first things she said to me is: "I am going to be a widow."

Those seven words were spoken in a similar fashion to: "I had fish for lunch.", or, "I am going on vacation." It was quite matter of fact. What else was it that I heard in her voice?

My friend Laura has been married since 1968. Laura and her husband Phil have had their ups and downs over the years. I met both of them when my ex husband introduced us in 1970 - you remember what 1970 was like; we all partied like it was 1999. Laura and Phil are both six years older than I. We were all on the forefront of the hippie years. To call us all dysfunctional would be kind. Dysfunction followed us all, like shadows. Some of us walked away from the druggie lifestyle. Some of us did not.

Laura and Phil spent a couple of years separated while Phil languished in jail for possession of drugs. Laura, never one to wait patiently, began an affair with another friend while Phil was incarcerated. The affair was known to many of us in our circle of friends, yet it was discreet. However, Laura's first child was a product of the affair.
When Phil got out of jail, he and Laura took up where they left off. No one was condemned in those days for 'fooling around'. Fooling around was something everyone did, some of us were more careful about it than others. These were the days pre-AIDS. Phil and Laura may have been reunited, but their habits did not change for many years. As long as there were drugs to be had, many of the people in our circle of friends did them. I do believe that a few of us had the sense not to fall completely into the drug trap. Phil, Laura, myself and my ex husband never got into injecting drugs. A good thing; it may have been pre-AIDS, but Hepatitis was rampant.
When all the fun, and home brewed drugs began to disappear, pharmaceuticals were eagerly chased. These made for interesting times; they were legal, they were cheaply had and it seemed that every doctor wrote prescriptions for them. In hindsight, although I don't recommend drug use to anyone, todays alternatives are not much different. There are drugs to make you sleep, drugs to make you thin, drugs to give you an erection, drugs to make you not feel pain or depression. Some things never change, except that now, all those drugs are advertised on the nightly news ....

Laura and Phil rode along on this train of drugs and existentialism for years. When the effects of the drugs began to take their toll on their children, they distanced themselves from most of them, and many of the people who had been part of the circle of friends. In the mid 1970s many of us, a bit more mature and needing to move on, took jobs and blended into regular society. We would all still see each other now and then, but weekends were not spent on speed highs at which no one slept and things got a bit out of hand. I've heard it said that the hippies all went to work for IBM; there is a line in an old Eagles song that goes something like this:
"I saw a Deadhead sticker on a cadillac". In my case this was almost true; I went to work for a Fortune 500 company, it could be said that I started late on my career goals. Phil got a job too, and began working as an engineer in the city. In those days, engineer jobs in high rise apartment buildings were very cush. The hours lent themselves well to the ex-druggie and there was lots of freedom as long as the work needed to be done was accomplished.

In 1980, AIDS raised its ugly head and we lost more friends to infection from dirty needles. In 1982 I lost track of Laura and Phil as I left my ex-husband to find a more upwardly mobile life.

It was years before I connected again with the old friends and by that time most had either died, were in jail, moved away or went 'straight'. When I saw Laura and Phil again, they had bought a house in the suburbs, were raising their two boys and except for a bit of marijuana, had stopped doing drugs. Life became pretty normal except for the fact that we survivors seemed to have Xray vision of a type - we saw through the ordinary, we reached beyond the suburban life of our parents.

Since 1982, it seemed that although Laura and Phil had stopped doing drugs, they did not grow. They did not seek beyond the home and sheltered life they built for themselves. It was a sad life in which they both missed those party days - the days of staying up all night, all weekend, of excitement and enthusiasm. They missed the companionship of the circle. Now and then, someone would return to the city for a visit and we would all get together and talk about who was doing what, where they lived, how many kids they had. Eventually talk got around to things like: "Remember when we all went out and did such and such with so and so". "Remember when we had the head shop on Lawrence Ave?"

More years rolled by....

When I married my current husband, it was mostly Laura who I remained friends with. Phil seemed to have lost a lot of his life juice. He became withdrawn, he didn't want to go out much, do much other than watch TV when he wasn't working.
It was like he came down from a heavy weekend of speeding and never quite found his natural energy again.
Laura and I would talk about things; she always hinted at being rather unhappy in her life. Her health suffered, Phil's health was not what it once was. Phil was abusive, or so she claimed, he wasn't interested in sex anymore, he spent too much time at work. The two boys were no longer boys anymore, but they still lived at home and were a drain with their constant drama and angst. It seemed that "Empty Nesters" would never be something that Laura and Phil would experience. One of their sons was diagnosed as having some sort of mental disorder, probably brought about by Laura's drug use when she was pregnant. The second son, Phil's child, showed great promise, but he too grew up in a home where lack of energy or enthusiasm for life was never ending; he had no goals, no dreams, no desires.

A point in my life came when my husband, (who was never part of that circle of friends), and I decided it was time to move on with our lives. A circumstance had greatly changed our lives, and the direction we had been taking. We moved into a smaller, nicer home, put some money into it, renovated and decorated it. It was pretty nice - quite the change from my hippie girl years. More and more I found myself divorced from the remaining friends from so long ago. But Laura and I still stayed in touch.

A couple of years ago, out of the blue, Laura called to tell me that Phil had lung cancer. She was worried about him, he was taking chemotherapy and not doing well. Her words and predictions about his health were dire. But Phil hung in there - two years of radiation and chemotherapy, medical marijuana and part time jobs.
It was last summer that Laura told me that the cancer had returned and Phil was terribly ill.

When Laura called today to tell me that Phil was put into hospice, that the doctors had told them there was nothing further they could do for him and at best he had six months to live, she told me she was very sad.
Now, I understand sad. It is sad to watch anyone die, and sadder still to be the principal caretaker of someone who has a terminal disease. But what was that sound in her voice as she told me she would be a widow soon?

Was it relief that Phil would not have long to suffer? Was it relief that she would be free of the weight of caring for him after these years? Was it perhaps that she could see some change coming into her life?
After all, unless both a husband and wife die at the same moment, we all are destined to be either a widow or widower. Perhaps it is best that this happens while we are still vital enough to seek another lover. Perhaps the long death that is anticipated is worse for the one who lives than it is for the one who dies.

I remember going out with Laura and a number of other girlfriends long ago on a Friday night. We used to all like to dress up and go out together to nightclubs and dance and drink and flirt. Most of us did nothing more than flirt. Others of us did much more than flirt. I guess it could be said that we tested our desirability in the marketplace of the singles bar. Laura was one of those.
One night, there were six of us women out for fun. We all agreed to stop drinking and leave the club by 1 AM and go out to breakfast, then go home. All of us but Laura were at the appointed place at the right time. Laura had come to me, hanging on some disco boy and begged me to wait at the restaurant for her. She was going to have herself an adventure.
Hours later, disheveled and looking radiant, Laura showed up at the restaurant. We were all beginning to worry a bit about her - as well as wonder what our husbands would say about being so late. It was the last time we all went out together. It may have been the last time that Laura felt desired as a young hot babe. I don't know. It never mattered.
Just as it doesn't really matter now, except that I wonder about the despair in the house where Laura and Phil still reside.

One of their children, the youngest son, Phil's son, still lives at home. Laura has been progressively falling apart for most of 10 years. Knee replacements, hip replacements, carpal tunnel surgeries, you name it - Laura has probably had it.
My husband and I have thought that some of Laura's problems could be summed up as due to lack of attention from Phil. Lack of self esteem too, Laura never had it in spades anyways, and as she has aged, it seems to have taken a vacation.

So what is in the words "I am going to be a widow."? Am I hearing a sadness that such an integral part of her life is going to soon be gone ... maybe when passion is gone from marriage, the comfort of a long time friend still remains. Is that what Laura will miss? Will she miss the companion that knows her so well - in fact, knows her so well that he can ignore who she is for years?

I hope that Phil's death doesn't drain Laura of that life force she once had. That same life force which made her cavort with disco boys and have affairs and dance all night. I hope that at the end of it all, Laura is not lost to despair or anger. I hope that all of the years of caring for Phil, for their kids, which weighs on her today, is replaced by a measure of security and satisfaction.

The words: "I am going to be a widow" are words that we all might be uttering one day. And who can say how we will feel about them as we say them?

Twas a night B4 xmas

2006-12-22T17:01:00.000-05:00

Twas a night B4 Xmas..... by Jody Kuchar
With Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and Lewis Carroll

Twas a night around christmas and all through the town
most lights were turned on, houses dressed up like clowns;
Duke Energy rejoiced and counted killowatts
with hopes that customer checkbooks were not tied in knots;
the children were shopping online with credit cards
with visions of UPS trucks dashing through yards;
And Dad in his jockeys and I in my thong,
were careful not to spill the contents of the bong,
when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed without my pajamer.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
tore open the curtains and threw out my stash.
Rising up in the sky a star to the east
a feeling inside, I turned into the beast;
suppressing that feeling, try as I might,
to my spouse I called out "Tonight is the night!"
We dressed in mere seconds, our attire all black,
this was no hour, to be in the sack!
With stealth and with silence we slipped out the door
down the stairs, cross the carpet, and over creaky floor;
into the moonlight we crept and we crawled
we knew it was time for a nativity to be mauled!
"On Darlin! On husband! On Wife, oh you Vixen!
Now dash it, now prance it, now on with our mission!"
Across darkened churchyard we gamboled and gyred
we stealthily made our way to the seasonal byre.
There were camels and love sheep and cows all aflutter,
there were wise men and virgins and Joseph, feeling buggered.
and there in his manger, the silent child
soon would he know how it felt being defiled.
We pushed and we pulled until he just toppled
"It won't be for long that you feel coddled!"
We placed one wise man on top of another,
the third one was positioned to bugger his brother.
The camel was made to fellate the sheep
red lipstick we placed on the cow - she looked cheap.
Our mission accomplished, the manger in tatters,
laughing so hard, we put stress on our bladders.
Across yards and lawns we headed for home
on the way, just for sport, we molested a gnome.
Inside the house we tore off our clothes
while peals of laughter from us arose,
the children long sleeping heard naught a thing
it wasn't long 'fore the phone started to ring,
t'was the Reverend Longsermon and his missus in tears
it seemed someone had stolen their christmas eve beers.
we raided the cookies, had warm tea with rum
"what a joke is this christmas and Santa's a bum
let's go back to bed, on each other start pawing!
let's go back to bed and wait until dawning
when the neighbors all shuffle on down to the church
won't they be surprised, their manger's besmirched!"
We sprang to our mattress, our sheets now all cold
our eyes were quick closed, the night was now old,
this story is long and this story is gripping
we've had lots of fun Nativity Tipping!

Elections Day is almost upon Us

2006-11-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

I do try to stay positive and keep my cynical side on a leash. However, with elections almost upon us, I urge everyone to get out and unelect the politicians who have blatantly instituted unconstitutional measures as a means of procuring their own victories and agendas.
In March of 2005 I wrote a letter to protest Wisconsin legislature AB63, a bill that was termed "Election Protection". Wisconsin Bill AB63 was passed, and additionally was adopted and passed by most other states in the USA. The bill guaranteed protestion of "legal" elections by requiring all voters to have a photo ID in order to vote. The photo IDs that were required were to be obtained through state agencies; they could be driver licenses, work permits, or state issued IDs. The photo IDs were not given freely to all citizens; to obtain an ID, the cost (paid to each state agency) was anywhere from $2.00 to $10.00. I reprint my letter here as I felt then, and still feel now, that AB63 and its counterparts are in direct violation of our constitutional rights, as stated in the 24th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution (1964):
"The rights of citizens ... shall not be denied or abridged by the United States of any State by reason of failure to pay any poll tax or other tax"..

Get out and vote people! We need to take our country back and not allow ourselves to be misrepresented by an outlaw administration intent on undermining our freedom, rights and status in the world community.

March 17, 2005

Wisconsin State Senator Jeffery Plale
RE: Assembly Bill 63

I find it very disconcerting that while we send American citizens in harms way in Iraq to secure voting rights for Iraqis, we in this country are experiencing vast gulfs in the ways which voting takes place among our own citizens.
According to jsonline.com/news/racine/feb05/302687, the instances of voting fraud in the state of Wisconsin during the elections of November 2004 were minimal. Additionally, it would appear that there have been a paucity of poll workers to oversee and process the elections. While current procedure exists to under staff polling places, we are asking that the DOT absorb and administrate the issuing of and renewal of Photo IDs. It is estimated that the yearly cost of this could reach as much as $1 million. Bill AB63's supporters have added a provision that would allow the state to use Help America Vote Act to recoup up to $250,000. annually for costs it incurs for original issuing and renewal of Photo IDs. This seems like irresponsible book keeping.
A proposal like requiring photo IDs blames the voters for the problems rather than the election officials and makes it the voters problem to fix the system. Any
further impediments to the process must be placed on the election officials or the local governments that run the elections. In a time when we already struggle with voter participation, we must not add an unnecessary hurdle for voters to jump.
Even the hint of voting fraud should be embarrassing to Americans with family members in Iraq. But before we legislate reform, shouldn't we first actually understand the issues at hand?
Only one instance of fraud in the state of wisconsin has been proven and prosecuted in the state's history. In the September 2004 primary election, a student voted in both his home address and his school address in a different county. He had a photo ID.
AB 63 would create new problems, limiting the ability of the elderly, poor and students to exercise their right to vote. These are folks who might not have a drivers license and would have great difficulty getting a state-issued photo ID from somewhere, particularly before the election. Drivers' licenses do not state whether a person is a convicted felon or even a U.S. citizen. They often are valid even if they do not show a person's current address and if a person has moved. In short, they prove very little.
Investigations into potential voting fraud are far from complete and thus far have yielded no evidence of fraud in Milwaukee or anywhere else.
We need to make it easier to vote and harder to cheat. The newly suggested legislation would make it more burdensome for voters. Why should we trade the basic democratic elements of our process for overly cumbersome requirements that do nothing but discourage minority and elderly voting?
Questionable addresses, make up less than half of one percent of the total votes cast in the city of Milwaukee. Computer and clerical error account for a very similar percentage of error in cities across the state and country.
Issues such as incorrect information being given by poll workers and election observers has not even been addressed with the introduction of AB 53, while misinformation resulted in scores of voters being turned away from polling places.
Ab 63 is an unconstitutional poll tax on those whose grasp on the franchise is currently most vulnerable: the elderly, the low-income, the homeless, and the handicapped. Individuals could lose time and wage compensation, as well as pay bus or taxi fare in order to obtain an unnecessary ID. The current cost of an original Photo ID issued by the WIDOT is $9.00. If the only reason that a person would be required to have a Photo ID is for voting, then the fee for the ID proves to be a poll tax, and is therefore unconstitutional.

24th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution (1964):
"The rights of citizens ... shall not be denied or abridged by the United States of any State by reason of failure to pay any poll tax or other tax".

AB 63 also likely violates the federal Voting Rights Act by imposing discrimination against minorities. Several states have unsuccessfully attempted to enact more rigorous ID requirements. The Michigan Attorney General found that the Michigan Election law requiring voter identification either by photo ID or by signing an affidavit, was unconstitutional. The Attorney General stated that this would impose economic and logistical burdens on the poor, the elderly, the disabled, and those who do not possess photo identification. Additionally, AB 63 will completely strip a homeless voter's right to vote via corroboration, simply because that person lacks an address or a photo ID and would no longer be able to use corroboration to vote.
*NOTE: Nearly one third of all homeless persons are veterans.

I would like this letter to serve as my vehement opposition to AB 63 and ask that all citizens concerned with democracy in the state of Wisconsin do the same.

Condo Cowboys

2006-10-29T13:22:00.000-05:00

When I had decided to organize a team for the local AIDS Walk, I also addressed the difficulty that some people face when asked to fundraise. I lack no skills in this task, however, many people, especially women, have a hard time asking people for money - their own or someone else's. To assist my team in collecting pledges, I wrote up some 'talking points' for them; a variety of facts about HIV/AIDS, which they could use as a source for talking to people about HIV/AIDS. To do this properly, I needed to research some statistics for myself. What I found did not really surprise me, but I knew it would surely surprise others.

Reported new cases of AIDS have increased by 33% in the age group of 50+, and that statistic represents a span of two years, not an over all percentage. This fact alone was not just a surprise to people, but also a source of amusement. Apparently the old axiom of believing that people your parents' age don't engage in sex still exists among today's more 'enlightened' young people. Given some thought, the fact that AIDS is growing among senior citizens should not be a surprise to anyone.
In Florida and Arizona, there are six widowed or single women to every man in that age group. Today, people over 50 enjoy better health and younger looks than did their parents. With the advent and availability of Erectile Dysfunction medications, any 70 year old male can be called a "Condo Cowboy" too. Yes, senior citizens not only date, but have more opportunity to do so than do 40 year old singles. However, the once freeing state of being past menopause has given many of the dating and sexually active females of this age group a sense of safety. Where educated safe sex should be practiced, denial based risky sexual behavior is resulting in new cases of AIDS exploding into the senior communities.

The current administration in the United States has duplicitously enforced a message of monogamy and abstinence as a reliable means of disease and birth control. In doing so, it has committed a disservice not just to youth, but to all segments of the population. Furthermore, this "message" is preached to the youth of America, within the confines of public education (and government funded education). If AIDS is not discussed openly among everyone, how will segments of the population no longer attending schools become aware of the risk of HIV/AIDS?

Not to flog a dead or dying horse, the recent Foley brouhaha has brought to light something that should have been obvious: the Republican party, like any group, is just as "guilty" of sexual high jinx as were the prior occupants of the White House. But here similarities end: the holier than thou attitudes which dominate Republican politics had no place in the Clinton administration.
Turn on prime time television and what you will be assaulted with is mixed messages that seem to go hand in hand with repressive sexual politics. Prime time is full of desperate housewives, men in trees, and youth oriented advertising all using sex as the sole reason to purchase products. It is a sexy world out there with zero responsibility for safe intimate congress.

Yes, the current political climate can be directly held responsible for the lack of information, or for the extent of misinformation about HIV/AIDS and STDs. It is fully responsible for our parents, or grandparents thinking that the worse thing that could happen to them while engaging in risky, unsafe sex, might be an unexpected pregnancy. It is not only time to bring the facts about HIV/AIDS into the public eye, it is more than overdue to educate every human being in this country about HIV/AIDS and the effect that AIDS could have on not just our economy, but on our health care services, health care workers, families, communities and all humanity. Hiding ones head in the sand of Florida or Arizona will not prevent AIDS. Understanding how AIDS is spread and what constitutes high risk behavior will prevent AIDS.

The Great Poundcake Fiasco

2006-10-24T16:22:00.000-04:00

My in laws left yesterday after spending a weekend with us. Note the absolute joy in my words as I inform you of this. Actually, I am not alone with my less than ecstatic attitude; Sunkist, after having to stay confined to cages for the entire time, actually bit me on the cheek when I freed him from his imprisonment. And he drew blood. You know he wasn't happy.
Husband and I have spoke of the toll having parents around can take on grown children.
When the in laws came to visit during the summer, and the yard was open and the pool inviting, there was space to get away from each other. But with the weather cold and the yard basically closed for the impending winter, the only place to go for some solitude was the bathroom. Grab a book, pull up a bench, turn on the ventilator fan so it sounds like serious business is taking place in there, and enjoy 20 minutes of peace.

In preparation for the visit, husband was talked into baking a pumpkin poundcake by myself. This suggestion was not without personal agenda as I love pumpkin and was anticipating my first pumpkin confection of the season. Saturday morning, before the arrival of the visiting parents, husband was in the kitchen baking a cake. The house smelled fabulous! Pumpkin-y and spice and warm ... very nice on a cold day.
When it came to be time to take the anxiously awaited poundcake from the oven, it seemed to look a bit flat to me. As minutes passed, the poundcake began to settle and oddly, the butter seemed to be separating from the cake. I commented how the cake reminded me of a fallen souffle, or that perhaps it needed more flour. Husband thought that the pumpkin might not have been good. Bravely, we all stood around the center kitchen island and tasted the crunchier bits of the cake and it was sweet, but tasty. However, it soon became apparent that it was much too heavy to eat.
That evening while exploring our local Wild Oats market, husband was convinced to try another poundcake. We bought the cream cheese, more eggs, flour, pecans, and vanilla. Sunday morning husband started to bake cake number two.

Praline Pecan poundcake is amazingly sweet - normally. And everyone was looking forward to an awesome dessert after dinner. While the cake was in the oven, I began to prepare the evening meal which included egg dumplings. Now this is my recipe and I've not shared it with husband before. Since he was kind of hanging around watching the progress of cake #2, I asked him if he wanted to learn to make dumplings. He eagerly said yes.
Going to the pantry cabinet with a large bowl and a measuring cup, I began to measure out the flour for the dumplings. It was at this point that husband said, "Is that the flour? Then what is in the cabinet?" I turned to look at him and said "which cabinet?" He pointed to the spice and sugar cabinet. It was then that I understood his cake failure ....

In his eager ness to escape the immediate presence of his parents, husband invaded the kitchen with one thought in mind; to make a good cake. He didn't think about the ingredients, if he had he might have remembered that the flour is where the flour has always been and the sugar is with all of the other sugar products.

Two poundcakes and not one good enough to really eat. In fact, after tasting the crumbly bits again, I began to have a stomach ache from all of the sugar.

Of course, the poundcakes were flourless. Sans flour. Instead of flour, husband measured out two cups of powdered sugar. No wonder those fallen cakes were so sweet.
And no wonder that he thought we had run out of 'flour'.

It would have been hysterically funny except that poundcakes cost about $15 a piece to make. Well, it was funny - after I found something else to eat.

Sayonara Sushi-ga

2006-10-13T19:46:00.000-04:00

My pet fish, Sushi, committed betta-cide by jumping out of his habitat and landing on the hardwood floor.
Taken just as this sentence, it sounds pretty funny. There is a PBS commercial that airs quite often of a gold fish doing just this; jumping out of its bowl. But the goldfish has much better luck than Sushi had. It jumps from its bowl into a large water container, a puddle on the street, off a canopy and into some other wet environment, eventually to find its way to a body of freshwater. Sushi, on the other hand, landed on a dry floor and his little fancy fans stuck to the floor.
Now the really funny part of this story is still to come; Sunkist who was in his cage while this happened and who was in full view of the fish bowl, actually saw the whole thing happen.
I was on the computer (ahem) and Sunkist really said "Fish". But I ignored him. Sunkist is always saying something and generally it isn't as benign as "fish". And unless he says something really funny, or I am interacting with him, I do ignore much of it. Why I didn't key on him saying fish which he never says unless we are visiting Sushi, I do not know.
I left the studio to check on the visiting cat who was eating in the garage and when I returned I saw something on the floor that looked rather unsavory. Actually, it looked somewhat like a piece of poo.
Not knowing where random poo would come from, I got a piece of paper to pick it up when I looked to my left and realized that the fish was not in his bowl.
I looked at the poo like object and began to discern dry eyes and even a bit of movement. I picked poor Sushi up and put him back in his bowl ... he was still alive.
It was pretty awful because he was so messed up I knew he would not survive. How does one kill a fish that is/was a pet? All I could do is flush him down the toilet like ... well, a piece of poo.
It is sad.
Sushi taught me that the sport of fishing is not as cool as I once thought it was. he also taught me that fish actually crave attention even though they are in a different environment than we are.
Poor Sushi.
I won't be getting another betta for awhile.

Think twice before hiring Aaron Payne, Inc.

2006-10-02T17:10:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of ratting on bad business practices, as well as bad business policy, I want to share a bit of information about a guy who is a programmer in Indianapolis, Indiana: Aaron Payne.
Earlier this year, Mr. Payne expressed interest and enthusiasm about working with me on the eZine ScribeSpirit. I had recently moved to Indiana and had not set up a network of people. In fact, I still have not set up much of a network.
Mr. Payne agreed to develop a web site for ScribeSpirit at a much reduced rate.
In fact, the fee that Mr. Payne charged for the work he did do was about 10% of the cost he would normally charge to a company.
Scribe Spirit is a not for profit project started in 2005 by myself and 6 other people from around the globe. In January of 2006, after a failed attempt to create a site that allowed literary and visual art work to be published bi-lingually, I disbanded the project and looked around for alternative means of keeping it alive.
After Mr. Payne generously and excitedly agreed to work in collaboration with me on a new site, I agreed and committed to investing my money in same. We began to work together to plan the site.
An IT person, or programmer is just that. A person who develops websites and maintains them. At no time did I ever agree that Mr. Payne would have access to the content manager of the website. The website is devoted to literary and visual arts; I am, and have been the sole editor. As editor, one of my jobs is to make sure that all work presented on the website is correct. Additionally, that all work has been approved, or released for electronic publication by the submitting authors and artists through legal contract. As editor I do not tell the programmer how to do his job, and as expected, the programmer does not tell the editor how to do her job.

From the beginning I might have suspected Mr. Payne's motives as he would always remind me that in the past he has submitted work to ScribeSpirit which I, as editor, had rejected. When asked about the nature of the rejection, Mr. Payne agreed that the rejection was done compassionately. He also indicated to me at the time, that his reminders of the rejection were all in good fun.
Mr. Payne may be a programmer, but he is certainly not a writer. Mr. Payne may have some talent in the art of painting, but he is no Picasso.
These facts have little to do with him accepting a job, being paid for that job and ultimately refusing to fulfill his obligations as web developer.

Mr. Payne and I began our business relationship in February of 2006. Mr. Payne refused to do any more work for ScribeSpirit in August of 2006. This makes Mr. Payne liable for fraudulent representation. It also hints at out right theft.
In addition to accepting the job of web developer, Mr. Payne was offered and accepted the position of Vice President of Unity Illuminata, Inc., the parent company (also not for profit) of ScribeSpirit. This position was not forced on him. Misrepresentation of the position never occurred. Mr. Payne was informed from the onset of his acceptance of the position of Vice President that the position was non-paying. He was also informed that the position carried with it specific duties outlined in the legal by laws of the incorporation papers.
Mr. Payne, after accepting this position for less than 30 days, has neither submitted his legal resignation, nor has he fulfilled the obligations that the position carried with it.

Aaron Payne has dishonored a trust, broken a verbal contract, and technically has undermined an international project that enjoyed a readership of upwards of 10 thousand readers per month. Mr. Payne has proved that greed and unsportsman behavior is more important than human unity and collaborative efforts.

Aaron Payne has also shown his true colors on a personal level. When presented with the legal facts of the situation, Mr. Payne could only accuse me of "getting my legal pen out", and his comments about that were "Unbelievable". Mr. Payne has been in abject denial about his role in the situation which has developed since he refused to work on the website, and since his refusal to comply with the responsibilities of the position of Vice President of Unity Illuminata, Inc. Instead of using logic to work through conflict, Mr. Payne has resorted to name calling and has refused to acknowledge his part in the inevitable dissolution of the project known as ScribeSpirit and the fledgling corporation, Unity Illuminata.

It is the purpose of this entry to advise anyone considering using the services of Aaron Payne, to consider carefully what you are entering into and with whom. It is the advise of this person to anyone considering Mr. Payne as a web developer, to make sure you have a legal contract with him before paying him for any services. Also, anyone considering working with Mr. Payne, should be sure to have said contracts witnessed by either an attorney or a public notary.

AIDS WALK 2006

2006-09-28T16:20:00.000-04:00

It's been a couple of years since I last signed up to walk to raise funds for AIDS awareness. I stopped walking because in my last home state, the walk took place in Milwaukee. It was well attended, however, it was also a target for the Christian right hate groups to come out and all but assault the walkers. You might say I was 'chicken' when I stopped walking. But it was not fear of the hate groups which made me stop, it was fear of myself and my response to them that made me realize I needed to stay at home or risk either going to jail or getting the crap kicked out of me.
I became violently angry with the people who came out and stood, like a gauntlet, at the end of the walk site and jeered, pushed, screamed, sounded air horns, threw paper propaganda ... These people had been trained professionally on how to be as disruptive as possible and how to physically abuse the walkers without actually crossing the line of "Assault".
Now you might ask why I would get so angry about this and rightfully so. The truth is that many of the people who gave up their time and money to support this cause did so as families. There were children with parents who raised money and walked to fight the effects of AIDS. In the truest sense of community responsibility and of committment to a cause, these people, all of the walkers, were giving it up and doing the best they could in the name of humanity and compassion.
And there some idiot church leaders were with bus loads of 'protesters' confronting the walkers. Some of the protesters would come right into a walkers personal space and use their abdomens to push the walkers off the path. While other church people would condemn the walkers to hell or some other nastiness for supporting "Faggots and Queers". The sad thing is that many of these church members were African Americans.
And women. Two groups who are in the highest growing populations of new AIDS cases.

I did try to reason with some of them at first. This tactic did not work. These people were not there to be reasoned with. They were there to spew hatred and intolerance and express their ignorance to not only the walkers, but to the world.

By the end of that gauntlet, I was enraged. That was bad for me, physically and emotionally. I thought that I could do more by working quietly in my own community, or volunteering at Hospice. Yes, I could do that type of work, that SILENT work.
Whenever my husband and I went to serve dinners or help at hospice, we did do good work and were appreciated for it. But it was silent work - we educated no one, we did not alleviate intolerance or hatred.

This year I am walking in Indianapolis. Indianapolis is not known for its tolerance to much of anything - however, Indianapolis has found a way to exclude the type of protesters from the grounds of the AIDS Walk. For this I am profoundly thankful.

I know from friends that this vocal and violent form of protest against all things AIDS happens everywhere in the USA. It happens at memorial services for people who've died of AIDS. It happens at fund raisers.
It is a disgusting side bar to the freedom of speech that certain segments of our population can legally harrass (legally 'assault') participants in philanthropic endevors. This year I hope to complete my walk (without collapsing in an old lady heap) proudly and without having to encounter the negavity of past walks.

If you would like to support me, or to just make a donation to INDIANA AIDS FUND
I invite you to visit the links below and do just that. When the registration tent rings those bells for huge donation totals I want to be able to feel like the sound will travel around the globe. I am proud to be doing this - proud of all the people I know who have lived with AIDS, all of the people who work tirelessly to assist those whose lives have been changed by AIDS. And I am also proud of all of you who read this, are activists for AIDS education ... your hearts are big and no doubt, full.

Website: http://www.indianaaidswalk.org/
ScribeSpirit Team page (for donations): https://www.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=160020&team=1486269

To forgive is divine

2006-09-18T17:36:00.000-04:00

I am trying to forgive someone who has broken a trust. It is not always easy to do that. Sometimes things happen to us for specific reasons. The trust breaking was the last straw of a process that has been happening for about 5 months. Being practical, I understand that by having someone else break a contract with me, I do not have to shoulder the responsibility to end something I have alternately loved and hated.
Maybe the thing that bugs me most is the trust breaker is a business person - at least he calls himself that. And he took my money - cash money - and only 6 months later declined to provide the service he agreed to provide.
I would love to call him out. Name him in public. Shame him in public. I have not and will not do so.
To do so would be to drop down on my belly and crawl in the mire of the sewer that he occupies. It might also justify the charming names he has called me and the lies I know he tells of me. I prefer the higher ground. You know, that place where one can look down on the rutting human mass of misery. Also, being practical, I decline from damaging my karma (such as it is) with demeaning words about someone's inability to rise to their potential. And rise from the ashes of their damaged childhood.
People can be so small and petty when they have no reference for themselves. They can point fingers and create discord and blame others for their capricious actions. Ah, how satisfying it is to this one or that one to blame someone else for things that happen or do not go their way. But deep in their souls the bitterness grows until like bile, it comes up to choke them when they try to move on with life.
I suspect, other than taking my hard won cash, I have no reason to be angry with the small and petty person who did not honor their commitment. I do not want to continue the ScribeSpirit project. I do not want to enter into a business agreement with the federal government that may be like a marriage: easy to get into but painful and expensive to extract ones self from. Yet at the end of the day I am saddened to know that people will try to hold a good project hostage to their desire for control and a little bit of power.
I also feel that I have a responsibility to others from making the mistake of trusting this person as I did. For paying him money and making agreements that he may not keep, or from being the ruin of another interesting and successful project.
I will have to work that out with myself.
For the time being, let it be said that next time you or someone you know is looking for an IT person to work with, beware of those who can not get beyond their own problems in order to solve yours.

Conversations by eMail

2006-08-09T16:14:00.000-04:00

I want to post the following bits from an eMail conversation I had with Richard Kearns of www.aids-write.org

The topic is not just relevant to people with HIV/AIDS, but it is relevant to every human who has ever feared committing to love because of fear of loss.

Richard:
I was at a marketing focus group about an AIDs prevention campaign a
while ago. there were some straight young "kids" -- early 20's -- same
age as high-risk gays -- and they just didn't get it about safe sex.
Gay sex was what needed to be safe sex. Safe sex didn't apply to them.

I finally had to ask, "What would you do if you fell in love with
someone who had AIDs? With someone who was HIV-positive?" They blurted
out silly things like, "Well, i hope when the time comes that I might
have to make a decision about it, and I'll be prepared."

"So, in otherwords, do nothing and hope for the best. All you're going
to end up being is another infected person."

At least they had the good grace to be stymied.

But there stands the battle.

Then Richard asked me: What would you do if you fell in love with someone who had aids?

My reply:
My friend Ron has spoke of this before, about how difficult it is to find a
wonderful ("perfect") partner.
And he has wondered if it was AIDS that made them run the other way, or
some other thing - (Ageism?, etc.).
I had no good answer when the topic first came up. But I have one now:

We are promised nothing more than this day. Not ever. This moment is
what we have. And if in this moment love comes to us, does it matter
what baggage that love carries?
Whether we be gay, straight, young, old, happy or sad, we are destined
to live a limited time in this world. What the method of our demise
might be can not be foretold to potential lovers.
If I were to fall in love with someone who has cancer, or has the
genetic tendency for cancer, would it matter? Why should our future
death intrude on our present loves?
Life is too short and uncertain to deprive oneself of love because of
the fear of losing that love.
We all lose loves. Whether it be to death, or another person ... love
comes and love goes.
That we love at all is what keeps us human, connected and at peace.

Richard:
Thank you for your thoughtful response. Here are my blessings. They are two secrets that go along with the post.

1. I fall in love with a new HIVer, a new person with AIDs every day.
2. It’s no different than falling in love with anyone else.

namasté

--rk

If it flies, it dies

2006-07-26T15:30:00.000-04:00

Not many people are lucky enough to be able to call an employer a friend. But for a brief span of years, I was one of those lucky few.
For almost four years, I worked for two guys who owned a small specialty car dealership. They would buy used cars at auction, or from private parties, renovate the cars and resell them.
The 'two guys' had been friends from early childhood. The business principal, Bill, inherited the business from his father. Bill's partner Shawn had been close to the family, indeed lived with the family during his formative years. Shawn, a nice looking man is straight. Bill, a tall, thin blonde, was gay.
At any given time, there would be 50 plus vehicles on the property of the business. In addition to buying and reselling cars, the business also did mechanical, body and upholstery work on vehicles sent to them by outside sources. The portion of the business facilitating repairs was relatively new, but all of the sources for vehicles were associates of Bill's father who died in 1994.
The town in which Bill and Shawn lived and did business was a very small town; actually an agricultural area at least 40 minutes from the city. Everyone there knew each other and each others business. Bill spent most of his adult life trying to keep his sexuality private. At that, for the most part, he was successful.
During the time I worked with Bill and Shawn, I dealt with a number of issues pertaining to employment, including corresponding with the state about terminations and the reasons for same. Mostly, people would lose their jobs for insubordination or driving without a valid drivers license. But one instance particularly stands out in my memory.
Two new men had been hired to work as yard crew. Most of the other staff knew each other well, and most also knew that Bill was gay, but too, they did not care. They all treated Bill like he was a kid that needed protecting. And until Bill admitted to you that he was gay, it was never mentioned. It simply did not matter to those of us who cared about him.
When the two new men started working, immediately they began a campaign of hateful, discriminatory behavior. They would meanly mimic what they thought gay guys would act like; they patted each others butts and minced their walks, they spoke, when they could be heard, in lisps. They also said some pretty ugly things about homosexuality. They also were lousy workers and within a few weeks of being hired, they were fired.
It was my job to respond to the state when they applied for unemployment. And respond I did. I charged them with sexual harassment, and inappropriate behavior in the work place. I thought these charges were enough to keep them from collecting unemployment from a business that they only worked at for perhaps 15 days. I was surprised to find that the charges I made were ignored by the state and they were granted unemployment benefits based on time they had worked within that calendar year. It was my first experience with how the local governments deal with shitty behavior on the job.

I resigned from my position with the company when a family tragedy led my husband and I to the decision to sell our home and move. But I, as well as my husband, remained friends with Bill and Shawn.
Shortly after my resignation, Bill moved from the state he had lived in, to Arizona.
And on a subsequent visit and dinner at our home, he revealed to my husband and I that he didn't think he would live much longer as he was suffering from AIDS.
I am not sure when I first figured it out. I knew that Bill was sick before he came to tell us. I could tell from his appearance and his reluctance to come back to the place where he had lived. I had always known he was gay, although he never told me outright. But our conversations were not typical of a boss and administrator, nor of a man and woman who happened to be friends. We talked about interior design, color, of music and dance, Elvis (Bill loved Elvis' music), about so and so and how cute his butt was. It wasn't necessary for Bill to tell me he was gay, not that it mattered. Bill was Bill and that was good enough for me.

Bill knew that I was a bird watcher and he would tease me all of the time about wanting to shoot the hawks and owls that came on the property and pooped on his cars. He used to tell me: "If it flies, it dies". I would act offended and freaked that he would shoot birds, and he would act like the rifleman ... it was a silly game, but it was our game.

Once Bill moved to Arizona, we saw less and less of him. I would hear from Shawn about Bill's health, about how he refused to take his medications because they made him ill. I would hear about the friends he was making in Arizona, how they were kind of nasty, not of high caliber. Slowly Bill stopped staying in touch and refused to answer his phone, mail or respond to cheesecakes sent to him for birthdays (Bill loved cheesecakes).
When questioned, Shawn thought that it was the people that Bill was associating with that caused him to withdraw. I countered that Bills behavior was similar to drug users; he didn't seem interested in his old life, or friends. He just wanted to stay with the crowd he was running with. Shawn vehemently denied that Bill would be using drugs. Even when confronted with druggie behavior, he believed that it was people, not drugs, that was driving Bill to act as he did.

In December of 2005, Shawn called me to tell me he was in Arizona with Bill, who was in the hospital, in a coma. Shawn said that Bill was dying of AIDS, but that he had caught something called Valley Fever which was a result of his use of Meth, his compromised immune system and his life in hot and dusty Arizona. According to Shawn, Bill had been using meth for 18 months or so which he was getting from his associates in Arizona. Shawn was shocked that Bill was using drugs - previously Bill condemned drug use. He had to be convinced by his medical team to use Marinol for his appetite and anxiety - that is how opposed Bill was to drug use.

I, on the other hand was not surprised at Bill's use of drugs. His depression over aging, about losing his teeth, his hair, too much weight all caused him sorrow. We had briefly talked about the cruelty of the gay community when it came to appearances and ageism.
On December 6th Bill died due to complications of AIDS, valley fever, heart failure and coma. He left behind no lovers to speak for him, little family to stand for him. His life, which could have held promise and perhaps educated others to the pain and lonliness he suffered, seemed to be wasted.
A young man, a lovely man, who never believed he would live past 30, who died just after his 40th birthday, whose wings carried him around this country and the world.
Yes, Bill seemed to prophesy his own saying: "If it flies, it dies".
Bill flew, he laughed, he partied, he danced and he gave endlessly to anyone who asked. Yet the gift he could've given, which had no monetary value, he withheld.
Bill did not love himself, could not admit to the world who and what he was.
For those of us, his friends, that he left to mourn him, we will always see him soar.