just in case......

ok, so one would think i had never left the state before.....i have taken anxiety to new limits......having spent the past 48 hours typing out family recipes just in case.....and emailing a few songs and sending thank you notes......when i mentioned my fear of dying whilst flying to a coworker this morning, she deadpanned that even death would not be an excuse to miss the osha training on wednesday.....that training was the reason we made plans to fly rather than drive on this spring break......no vacation time would be approved on such an important occassion as employee safety training......oy!.......and so to those who have received my last minute tributes, mark my impetuousness up to panic.......by wednesday evening i will be so numb from the speskers on bloodborune pathogens and pandemic flu that i will start to muse again about traveling........go figure..........

the tiara is off.....

ok, so yesterday the best overheard conversation-of-the-day involved a co-worker who started work at the agency in question right out of high school, and who will be retiring with full benefits at age 58.....she is dreading going home to spend her waking hours with her spouse.......because....as she so succinctly puts it.....the tiara is off, and what's the point?........yes, what is her point?....i had to ask, and this what she said, or something close to it.....for the first couple of decades of my marriage everything was just fine, but when i started through menopause, and i put on a little weight and a lot of grey hair, all the sudden he started to dispair that i was no longer the sweet young thing he married.....and he started in finding fault with everything i did, as if to confirm this realization.......it happened when he was 51......and it hasn't let up.......and it will likely last until he gets a good look in his mirror, and realizes to his own horror all the sudden that he is not the sweet young thing i married.........i just love the idiom..allthesudden......it so speaks to a palpable rush of awareness........and i could feel this woman's pain....allthesudden...because much as i envy her early retirement, i also could understand her concern for 24/7 with someone who has yet to figure out that he, too, has lost some of his origin assets......

champion of compressed files.....

ok, so i have figured out how to send songs via compressed files to me obliging youngsters.....who may or may not care to listen....but music is music...and one lever knows which tunes will take seed in one;'s mind...........i am back to a desktop full of downloaded songs awaiting the thumbs up or thumbs down......i am hesitant to click on delete forever......as they are all somebody's mother's son or daughter........

sitting in my car eating lunch......

ok, so.......in my thursday county i sat in my car eating my lunch.....which caused quite a stir amongst my thursday workmates......as to just why someone would sit in one's car rather than in the lounge/dinette area set aside for such things as eating lunch......truth be told......i was listening to the end of my audiobook......timing of book-endings never happens just as one pulls into one's driveway.......always somewhere in transit.....and today i wanted to be in control of the end......to savor my failure to guess whodunit with this ngaio marsh murder mystery.......i am quite fond of audio books.....being read to is so comfortingly juvenile....even for grownups......especially when the prose is way beyond see dick run, see jane run.........and now that the murder has been solved and the looseends tied up.....i must find something else to occupy my travel time......and my down time.....i am back to having nothing to read but books i put-down.......and books that can be put down aren't really worth one's valuable time, are they?........

ok, so tomorrow we fly to dc to visit family, our middle child to be in that number....and to see the sights.....including the cezanne exhibit at the national gallery.....i have not set foot in a museum since spring break 2005....the newly rennovated moma....much too long to go between art outings.......i splurged on an updated guide to d.c.....the older one being from the early 90's......dating back to the earliest trips with the boys.......i am approach/avoidance about the trip, however........worrying about the flight....seeing myself going down in flames.......i try to tell myself that a simple plane flight replaces 10 hours of perilous car miles.......keep my little jaunt in your prayers.......... 

mamma's recipes

ok, so i have begun the process of making recipe cards for family dishes....so that in the event of my demise my offspring can still enjoy a bit of home........foods such as my spinach artichoke casserole......and the raspberry cake we often have at birthdays......my plan is to print them out on card-stock, and present them in cute boxes......not cutesy boxes......more sleek and moderne, i think........but back to recipes.......it has been brought to my attention that my offspring would have been better served if i had shown them how to make each of these foods while they still lived at home, or while the remaining child is still at hand.......something about my lack of patience with those who are not apt students.........?.....i learned to cook out of necessity......and therefore it could be construed that the fact that i have never required dinner on the table when i got home from work as the reason that my children cannot conceive of how to make this happen.......not that they would starve...far from it.....i believe that food would be prepared and eaten.....but i digress......with these recipes said food could be familiar and comforting......

2 miles a day....

ok, so i have walked, either on the road or on the treadmill....2 miles a day for quite some time now......and while my stamina has improved greatly, the more desirable results have been more subtle......almost negligible.....so much so that it has been suggested that i might want to boost my mileage.....the implication made that 2 miles is a paltry sum and hardly worth mentioning as an exercise regime....so much for support!?......does this count under the for better or for worse part .....the in sickness or in health part.........or was this issue covered in the words left out of the traditional vows?........

ok, so the bank behind my house is alive with this wildflower.....that i can't recall that i have seen in the past few years.....any ideas as to the name?....please note that the photo was taken with my mother's canon digital...the sd card transferred to my palm, then the palm was synched to my p.c. desktop....and the photo copied from there to my blog......too much technology for one day!!!!!!! 

cat in the closet.....

ok, so i was slumbering peacefully when the familiar sounds were heard.....a faint scratching that built up to a mad clawing......and this meant only one thing....that my spouse had shut the closet door after the cat bedded down for the night in her secret hidey-hole.....and now she wanted out.....oy.....to drag oneself from a warm cozy spot .....and then to do battle with the cat.....who's usual trick is to bolt into the bedroom proper so she can sleep near to her people this is a feline who would sleep up in your face if she could.....one of my bestest and most recent naps involved waking up to find the cat asleep on my chest nestled under my chin......and so last night in a half-asleep stupor i somehow managed to free her from the closet and usher her on out the door.......and return to bed......only to hear voices coming from the back room situated below the bed......which meant only one thing....that the television had turned itself on.......gentle readers......i can manage to sleep through television noise just fine......especially when the television turning itself on thing happens frequently enough as to not suspect prowlers.......our theory is either that the neighbors garage-door opener triggers the turn-on.....or that lowflying planes somehow signal it......or that internal programming timers are playing havoc with our aging television set........regardless......i didn't bother to get up to drag my sorry body all the way downstairs to turn it back off........final score..cat (1), television set (0)

fairview drive

ok, so i dreamed last night that i was living in my childhood home.....the one i was born into that we moved away from when i was in the 5th grade.....this house was on a steep hill...the kind of front yard that sensible folks install with a rock garden to eliminate the need to mow grass on the incline.....and it had a full front porch, with porch swing.......in the dream i have come out onto the porch to bring in the paper and the mail, both of which are laying on the porch floor.......there is a large envelope on top addressed to me....full hyphenated name...from a terry baker.....a name that means nothing to me.....curious to remember names in dreams......and inside the house someone had installed glossy wood flooring......shiny enough to imagine slips and falls in stocking feet.....and there were more guest rooms downstairs than possible given the home's actual dimensions.....to the end that i was the only person sleeping upstairs......my original bedroom was not really included in my dream sequence....mostly i sat on the porch and read a letter and a card from someone i don't really know......curious........

monday morning march madness.....

ok, so....i work with women......there are only 2 men inthe building at the max.....and there were none on hand this morning for the quintessential discussion of the weekend tourny games,,, including a rousing approval rating for big baby.......and commentary about jjriddick's tearful departure....and how far men have come to feel free enough to sob hysterically for the camera.......ironically...the women who had the most to say have daughters who play(ed) high school basketball.......rather than sons who play(ed)......but their fascination for the game was clear......the consensus was that florida would play lsu for the title, but that everybody would wish that george mason had won.......i suppose lsu was the favorite, because florida has beaten uk in the vital games of recent memory......nobody wants ucla to win.....and george mason is the sentimental fave........who knew that a gaggle of women could find so much to talk about with regards to men's ncaa basketball....but this is kentucky..........and even those without children in high school athletics are dreading hoops withdrawal......

a pox on both your houses.....

ok, so in public health it is considered bad taste to gasp at the sight of blistering nodules......and so when i client informed me that the blistering nodules on her daughter's hands and arms (but not her neck nor face....) were 'some sort of pox the doctor told us'.....i just went on with my previous line of questioning.....as the child was not the client and she had seen a doctor....and i was pretty sure it wasn't chicken pox....which would have been ok because i have had that childhood disease during....childhood.......and because i had seen worse-case scenarios of chicken pox with my own children.....i was pretty sure it wasn't chicken pox....and smallpox.....well......i wasnt' so sure about that, but it wasn't on her face......and it seemed to be clearing up rather than newly erupted.....but still....hours later...i am googling poxes in hopes of satisfying my poxial curiosity...turns out there are many poxi....including Rickettsial pox.....which is endemic in new york city and in developing countries......small nodules that fill with fluid and burst and crust over and go away.....with some scarring...caused by a virus tranmitted by some sort of mite that lives in unclean sheets.......yech.......i washed my hands thoroughly after that client left......this is one child out of the hundreds i have come across in public health.....one doesn't see much in the way of pox these days due to dilligent immunization campaigns.....and so the word has gone out of favor, as a descriptive or as a curse.......having seen this child today, however, i certainly felt the depth of the barb....a pox on both your houses was a meaty jab, indeed.......

more ncaa....

ok, so i watched back to back basketball games yesterday.....the best of george mason beating u-conn.......wow.....what a sight....an eleven seed making it to the final four.....which is what this tourney is supposedly about.......the commentators kept referring to cinderella......but the team i watched didn't look like doe-eyed babes....just really good ballplayers that stepped up their game and took all the right chances.....i was also pleased to see florida, yet another s.e.c. team make the final four......both lsu and florida are in uk's conference....but goerge mason is now my team for the duration....win or lose.....ya got to love these guys.........

worry....

ok, so th lesson in sunday school was about worry....about how we are not supposed to worry, because it is god's job, not ours to take care of things......and to worry shows sinful signs of disbelief.....well...there you have it....sinful signs of disbelief.....i worry to the extent that there are placards of my disbelief over my head like a cartoons character's dialogue.......worry keeps me awake at night, or wakes me up...it consumes my drive to work, my lunchtime, my drive home...all the moments when i am not otherwise engaged in useful tasks.......worry about things that i cannot control...worry about things that happened eons ago......worry about people i have alienated, people i have hurt,my children, my mother, my aging dog, the state of the nation, the war, whether or not i have an undiagnosed tumor,....people who won't show up at my funeral.....that is mostly what i worry about at funerals, btw.....but i digress......we are not supposed to worry.....but i forget this directive regularly...because i am getting so forgetful....and i worry about that, as well.......oy.....but worry is only what i do when i have nothing else to do....i confess to an entrely worryfree afternoon yesterday.....one spent in useful work with goals in mind and accomplishment at hand.......i also do not worry when i am eating,...even when those around me are aksing me if i should be eating thus and such as it might be bad for my health......i do not worry when i am reading, nor when i am walking on the treadmill.....nor out having coffee or wone with friends....even when talking about what others are worrying about......i am not worried at those moments when i am focused on the comforting of another's worries......go figure.......essentially my worrying stems from finding myself with too much free time.....let me write this down, as i will soon forget, what with my lack of short term memory......nothing to worry about today.......

beating back the jungle....

ok, so i have nspent the past few hours with works gloves and heavy duty cutting devices.....trimming back the tall stalks from last seasons perennials....and whacking up the upshoots of honeysuckle, hackberry, privet and other assorted bushes,trees and the like that threaten to take back their rightful territory.....these were the plants that thrived here when we first embarked on this gardening adventure.....and between the fall and the spring of any given year they make fantastic strides on reclaiming what was theirs.....mostly i made progress.....but in my quest to clear out the ledge behind the deck....i trampled the one rose bush i sought to preserve....hopefully the bloody thing will spring forth with even more new shoots to replace the ones i destroyed in my rush.........rats.......i also fed the roses, the perennials, and the grass...such as it is.....and put down grass-seed......in the hopes that 1 out of 100 seeds will take root......such it is with our yard......and our garden......where hope springs eternal......

speaking of lazy.....

ok, so i went to bed before 10 and didn't get up til 9:00 am....what's up with that?........i can vaguely remember my spouse getting up to run, and then turning back over....and that must have been somehwere around 6:30......maybe this aging thing is getting out of hand......i should have forced myself out of the bed at 6:30 like i do every other day, just for the sake of savoring the unwasted minutes......

smalltalk

ok, so this from slate.com......

Slate offers a quick and easy guide to help you fake your way through overly cultured cocktail parties this weekend.

It was a slow week on the culture scene, so you'll need to dig deep for small talk. In the theater, cluck at the failure of the Lord of the Rings musical, which is being savaged after its premiere in Toronto. Branson awaits.

Wal-Mart announced that it's luring upscale customers with high-end wines and sushi bars. A good moment, once again, to "admit" you shop at Target.

An ABC News producer's anti-Bush e-mail surfaced at the Drudge Report. Prepare your liberal-media-bias lines, pro or con.

Radiohead's Thom Yorke declined to speak with British Prime Minister Tony Blair, who he says has "no environmental credentials."

Randy Quaid wants more money from the producers of Brokeback Mountain. He says producers convinced him to cut his usual fee for their sweet little art-house picture, which had "no prospect of making any money."

If you're feeling outdoorsy this weekend, mention that a very large fish was caught in California. Here's your cheat sheet.

the on-line version contained links to previously published stories....alas, i am much too lazy to do as much for my gentle readers......however, the anitbush email sent from the abc producers blackberry is quite funny...if you are an antobush sort of person.......

ok, so this from salon.com......i might just call this guy up...i , too, cannot seem to decide for myself to day....... 

ok, so i wish i were in paris.....to see this exhibition among other things......there is much to ponder over this perfect portrait of a woman......truly the artist spend as much time on the lustrous silk drapes as he did on the pink flesh.....and that is what is special about this nude.....she is only part of the scene.....not the whole scene...or at least to someone who enjoys fabric............ 

a good dubya joke....

ok, so my friend bettie told this joke over coffee at the hub this afternoon....... dubya had spent the weekend at his ranch in texas....and as he was descending the steps of airforce one, he was carrying 2 pigs, one in each arm.....the marine on duty at the foot of the stairs commented on the hogs.......nice pigs, sir....to which dubya replied....these aren't just any pigs....they are genuine razorback hogs......i got one for dick cheney....and one for donald rumsfeld........to which the marine replied......good trade, sir........i love that joke.........

forgetful and confused......

ok, so i was elated to overhear a conversation between coworkers this morning......as it focused on how their children and spouses lack understanding to the woes of menopause....the forgetfulness/shorteterm memory loss, the inability to focus on details, the irritability, moodiness, fatigue......the coworker whose voice was heard loudest commented that every time her daughter complains that she has already told about some event/issue/detail, she tells her that she has to repeat it just the one more time for her aging mother........such stories are good for my soul, as my family has taken umbrage with my rapidly failing mental faculties of late........especially with short term memory loss.....so....for those who read thus blog....please be nice when i ask you to repeat something you have already said.......

back to basketball.....

ok, so i thought i was so over basketball......leisurely bath this evening as if nothing was going on too important....only to stroll out to the back room to catch the final 19 seconds of l.s.u. beating duke.....duke!......only goes to show that any team can be beaten on any day...given the right circumstances.....wow!....all bets are off on the national champ this year........

spat......

ok, so this morning i was stopped by the train the comes through harrodsburg about 8 am...most days i miss it entirely, either too early ot too late.....but today i was second in line to cross the tracks after it's passing....behind a youngish woman who opened her door just after stopping, and spat upon the ground......wtf.....crossed through my mind......surely she is not a dipper.....most dippers are male......and as i was considering the causes...gosh darn if she didn't open her door back up and spit again......not any longer than the first time...just an opening of the door, a spit and a slamming of the door.....this went on for a total of 4...count em 4 times....before the train was gone and we moved on......and without any resolution to the buring question....why would a woman spit out of her car door?.......inquiring minds want to know.......for her part...my late mother-in-law would probably have gotten out of her car and gone right up that woman to ask......but i am not cut from the same cloth.....no...i will simply wonder for weeks.........

shoes.....

ok, so i have been thinking that i might just need a pair of spring shoes......i don't know what i want them to look like, other than i want them flat and comfy.....in a springish color other than blakc or brown.....the color of most of my shoes.......and therefore it is with great mirth that i beheld a spring style section in the newspaper that featured shoes......wedges to be exact....that look neither flat nor comfy......cute yes, but not comfortable......these looked to be 4 inch wedges....the knid that one could fall off of and break something........i have owned these once....and that is actually my point.....these look like shoes i took on spring break my sophomore year in college...e.xactly like them.....they were a mistake then and would be more so at thispoint.......so do shoe makers have no memory for the past, or do shoe makers just wear merrills and assume that all shoes feel this good to walk in?........online i recently saw a pair of wooden bottom shoes....again....beenthere-donethat....these were hip my freshman year in college, and i bought a pair in nyc on my spring break of that year......though they were so cool...until i tried to wear them to class......walking any distance in wooden shoes is foolish......i did it...but that didn't make it right and certainly doesn't make it repeatable now......and so.....where does one find a reasonably comfortable pair of spring shoes?......and can i live with being a fashion outcast for wearing such shoes?.........

poetry....

ok, so i was really touched by this poem by billy collins....as published on writer's almanac.....and struck by how billy's morning differ so greatly from my own.....

Morning

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,

then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?

This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—

maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins—
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,

dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,

and if necessary, the windows—
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.



ah.........to be billy collins......

dreamlife.....

ok, so it has come to the point where my dreamlife is ever so much more interesting than real life.......last nught i spent part of my time looking for my purse at a fancy wedding at a resort, and the rest trying to pack up my belongings in a huge cloth sort of tote bag...you know the kind, with clever fabric prints.....i don't happen to own onw, btw.......the room i was packing up from appeared to be an office rather than a hotel room......but it had a daybed....and there was more than one set of sheets....and i was trying to take the extra set-i have no idea if they were mine or if i was stealing them......but the sheets wouldn;'t fit into the tote bag with my pillow......and i did take the time to leave a note on the desk of the office......which makes no sense....but then dreams make no sense....do they?.......i am heading off to my own office, which has neither sheets nor a daybed......and i have my purse right here.......

omgomgomg........

ok, so......a reputable realtor came into my spouse's store today......and disclosed that a party who wished to remain anonymous was interested in buying our house....were we interested and what would be an acceptable offer?.....omg!...who does that sort of thing?.......we were amused rather than offended, however.......though somewhat curious if it was somebody we knew (read this as somebody who had been inside the house).....or somebody who just drove by and thought that all this could be theirs......ha!....i plan on being here for the long haul......and unless the offer included say.......a paris apartment in the 7th....i'm not interested..........

drug-induced dreams

ok, so it is only an anti-biotic, but the dreams that it prompts are quite bizarre......for example....at one point in my dream an oldster blogger is holding up a cell phone with a text message that says.....all is certain.......no verbal dialogue...and nothing to explain why this statement is important...then on to fruits and vegetables.....i was at my grandparents house in cleveland...and my uncle was stacking a shipment of food in the basement......mostly canned things but some was frozen....like a case of assorted potpies......there was one that had a mixture of white and sweet potatoes......how's that for detail in a dream?.......and i asked him why he was just stacking up the boxes of fresh fruits and vegetables.......to which he replied that he was just doing what he was asked to do.....so i started gathering up a box if blueberries that had spilled beside the divanport(my grandparents had a divanport not a or a couch....)....and then grabbed up a glass jar of fresh red raspberries and a box of strawberries....and announced that i would make fruit salad......and when i tried to grab a frozen pie to put in the oven....my uncle said that everybody preferred pies made from fresh fruit and so he handed me a glass jar of thickly sliced peaches.......huh?.....and then there was a baby in the snow without a blanket .....no idea who the meanmamma was......dream-filled nights may be more tiring than those without.....i am exhausted.....and curious about all that is certain.........

future shock.....

ok, so now that i have basketball out of my system i set out to make playlists from my new songs.....only to have rhapsody, the program that ingratiated itself as a download when i bought my palm, refuse to play some of the songs.......i get a warning triangle that reeks of illegality...and other songs have tranformed into a format called a wma that will not play on my palm........winamp will play some but i cannot seem to figure out how to compile a playlist on this program....and windows media.....well....heck....all these complications before i even attempt to transefer anything to a cd to play going to work.......all of those naysayers who fear downloadables will completely replaced tangible, holdable playable cds has never tried to make mixes.......

couldn't buy a basket.....

ok, so neither of my teams advanced......oy............

fatigue

ok, so......the only thing that i accomplished yesterday was the watering of plants......having been up most of the night before with my continuing maladies.......mostly i laid on the couch watching basketball and wishing i felt better.......this experience has given me new understanding of chemotherapies...the notion that medicines can make one sicker than the disease are valid and factual....next time i hear of a friend's chemo treatments i will surely feel a wave of nausea in solidarity......thankfully i need only take this vile stuff through wednesday....truthfully......i don't actually watch the screen.....i understand so little about the game that i find it just as useful to listen to the commentary...and do something else......like surf the net using my pda's wi-fi feature....my new pda has such better capacity than the old....i can blog, read the nytimes....and keep up with other favorite sites like slate.com......this blog may be of interest to those who are equally as fatigued with the current administration.....i like this guy.....i may actually watch the osu game today at 4:50.......osu sports get so little coverage in these parts it would seem a shame to miss my chance.......

southpark.....

ok, so southpark is not on my top 10 list of shows to watch....but when tom cruise goes to the trouble of nixing a repeat of an episode that spoofed his alien-based anti-depression meds religion......as well as his reputed closeted status......i went to the trouble of seeking out the episode online......that is the curious reality about censorship......the censored material tends to get more viewers than it would have if left to its own devices......speaking of which......i understand that a christian group recently placed a video on its website to show concerned parents why they should complain to a tv network about the tawdryness of the content.......which made it far more accessible than it had been before.......

so many songs, so little time...

ok, so i narrowed my search and download mania by focusing on singer/songwriters ....which yielded the following marvelous tunes........david ford: the state of the nation; piers faccini:picture of you; chaplin sisters:don't love you......i downloaded many, many more......and sent a select few to my pda......i learned how to remove tunes from my pda in order to make room.......time permiting i want to go back through the sxsw artist list and see what other gems are to be found.....but the day is getting away from me and i have not gotten much done that could be called unselfish..........

70-62

ok, so i chose kay's funeral over watching osu basketball win over davidson.......now that the first round win is over osu might as well go all the way.......

shirley, goodness, and mercy......

ok, so i have just come from the funeral of a friend.......not an especially close friend, as the deceased in question was the kind who selected those who could be close to her fastigiously......which brings up the story told about her trip to graceland with her sisters.....as related by our pastor during her funeral.....kay planned the day down to the last dotted i and crossed t....so when the time came for the graceland photographer to film her party.....she lined everyone up and straightened wayward locks and announced the desired expressions to each and all........and when the time came to view the photo....it was not as she envisioned......so she made her group line up again to be photographed......and that photo did not suit her vision........not until the 5th shot was perfection attained.......that is the sort of precision one expects of a math teacher, i suppose......that sort of person cannot be willy-nilly...it is not in their collective natures......the closing song to the service was my way......as sung by an outstanding bass voice from our choir.......someone who did an admirable job channeling elvis in honor of kay.......kay did it her way.......and that is how one's life on earth should be.......

a through c.....

ok, so i have made it through the downloads of bands a through c in the sxsw extravaganza website......only 4 more pages of bands to go.......

sick enough to seek medical attention

ok, so yesterday i was sick enough to go by the doctor's office before i went on home.....this is almost unprecented, as i aschew medical attention as much as possible.....but my malady has drug on long enough, and so i am willingly taking antibiotics that make my mouth taste like i am chewing aluminum foil, and avoiding both dairy products and all alcohol for 7 days.....this is some serious stuff......which so far hasn't hit thr spot......the day is young......and will go by slowly with neither wine nor cheese to look forward to after work......

beware the ides of march....

ok, so i have no thoughts to go with this quotation from shakespeare.....just the ackowledgment that today is the ides of march....and caution should be taken......

casseroles

ok, so i made 2 casseroles last night, all per the personal recipes of the deceased, a former bate math teacher who has been in my sunday school class these past 15+ years......she fought a valiant fight against numerous recurrences of cancer.....and now she is at rest.....but i digress from the casseroles......it would seem that she was so devoted to the happiness of her only child (a grown man nearing 30) that she indulged his food preferences to the point that she visited him often enough to make his favorite casseroles and freeze them in individual portions so he could always have homecooked foods.....and so when the call came to make food to tide him over til after the funeral, the recipes were explained in detail over the phone as well......one wonders what he will do when these run out.......has he ever made them himself?......will his mother's sisters feel obligated to carry on with the filling of his freezer in her stead?......

field of dreams

ok, so in my dreams last night i was in a church.....singing unfamiliar and non-melodic hymns....and when i went out to the field (either a field or my grandma's front and side yards?) i couldn't find my car.......and so i wandered in and out of buildings....in one building someone had partially finished an apartment.....and my cousin's daughter told me she was going to live there....so that she didn't have to leave home.......i have no idea if that dream meant anything at all......granted, my cousin's 2 children aged 27 and 30 still live with her.....but they are enscounced in their old rooms and would have no reason to live in a shed out back........and since i never found my car, maybe i remain out back as well........

ben gibbard?

ok,so i heard a nice little tune called you remind me of home.......does my indie rock goddess have access to this song?

2006 governor's cup.....

ok, so there were no c-dubs in Louisville this weekend.....and that was strange for me and presumably for my scholars......as there have been c-dubs in Louisville with either Bate or DHS since Andrew was in middle school....this year's team made it to the quarterfinals in quick recall.....but testing was their big news......6 different folks placed...in some categories 2 from DHS placed.....none in socials studies......DHS will have to look long and hard to find a replacement in that arena....and no dhs winner of arts/humanities.......ah well.....DHS placed 3rd overall, just like last year......good job to those who made the top 10 in each subject area............

david and davidson

ok, so......i am so sorry that david's team will meet my team in his first ever ncaa matchup....i say my team so loosely....as i am a fairweather fan at best........and osu played so marginally in the big ten finals against iowa......david......may the best team win....no holds barred.......go bucks...........

short stories

ok, so i have passed the afternoon reading short stories......from collections purchased randomly at thrift shops.....which speaks more to the under-appreciation of the original owner rather than to worth......i have learned to recognize quality paperbacks worth buying by the size of the book.....those that measure 5 x 8...or so.....seem to be more desirable than those measuring 4 x 6.75.......who knew?.......the authors i have thus bought and read of late are by alice munro......a celebrated canadian short storyist that i found tedious this time around......another fellow adam haslett was much more compelling......and yet another...david schickler....was engrossing.......his stories were all set in the same nyc apartment building...characters overlapped......the tension carried through....tension of danger, exposure, your basic deadly sins.......this book of stories is called kissing in manhattan.......well worth the time to seek it out.....well worth my 50 cents the going goodwill price.......i was thinking of short stories yesterday when i came across my well-thumbed copy of colette's the break of day......and it occured to me that colette's short story of gigi was made into an academy-award winning film...much like brokeback mountain started out as a short story......and i envisioned the break of day as it would be filmed with somebody like ang lee at the helm.......with maybe emma thompson playing colette....in love with a younger man, who is in turn in love with a much younger woman......the story unfolds in the south of france well west of the cote d'azur.......but still basks in the sunshine and the aromas and the lazy days that one associates with provence......should i ever win the lottery i might just have to fund such a film project....not to make money....but to at least see such a book set to the silver screen..............

the orange jacket.....

ok, so.....friday i found a motherlode of clothing in my size at the frankfort goodwill......i left my meeting early........as it was boring beyond words....but i digress.....the orange jacket is single breasted, raw silk, lined.....a blazer if you will......and looked just marvelous with taupe twill dress pants and a cream knit crewneck shirt and a tiger print scarf for church.....or so i thought until a woman i know slightly stopped me to comment on my outfit.....'i didn't know you were a vols fan......did you go to the u of t?.......".....omg.......it never occured to me.......all i could think to say in reply was that orange suited me, and that i was a buckeye fan....and wasn't it nice that the big ten final game would be on channel 27 at 3:30?.................a curious encounter..........i gravitate toward the warm colors because they suit me.......rather than to school colors......much as i appreciate all that the scarlet and grey stand for...i never wear those colors because they do not suit my complexion and because they seem so over the top.....so much like my mother would wear/does wear/will always wear.........i am a bit embarassed that i did not look at this lovely silk blazer and think.....university of tennessee........i only thought......tan pants and a cream shirt.............and for the record.....it is nice that the big ten final will be at 3:30 pm......with all of the local papers singing the blues about u.k. it is nice to be associated with a team that has had a good year.......my dad took me to an osu basketball game once..........it was not one of their better years...my dad used to speak of their 1960 national championship...... ...but he was excited about a player named clemmons on the day in question.......and so i will watch the big ten game at 3:30.....and root for my home team......wearing neither scarlet nor grey........and hoping for a decent ncaa seed.........

cricket.....

ok, so...i have oft mentioned that on sundays i listen to the bbc news, instant guide, and cricket scores before dragging myself out of bed.......at some point during the sports scores i resolve to read up on cricket, and until this morning i had never followed through......but given that this morning's instant guide piece from the bbc was on the google search folks......i resolved to google cricket......and now know a bit more about this sport, and understand about as much as i did before......i suppose the disjoint comes from my trying to equate the game to baseball......which it is not.....it is its own game....and certainly an acquired taste.....the notiont hat a match can go on for 4 days is amusing......and explains why the game has not taken off in the u.s.....we like our sports resolved much faster.......maybe 3 hours tops.....when games go on longer....say...when televised baseball games go on past 12 innings...all but the most stalwart fans will give up and go on to bed.....

signs of life.....

ok, so......after a whirlwind hour or two of sorting out and putting away.....i had a nice glass of wine to celebrate....and strolled my emerging garden looking for signs of life......with such a meager attempt at winter, it is difficult to believe that plants have died due to extreme temperature.......at this point about half of the rose bushes that i transplanted from shade to sun are sprouting, either from old canes or from new shoots sent up by the roots...the other 50% are not necessarily dead....i see no signs of death, just no signs of life.........my roses are all on their own roots....rather than from some undesirable root stock like mr. huey or rosa multiflora....even roses that i moved appear to have been split rather than transferred....at least one bush has sprouted out in its original location.....life is good.......tomorrow after churhc i really should stop by lowe's for rose and perennial food as well as for a pre-emergent for the lawn.....i could start to clear away the dead stalks and wild onion.......right now i could march ou there and start that process.....but instead i believe that i will indulge in a bit of reading on my bedroom loveseat...in the late afternoon sun......napping is as much a sign of life and any i know...............

If You Can't Be a Good Example, at Least Be a Horrible Warning

ok, so......i returned home this morning from retrieving my mother from the airport....and started in cleaning my house......sometimes seeing the state of slovenlyness that my mother-figure calls livable shakes me out of my own household clutter doldrums and into action......sometimes when she travels i descend and straighten up and throw away and recycle.....only to find things reverted to setpoint just a few days later....i have read that the packrat mentality may be a throwback to the depression.....whereupon folks who grew up without have a hard time throwing anything away that they have now lest it be needed at some future date......and this mindset applies to every scrap of paper and empty container that comes in.......i cannot seem to change her housekeeping habits....i can only tighten up my own standards for tidiness......much as i cringe at my mother's state of clutter.....she has far to go to reach the level attained my by late uncle albert.....who at one point was feeding the dead cats that lay upon his dining room table.....the very same table that i have in my front room, by the way.......someone had thoughtfully placed a sheet of plastic over it at some point....which protected the wood from the unimaginable.......and all this discussion brings me to a review i read online this morning about grey gardens....a musical currently on broadway that focuses on some eccentric kin to jackie o, who lived in a hamptoms mansion with their ferral cats.......oy......nice to know that any of us can live like raccoons given the correct cirumstances.......even the very rich......but enough of that.....i am cleaning out my closet and making a bag for the goodwill......

a thought for the day

ok, so i really like this quotation from mark twain...

"I am not one of those who in expressing opinions confine themselves to facts."
- Mark Twain

ok, so this bottle has a refillable filter, suitable for areas where there is giardia and heavy metals.......
...check it out......anyone who will be visiting a foreign city known for impure water....... 

altercation

ok, so this was the big news today in my thursday county....from the Danville Advocate Messenger.......Two young pupils face felony charges after they allegedly attacked another student and teacher at Waynesburg Elementary School last week.

An 8-year-old girl and her 10-year-old brother were taken out of the school in handcuffs and transported to the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department after officers were called to the school about 8 a.m. March 2, The Interior Journal reported today.

The boy is charged with third-degree assault on a police officer, terroristic threatening and resisting arrest. The girl faces two counts of third-degree assault, terroristic threatening and attempting to disarm a police officer.

The article describes how the 8-year old girl, when confronted with the arrival of the police officer...screamed that 'she was gonna kill her a cop' (as told to me by my workmates)....and tried to grab his gun out of his holster........needless to say....she has been suspended from school.......the buzz at work was about how a child of 8 could be so brutal as to attempt to beat up a classmate, as well as the teacher who tried to break up the fight......what will this girl be like at 16?.......will she live to 18?........where does one house a child who is already in such a state at less than half the legal age of reason?........the subject of drugs also came up.....as in 'what sort of drugs-legal and illegal-have molded her, whether we are talking prenatal exposure, or daytoday exposure....that area of lincoln county is known for its serious meth problem.....one wonders if this child's brain is already fried.........so tragic...............

p&p

ok, so the dvd of pride and prejudice came today.....and we watched it for the 1st of many viewings......and my family kept asking about plot points......impossible that with so many viewings of the colin firth version that there could be plot point questions......granted nobody else has taken the time to read the actual book except me.......and as it happened....my spouse was disappointed that the 2005 remake did not include the double wedding.......i laughed out loud to think that my family that mocked my love of a 5-part miniseries for its length and attention to detail could be disappointed at the streamlined keira knightly take on p&p......2 hours versus 5 hours....some themes had to hit the cutting room floor......wonder if focus features has an extended version int he works.....true austen fans would gladly pay a premium for an extra 3 hours of footage........

secret smoker

ok, so on my way to work yesterday, after dropping my daughter off at school in town, i chanced to meet someone on her way back home from taking her children to school....no big news there.....as everybody is doing about that same thing in this time slot....but espying her in her van was not the news...it was watching her light up at the light that grabbed my attention......i didn't know she smokes......i never dreamed that she smokes...her house doesn;t smell like smoke......is she such a closet smoker that her own family doesn't know......?......not that it is ANY of my business.......but smokers are a fascinating breed to me.....in light of all we know about second hand smoke.....smoking is bigger than the smoker if the second hand smoke involves others.......i saw a toddler this morning in the course of my job that reeked of smoke as i weighed and measured him.....and i must admit to more than the usual ire toward the mother and the grandmother about smoking in the house/car where this child, with a runny nose and red watery eyes, cannot escape the dangers......'i'll smoke when and where i want' is downright abusive when this act of free 'speech' invades the airspace of others, let alone 2-year olds.......but back to the closet smoker.......one wonders what she'll think when her children take up right after her......her having made it look more glamouroud/desirable because of her sceretiveness........mommy's little secret is probably no secret at all........

Open adoption, broken heart

ok, so y'all don't have to read all of this..from salon.com...i couldn't read of all of it.......too personal......but i wanted to make sure that i had a copy of it for when i could read it......

By Dawn Friedman

Mar. 08, 2006 | The first time I met my daughter, Madison, she wasn't mine yet and I wasn't sure she would ever be. I stared into her solemn face and looked shyly at her mother, Jessica.

"Can I pick her up?" I asked.

"Of course," she said proudly.

There was nothing about her that was familiar -- not her round face, her tuft of hair, the heft of her body. When I gazed at her, I felt enormous tenderness and the quiet stirring of potential love, but I didn't know her. And I was afraid to look too closely because I knew that, just as I had felt the shift and click of my son's life falling into place after his birth seven years before, so Jessica was coming to know Madison. All those months, she had thought she was carrying just any baby when all along it was Madison. She was saying to her daughter what I had said to my son: "Oh, it was you!"

Adoption social workers say that every woman needs to say hello to her baby before she can know if she can say goodbye. But I wanted to say hello to Madison, too. I wanted to let myself fall in love with her. I wanted to unwrap her and examine each little limb, bury my face in her neck, let my fingers trail across her features. But she wasn't mine. I grieved her even as I knew she wasn't mine to grieve.

Three days after Madison's birth I watched my husband buckle her into the car seat, and then I climbed into the back seat beside her. I thought about Jessica, who we'd left sobbing in the maternity ward. I knew her arms were aching for her daughter, the daughter that was now ours.

"She's beautiful," I said to my husband. He glanced into the rearview mirror. "I know," he said. We sped through the gray morning, heading home.

"I feel like a kidnapper," I told him.

"I know," he said.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

My husband and I came to open adoption filled with hopeful naiveté. We tried for several years (and several miscarriages) to have a second child, but when our infertility doctor said we might need more extensive treatment, we decided to walk away. A few months later, we began to explore adoption. Foster-to-adopt, we decided, would be too emotionally risky for ourselves and, more importantly, for our then 6-year-old son. International adoption was too expensive. But when we found domestic infant adoption through a local nonprofit agency, we realized that we had found our way to be parents again.

We knew that our adoption would be at least semi-open. We would be sharing our vital statistics -- first names, ages, religion, as well as carefully chosen pictures -- with birth mothers, as per the agency's requirements. But we wanted more. We wanted a fully open adoption with an ongoing relationship and continuing contact. We wanted holiday visits, regular phone calls and even -- dare we hope -- contact with the extended birth family. We felt our baby-to-be would benefit from knowing his or her origins; we considered it a birthright. We also strongly believed birth parents were due some kind of relationship with their children and with their children's adoptive parents -- if they wanted one.

We weathered the fear-mongering tales of well-intentioned friends and acquaintances, people who had watched nightly news stories of toddlers snatched by their birth parents from adoptive families who had cared for them since birth. We listened as they wondered aloud what kind of woman would have the strength to walk away from her baby and then come back for occasional visits. "What if she kidnaps the baby?" they'd say. "What if she treats you like babysitters?"

Other adoptive parents we knew chose to go abroad in part because they were alarmed by the trend toward increasing openness in domestic infant adoptions. "Won't you feel jealous?" they'd ask. "Won't it confuse the child? What if your child likes her more than she likes you?"

I dismissed their concerns with all of the blind optimism of someone who had waited through four years of infertility for a baby and now finally thought she might get one. "Don't be surprised if you get placed quickly," our social worker told us. "Most adoptive parents aren't ready to be that open, and it's something a lot of birth mothers look for."

Our agency asked that each hopeful adoptive family put together what they called a profile and other adoption professionals sometimes call a "Dear Birth Mom" letter. (The reason they call it a profile, our agency explained, is that a pregnant woman considering adoption is not a birth mother; she is an expectant mother and should be respected as such.) When a woman came to the agency saying she was considering placing her child for adoption, they gathered at least five profiles to share with her. The profiles were pulled on the basis of any requirements that she might have. If a potential birth mother said she wanted an adoptive family where one parent was a teacher, only the teacher profiles would be pulled. If none of the profiles appealed to the woman, she could ask for more.

The profile contained information about us, about our path to adoption and our intentions as adoptive parents. And the profiles are usually printed out on pretty paper.

"Pretty paper?" I asked Denise, our social worker, when she gave us the instructions.

"It matters," she said. "You'd be surprised."

It was a lot of pressure to take to the stationery store. My son and I spent a long time analyzing our choices. I rejected the pastel baby feet as too pushy, the blue sky and clouds as too ethereal. I finally decided on white with a tasteful abstract green border. We made a dozen copies and dropped them off at the agency.

While our agency allowed "matches" as early as the seventh month, they stressed to us that a match was nothing more than a woman expressing her right to consider an adoption plan. It was not the promise of a baby, it was not a guarantee that we would be parents again.

"There is always a 50 percent chance that a woman who chooses you will change her mind," Denise made clear. "A real baby changes things and no matter how sure she is while she's pregnant, she will need to make that decision again once she has the baby." It was a common refrain from the agency during our wait: "Guard your heart," they told us. "The baby isn't yours until the papers are signed."

Seven months after completing our adoption homestudy, our social worker called. "There's a woman who seems like a good fit for you, and we would like to share your profile with her."

Jessica was 19, they told us, and African-American. The birth father, who was choosing not to be involved, was white, like us. The baby was healthy -- Jessica's prenatal care had been good. "And it says here what she's having," Denise added. "Do you want to know?"

We did. A girl, she told us, due April 4. A week later we got another call. Jessica wanted to meet with us.

Our agency facilitated our first meeting at a downtown restaurant. Jessica brought three of her closest friends, and we all sat across from each other fidgeting awkwardly. Jessica was polite, guarded but not shy, and greeted us with sonogram pictures of the baby she was carrying. She was due in two months and feeling good.

I liked Jessica right away. I liked her confidence and sense of humor. I liked her wide smile. And I liked how direct she was with us. "I'm going to name the baby Madison," she told us. "You can change it later but that's the name I'm going to give her."

When it was time to go we exchanged phone numbers and last names. Over the next few weeks she and I talked regularly -- not just about Madison but about other things, too. Politics, music, Jessica's plans to travel and go to school. One day I hung up the phone after a particularly long conversation and told my husband, "If she decides not to place Madison, she'll be a good mother."

We talked about the adoption, too, about what her plans were and why she chose us to be part of it. Those reasons are complex and not ones I feel I can share here.

"You already had a son," she said. " I liked knowing Madison would have a brother. I also liked what you said about including me. And the paper. I liked your paper. It was tasteful."

At the first meeting at the restaurant, Jessica told us that she knew she would want to be alone with Madison for the three days before she could legally sign the surrender. We said we understood. But the morning that Madison was born she called to say that she had changed her mind and wanted us to come in.

"I need to see you with her," she said simply.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Even after we arrived home with Madison, I could not get Jessica's tears out of my mind. I felt numb. I didn't know how to answer when people congratulated us. They saw only the happy event, but each time Madison cried I felt sure that every one of her ordinary infant sorrows was magnified by the separation from her birth mother. This was not the gauzy, soft-focus motherhood I had envisioned.

Jessica was everywhere because she was in my daughter. The shape of her brown eyes, the curve of her face -- they became mixed up in my mind. During every diaper change I'd gaze at Madison's small body and imagine how Jessica must have looked at one week old. They mirrored each other; the vulnerability of the mother who had given up her child and the child who had lost her mother.

"You need to move on," friends said. "You need to let Jessica move on. Quit taking her phone calls. Step up and be Madison's mother!" But no one could tell me how to be her mother when she already had a mother. I could care for her -- rock her, feed her, and sing her to sleep -- but something would not allow me to claim her.

Was it the phone calls? Jessica called about once a week to hear how Madison was doing and to tell me what was going on in her life. I kept my stories sweet and lively. She was working hard to put her life back in order and was forthright with me about her struggles. She missed Madison, she told me. The decision was the right one but oh, she missed her. I welcomed our talks even as I shrank from them. I felt it was my duty to hear her cry. It was the least I could do, I thought, because I had her baby. My guilt was a necessary purgatory, an inadequate payment for my privilege.

Each time, I would hang up determined to embrace Madison as my own. Jessica wanted me to be Madison's mother, didn't she? She chose me. She signed the papers. She had released her to me, and now I was failing her trust.

So I went through the motions. I sang to Madison so she would learn my voice. I strapped her to me and walked in circles so she would learn the rhythm of my movements. I hoped proximity would breed devotion. But I felt like a liar when we went out and people said what a pretty baby I had. Not my baby, I wanted to tell them, anxious not to take Jessica's credit.

"She even looks like you!" some gushed. Of course this wasn't true. Her smooth coffee-with-cream skin is nothing like my own rosy complexion. Such was their strong determination to fit her to our family.

"She looks just like her birth mother," I'd reply. I wanted them to see Jessica, to acknowledge her. I couldn't stand to have her obliterated, even in casual conversation. It was if they were trying to deny the truth of Madison, the fact of who she was beyond being my adoptive daughter. I didn't want to pretend that she came to us without her own history. But at the same time, polite society seemed to want to dismiss her origins. Per United States law, Madison's post-adoption birth certificate even listed me as the woman who gave birth to her.

The next time Jessica called, I tentatively told her how I was feeling. "I can't stop thinking about you and how hard this must be," I said, my voice cracking. "I know how sad you are..."

"I don't want you to feel guilty," Jessica admonished me. "I want you to love her. I need you to love her and be happy."

"But how can I be happy when you're hurting so much?" I asked.

"It's easier when I think of you cherishing her," she said. "I need you to do that for her and for me, too. I don't regret this."

I wanted it to make better sense. We didn't find Madison languishing in a destitute orphanage. She didn't come to us with a history of abuse and neglect. I didn't know how to justify this great gift of her presence in our lives at the expense of her mother. If there just something I could hang it on, an obvious reason that Madison was better off with us -- but there wasn't. There was just the word of her first mother who said, "This is what I need to do."

In my lowest moments, I would browse the list of adoptive parents on our agency's Web site. One night, I happened upon a profile of a fantastic family, African-American professionals who ran a newspaper and had a daughter the same age as my son. They should have gotten Madison, I thought. They were better educated than me, had better jobs -- and could give Madison the one thing I never could: a connection to the black community.

My friend Elisabeth, who used to do patient support at an abortion clinic, took me to task.

"This is a choice issue," she told me. "You keep telling me how strong and smart Jessica is, but you're second-guessing her. That's not fair."

"I just want us to both be winners in this," I said.

"There is more than one way to be a winner here," she replied. "Stop denigrating Jessica's decision."

I had been picturing the two of us balanced on opposite sides of a tipping scale. If one of us was the real mother, then the other one was not. If one of us was happy, then the other must be sad. But when I hung up with Elisabeth, I realized that I couldn't ease Jessica's struggle by taking it on as my own. Besides that's not what Jessica wanted; she did not want her sorrow to color these first months of Madison's life. It was my guilt that betrayed her, not my love for Madison.

When I stopped feeling so consumed by what Jessica had lost, I was able to find joy in what I gained, the everyday pleasures of parenting again -- dressing my daughter, giving her a bath. Certainly, with that joy came vulnerability and the insecurity my worried friends predicted. Sometimes I don't want to share Madison. Sometimes I want to feel that I am the only mother she has and will ever need. But even at it's most challenging, I still believe in openness. How much easier it will be for our daughter, I think, to never have to search for her roots. She will never have to wonder why her first mother chose adoption; she can ask her.

Jessica lives in our city and visits when her busy life allows, which ends up being about once a month, and we e-mail and phone more often. A few weeks ago she came over and made us jerk chicken with mango salsa; she is studying to be a chef. We joked that now we know where Madison gets her enthusiastic love of good food. After dinner I shared the beginnings of this essay with her and we cried a bit together.

"I didn't know it was so hard for you," she said.

"Well," I shrugged, helplessly. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Last summer Jessica and I took a trip to Washington together so Madison could meet her extended birth family. Jessica was hoping, in part, to show them that it had all worked out OK and that her decision to place Madison with us was a good one. As an interracial family already, the transracial aspect did not grieve them; it was the loss of this wondrous first grandchild to strangers. "When they see us together, how things are, they'll understand," Jessica assured me. Still we were both nervous.

The family reunion took place at a country club on a beautiful cool summer evening. It was amazing to meet people who looked like Jessica and thus just like Madison, too. I kept my camera ready. Madison, open and sunny, charmed everyone, and several people took me aside to thank me for making the trip. "It's my pleasure," I said honestly.

"She looks like her mother," said someone admiringly, and I felt the discomfort the comment left in the room. "Yes, she does," I rushed to say. "She has Jessica's beautiful smile." And they were generous with me, too. "Better ask your mommy," said Jessica's father when Madison reached for another slice of cake. Then he handed her to me although I know it pained him.

When the party spilled outdoors, Madison and Jessica wandered away to play in one of the sand traps on the club's golf course. I stood on the edge and snapped a series of pictures -- first Madison and Jessica crouching together to poke at the sand. Then Madison with her head thrown back to look up at Jessica while Jessica gazed down at her, smiling with great tenderness. Then a shot of Madison laughing and running away. Running toward me.

more dogs and cats than people

ok, so with my mother out of town, and her dog in residence here, we have reached the lopsided animal to human ratio......with contentious results......this morning the kitchen was downright crowded with pets jockeying for the contents of each other's bowls.......so much so that i finally put yellow (the big yellow dog) outside just to reduce the volume of animla flesh present if not the physical count.....but the fun doesn't stop with the feeding frenzy...those that remain seem determined to keep me company....and so at some point as i checked all of my on-line papers, newservices, gossip blogs......i had 2 dogs underfoot and a cat behind me on the desk chair.....i walked back to the kitchen for a coffee refill under escort, and then back again to sit down....as if i was holding back on petfood and those cloest to me when i bestowed second helpings would be in luck......my mother's dog skitters about enough as to take up the living space of 2 calmer animals...i might as well count her double......

unhappy?

ok, so i was surprised to read on slate.com that i must be unhappy......you be the judge.....

Desperate Feminist Wives
Why wanting equality makes women unhappy.
By Meghan O'Rourke
Posted Monday, March 6, 2006, at 7:35 PM ET

In The Feminine Mystique, the late Betty Friedan attributed the malaise of married women largely to traditionalist marriages in which wives ran the home and men did the bread-winning. Her book helped spark the sexual revolution of the 1970s and fueled the notion that egalitarian partnerships—where both partners have domestic responsibilities and pursue jobs—would make wives happier. Last week, two sociologists at the University of Virginia published an exhaustive study of marital happiness among women that challenges this assumption. Stay-at-home wives, according to the authors, are more content than their working counterparts. And happiness, they found, has less to do with division of labor than with the level of commitment and "emotional work" men contribute (or are perceived to contribute). But the most interesting data may be that the women who strongly identify as progressive—the 15 percent who agree most with feminist ideals—have a harder time being happy than their peers, according to an analysis that has been provided exclusively to Slate. Feminist ideals, not domestic duties, seem to be what make wives morose. Progressive married women—who should be enjoying some or all of the fruits that Freidan lobbied for—are less happy, it would appear, than women who live as if Friedan never existed.

Of course, conclusions like these are never cut-and-dried. This study is based on surveys conducted between 1992 and 1994, and measuring marital happiness is a little like trying to quantify sex appeal. But the data are nonetheless worth pausing over, especially if, like me, you've long subscribed to the view that so-called companionate couples have the best chance at sustaining a happy partnership. Among all the married women surveyed, 52 percent of homemakers considered themselves very happy. Yet only 45 percent of the most progressive-minded homemakers considered themselves happy. This might not seem surprising—presumably, many progressive women prefer to work than stay at home. But the difference in happiness persists even among working wives. Forty-one percent of all the working wives surveyed said they were happy, compared with 38 percent of the progressive working wives. The same was the case when it came to earnings. Forty-two percent of wives who earned one-third or more of the couple's income reported being happy, compared with 34 percent of progressive women in the same position. Perhaps the progressive women had hoped to earn more. But they were less happy than their peers about being a primary breadwinner—though you might expect the opposite. Across the board, progressive women are less likely to feel content, whether they are working or at home, and no matter how much they are making.

What's really going on here? The conservative explanation, of course, is that the findings suggest that women don't know what they really want (as John Tierney implied in the New York Times, and Charlotte Allen suggested in the Los Angeles Times). Feminism, they argue, has only undermined the sturdy institution of marriage for everyone. The feminist and liberal argument is that reality hasn't yet caught up to women's expectations. Women have entered the workforce, but men still haven't picked up the domestic slack—working wives continue to do 70 percent or more of the housework, according to one study. If you work hard and come home and find you have to do much more than your husband does, it's little wonder that you would be angry and frustrated.

Neither explanation seems quite right. (The authors found that equal division of labor seems not to correlate strongly with happiness, either.) What is left out of both lines of argument are the strange ways that rising expectations play into happiness. The sexual revolution tried to free women and men from set-in-stone roles. But the irony turns out to be that having a degree of certainty about what you want (and being in a peer group that feels the same way) is helpful in making people happy. Having more choices about what you want makes you less likely to be happy with whatever choice you end up settling on. Choosing among six brands of jam is easy. But consumers presented with 24 types often leave the supermarket without making a purchase. In much the same way, the more you scrutinize a relationship, the more likely you are to find fault with it. The study's authors, W. Bradford Wilcox and Steven Nock, speculate that fault-finding on the part of wives makes it hard for men to do the emotional work that stabilizes marriages. Meanwhile, traditionalist women—a significant portion of whom are Christian—expect less emotional work from their husbands, Wilcox and Nock speculate, which makes it easier for them to shake off frustrations, and less likely to nag. Whether or not any of this is the case, we do know that traditional marriages have the advantage of offering clearly defined roles. And traditionalist wives have a peer group fundamentally in agreement about what it wants and expects from husbands, creating a built-in support system.

Consider the evidence that evangelical women—who in general endorse traditional gender roles—are better at adjusting psychologically to situations they don't find ideal than feminists are. Studies of evangelical wives who have to work for financial reasons show that, as rigid as gender roles are in their community, women are fairly adept at being what sociologist Sally Gallagher calls "pragmatically egalitarian." That is, they continue to be happy with the division of labor, and to see their husbands as providers, even though they'd prefer to be at home. It's a kind of utilitarian double-think, Gallagher and others argue—and it helps explain why traditionalist women who work might consider themselves happier than feminists who are still struggling to feel secure in their decisions.

It may be, too, that traditional marriage today is happier than it was, thanks to feminism. Traditionalists have been able to maintain the pre-Freidan goals, but all the societal movement in the other direction has had a freeing effect on their marriages, too. (That is, Dad still works and Mom stays at home, but thanks to the general liberalizing of society, Dad can feel OK about helping more at home and Mom can feel OK about having a chance to work more, too.) In other words, their goal has stayed the same (that is, maintaining traditional marriage roles), but they can pursue it under much less draconian circumstances. No wonder they're happier. They're free-riders on the women's movement (though they'd deny it), whereas feminists have descended into a tangle of second guesses and contradictions.

Dismantling a tradition and carving out a new one can be far more confusing than adjusting to glitches in the status quo. Progressive women find themselves navigating marriage as a choose-your-own-adventure story, which raises the chances of feeling that they perhaps made the wrong turn along the way. A progressive-minded woman doesn't just have higher expectations; she's more likely to pay attention to every setback, and see her husband's failure to listen at dinner as evidence of larger inequity. Meanwhile, the paradox of rising expectations can make real differences seem bigger even as they grow smaller.

Would reverting to traditional gender roles make women happier? Hardly. This study doesn't mean that the feminist genie should—or can—be put back in the kitchen. (For one thing, the study found that working at home made progressive women less happy than their traditionalist counterparts.) But it may be a bracing reminder that worrying endlessly over choices isn't the path to greater freedom, equality, or happiness for women. Wilcox and Nock's study leaves husbands out of the picture. What we might wait for is a study that examines husbands' happiness—and tells us something about how they view male cultural scripts that remain comparatively stagnant. Maybe for them, too, clear (even rigid) expectations would correlate with marital happiness. Or maybe if it were an easier choice for them to spend more time with their children, or to turn down a prestigious office job because they want more freedom, everyone would be happier. In any case, the progressive lesson of the moment (or is it a traditionalist lesson?) is that it's time to focus less on "her" marriage—and to remember that sometimes the personal is just personal.

The top 15 percent are those who scored highest on a "gender attitudes" scale. They were asked whether they support working mothers and shared housework, and whether they disagree that men should be breadwinners and women homemakers.
Meghan O'Rourke is Slate's culture editor.

Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2137537/

Copyright 2006 Washingtonpost.Newsweek Interactive Co. LLC

dead cats.....

ok, so......this evening was my predictable drive to anderson county to do the diabetes support group......so far, so usual....but this evening was marred by the unusual number of dead cats at the side of the road.....gentle readers.....dead cats bring me to tears whenever i see their tragic remains......i immediately wonder to which house the cat in question belonged....and why the owner hasn't come out to claim the body....can't they see that their cat is dead?.......why haven't they looked for kitty?.......no feline deserves to die un-noticed........

scant drop seen in abortion rate when parents are told....

ok, so this from the nytimes.....

For all the passions they generate, laws that require minors to notify their parents or get permission to have an abortion do not appear to have produced the sharp drop in teenage abortion rates that some advocates hoped for, an analysis by The New York Times shows.

Jeff Topping for The New York Times

Cathi Herrod said that getting parents involved in minors' medical decisions was reason enough for Arizona to pass an abortion consent law.

Jane Bovard, who runs an abortion clinic in North Dakota, said that many of the parents were urging their daughters to have abortions.

The analysis, which looked at six states that introduced parental involvement laws in the last decade and is believed to be the first study to include data from years after 1999, found instead a scattering of divergent trends.

For instance, in Tennessee, the abortion rate went down when a federal court suspended a parental consent requirement, then rose when the law went back into effect. In Texas, the rate fell after a notification law went into effect, but not as fast as it did in the years before the law. In Virginia, the rate barely moved when the state introduced a notification law in 1998, but fell after the requirement was changed to parental consent in 2003.

Since the United States Supreme Court recognized states' rights to restrict abortion in 1992, parental involvement legislation has been a cornerstone in the effort to reduce abortions. Such laws have been a focus of divisive election campaigns, long court battles and grass-roots activism, and are now in place in 34 states. Most Americans say they favor them.

I read this on-line yesterday....and have contemplated it several times today........especially when one considers south dakota's pending ban on all abortions, including those involving rape and incest, except to save the mother's life.......well, isn;t that nice......mamma will have to go to court to prove that her life is in danger.....if she is unconscious or otherwise incapacitated then she is in some deep shit.........and so the naral folks and the planned parenthood folks will go to court over the issue...and after a time it will reach the supremes......and we shall see how things go........on the other hand......walmart last week agreed to carry the morning after pill after pressure from larger more liberal states....given that walmart may be the only pharmacy available in some areas....and to not carry the product was a violation of some federal statute.....i must clarify, for the record....that i would be ever so happy if abortions were un-necessary.....that every person having sex was protected against unwanted pregnancy.....but so long as we refrain from marrying off our 14-year-olds before they can have premarital sex.....we must provide them safe and available birth control products.......and do whatever it takes to stregnthen them emotionally so they do not see sex as their only source of positive physical connection..................for all the hype for brokeback mountain this year.......as a taboo-breaking film......i want to remind the academy of a film from last year, starring imelda staunton, called vera drake.....in which she plays an abortionist........it is the sort of movie that i could not actually go to see......but i applaud her gumption in making such a film.......i have said this once and i will say it again.....my children are related to a woman who died from complications of an illegal abortion.....and i believe with all my heart that reasonable people must do what it takes to keep those days from returning to this free society...............but i digress from the nytimes article about parental notification......it does not reduce the rate of abortion.....once told...reasonable parents do not desire the life of unwed motherhood and the poverty that comes along with it for their daughters......regardless of red state/blue state status........we are not willing to sacrifice our daughters to marriage at 14 to prevent premarital sex, nor to lifelong poverty should unintended pregnancy occur.....at least while privacy is still insured............people may talk right to life, but when their daughters are involved, they don't always walk the talk..............

if santa played for zztop.....

ok, so if i take cayle to school somewhere between 7:25 and 7:30 am.....we see a fellow walking down the road, carrying a mug of coffee, who resembles a hippy-ish version of santa claus....with an extra-long beard and a casual coolness that reminds me of zztop.....he wears combat boots rather than running shoes......and so i am somewhat bewildered as to his destination as much as his house of origin....i have yet to see him walk out of any door along the road.....nor see any unusually parked cars......he couldn't be going far with heavy boots or coffee.....unless he is in the service and is walking in his boots to keep in shape......not likely, given the state of his beard....i cannot believe that any of the armed services allow facial hair let alone a full length beard.....the kind that could be braided in to a gimli sort of arrangement.......a mystery.....

grusse von die cw families

ok, so this is the letter i will send to my cousin edwin in lambsheim, as translated by my eldest......

Grüsse von die cw Familie,

Ich war überglücklich deine Geburtstagkarte und Brief zu bekommen. Wir haben über dich nachdenken, seit wir deinen letztes Brief im Belegstapel gefunden haben...es war verlegt und unübersetzt. Andrew hat ein wenig vom Deutsch in der Hochschule gelernen. Er hat deinen Brief uns vorgelesen. Es tut uns Leid, dass unser Fehlen von Antwort dich unglücklich gemacht hat. Wir genossen unser Besuch zu Lambsheim. Nun, da wir eine kleines Deustchsprecher haben, können wir besser Briefschreiber sein.

Wir sind gesund und fröhlich. Ich habe die Restaurant verkauft. Jetzt arbeite ich bei das Gesundheitsamt. Meistens arbeite ich mit Kleinkinder, Kinder, und Diabetiker. Dieser Beruf gibt mir freiere Zeit. Die Restaurant hat alles meinen Zeit gestohlen. Ich vermisse es nicht.

Meinen Mann Ernst besitzen noch seinem Radfahrergeschäft. Dieses Jahr hat er auch 50 geworden. Wir wachsen älter zusammen. Andrew geht an die ,,University of Kentucky.“ Höffentlich werde er bald absolvieren. Er schreibt einen Roman und er hofft, es zu erhalten veröffentlicht. Stephan geht an Princeton University. Er studiert Russe. Er werde den Sommer in St. Petersburg spenden. Stephan und Andrew hat sprachlich Talent, dass sie nicht von mir übernahmen. Ich war glücklich, erlerntes Englisch zu haben!

Unsere jungere Tochter ist 13 Jahre alt. Sie wünscht, daß wir ein Pferd besassen und nahe einem Platz lebten, in dem sie Ski fahren könnte. Dreizehn Einjahreskinder wünschen immer für Sachen, die sie nicht haben können. Wir genossen, die Olympics aufzupassen. Wir haben für beide die deutschen und amerikanischen Manschaftern gejubelt.

Es tut uns leid zu hören, dass du krank bist. Behandlungen können wie die Krankheit so schmerzlich manchmal sein. Wir hoffen, daß Sie besser erhalten. Wir hoffen, daß Anna auch wohl ist. Gaspreise sind hoch. Wir hoffen, daß Sie warm sind.

Danke für das Erinnern an meinen funfzigste Geburtstag. Es war nett, einem Geburtstag am Samstag zu haben. Kein Arbeit! Jetzt an zu den folgenden 50 Jahren!

Dank wieder für deine Briefe.

Mit freunchlichen Grüssen,
Kathy

my cousin john......

ok, so last night, while the three of us were assembled on the sofa watching a library copy of yet another british murder mystery......i received a terse phone call from close kin with the directive......call cousin john.....he turned 50 today.....here is the phone number....he'd be really surprised if you called'.......i had forgotten, in all of my personal focus of late, that if i turned 50 last week, then i have two cousins who would be reaching the same milestone within a few weeks....john, who lives on the family apple farm (his mom's family, not the crown family) in the middle of ohio........and tim, who lives in texas and who named his first born graham michael crown so his initials would match his truck.......i haven't seen my cousin john in maybe 8 years.....on a visit to the area with my mom, dad and children.....for a family wedding......the particulars of his life are all coming back.....we saw a lot of him and his 3 sisters, as his dad and my dad were close in age, went to ohio state together because they were discharged from the service about the same time.....and lived close enough that a weekend visit was do-able.....john was at osu for a at least 1 semester of my freshman year...his next older sister recruited me for her sorority.......and like cousin debbie on my mom's side.....dropped out after just one semester.......he got married to his hometown sweetheart....and has a daughter .......who changed her name at some point....that marriage didn't last....it was quite a surprise to hear a few years ago that he was having a baby with his younger girlfriend....and now he has a daughter aged 28 and a son aged 6.....and yes......he was ever so surprised to hear from me.......we covered hairloss and haricolor.....both our fathers failed to turn grey, but rather lost their hair in a similar pattern......so far john has avoided both greying and hairloss.....it wasn't after i had hung up the phone to return to our movie that the irony sunk in.......my close kin....the one who called to suggest that i call my cousin on his 50th.....hadn't called me on my own birthday despite being.....close kin........typical.......which kind of brings me back to my cousin......who was lucky enough to have 3 siblings......whenever he fell out with a particular sib there was always another to play with until things calmed down.....with one sibling there is nobody to turn to when the relationship is strained.....of course, if one falls out with all siblings, there is still nobody to turn to......maybe only children have it best....as they are used to having nobody.........regardless......i have entered an alarm into my pda to remind myself to call this close kin when his birthday comes up on a month or two.....he'll not see the humor in that call.......but i suppose that is not the point............

distancing?

ok, so this item from people.com is quite ironic....

Michelle Williams has a shot at collecting her first Oscar Sunday night for her performance in Brokeback Mountain, but not everyone is applauding the young actress.

Williams, 25, who is nominated for best supporting actress opposite real-life fiancé Heath Ledger (who is nominated in the best actor category), has been snubbed in the press by the headmaster of her former school, Santa Fe Christian, in Solana Beach, Calif.

"Michelle doesn't represent the values of this institution. We would not approve of her movies and TV shows," Santa Fe Christian headmaster Jim Hopson told the San Diego Union Tribune. "We'd not like to be tied to 'Brokeback Mountain.'"

ok, so.......at no point when i was watching this film did it cross my mind about where any of the cast members went to school......and the notion that said school would be tied to the movie is equally laughable, especially since the name of a school that would snub an oscar-nomiated alum is now splashed in the media from sea to shining sea thanks to that public disavowing..........sante fe christian school, where we love our neighbors like ourselves (Christ's golden rule) excepting when we don't agree with their choice of film roles.......that ought to attract new students.......eh?

buckeyes on the brink......

ok, so i didn't make that up....it was an on-line sports illustrated headline.......but i feel deeply that sentiment......the osu basketball buckeyes have worked their way systematically up the rankings.....from the upper teens to 12th to 6th.....and they are knocking at the door of the top 5.......all the while the local blue (u of k) and red (u of l)teams are not ranked at all......as i have said before.....a sure sign of the end of days.....but that wouldn't matter if osu could manage a national basketball title after all these years...........

the truth about charlie.....

ok, so we watched the remake of the cary grant/audrey hepburn film charade last evening.....a nice find from the library.......i vaguely recall the older movie......mostly i knew where the money was 'hidden'...unless the filmmakers decided to update the plot somehow......in my recollection hitchcock was the director of the original, but that turned out not to be the case......and the dvd actually came with the original movie ont he reverse side....which i intend to watch after i get back from taking my mother to the airport this morning......regardless of which version one prefers....the backdrop is always paris, and any film that takes place in paris is worth a watch, or two............

this bike is a pipe bomb.......

ok, so this from the washington post....too bad the police don't read indie music blogs........

Bike Band Sticker Causes Bomb Scare

The Associated Press
Thursday, March 2, 2006; 10:18 PM

ATHENS, Ohio -- A sticker on a bicycle that said "this bike is a pipe bomb" caused a scare Thursday at Ohio University that shut down four buildings before authorities learned the message was the name of a punk rock band, a university spokesman said.

The sticker on the bike chained outside the university-owned Oasis restaurant near the center of campus attracted the attention of a police officer about 5:30 a.m., spokesman Jack Jeffery said.

Police blocked streets around the restaurant and the Columbus police bomb squad came from about 65 miles away.

The bomb experts hit the bike with a high-pressure spray of water, then pried it apart with a hydraulic device normally used to rescue accident victims trapped in cars, acting Athens Fire Chief Ken Gilbraith said. Once they had it open, they saw there was no bomb.

baby, baby

ok, so......my thirteen year-old brought home the pretend decision baby...you know....the one that runs on batteries and cries at odd times and must be fed/diapered, held....and otherwise not abused.......it was home through supper, a movie,.......and on into the night before it ever cried.....which concerned us enough to change out the 9-volt battery in case it wasn't working....didn't want our third child to miss out all the full effect......which kicked in at down when that baby started in bawling........which woke us up through 2 closed doors....but not our child sleeping in the same room.......grandma's dog is with us, and appeared to be freaked out by the madness of a crying baby.......grandma is on her way to the philadelphia flower show via an elderhostel that also includes longwood gardens and winterthur......she ought to enjoy all of those sights.....and i shall take her absense as an opportunity to sort through all of her clutter......a task which cannot be done while she is at home........at which time nothing is extraneous and every scrap of must be kept for some rainy day....ah well.......but back to crying......our old dog has taken to climbing up the stairs in the middle of the night, and crying outside our door until he is let in....so that he can sleep beside my spouse's side of the bed......for a time we assumed that when he came upstairs he was crying to be let out, but we have since figured out that he is just needy/lonely.......but then again, aren't we all to some extent.....we just don't cry about it..................

50 bucks......

ok, so in my dreams last night i paid for something vague at a cash register with a 50 dollar bill that i pulled out of a secret compartment in my purse......alas.....my purse is quite a simple affair....and had no such secret pocket.....rats!....and then there is the reality that i wouldn't be carrying around fifties, as i would just spend them ...........i find that the less actual cash i keep in my wallet the less money i spend.......and the more money i have for things i really want, which can usually be purchased with my debit card....right now i am eagerly awaiting delivery of p&p on dvd.....it came out tuesday but i made the mistake of ordering it with goblet of fire, which doesn't come out til this tuesday.....and to get free delivery i have to wait on harry potter.....oy.......so much for delayed gratification......maybe i'll just drop by the library and see if they got in p&p just to get me through the weekend........and if i happen to find a fifty in a secret place i'll be sure to let you know...............

a very happy birthday

ok, so birthday greetings go out to the loyal opposition.........have a great day/weekend........

radon redux......

ok, so the year-long radon test results are in....and our score was not high enough to require the e.p.a. to step in and authorize extensive and expensive corrective meanures.........which should be comforting news to all children who slept over the years in the downstairs bedroom............

disturbing cell phone ringtones.....

ok, so....a workmate of mine has spent a whopping $1.50 to download a sultry male voice who moans......'stacey, pick up the phone....stacy,....please pick up the phone....'...it was cute the first time a heard it........but the cachet has eroded and unless she turns down the volume cannot be responsible for my actions...........

haircuts.....

ok, so.....i have had 2 comments in 7 days about my need for a haircut......to which i feel obligated in my own defense to explain that i have about 5 inches more to grow this mane before i can donate it to the locks of love folks....and get on with my life with a fitting style......ponytails do not flatter 50 year olds......i have considered a chignon close to the nape...but that would take a) hairpins which i lack and b)time which i lack......closely monitored hair does not seem to grow nearly as fast as recklously ignored locks......the bright spot has been the greys.....which have nearly shut down out of shame given the glow of my mission.............but all that pales by the shear annoyance of long hair................

barnacles....

ok, so i spent the better part of the day reading the taxonomy of barnacles by galt niederhoffer.......as one should expect, galt has a sister named rand.....and thankfully none of the other 4 sisters have names that can be traced back to classic fiction or novelists.......the book is the kind one cannot put down.....hence a single day read for plot......which must be followed by several days to breathe in the nuances.......i had skimmed the nytimes book review during lunch on monday....and was taken aback to walk into the library and find the book on the new arrivals shelf just before i picked up cayle.........a decent read for a first book......reminded me of the royal tennanbaums in eccentricities.....kind of makes me want to read darwins origin of the species..........now that i know that darwin first theory on evolution involved barnacles rather than finches.......who knew?............

another reason to like garrison k.

ok, so this from salon.com.....

Impeach Bush
The man was lost and then he was found and now he's more lost than ever -- and he's taking us into the darkness with him. It's time to remove him.

By Garrison Keillor

Mar. 01, 2006 | These are troubling times for all of us who love this country, as surely we all do, even the satirists. You may poke fun at your mother, but if she is belittled by others it burns your bacon. A blowhard French journalist writes a book about America that is full of arrogant stupidity, and you want to let the air out of him and mail him home flat. You hear young people talk about America as if it's all over, and you trust that this is only them talking tough. And then you read the paper and realize the country is led by a man who isn't paying attention, and you hope that somebody will poke him. Or put a sign on his desk that says, "Try Much Harder."

Do we need to impeach him to bring some focus to this man's life? The man was lost and then he was found and now he's more lost than ever, plus being blind.

The Feb. 27 issue of the New Yorker carries an article by Jane Mayer about a loyal conservative Republican and U.S. Navy lawyer, Albert Mora, and his resistance to the torture of prisoners at Guantánamo Bay. From within the Pentagon bureaucracy, he did battle against Donald Rumsfeld and John Yoo at the Justice Department and shadowy figures taking orders from Dick (Gunner) Cheney, arguing America had ratified the Geneva Convention that forbids cruel, inhumane and degrading treatment of prisoners, and so it has the force of law. They seemed to be arguing that the president has the right to order prisoners to be tortured.

One such prisoner, Mohammed al-Qahtani, was held naked in isolation under bright lights for months, threatened by dogs, subjected to unbearable noise volumes, and otherwise abused, so that he begged to be allowed to kill himself. When the Senate approved the Torture Convention in 1994, it defined torture as an act "specifically intended to inflict severe physical or mental pain or suffering." Is the law a law or is it a piece of toast?

Wiretap surveillance of Americans without a warrant? Great. Go for it. How about turning over American ports to a country more closely tied to 9/11 than Saddam Hussein was? Fine by me. No problem. And what about the war in Iraq? Hey, you're doing a heck of a job, Brownie. No need to tweak a thing. And your blue button-down shirt -- it's you.

But torture is something else. When Americans start pulling people's fingernails out with pliers and poking lighted cigarettes into their palms, then we need to come back to basic values. Most people agree with this, and in a democracy that puts the torturers in a delicate position. They must make sure to destroy their e-mails and have subordinates who will take the fall. Because it is impossible to keep torture secret. It goes against the American grain and it eats at the conscience of even the most disciplined, and in the end the truth will come out. It is coming out now.

According to the leaders of the bipartisan 9/11 Commission, our country is practically as vulnerable today as it was on 9/10. Our seaports are wide open, our airspace is not secure except for the nation's capital, and little has been done about securing the nuclear bomb materials lying around in the world. They give the administration D's and F's in most categories of defending against terrorist attack.

Our adventure in Iraq, at a cost of trillions, has brought that country to the verge of civil war while earning us more enemies than ever before. And tax money earmarked for security is being dumped into pork barrel projects anywhere somebody wants their own SWAT team. Detonation of a nuclear bomb within our borders -- pick any big city -- is a real possibility, as much so now as five years ago. Meanwhile, many Democrats have conceded the very subject of security and positioned themselves as Guardians of Our Forests and Benefactors of Waifs and Owls, neglecting the most basic job of government, which is to defend this country. We might rather be comedians or daddies or tattoo artists or flamenco dancers, but we must attend to first things.

The peaceful lagoon that is the White House is designed for the comfort of a vulnerable man. Perfectly understandable, but not what is needed now. The U.S. Constitution provides a simple ultimate way to hold him to account for war crimes and the failure to attend to the country's defense. Impeach him and let the Senate hear the evidence.