Lucas was all over the place, jumping, climbing, walking and I had my arms full of Quinn, so I was following Lucas around as he explored and played. We moved all over the play area and every now and again the woman would come over and start nattering away. She did this to almost every new person to come to the park and there were a few while we frittered away an hour or two. Off to the side of the play area there were some fallen trees and since I like for Lucas to play amongst “nature”, I cajoled him into climbing and playing by the trunks. The woman followed us over there with her grandsons and she started interrogating me. I was doing my best to send out “leave me alone” signals (single syllable answers, looking away, &c), but she was relentless. She started commenting on Quinn’s pale skin and reddish hair (here the warning bells were a claxon). Guess where this went? She said, “She’s so pale?…[Implying (and you're so dark)]…What’s your husband?”. At this I took total offense. My inclination was to revert to salty language, but I was so perturbed by her impudence, I gaped. She behaved as if she took my silence to mean that perhaps I wasn’t married. I told her irritatedly, “She has father. He’s like everyone else, a human being.” She continued in her ignorance, “I guess everyone’s a little bit of everything now a days, I mean there’s all races mixed-up, Scottish, Irish, German, Canadian…”. She went on in this vein, but I’ll spare you.

The next person who comments to me on my children’s skin color and my heritage is going to get an earful. For the record, I think it is totally rude to accost strangers and demand of them their provenance. I understand that people are curious, but I don’t see where their curiosity trumps my privacy. This is all about entitlement wherein the “white” individuals see themselves as the bearers of “regular” and everyone else has to justify themselves to them. I reserve the right to tell these people in whatever language I choose that they have crossed the line. In the past I might have felt just uncomfortable with these situations and left it at that, but the website “Anti-racist Parent” has given me the vocabulary to descibe my discomfort and the inherent problems with this level of human interaction.

Every Vote Counts, or so we are reminded each election season. Factually, of course, this is not true, since many votes are never counted. But in spirit, the notion is indeed true. Aside from the occasional RNC-inspired vote-suppression shenanigans we’ve witnessed in Ohio and Florida in recent years, in general this country has fair and honest voting process. Not saying it’s the best, just saying it works.

And because it does, every single citizen of the vast nation of more than 300 million souls has a stake in where we go as a country. It is a profound feeling to sense that, whatever small part my vote may play, that together, it truly is the people – and not just the powerful and wealthy – at the helm of the U.S.S. U.S.

The ritual of voting is so important! For it is true that, in practice, a single vote is not going to have an effect on the outcome. But casting my vote gives me a sense of participation, a feeling of ownership in my government. It means that, along with the rest of you, I have a stake in the race, a dog in the fight, and I did something concrete to let it be known. I am so thankful that, whatever shortcomings and failures this great nation has, at the very least, I know that yes, my vote does count.

…

As we stand today at the conclusion of the most epic, grandest, most expensive, overwhelming, and longest political campaign the world has ever known, the truth is it all comes down to 140 million or so people like you and me, casting their ballots, taking part in this democratic experiment, exerting their right to vote, and then waiting, anxiously, full of fear and hope, of dreams and dread, until we learn, finally, the results of this election.

GOBAMA!!!

Growing up, in every house we ever lived in, our parents would reinvent each yard. From pulling out thoughtlessly planted trees and uninspired landscaping to replacing fences, lawns, and flowering plants Mom and Dad always had a vision of what a quaint, charming yard should look like. Included in that vision was an idea that we as children and teenagers would have chores and responsibilities in moving each yard closer to their vision. Rick has mowed many lawns in his day, perhaps that is why he prefers the urban symphony to the suburban . I too have had many opportunities to learn at the hands of Ma and Pa. I have weeded many flower beds, planted many annuals, and removed many shrubs, bushes, ground cover, and small trees in my day. In my post-college days as gypsy I have had many plants in pots that i dragged from residence to residence. I still have plants in pots (old habits die hard), but in the last five years I have also stuck my hands into the earth and played with our yard to create new vistas, vantages, and habitats.

We spent this morning in the yard, plucking weeds, planting new plants, and generally arranging. Lucas is more interested in moving dirt than in gardening per se, but for about 45 minutes he sat on my lap while I worked around him. We would point out interesting things to each other. Today we saw red-breasted nuthatches and other songbirds, hummingbirds, bees, worms, roly-polies, centipedes, slugs, snails, spiders, grubs, beetles, lots of very small bugs, a lizard, and wasps. Each time Lucas was fascinated, but in the case of the bugs apprehensive.

One thing (of many) that years of eating organic has taught me is that pesticides are overused. We never use pesticides in our yard. We rely on the natural balance of insect predators and prey to keep our garden beautiful. Thus far it has worked, but it does take some effort of our own to keep things from getting unsightly. This year of composting has shown me is that bugs are good. So when I see all the diversity of the bug life, it reinforces my commitment to not using pesticides.

Years ago when being awakened early on Saturday morning to work in the yard “before it gets hot” if you had told me that I would have a garden of my own someday and enjoy working in it, I would have thought you insane, but i have to say that now as Lucas gets older I feel a sense of anticipation at introducing him to the wonders of gardening. It is a pleasure that is relatively inexpensive, creates value and beauty, and connects you to the natural world even in an urban environment. Gardening in all its forms is an active endeavor that although not highly respected is vital for our survival. One goal for this year is to try my hand at vegetable gardening in order to lessen my impact on the environment and to give Lucas the opportunity to labor for his own benefit.

In the last few months we’ve added some new elements that are encouraging me to focus on the yard more. They include: a fountain, a bird feeder, a real wind chime i.e. not the little tinny ones from the drugstore, but the more melodic (and expensive) ones. These few elements have added a new dimension to the yard. The running water adds peace in spite of the traffic noises, the bird feeder fills our yard with birds and occupies us for hours as we gaze at them and enjoy their songs, and the chimes are very subtle, but add harmony to the chaos of life in the semi-urban symphony.

Whatever you two are smoking, please send me two tons as a sales starter package. I think that there is a lot more profit potential in whatever you are smoking than in converting ’58 Chevies into tri5s. I think that we would be better off converting these ’58s into tanks and selling them to GWB for his next attack on humanity. No, lets not do that, we might be next on his hit list.

It was then, as I considered the levity and content of his joking reference to our Dear Leader, that I realized something sad: how often I sensor myself, out of fear that something that I write or say might be surveiled and, should the wrong combination of words align, I might be subject to a) firing or b) imprisonment (possibly without right to trial).

Get it straight: I don’t have deviant or evil impulses. But the random nefarious thought occasionally passes through my head and the worst thing about it is that I hesitate to give voice to them – not because I am worried about the direct consequences of my thoughts (there would never be any) but rather because of this sense that pretty much anything I say or write (in email or IM) is potentially monitored by some government agency.

So this is modern Merka. It seems that the freedoms we are paying so dearly to protect from the Islamofascists has already been swiped from us by our rulers. The shame.

Eventually we did buy a telly and used it to watch movies. When Netflix revolutionized the way one could rent movies, we set up a queue and our lives set into an easy pattern: watch two, maybe three movies week; read the local rag, which we loathe 5-7 days a week to keep up on local issues; plug into the hive on a daily basis and consume our media via teh intarweb. We noticed that without daily injections of the hysterical evening news and other serial media that the objects of our desires and wants shifted. Instead of being driven by outside forces, a new voice emerged from inside. Our urges to conspicuously consume waned, our desire for status objects decreased, a need to be like others dwindled. (Of course, we still shop, seek new objects, & find inspiration in others. It’s just more self-directed rather than driven by media.) On the edge is an awareness of how commercial media i.e. media generated by corporations, for corporations, shapes our appetite.

However, not all is peaches and cream. Although I rarely visit corporate websites as the main course of my internet meal, I still spend quite a bit of time plugged in. I have had to make a conscious choice to limit the amount of time I spend with my square-headed girlfriend. A screen is still a screen even if you are pushing different buttons. Although I gain immense amounts of inspiration from the websites I read, I am concerned by how often my intentional reading becomes mindless perusing. I find that I need to leave space in my day for creativity or else my weeks go by and I fell more and more drained until I have to take action to infuse my life with positive energy and reaffirm my goals and bring *my life* back into focus. There is a middle path where we can enjoy the works of others (plays, museums, television shows, movies, music, blogs, concerts, books, zines, &tc) and still be actively and creatively living our own personal lives. That balance is crucial.

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own
even if she never wants to or needs to…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
something perfect to wear
if the employer or date of her dreams
wants to see her in an hour…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a youth she’s content to leave behind….

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a past juicy enough
that she’s looking forward to retelling it in her old age….

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …..
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill,
and a black lace bra…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
one friend who always makes her laugh…
and one who lets her cry…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a good piece of furniture
not previously owned by anyone else in her family…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a feeling of control over her destiny…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…

HOW TO QUIT A JOB,

BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,

AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
when to try harder…
and WHEN TO WALK AWAY…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that she can’t change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips,
or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that her childhood may not have been perfect…
but it’s over…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she would and wouldn’t do for love or more…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to live alone…
even if she doesn’t like it…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
whom she can trust, whom she can’t,
and why she shouldn’t take it personally…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
where to go…
be it to her best friend’s kitchen table…
or a charming inn in the woods…
when her soul needs soothing…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she can and can’t accomplish in a day…
a month…
and a year…

At least according to a lame, misleading, sensationalist headline in the Chronicle. The headline and lede hype the number of plants (8,000) and ‘street value’ ($16 million). In the eighth paragraph, however, it is revealed that the 8000 money trees were actually ‘starter plants’, just an inch tall, and confined to a 50-square-yard area (about 22ft x 21ft).

I understand the need to dramatize certain events, but in this case the ‘news’ is pretty much a fabrication. A more accurate headline would say something like ’8,000 marijuana seedlings confiscated’. The $16 million figure is a theoretical street price calculated based on a 100% survival rate and pure, seedless, high-quality bud. In reality, I’d guess that far less than half the plants would survive, and these kids (ages 19 & 17) would need some supreme ‘gardening’ expertise to yield anything close to what the cops and article try to portray.

Anyways, it is deceitful and weak, and pretty typical of modern American journalism.

Gotta quote the decider here as he opines in the Wall Street Journal:

“I believe that when America is willing to use her influence abroad, the American people are safer and the world is more secure. I believe that wealth does not come from government. It comes from the hard work of America’s workers, entrepreneurs and small businesses. I believe government closest to the people is more responsive and accountable. I believe government plays an important role in helping those who can’t help themselves. Yet we must always remember that when people are hurting, they need a caring person, not a government bureaucracy.”

What he says: “I believe that wealth does not come from government. It comes from the hard work of America’s workers, entrepreneurs and small businesses.”

What he means: First you take it from the small guy then you hand it over to your cronies under the guise of a “war for their hearts and minds”.

What he says: “I believe government closest to the people is more responsive and accountable.”

What he means: Let’s open their mail and make sure that we know what they’re thinking.

I’m sure there’s more to say, but ’07 opened with a virulent cold taking over the CasaWeX fambly, so we’re up to here in snot and sinus pain. I’ll leave you with the Top 25 Censored Stories of 2007.