I've always wondered about the origin of this saying, but this past weekend, I came to understand it a little better.
I just got back from a family reunion, which involved three generations of my dad's family. The term "reunion" comes from the same origin as "reunite" and boy did we reunite! Daddy's sister is the only surviving sibling from his generation and she was so gracious and loving to all her nieces and nephews. She gives a wonderful meaning to the term "matriarch."
I have a theory. You see, those three generations traveled to St. Louis to reune from such far-flung cities as Winston-Salem, North Carolina and Dallas, Texas. From Kansas City, from Little Rock. It took me two days to travel there. I went through parts of seven states. I added two state capitals to the list of state capitals I've visited.
Well, not really. I didn't really visit them. More like waved at the West Virginia dome as I flashed past it at 70 miles an hour. More like used the outer belt around Frankfort, Kentucky. But I'm gonna add them to my list anyway. It's my list and I'll do what I like.
So back to the theory. Since blood has so much iron in it, there must be some magnetic quality to it. There are poles in blood...a north and a south and they draw to each other. I should pose this theory to my cousin who runs a blood center, because she knows more about blood than anyone else, I'll bet.
So the magnetism of blood causes us normally sane individuals to leave jobs and responsibilities at home, drive for hours on end in a record heatwave, spend money at a pricey hotel...all for the sake of seeing relatives we haven't seen for 40 years. I mean, we've gotten along for 40 years without seeing these people. Why should we suddenly decide to get together, just because we share DNA?
Blood, that's why. Not the blood that causes some to be squeamish. But the blood of the tribe, the blood of the clan. We are programmed as humans to reunite with people of our blood. (I've often worried and wondered about foster children who find themselves "aged out" of the foster system. Where do they go to reunite? Where do they go to find blood?)
We found, despite the length of time in between our reunions, we could pick up just where we left off. Oh, sure, we had a few hours of bringing everyone up-to-date on the marriages we've had, the children we've sired or mared (if "sire" is the correct word for fathering a child, then is "mared" the correct word for having borne a child?).
After the catching up, we had a lot of laughs. Stories of remembrances of childhood. "Do you remember the time we came to your house for Christmas and Becky still believed in Santa and we strung her along?" "Do you remember the time Roy fell into the creek?" "I can't believe Paul proposed to you like that."
There were some happy/sad memories as well. Memories of a lost uncle who served in WWII. Memories of a handicapped cousin who died suddenly at the age of 27. Memories of my dad, who died just recently but who was a favorite uncle to my cousins. We even went to the uncle's grave site, as none of us got to attend his services. It was solemn, but not sad.
I just hoped that the spouses of all of the cousins had a good time, too. When you're an "out-law", you don't have the memories that we have. Hopefully, they enjoyed hearing about their spouses' childhoods.
We even had time to videotape an interview with my aunt, talking about her childhood. It was a snapshot of that era, of that place. Even her children learned things about their mother they hadn't known or remembered. If only our ancestors had left us that legacy.
One of my cousins is all into genealogy. He serves as the family historian and I'm hoping that the records and photos and stories we exchanged gave him a glimpse into that generation of our family tree. We have famous people in our lineage. An organist who was a friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson. The personal physician to William Penn, who sailed with Penn on the "Welcome" and help found Pennsylvania. Well, okay, maybe not famous but friends of famous people at least. Two degrees of separation.
So this magnetic property of blood, heretofore ignored, is very real. Blood draws blood. Down through generations, the family tree ever expanding to include in-laws, out-laws, children and children's children and children's adoptive children. Familial relations include other people's bloodlines but blood related all the same.
My niece, who is adopted, thinks of herself as belonging to our family. I tease her about having inherited our family's clumsiness, our family's craziness. She's known no other family. We are all of the same blood. Blood is indeed thicker than water.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
You say toe-May-toe, I say toe-Mah-toe
What was I thinking?
Back in April, when I planted 24 (that's 24 with a twenty and a four) tomato plants, I was craving tomatoes. Those purchased in the store have a cardboard taste to me, even those which claim to be "hot house" or "vine ripened." (You know they're lying when the "vine ripened" ones aren't yet ripe and they are clearly off vine.) I also don't know where those store-boughts have been. Who knows what kinds of pesticides and such they've been sprayed with?
I understand wanting a bumper crop of tomatoes back then, when I had cravings, before it was 110 in the shade. But really, Char, TWENTY-FOUR????
Last year, I got on a fresh salsa kick. Practically every tomato to come off the vine (for real vine-ripened) got partnered with some peppers, a little cilantro, a little lime juice. Heaven. I completely lost my taste for El Paso Salsa. Or Frito-Lay. Or even one of those designer labels which makes salsa out of unnatural vegetables and fruits. Peach salsa? Truly unnatural. (Tho' I must confess my son makes a mean pineapple salsa.) Canning the salsa results in the tomatoes being cooked to death which doesn't taste at all like the fresh stuff.
The other Big Mistake I made was to plant mostly Roma tomatoes. For the uninformed, Romas are paste tomatoes. I envisioned making and canning lots of spaghetti sauce and tomato sauce to hold me over this winter. Too late, my elderly neighbor who I consult about all things gardening told me she never, ever planted Romas, on account of they taste like store-bought tomatoes. Mea culpa.
She's right, by the way. Don't ever plant Romas if you want a real tomato. Their only advantage is, they make a pretty dense sauce. But it tastes like you took store-boughts and made a sauce.
I did plant 4 Cherokee Purples which, I'm told, are on the same taste scale as Brandywines. Not only do they taste really good, they turn all shades of pink, red, purple and white. Truly heaven.
I also had some of last year's Brandywines volunteer, so I left them to grow. Or maybe they're German Johnsons. I even had something I call O. Henry tomatoes last year. So called because they were grown from a wonderful tomato I had at that restaurant in Greensboro called O. Henry's. I swiped the seeds off my plate onto a napkin and shoplifted them home, they were that good. They are later bearing than the Romas, so I'm still waiting for that wonderful, acidic taste that belongs to the lowly O. Henry's.
All of the above mentioned tomato varieties are called "heirloom"...that is, they breed true, unlike all those hybridized monstrosities which have bragging, bold names like "Better Boy" and "Big Girl" and "Beefsteak". Nope, these tomatoes keep their marriage vows and don't have red-headed children when their husband is not.
Did you know that, botanically speaking, tomatoes are fruits and not vegetables...that is, they are the product of a flower and a bumblebee? Did you know that the Europeans used to call tomatoes "poison apples"? They truly thought that tomatoes were poisonous, on account of they hadn't discovered them first. Stupid Europeans.
I also don't know so much about those folks who claim that our Universe was created by an Intelligent Designer. I mean, I could design a better world with one hand tied behind my back...particularly a world in which vegetables and fruits would ripen in the winter. That way, canning wouldn't be such a killer. Nothing I like better than to keep all four burners cranking on my stovetop when it's a record-breaking, heat-stroke-inducing day. Not.
I realize now that I should have stuck with last year's number of plants (12) and not bought any more cages. Because next year, I'll no doubt look at all the cages and think I have to plant that many tomatoes.
I further realize that I'm rhapsodizing at length about my tomatoes so I won't have time to go out there, collect all those Romas and make sauce when it's 110 in the shade.
Back in April, when I planted 24 (that's 24 with a twenty and a four) tomato plants, I was craving tomatoes. Those purchased in the store have a cardboard taste to me, even those which claim to be "hot house" or "vine ripened." (You know they're lying when the "vine ripened" ones aren't yet ripe and they are clearly off vine.) I also don't know where those store-boughts have been. Who knows what kinds of pesticides and such they've been sprayed with?
I understand wanting a bumper crop of tomatoes back then, when I had cravings, before it was 110 in the shade. But really, Char, TWENTY-FOUR????
Last year, I got on a fresh salsa kick. Practically every tomato to come off the vine (for real vine-ripened) got partnered with some peppers, a little cilantro, a little lime juice. Heaven. I completely lost my taste for El Paso Salsa. Or Frito-Lay. Or even one of those designer labels which makes salsa out of unnatural vegetables and fruits. Peach salsa? Truly unnatural. (Tho' I must confess my son makes a mean pineapple salsa.) Canning the salsa results in the tomatoes being cooked to death which doesn't taste at all like the fresh stuff.
The other Big Mistake I made was to plant mostly Roma tomatoes. For the uninformed, Romas are paste tomatoes. I envisioned making and canning lots of spaghetti sauce and tomato sauce to hold me over this winter. Too late, my elderly neighbor who I consult about all things gardening told me she never, ever planted Romas, on account of they taste like store-bought tomatoes. Mea culpa.
She's right, by the way. Don't ever plant Romas if you want a real tomato. Their only advantage is, they make a pretty dense sauce. But it tastes like you took store-boughts and made a sauce.
I did plant 4 Cherokee Purples which, I'm told, are on the same taste scale as Brandywines. Not only do they taste really good, they turn all shades of pink, red, purple and white. Truly heaven.
I also had some of last year's Brandywines volunteer, so I left them to grow. Or maybe they're German Johnsons. I even had something I call O. Henry tomatoes last year. So called because they were grown from a wonderful tomato I had at that restaurant in Greensboro called O. Henry's. I swiped the seeds off my plate onto a napkin and shoplifted them home, they were that good. They are later bearing than the Romas, so I'm still waiting for that wonderful, acidic taste that belongs to the lowly O. Henry's.
All of the above mentioned tomato varieties are called "heirloom"...that is, they breed true, unlike all those hybridized monstrosities which have bragging, bold names like "Better Boy" and "Big Girl" and "Beefsteak". Nope, these tomatoes keep their marriage vows and don't have red-headed children when their husband is not.
Did you know that, botanically speaking, tomatoes are fruits and not vegetables...that is, they are the product of a flower and a bumblebee? Did you know that the Europeans used to call tomatoes "poison apples"? They truly thought that tomatoes were poisonous, on account of they hadn't discovered them first. Stupid Europeans.
I also don't know so much about those folks who claim that our Universe was created by an Intelligent Designer. I mean, I could design a better world with one hand tied behind my back...particularly a world in which vegetables and fruits would ripen in the winter. That way, canning wouldn't be such a killer. Nothing I like better than to keep all four burners cranking on my stovetop when it's a record-breaking, heat-stroke-inducing day. Not.
I realize now that I should have stuck with last year's number of plants (12) and not bought any more cages. Because next year, I'll no doubt look at all the cages and think I have to plant that many tomatoes.
I further realize that I'm rhapsodizing at length about my tomatoes so I won't have time to go out there, collect all those Romas and make sauce when it's 110 in the shade.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Supremes
I am honored and humbled to have been selected to write this blog.
That is, I selected myself and you probably could care less about what I think of the Supreme Court. Fine with me, but I'm gonna blog anyway.
The intro paragraph in this blog is the standard issue response to many a Supreme wannabe after nomination. They all say the same thing...they owe it all to their parents...they are honored and humbled (occasionally they are humbled and honored)...little did they dream, as a frosh at Harvard Law School (occasionally Yale Law School)...blah...blah...blah.
I've heard a great deal about how Elena Kagan is the least qualified of any candidate in our lifetime. Except, of course, for Clarence Thomas, Thurgood Marshall, and nominee Harriet Miers, who nominated herself. You may remember, she was on the search committee, looked around and decided she herself was the only qualified person.
It seems to me, ignorant woman that I am, that the qualifications should at the very least be a knowledge of the Constitution and the Law. Being as how the Supremes are always ruling on the Constitutionality of the cases brought before them and all. Having tried cases, particularly in Federal Court, seems to be of secondary importance. By this token, many law school grads (particularly those who aced Constitutional Law class) might make good Justices. I wonder what Chief Justice Roberts made in Constitutional Law class?
Kagan represents a first for the Court. If approved, she would be the third concurrent woman on the Big Bench. It seems to me that we women should have 5 seats, since women represent 51% of the US population. I think that's a good percentage for every walk of life...women should be 51% of doctors, corporate CEOs, zoo keepers, accountants, Senators, every career. But that's just me.
What concerns me, however, is that if Kagan is approved, Catholics would have 6 of the 9 seats, with the rest being Jewish. Not a Protestant, nor a Muslim, nor a Zorasterian nor a Two-Seed-
in-the-Spirit Predestinarian in sight. I am a lapsed Baptist and Baptists used to be all into separation of Church and State. Not so much now. Catholics have throughout history been all into being really chummy with State.
Roe v. Wade has been in the cross hairs of the extreme Right for many years, but how do you suppose the Catholics on the Big Bench are gonna vote when that landmark decision comes up before the Court. The Pope could excommunicate them if they don't vote his way. Or send them to Purgatory. Or something else equally abhorent. Can you imagine a Court where some guy in white robes in Rome gets to decide on US law?
Harvardians (Harvardites? Harvardists?) have a corner on seats on the Big Bench, with Yalies a distant second. I hear Northwestern has a pretty good law school. So does George Washington. So does Tulane. So why don't we have more representation from other law schools? Seems kinda incestuous to me.
Which brings me to the subject of Court activism. Seems like the Supremes on the Right have been pretty activist, but Republican Senators are all concerned about Kagan (and Sotomayor before her) and their potential for activism. As in ignoring precedent and making law from the Big Bench.
From yesteryear, I remember learning in Civics class in high school that we have three branches of government...the Congress to make the laws, the Supremes to judge the laws and the Executive branch to execute the laws. The Supreme Court doesn't have a Constitutional right to make laws, but tell that to the Court in 2000 when they illegally decided the outcome of a Presidental election.
How would you feel about term limits for the Supremes?
That is, I selected myself and you probably could care less about what I think of the Supreme Court. Fine with me, but I'm gonna blog anyway.
The intro paragraph in this blog is the standard issue response to many a Supreme wannabe after nomination. They all say the same thing...they owe it all to their parents...they are honored and humbled (occasionally they are humbled and honored)...little did they dream, as a frosh at Harvard Law School (occasionally Yale Law School)...blah...blah...blah.
I've heard a great deal about how Elena Kagan is the least qualified of any candidate in our lifetime. Except, of course, for Clarence Thomas, Thurgood Marshall, and nominee Harriet Miers, who nominated herself. You may remember, she was on the search committee, looked around and decided she herself was the only qualified person.
It seems to me, ignorant woman that I am, that the qualifications should at the very least be a knowledge of the Constitution and the Law. Being as how the Supremes are always ruling on the Constitutionality of the cases brought before them and all. Having tried cases, particularly in Federal Court, seems to be of secondary importance. By this token, many law school grads (particularly those who aced Constitutional Law class) might make good Justices. I wonder what Chief Justice Roberts made in Constitutional Law class?
Kagan represents a first for the Court. If approved, she would be the third concurrent woman on the Big Bench. It seems to me that we women should have 5 seats, since women represent 51% of the US population. I think that's a good percentage for every walk of life...women should be 51% of doctors, corporate CEOs, zoo keepers, accountants, Senators, every career. But that's just me.
What concerns me, however, is that if Kagan is approved, Catholics would have 6 of the 9 seats, with the rest being Jewish. Not a Protestant, nor a Muslim, nor a Zorasterian nor a Two-Seed-
in-the-Spirit Predestinarian in sight. I am a lapsed Baptist and Baptists used to be all into separation of Church and State. Not so much now. Catholics have throughout history been all into being really chummy with State.
Roe v. Wade has been in the cross hairs of the extreme Right for many years, but how do you suppose the Catholics on the Big Bench are gonna vote when that landmark decision comes up before the Court. The Pope could excommunicate them if they don't vote his way. Or send them to Purgatory. Or something else equally abhorent. Can you imagine a Court where some guy in white robes in Rome gets to decide on US law?
Harvardians (Harvardites? Harvardists?) have a corner on seats on the Big Bench, with Yalies a distant second. I hear Northwestern has a pretty good law school. So does George Washington. So does Tulane. So why don't we have more representation from other law schools? Seems kinda incestuous to me.
Which brings me to the subject of Court activism. Seems like the Supremes on the Right have been pretty activist, but Republican Senators are all concerned about Kagan (and Sotomayor before her) and their potential for activism. As in ignoring precedent and making law from the Big Bench.
From yesteryear, I remember learning in Civics class in high school that we have three branches of government...the Congress to make the laws, the Supremes to judge the laws and the Executive branch to execute the laws. The Supreme Court doesn't have a Constitutional right to make laws, but tell that to the Court in 2000 when they illegally decided the outcome of a Presidental election.
How would you feel about term limits for the Supremes?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Food to Gag You
I must admit I watched "Top Chef" for several seasons and I was fascinated with the obsession of creating dishes that had never been thought of before. Sometimes, being unique creates some truly inedible dishes. The reason that dish hasn't ever been served before is because it tastes like crap.
They seemed to go out of their way to find truly exotic ingredients. What's wrong with the lowly green onion? Why do you have to have shallots? Some of the stuff they used I hadn't even heard of. I know some of my chef friends out there are blowing their pot lids and yelling "It tastes different!!" Yeah, but not that different.
The other reason I don't watch "Top Chef" anymore is I got tired of the fake-o dramas, the sabotage, the hissy fits, the cruelty of the judges, who after all, are just people who don't like certain dishes. They've convinced themselves that their palates are all so sophisticated. I bet if you fed those dishes to homeless people, they'd be all "This is the best food I've ever eaten."
I had to use soy milk for several years when my kids were little. I made the poor tykes drink the stuff. Child abuse, pure and simple. I used it in baking and cooking, but I wouldn't drink the stuff myself. Have you ever tasted soy milk? Gag me with a spoon.
Recently, after years of avoiding any soy milk, I was told by one of those granola vegan people that soy milk has improved. "It's really good now. That's all I drink," he said. So I tried it. Almost gagged. Soy milk, for anyone who hasn't tasted it recently, is just as horrible a product as it's always been. Who ever thought that squashing beans would result in a delicious drink?
Same thing with carob. In order to make carob taste a little like chocolate, you have to add a ton of sugar, which sort of defeats the purpose. That, incidentally, is why I don't like soy milk...they add a ton of sugar to cover the really gaggy taste. Don't let anyone tell you any differently.
I also wonder about puffer fish. I mean, how many people died before they discovered exactly how to prepare it so it wouldn't kill you? Why not just stick with catfish? Or salmon? Trout? Why take a poisonous fish and experiment with it? I can imagine the chef who finally achieved making puffer fish edible. He probably had trouble getting people to eat his food as experimental subjects. Imagine his triumph when the meal was completed and everybody was still breathing.
I don't care much for gumbo. Mostly because it gets that slimy texture from okra. I like all the rest of the ingredients but I literally do gag on boiled okra. I love fried okra, which of course isn't as good for you as the boiled stuff, but the boiled stuff has the texture of snot. Okay, I guess I should back off, 'cause I don't want to gag my Reader.
Kids these days are lucky. In the 1950's, when I was growing up, there was a rule. Liver and onions once a week. It was purportedly to build up your blood. You know, a once-a-week shot of iron. I think housewives in those days actually had a weekly menu. Liver on Monday, chicken on Tuesday, pork chops on Wednesday, etc. culminating with pot roast on Sunday, because you could leave the roast in the oven while you went to church.
Mole is another food I'm not sure about. You know, that sauce which appears in Mexican cuisine. It has like a gazillion ingredients including chocolate and can go horribly wrong if you don't know what you are doing. I'll bet it was invented by someone on "Top Chef".
I have many friends who are excellent cooks. They make the darn stuff from scratch. It is evidently very difficult to make, kinda like hollandaise. I make a pretty mean hollandaise, if I do say so myself. Mole is evidently one of those sauces which is street cred for those who really know their South of the Border food. They are kinda like wine snobs.
Why all the drama? Why not just take Hersey's Syrup and pour it on the chicken or whatever? I don't know that I'd try a dish that has chocolate on any entree or veggie dish, much as I love chocolate. I like my chocolate in brownies, cake, on ice cream, in Snickers bars.
Not so much on puffer fish.
They seemed to go out of their way to find truly exotic ingredients. What's wrong with the lowly green onion? Why do you have to have shallots? Some of the stuff they used I hadn't even heard of. I know some of my chef friends out there are blowing their pot lids and yelling "It tastes different!!" Yeah, but not that different.
The other reason I don't watch "Top Chef" anymore is I got tired of the fake-o dramas, the sabotage, the hissy fits, the cruelty of the judges, who after all, are just people who don't like certain dishes. They've convinced themselves that their palates are all so sophisticated. I bet if you fed those dishes to homeless people, they'd be all "This is the best food I've ever eaten."
I had to use soy milk for several years when my kids were little. I made the poor tykes drink the stuff. Child abuse, pure and simple. I used it in baking and cooking, but I wouldn't drink the stuff myself. Have you ever tasted soy milk? Gag me with a spoon.
Recently, after years of avoiding any soy milk, I was told by one of those granola vegan people that soy milk has improved. "It's really good now. That's all I drink," he said. So I tried it. Almost gagged. Soy milk, for anyone who hasn't tasted it recently, is just as horrible a product as it's always been. Who ever thought that squashing beans would result in a delicious drink?
Same thing with carob. In order to make carob taste a little like chocolate, you have to add a ton of sugar, which sort of defeats the purpose. That, incidentally, is why I don't like soy milk...they add a ton of sugar to cover the really gaggy taste. Don't let anyone tell you any differently.
I also wonder about puffer fish. I mean, how many people died before they discovered exactly how to prepare it so it wouldn't kill you? Why not just stick with catfish? Or salmon? Trout? Why take a poisonous fish and experiment with it? I can imagine the chef who finally achieved making puffer fish edible. He probably had trouble getting people to eat his food as experimental subjects. Imagine his triumph when the meal was completed and everybody was still breathing.
I don't care much for gumbo. Mostly because it gets that slimy texture from okra. I like all the rest of the ingredients but I literally do gag on boiled okra. I love fried okra, which of course isn't as good for you as the boiled stuff, but the boiled stuff has the texture of snot. Okay, I guess I should back off, 'cause I don't want to gag my Reader.
Kids these days are lucky. In the 1950's, when I was growing up, there was a rule. Liver and onions once a week. It was purportedly to build up your blood. You know, a once-a-week shot of iron. I think housewives in those days actually had a weekly menu. Liver on Monday, chicken on Tuesday, pork chops on Wednesday, etc. culminating with pot roast on Sunday, because you could leave the roast in the oven while you went to church.
Mole is another food I'm not sure about. You know, that sauce which appears in Mexican cuisine. It has like a gazillion ingredients including chocolate and can go horribly wrong if you don't know what you are doing. I'll bet it was invented by someone on "Top Chef".
I have many friends who are excellent cooks. They make the darn stuff from scratch. It is evidently very difficult to make, kinda like hollandaise. I make a pretty mean hollandaise, if I do say so myself. Mole is evidently one of those sauces which is street cred for those who really know their South of the Border food. They are kinda like wine snobs.
Why all the drama? Why not just take Hersey's Syrup and pour it on the chicken or whatever? I don't know that I'd try a dish that has chocolate on any entree or veggie dish, much as I love chocolate. I like my chocolate in brownies, cake, on ice cream, in Snickers bars.
Not so much on puffer fish.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Antidisestablishmentarianism
I can't even remember what that word means, but it is sufficiently long for me to sound really intelligent. For a while it was the longest word in the English language, until it was deposed by some disease which began with "pneumo-something".
It sounds like something to which I could subscribe. I don't like the bunch of yahoos who are currently in power, but I'm not really wild about the idea of "throwing all the bums out" either. I'm concerned, dear Reader, with the current polilitical scene.
My concern is based on the "anti-establishment/anti-incumbent" mood. How do we know when we throw the bums out of Washington that we aren't electing someone even worse? The phrase "throw the baby out with the bath water" comes to mind.
Like Rand Paul, to hone a fine point. (My deepest gratitude to Dr. Paul for providing me a most excellent example of why a "throw the bums out" mentality is problematic, not to say dangerous.)
He thinks that private establishments need not adhere to the Civil Rights Act or the ADA. It's "Big Government" to pass laws which force private enterprise to open their doors to everyone, including those in wheelchairs or those with colorful skin tones. Dr. Paul evidently hasn't envisioned the possible outcome that, if you are African-American and disabled, there might be no restaurant at which to eat. Let 'em eat cake at home!
Dr. Paul also seems to think that our huge deficit can be fixed without raising taxes. I think he may have failed Math class. If you ever encounter a candidate who admits they may need to raise taxes, vote for them. 'Cause you know they are being honest. Pipe dream time.
Here's a novel thought...why don't we all read the position papers of both candidates and decide whether the devil that we know is preferable to the devil we don't? We've gotten so lazy in this country that we allow the Press to determine how we feel about a position.
I'm not defending the current members. I'm no fan of the current bunch of crooks that are presumably in command in Washington. The lobbyists, the campaign shenanigans, the myriad members who can't seem to keep their members in their pants. Some of them indeed need to be shown the door.
But, surely, there are a paltry few who deserve to be re-elected. I'm thinking the candidates who just two years ago were voted in. Surely they haven't yet had the opportunity to sell us down the river. At least, not yet. Or the Senators who have learned a lot during their tenure and sit on powerful committees. There must be a reason why Ted Kennedy continued to return to the Senate. Maybe he was really good at being a Senator...at least that's what the voters thought.
And where is all the campaign money coming from for the Newbies, the Congressional wanna-bes? Gee, probably from the same lobbyists and special interest groups as the incumbents, don't you think?
So no one is entirely pristinely pure here. Maybe we can actually watch the debates and determine, whether Incumbent or Newbie, which of the candidates most closely reflects the way we would stand if we were the candidate.
Another thing which I think is most important in looking at candidates...their labels vs. their behavior. I don't have much truck for the terms "conservative" or "liberal". Recent history has taught us that the most "conservative" of lawmakers are really mostly "socially conservative"...at least when it comes to how they want everyone else to act.
When it comes to being "fiscally conservative", I don't have to point out that under "liberal" Presidencies we had attained fiscal responsibility, while the so-called "conservative Presidents", going back to Reagan and his Voo-Doo economics, have blown the budget big time.
Is it "conservative" to have an affair and proclaim to the world that you have met your soulmate, while your spouse (patently not your soulmate) has to hold her head high, despite the fact that you just bitch-slapped her on national television? I think not, but then that's just me.
Is it "liberal" to give a standing ovation to the leader of another country (meaning, not our country's leader) who lectures us on our immigration policy? Here's an idea...let's adopt Mexico's immigration policies and see if Calderon likes that.
Come on, people, don't let the electoral buzz make up your mind for you. At the risk of sounding like your mother, do your homework.
It sounds like something to which I could subscribe. I don't like the bunch of yahoos who are currently in power, but I'm not really wild about the idea of "throwing all the bums out" either. I'm concerned, dear Reader, with the current polilitical scene.
My concern is based on the "anti-establishment/anti-incumbent" mood. How do we know when we throw the bums out of Washington that we aren't electing someone even worse? The phrase "throw the baby out with the bath water" comes to mind.
Like Rand Paul, to hone a fine point. (My deepest gratitude to Dr. Paul for providing me a most excellent example of why a "throw the bums out" mentality is problematic, not to say dangerous.)
He thinks that private establishments need not adhere to the Civil Rights Act or the ADA. It's "Big Government" to pass laws which force private enterprise to open their doors to everyone, including those in wheelchairs or those with colorful skin tones. Dr. Paul evidently hasn't envisioned the possible outcome that, if you are African-American and disabled, there might be no restaurant at which to eat. Let 'em eat cake at home!
Dr. Paul also seems to think that our huge deficit can be fixed without raising taxes. I think he may have failed Math class. If you ever encounter a candidate who admits they may need to raise taxes, vote for them. 'Cause you know they are being honest. Pipe dream time.
Here's a novel thought...why don't we all read the position papers of both candidates and decide whether the devil that we know is preferable to the devil we don't? We've gotten so lazy in this country that we allow the Press to determine how we feel about a position.
I'm not defending the current members. I'm no fan of the current bunch of crooks that are presumably in command in Washington. The lobbyists, the campaign shenanigans, the myriad members who can't seem to keep their members in their pants. Some of them indeed need to be shown the door.
But, surely, there are a paltry few who deserve to be re-elected. I'm thinking the candidates who just two years ago were voted in. Surely they haven't yet had the opportunity to sell us down the river. At least, not yet. Or the Senators who have learned a lot during their tenure and sit on powerful committees. There must be a reason why Ted Kennedy continued to return to the Senate. Maybe he was really good at being a Senator...at least that's what the voters thought.
And where is all the campaign money coming from for the Newbies, the Congressional wanna-bes? Gee, probably from the same lobbyists and special interest groups as the incumbents, don't you think?
So no one is entirely pristinely pure here. Maybe we can actually watch the debates and determine, whether Incumbent or Newbie, which of the candidates most closely reflects the way we would stand if we were the candidate.
Another thing which I think is most important in looking at candidates...their labels vs. their behavior. I don't have much truck for the terms "conservative" or "liberal". Recent history has taught us that the most "conservative" of lawmakers are really mostly "socially conservative"...at least when it comes to how they want everyone else to act.
When it comes to being "fiscally conservative", I don't have to point out that under "liberal" Presidencies we had attained fiscal responsibility, while the so-called "conservative Presidents", going back to Reagan and his Voo-Doo economics, have blown the budget big time.
Is it "conservative" to have an affair and proclaim to the world that you have met your soulmate, while your spouse (patently not your soulmate) has to hold her head high, despite the fact that you just bitch-slapped her on national television? I think not, but then that's just me.
Is it "liberal" to give a standing ovation to the leader of another country (meaning, not our country's leader) who lectures us on our immigration policy? Here's an idea...let's adopt Mexico's immigration policies and see if Calderon likes that.
Come on, people, don't let the electoral buzz make up your mind for you. At the risk of sounding like your mother, do your homework.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Lying to Your Children
A couple of days ago, my ex and I were standing in my yard when the ice cream truck went by, jangling out a barely-recognizable "Turkey in the Straw". We simultaneously turned to each other and said, "Ding Ding Truck."
You see, I pulled a fast one on my kids when they were young. When the inevitable ice cream truck roamed our neighborhood, like some bird of prey, ready to swoop down on innocent children with change in their pockets, I told a fib. My kids, barely toddlers, heard the ice cream truck one day and asked me, "What's that?"
I opened my mouth ready to reluctantly admit that that was a refrigerated truck which, for a fee, would give you ice cream bars or orange bomb-pops and most assuredly cavities and ruin your dinner. But what came out of my mouth was "That's the Ding Ding Truck. They know that sometimes people are sad so they drive around with a merry 'ding ding', cheering up sad people wherever they go."
Now here's where it gets really scary...they BOUGHT IT! I just knew when I told this big honkin' lie that they, being very intelligent children, would smell on the air the wafting aromas of refrigerant, cherry blasts and Eskimo pies and know that I had lied to them. But they didn't. THEY BELIEVED ME!
And so, dear Reader, I discovered a sad truth about parenting that had previously escaped me. Parents lie to their children. All the time. And mostly, they get away with it. At least for a few years. Like when you tell your kids about Santa Claus, well no...that's not a good example because it is to the kids' benefit to believe in Santa Claus.
Like about Santa Claus, even tho' it's a nice lie. "This won't hurt a bit" immediately tells the kid that, yes, it's going to hurt a lot. Like what you and Daddy are doing in the bedroom all by yourselves. A mountain of lies builds up by the time they become teenagers, which might explain why they don't have much use for us adults by then.
For almost a year, the "Ding Ding Truck" held sway, plying our neighborhood, bringing joy to sad people. Unfortunately, during the winter months, other children moved in across the street. Their parents hadn't been clued in about the "Ding Ding Truck". The following summer, my kids saw these children (whose parents were obviously NOT good parents) buying ice cream from that darned "Ding Ding Truck". The boys came running into the house, breathless with anticipation and barely able to speak. "Momma, (pant, pant) did you know that the "Ding Ding Truck" sells ice cream?!"
I played dumb. I slapped my hand on my cheek, acting all shocked. "No, I didn't."
"So Momma, can we have some money to go buy some ice cream?" I sighed with regret as I handed them each a dollar bill. Ah, Childhood's end.
You see, I pulled a fast one on my kids when they were young. When the inevitable ice cream truck roamed our neighborhood, like some bird of prey, ready to swoop down on innocent children with change in their pockets, I told a fib. My kids, barely toddlers, heard the ice cream truck one day and asked me, "What's that?"
I opened my mouth ready to reluctantly admit that that was a refrigerated truck which, for a fee, would give you ice cream bars or orange bomb-pops and most assuredly cavities and ruin your dinner. But what came out of my mouth was "That's the Ding Ding Truck. They know that sometimes people are sad so they drive around with a merry 'ding ding', cheering up sad people wherever they go."
Now here's where it gets really scary...they BOUGHT IT! I just knew when I told this big honkin' lie that they, being very intelligent children, would smell on the air the wafting aromas of refrigerant, cherry blasts and Eskimo pies and know that I had lied to them. But they didn't. THEY BELIEVED ME!
And so, dear Reader, I discovered a sad truth about parenting that had previously escaped me. Parents lie to their children. All the time. And mostly, they get away with it. At least for a few years. Like when you tell your kids about Santa Claus, well no...that's not a good example because it is to the kids' benefit to believe in Santa Claus.
Like about Santa Claus, even tho' it's a nice lie. "This won't hurt a bit" immediately tells the kid that, yes, it's going to hurt a lot. Like what you and Daddy are doing in the bedroom all by yourselves. A mountain of lies builds up by the time they become teenagers, which might explain why they don't have much use for us adults by then.
For almost a year, the "Ding Ding Truck" held sway, plying our neighborhood, bringing joy to sad people. Unfortunately, during the winter months, other children moved in across the street. Their parents hadn't been clued in about the "Ding Ding Truck". The following summer, my kids saw these children (whose parents were obviously NOT good parents) buying ice cream from that darned "Ding Ding Truck". The boys came running into the house, breathless with anticipation and barely able to speak. "Momma, (pant, pant) did you know that the "Ding Ding Truck" sells ice cream?!"
I played dumb. I slapped my hand on my cheek, acting all shocked. "No, I didn't."
"So Momma, can we have some money to go buy some ice cream?" I sighed with regret as I handed them each a dollar bill. Ah, Childhood's end.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
On Racism
I substituted Friday in a high school where the approximate racial make-up is 48% Hispanic, 48% Black and 4% White. The last hour of the day, I was called a racist.
The epithet was yelled from a group of students, 10 minutes into the class period. Whoever yelled it didn't have the balls to say it to my face. I hadn't had time to prove either my racism or lack therof, so I wondered where it came from. What did I do? What did I say?
I stayed after school to report this incident to the Assistant Principal who promised he'd try to get to the bottom of it. I was explaining to him how offensive that word is to me. About half way through my report, I suddenly realized that the AP is Black. Shows you how racist and all I am...it took me that long to see his color.
If I hadn't been so insulted, I would have found it funny. You see, one of my best friends in college is Black. We remain FB friends to this day. I demonstrated in college in favor of Civil Rights. I was a member of the Black Student Union. One of my foster brothers is Arabic. Over half my nieces/nephews are either Black, Hispanic, Native American, or a combination of the above. When we all get together, it looks like a session at the UN. The only race not represented in my family is Asian, but that's not for lack of trying.
I enrolled my kids in desegrated schools, because I thought they should be exposed to a wide variety of cultures and races. As president of the PTA, I had particular problems with one of the parents, a Black single mom who seemed to think that my agenda was promoting white students over black. Our sons played on the same YMCA basketball team (my poor kid was the only white student on the team and he was neither the tallest nor the most gifted of players.)
One evening, this mom came rushing into practice late. I commented on how hard it is to get home from work, get dinner on the table and get the kids to practice. Our conversation drifted around that theme...the difficulty of being a single parent. I think she finally saw me as having a great deal in common with her, despite the color of my skin. I never had another problem with her at PTA.
Playing the "racism" card is a weapon. But if it's used too frequently, it begins to have no meaning. If I'm a racist and everyone who didn't vote for Obama is a racist and the Grand Wizard of the KKK is racist, there is no nuance of scale.
Since my ancestors came to this country in the late 19th century, we didn't own slaves. We, some of us, were indentured servants, which in some cases was roughly equivalent to slavery.
I have personally never owned a slave, so I don't know why I should feel guilty. I was taught as a child that being a racist was, at the very most, un-Christian and at the very least, rude. Being non-racist in 1960's Arkansas was a mean feat, but my parents managed it very well, thank you.
That's not to say that I have no biases. I do. Everyone does. My biases tend more to religious, rather than racial, groups. I don't have much truck with religious fanatics of any stripe, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Two-Seed-In-The-Spirit-Predestinarians. (Look it up...there used to be a sect called that. They believed, among other things, that all sex was evil, so it isn't surprising they died out. They seemed to have trouble recruiting people to this idea and Lord knows, they didn't create any kids to bring up in the faith. Unlike the Catholic Church, which uses procreation as a way of filling pews.)
I remember when we first moved to the South, we were touring the Hot Springs National Park. It was a warm day, so the first water fountain I saw I drank from. I heard a gasp from behind me. Looking up, I saw the word "Colored" posted above the water fountain. People were looking at me as if I would drop dead or turn into a toad or turn Black or something. It was the first (but unfortunately, not the last) inkling I had that all was not harmonious between the races in the South.
I wonder if being called a racist isn't a form of racism. Racism, after all, is judging a person by the color of their skin, not the content of their character. Assuming that all white people are racist is ignoring the content of their characters.
I had a Black person tell me once that Black people cannot be racist. Really? It is my understanding that Blacks sometimes judge each other by how "high yeller" they are. And I have occasionally, like on Friday, been judged by the color of my skin. That's racist, isn't it?
I don't suppose that Blacks who lump all of us white people into a single category understand that it does their cause no good to treat us all as if we were in the KKK. Judge me by my actions, by the content of my character, not by the color of my skin.
The epithet was yelled from a group of students, 10 minutes into the class period. Whoever yelled it didn't have the balls to say it to my face. I hadn't had time to prove either my racism or lack therof, so I wondered where it came from. What did I do? What did I say?
I stayed after school to report this incident to the Assistant Principal who promised he'd try to get to the bottom of it. I was explaining to him how offensive that word is to me. About half way through my report, I suddenly realized that the AP is Black. Shows you how racist and all I am...it took me that long to see his color.
If I hadn't been so insulted, I would have found it funny. You see, one of my best friends in college is Black. We remain FB friends to this day. I demonstrated in college in favor of Civil Rights. I was a member of the Black Student Union. One of my foster brothers is Arabic. Over half my nieces/nephews are either Black, Hispanic, Native American, or a combination of the above. When we all get together, it looks like a session at the UN. The only race not represented in my family is Asian, but that's not for lack of trying.
I enrolled my kids in desegrated schools, because I thought they should be exposed to a wide variety of cultures and races. As president of the PTA, I had particular problems with one of the parents, a Black single mom who seemed to think that my agenda was promoting white students over black. Our sons played on the same YMCA basketball team (my poor kid was the only white student on the team and he was neither the tallest nor the most gifted of players.)
One evening, this mom came rushing into practice late. I commented on how hard it is to get home from work, get dinner on the table and get the kids to practice. Our conversation drifted around that theme...the difficulty of being a single parent. I think she finally saw me as having a great deal in common with her, despite the color of my skin. I never had another problem with her at PTA.
Playing the "racism" card is a weapon. But if it's used too frequently, it begins to have no meaning. If I'm a racist and everyone who didn't vote for Obama is a racist and the Grand Wizard of the KKK is racist, there is no nuance of scale.
Since my ancestors came to this country in the late 19th century, we didn't own slaves. We, some of us, were indentured servants, which in some cases was roughly equivalent to slavery.
I have personally never owned a slave, so I don't know why I should feel guilty. I was taught as a child that being a racist was, at the very most, un-Christian and at the very least, rude. Being non-racist in 1960's Arkansas was a mean feat, but my parents managed it very well, thank you.
That's not to say that I have no biases. I do. Everyone does. My biases tend more to religious, rather than racial, groups. I don't have much truck with religious fanatics of any stripe, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Two-Seed-In-The-Spirit-Predestinarians. (Look it up...there used to be a sect called that. They believed, among other things, that all sex was evil, so it isn't surprising they died out. They seemed to have trouble recruiting people to this idea and Lord knows, they didn't create any kids to bring up in the faith. Unlike the Catholic Church, which uses procreation as a way of filling pews.)
I remember when we first moved to the South, we were touring the Hot Springs National Park. It was a warm day, so the first water fountain I saw I drank from. I heard a gasp from behind me. Looking up, I saw the word "Colored" posted above the water fountain. People were looking at me as if I would drop dead or turn into a toad or turn Black or something. It was the first (but unfortunately, not the last) inkling I had that all was not harmonious between the races in the South.
I wonder if being called a racist isn't a form of racism. Racism, after all, is judging a person by the color of their skin, not the content of their character. Assuming that all white people are racist is ignoring the content of their characters.
I had a Black person tell me once that Black people cannot be racist. Really? It is my understanding that Blacks sometimes judge each other by how "high yeller" they are. And I have occasionally, like on Friday, been judged by the color of my skin. That's racist, isn't it?
I don't suppose that Blacks who lump all of us white people into a single category understand that it does their cause no good to treat us all as if we were in the KKK. Judge me by my actions, by the content of my character, not by the color of my skin.
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