Book Review: How to Get Your Child to Love Reading ...

(cross-posted at Winter Reading Challenge)

A Parent's Guide for Ravenous and Reluctant Readers Alike: Activities, Ideas, and Inspiration for Exploring Everything in the World Through Books by Esmé Raji Codell. There are few things that get me as excited as books, and as a parent, a teacher, and a soon-to-be (fingers crossed) librarian, this book just about makes me hyperventilate every time I pick it up! My daughter gave it to me for Christmas last year and I lugged it around for a while (and I do mean lugged -- it's a tome.) I was inspired to crack it open again yesterday when I had a couple of hours to myself ... good thing Molly the rescue Dalmation was here to lick my face when I fainted from the excitement!

If you have children in your life, or you simply enjoy children's literature, this book is an invaluable resource. It contains a plethora of lists of books, arranged thematically, interspersed with data about the power of reading aloud, ideas for volunteering, good movies, web sites. Codell wraps it all up in a package she calls "potato pedagogy". You take one humble potato, cut it up into many pieces, plant each of those pieces, and before you know it you have thousands of potatoes. Children's literature, she says, is our national potato.

Can you tell that I love this book? Two drawbacks, however. One, because of its nature, it will need to be updated every couple of years -- or at least Codell needs to release a supplement to it from time to time. Two, and this one is purely personal -- Esmé Codell has irritated me ever since she wrote that book Educating Esmé about the ONE year she spent as a classroom teacher, after which she quit because she couldn't hack it, but went on to write a bestseller about what a great teacher she was. It raises the hackles on this twenty-one year veteran teacher just a little. Jealous? Maybe. But I maintain that learning the art of compromise is not a bad thing, and I've done more for more kids over a long period of time than one crackerjack teacher can do in one year. So there!

That said, I recommend this book.

If you are a serious lover of children's literature, you should be aware of the Cooperative Children's Book Center. Each year they enlist volunteers to read every children's book published, then they in turn publish the CCBC Choices, a list of what they feel are the best books of the year. It is an amazing resource. They also take a keen interest in the issue of intellectual freedom, and are an excellent clearinghouse for information if your community is dealing with a book challenge.

Another slice of cake, please ...

One year ago I wrote my first blog post. Woo hoo! I tip my hat to the three bloggers who inspired me to start this weird and wonderful habit in the first place: Caroline's Crayons, the Quaker Agitator, and Poodle Doc. To those same three, and so many more of you, who continue to inspire me with your friendship, encouragement, and love. In some ways I feel sheepish, and almost apologetic about this blogging thang, but I love the connections I've made and the almost daily writing practice (and I use the word "practice" in the spiritual, as well as functional sense.) It has truly been a delight, and you, my Blogtopian friends, are so responsive. I know that I don't make the rounds to everyone's blog as often as I would like to, but sometimes I just have to get off the computer! (Ever mindful of blood clots ...) Thanks for joining me on this meandering journey, friends.

Winter Reading Challenge

I have been remiss in not mentioning that I am participating in the Winter Reading Challenge. Participating bloggers get to post their reading list for all the world to see, plus write reviews of the books they have read. So far I have not read a single book from my list, which keeps getting longer because I add more books after reading other bloggers' reviews, plus then I have to read library books that I've placed on hold. Those, of course, aren't on my list, because I thought I would be smart and list the books on my shelf that I own and have been meaning to read for a long time ... Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

There's still time to sign up.

Anyway, my most current review is up, Tasting the Sky: A Palestinian Childhood.

Secret Santa, Better Late Than Never

Turns out, Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein's Secret Santa was really a Scrooge! At great expense to myself and my family ("Sorry, Cinderbelle and Sparkly Seacow, no presents this year ...") I jetted to the undisclosed location where the scoundrel resides, and roughed him/her up a bit -- all in a very Quakerly fashion, of course. As a result, I can now post this:

Dr. Monkey, you and Sparky had better pack your bags, because in a few days you will be flying off to winter wonderland Madison, Wisconsin, childhood home of Tracy Nelson, Steve Miller, Georgia O'Keefe, Bradley Whitford, and so many more! Yes, on Friday, January 4th the two of you will fly directly to the Dane County Regional Airport. You will be picked up by Madison's own Union Cab and taken directly to the historic Nick's Restaurant on State Street for dinner with Nation writer and Madison resident John Nichols. (My friend Beth really truly once saw Robin Williams dining all alone in Nick's. He was going to be performing in the theater across the street.)

After dinner, it's off to your hotel, the Ruby Marie. (Chosen for you because, prior to its current incarnation as a sumptuous hotel, it was one of Madison's preeminent flophouses, the Wilson Hotel. It was even featured in a made-for-t.v. movie starring Scott Baio in the seventies; his character lived there with his alcoholic dad.) You'll be able to snuggle into your comfy bed with sheets provided just for you! And you can take them with you when you leave ... legally!
For your bedtime reading, here is your very own copy of Love At Goon Park, the book that chronicles psychologist Harry Harlow's pivotal and controversial maternal deprivation studies, conducted right here on the University of Wisconsin campus.
But don't stay up too late reading. On Saturday, the two of you will be up early to be v.i.p. guests at the recording of The Motor Primitive's newest album! You and Sparky will watch history in the making, while you hobnob with the "fab four". You'll have meals catered in from (your choice) Lulu's (Lebanese,) Inca Heritage (Peruvian,) or Atlantis Taverna (Greek.) After recording, you, Sparky, and the band will kick back at the Harmony Bar, before heading back to your hotel for a few hours of shut-eye. Oh yeah, and I've arranged for Aaron Yonda and Matt Sloan, creators of the runaway internet hit Chad Vader, to meet you there.

On Sunday, the taxi will pick you up for a whirlwind tour of the area's finest tourist sites, beginning with a stop at the bench overlooking the spot in Lake Monona whereOtis Redding's plane went down on a cold December night 40 years ago. You will also visit Sterling Hall, the campus building which housed the Army Math Research Center and was blown up by 4 campus radicals in 1970 in protest of the American War in Vietnam. (One of the bombers, Leo Burt, was never apprehended.) It may be sub-zero. but that won't stop you from going to the Library Mall to get smoothies from the Loose Juice cart, owned by Karl Armstrong, another of the Sterling Hall bombers. If you're still hungry, you can walk up State Street for bratwurst -- a Wisconsin specialty -- at the Brat Und Brau, scene of last summer's infamous "monkey biting" crime. A stop at ... Cress Funeral Home? No, it is the Squirrel Museum! A place not to be missed.
Then it is off to tour Taliesin, Frank Lloyd Wright's architectural school in nearby Spring Green. Back to Madison for a quick stop at the Wright-designed First Unitarian Church (and site of the 1987 wedding of bloggers Luminiferous Ether and Enriched Geranium.)
Uh-oh. Don't want to miss your flight home. Quickly stop by Hotel Ruby Marie to pick up your luggage (and your freshly laundered sheets) before you go to the airport to board your flight for sweet, sunny Tennessee. Here is a cornucopia of fine gifts: beer from the New Glarus brewery, Cedar Grove cheese (RBgh-free,) Door County cherries, and that most special Wisconsin treat, Cow Pies. (And don't worry about tipping the cab driver. It's all taken care of.)
Happy War on Christmas, my friend!
(And I really am making you a real Ukrainian egg ... maybe in time for the War on Easter!)

Peace

Our internet service was down for 5 days or so, but I hope that all of you had restful times doing whatever it is you do on Dec. 25. This photo is actually about 7 years old. It is my husband's family in the annual holiday photo from 2001. We're all a little older now, and a lot more mature. That's me holding the sign (but you could have guessed that, right?) Happy three French hens to you.

What is the belief that keeps me sane?

This is a question that was posed by Thailand Chani.

The belief that keeps me sane is that we were put on this earth to love and be loved. I wear a bracelet with the inscription, "Live to love, love to live" and that's what I try to remember and live by each day.

What is the belief that keeps you sane?

10 Candles

My friend Madeline is in the Peace Corps in Lesotho. From time to time she emails a public letter, updating her loved ones about her life there. I was so moved by her most recent letter, which I received this morning, exactly when I needed it. I am sure she won't mind my publishing it here:

Candles on my Christmas Tree
Public Letter from Madeline U. in Lesotho, Africa (Dec 2007)

Those of you who've spent Christmas with me may remember I love lit candles on a live evergreen. Here in Lesotho , we're in the midst of summer, and I'm enjoying my second year of a no-commercials / no-pressures-to-buy-anything / no-Xmas-carols-in-shopping malls / no rush-around Christmas. Just the hot sun, farmers plowing with oxen, afternoon winds impregnating dust devils, and fields of aloe and wild flowers.

So my candles will be metaphorical ones – 10 candles on my Christmas tree of 2007:

Candle 1: Lit to celebrate my one year anniversary here. A decision to let go of the fast, rich life -- trading it for a slower, poorer one. Poverty is mean. Poverty wears me down, and it destroys the lives of my neighbors. But I am richer for living amidst struggling Basotho villagers, able to see how simple things mean a great deal, and how complex things intertwine to keep us in a mire of destitution. Most people in this world make the same amount of money per year as do the villagers in Mt. Moorosi . In one mere year, I've grown closer to the realities of people whose earth I share.

Candle 2: Lit for this sad and special year in my family. My brother Dave has been living with a fast growing brain tumor. From this great distance, as I see my sisters Susan and Kate, my brother Will, my mom Barbara, my cousins Donna and Annelle, and many friends and family gather around Dave to support him, I am awed at the strength and love that endures in my immediate family. Thanks to the Peace Corps, I was able to fly home in April 2007 to visit Dave, to say the hardest word in all the languages I've ever studied – good-bye, for now, dearest brother.

Candle 3: Lit for health. Who would have known that two years in the Peace Corps would be the best thing in 30 years for my own health? I climb mountains, eat simple meals, don't stress out with multi-tasking. I have time for everything – reading, visiting, travel. I'm rich in health, wealthy in time, prosperous with sunsets and moonrises, and a millionaire in children who love nothing better than coming into my rondavel to read books or draw with crayons.

Candle 4: Lit to salute the mountains of Lesotho . I traveled a few days ago to Lesotho 's southernmost national park, Sethlabathebe, to visit fellow Volunteer Lizbeth. When I saw the setting of her village, I recognized it from the fantasy I'd had before I got here – the dreams I'd had before I was assigned to dusty, dirty Mt. Moorosi. From her tiny rondavel, Lizbeth looks down upon valleys so deep that mountain peaks rise out of the pool of hovering clouds. I've walked miles and miles of mountain paths this year, visiting remote little schools and sites of other Volunteers. Lesotho 's beauty is awesome.

Candle 5: Lit in admiration for Lesotho 's care of its orphans. With just about the most orphans of any nation on earth, poor little Lesotho has somehow absorbed them – in the bosoms and modest huts of grandmas and aunts and neighbors. Lesotho has few orphanages. For these little people, some sleeping on city streets, all without secure futures, all without the love and identity of parents, please light a candle as well.

Candle 6: Lit for Dintle. This candle sputters a bit, and it's the reason I haven't written for awhile, trying to spare YOU from the horrors of Quthing Hospital. So despite it not being holiday material, let me be honest with you (you are strong enough) to tell you that in the last two months, 14 year old Dintle has been diagnosed as HIV-positive (raped when she was 10 years old), and has an acute case of meningitis. She has shriveled to a mere skeleton, hospitalized for over 45 days now. I fought my way into Maseru once when it turned out the hospital didn't have her blood type, and I traveled in again a month later when the hospital ran out of medicine and her survival hung by a thread.
Nurses in the hospital are so overworked they disappear entirely from wards. When I walk in, looking fresh (and white), neglected patients call to me to adjust their casts or empty bed pans. Dintle can't feed herself – so if I or one of her family members isn't there, she doesn't eat. She has bed sores on her butt and on her ear. She's lost muscle and any ability to move. Seeing the rapid deterioration of a normal, healthy, laughing teen is a knife to my heart.
Helping to keep this candle lit for me is a newly-arrived Peace Corps Volunteer named Jason (Sesotho name – Mokhaele, "son of a chief"). He's been my savior, helping me pay bus transport for Dintle's sister, cousin, and grandmother to make the long trip to the hospital, helping deliver medicines, sometimes just coming in on his own and feeding little Dintle in the twilight hours. You have to love someone like this!
And may the light of this sputtering candle also shine on the hospital's doctors from India – totally overworked – and the Clinton Foundation nurses, who make a real difference, wading into the sea of HIV/AIDS patients. I have new respect for anyone who works in health care – a field reserved for the strong of heart.

Candle 7: Lit for love and loss. When I filled in the Peace Corps application, I didn't factor in long-distance grief. It think it has mostly to do with my age. If we live to be older than 50, we have an increasing number of losses to bear, losses whose pain is as deep as the love was tall. The path of this year has been taken sharp turns as I've heard unexpectedly of the loss of dear friends ~ Mary B., who left a legacy of Dodgeville activism and laughter around her kitchen table. My cousin Doug U., a tower of strength and a deep canyon of reflection. Twinkling-eyed Sven, my fiddling, Swedish host father. No news of dearest Karen T., who shared my years in Japan with such flare. And others…. Grief is hard; grief alone is harder.

Candle 8: Lit for learning. As I look out through my open windows at the upside-down constellations in the starry sky, my mind reels with the mysteries of being a human on this planet. Can we solve problems that we create? Why not? As I fall asleep, I ponder global economics, world peace, village solutions. I wonder what sustains greed, rape, neglect of children. I wonder if I am truly strong enough to pursue a career in international development. Is hope naïve? Is optimism merited? How brilliant the Millennium Development Goals – modest solutions to staggering problems, if only each nation would do its small part. How often I've longed for a cup of good coffee and a conversation with you, dear friend.

Candle 9: Lit for you and those you love, for all your challenges, for all the great things that have happened to you this year. A great hug if you've written me a letter or e-mail, and total understanding if you've been too busy to. That "busyness" -- so American! A national treasure –many things to do. Enjoy the opportunities!

Candle 10: Lit for us, for all of us who share the planet. Who yearn for simple things like a fresh salad, a day of sunshine, a garden of flowers, a child's sweet hug. May we cherish these, support one another, and look with optimism toward a new year.

Madeline

Georgia's Passing

The vet called me at 8 a.m. to tell me that Georgia had died early this morning. As I write this it is snowing outside, appropriate weather to accompany Georgia on her next journey. She loved snow more than any other dog I've known.

With pets it is so hard to know when to let them go. For the last year and a half, Georgia had chronic corneal ulcers that wouldn't heal, diabetes, diabetes-related blindness, and (we think) Cushing's disease. After treating our previous corgi for lymphoma, I was determined that quality of life would be the bottom line for decisions we made about Georgia. And though her energy was diminished, Georgia remained sweet-tempered and seemingly in good spirits through this past Tuesday when she became ill with a G.I. bug.

We hoped that getting IV fluids would put her back on her stocky little feet again, but it became clear pretty quickly that it was time. I went to bed last night thinking that we'd have her euthanized today.

We went to see her at the vet's yesterday, and though she was so sick, she roused herself and came out to see my younger daughter. Georgia and Grace were pups together; we got Georgia when Grace was one. The vet told me that she thought Georgia relaxed after we had been there, so I hope we eased her passage.

Camping at Rock Island next summer will not be the same without her.

Georgia was like a canine Buddha. I'm going to miss her a lot. I'm going to miss that corgi energy in my life.

Happy trails, sweet Georgia!

Glow in the Dark Cats

Why does this idea tickle my fancy so much? Read all about it here.

I'm sad ...

... My beloved corgi, Georgia, is very sick and may not pull through. She has been a sweet and intrepid companion for 10 years. Please hold her, and us, in the light.

What the Hell Are the Democrats Thinking?

Today's vote in the house, "Recognizing the importance of Christmas and the Christian faith," upsets me about as much as anything those good-for-nothings have done lately. 9 representatives voted against it. 9 had integrity. 40 were cowards and didn't vote. 195 Democrats voted for this frivolous, this jingoistic, this anti-American bill ... including Dennis Kucinich, and yes, Wisconsin's own Tammy Baldwin. I am truly disgusted with their pandering to whatever the Hell it is that they pander to. Shame on them!

Holiday Peace Market

We held our first ever holiday peace market yesterday at my Friends' meeting house. Doing this has long been a dream of mine, and thankfully, Ffriend Lester joined me in the organizing so that it actually happened! It was a resounding success, and many of the participants left talking about "When we do this next year ..." We had pottery, awesome posters by Lester, prints, watercolors, felted mittens made by me, baked goods, hand sewn items, body care products, cards, calendars and fair trade coffee and tea. Many of us were earmarking our proceeds for charity. I intend to split mine between a family at my school and a Quaker-run NGO in Vietnam called Steady Footsteps. Two other vendors, Glenn and Kathy, gave me a portion of their proceeds and altogether we raised a tidy sum to donate. It was a lot of work to get ready, but well worth it in the end.

An advertisement: Looking for a 2008 calendar? This Returned Peace Corps Volunteers calendar is my favorite one, and it happens to be made by friends of mine right here in Madison.

Five years ago, this week ...

... I had my only hospitalization ever, barring my own birth and the birth of my oldest child. After experiencing my most painful and intense back pain ever, and after going to both a chiropractor and an acupuncturist for more than a week, I finally went to a medical doctor and said, "Don't prescribe muscle relaxants. I know this is not muscular."

Amazingly, he listened to me and sent me for a scan, and lo and behold, I had pulmonary embolism, i.e. blood clots in both of my lungs. I was admitted to the hospital immediately, where I stayed for a full week.

I was, and still am, immensely grateful to the many people who helped during that time: dog walkers, food providers, laundry do-ers, babysitters ... and the ones who brought me cheer in the hospital. Too many to mention by name.

By the end of my stay, I was an emotional basket case, and all I wanted to do was go home. I think I spent the entire last day there in tears.

I remember that I decided to make it my mission to not treat any hospital employee as if they were invisible, not matter how unhappy I was. So from the nurses down to the housekeeping staff, I made a point of making eye contact and saying hello each time they came into my room.

I also remember the absolutely stunning sunrises every morning over Lake Monona viewed from my east-facing window.

This week I am giving thanks for my health -- which is good, by the way. I never did know what caused the clots. I suspect too much time sitting in front of the computer as I did a mountain of work for one of my library classes -- bloggers, beware. I have not had a recurrence. The intensity of the pain drove me to begin a regular yoga practice, which I maintain to this day.

And I am giving thanks for the amazing people in my life.

I am glad to be here.

Remembering Sophie

Last Saturday night was an annual Holiday Remembrance Service, organized by the local bereaved parent support group. We've gone every year but one, and for many years Mr. Ether and I have participated in the service by playing/singing the lovely song The Water Lily by Priscilla Herdman. Our daughter Sophie would be 13 now, which seems hard to believe. In my very busy life I have a hard time finding spare moments for reflection, so I always welcome the night of the service. This year was extra special, because for the first time my sister Meg, who was an attending midwife at Sophie's birth and actually caught her when she emerged, was in town and came to the service. The service is also a time to reconnect with people who we rarely see any other time. It may seem strange to others that we have a circle of friends -- and I do consider them friends -- with whom our connection is based on having had children die. But I cherish those connections, and I cherish this annual event.

Enemy Combatant

This article warmed me to the cockles of my heart (whatever "the cockles of my heart" are. They're warm.) Lucy Nehrenz, on the occasion of her 103rd birthday, says:

The war is "just plain nuts" and a "big waste of money," she says. As for Bush, he is without the question the worst president we've ever had, she says - well, the worst since Herbert Hoover anyway.

Does she fear death?

Not at all, Nehrenz says, because she's convinced the next world will be much more pleasant - and far less violent - than this one.

Actually, she does have a last wish she hopes will be fulfilled: to still be alive on Nov. 4, 2008, when a new president is elected.

"I don't care if it's a man or a woman, just as long as the person's a Democrat and we can get back to normal life again," she says. "But, oh, the country's such a mess I feel sorry for the person, too."

If I live to be 103, I sure hope I'll be as smart and feisty.

Light Blogging

I suppose, if this were an exclusively Quaker blog, light blogging could have a double meaning. But what it means is that I'm really busy this week, between madly sewing stuff for the Holiday Peace Market (a.k.a. "No More Shopping Days 'Til Peace") that I've organized at my Quaker Meeting this coming Sunday, ferrying children for Ali Baba, having family visiting from out of town, and all the other bits and pieces of my life. I have some posts bubbling in my brain, they just haven't made it to the surface yet. Stay tuned.

Thrills! Chills! Talking Camels!

For you Madison area readers, you have just 3 opportunities left to see Playtime Productions' Ali Baba and a Few Thieves. Upcoming shows are:

Wednesday, 12/5, 6:30 p.m. at the Waunakee Highschool
Friday, 12/7, 7:00 p.m., McFarland High School
Saturday, 12/8, 1:00 p.m., Deforest Public Library

As always, the all-kid cast of Playtime Productions dishes up a delectable performance. You won't be disappointed.

If I Had a Hammer ...

I did a fair amount of driving around yesterday, which was fun and exciting, given that a big snow/ice storm was moving in. Traffic moved slowly, and I was reflecting about our relationship to cars. That it is screwed up goes without saying. But just how is it screwed up? I think I figured it out.

Like all of the objects we use on a daily basis, cars are simply another tool, like a kitchen faucet or a washing machine. Yet somehow, probably starting with snake oil salesman Henry Ford, the idea of the car has grown to mythical proportions. Most people seem to view them as extensions of themselves, something to which we have an unalienable right. (Guns also seem to be viewed this way.)

I can't think of any other THING that inspires such strong emotion. I've never read about someone experiencing snowblower rage. No one says, "You'll have to pry my sewing machine out of my cold, dead hands!"

So the next time I'm feeling frustrated in traffic, I want to remember to tell myself, "This car is just a tool that I am using to get somewhere. Like a hammer or a snow shovel or my knitting needles. Not worth getting upset about."

When Good Guinea Pigs Go Bad

Yesterday morning I was so groggy when I got out of bed that I neglected to turn off the alarm clock, only hitting the snooze button for the umteenth time. So I was about to let the dogs out when the alarm went off again. Not wanting it to wake anyone else up at that ridiculous hour ( about 5:30,) I dashed up the stairs and toward the bedroom at top speed in the dark, forgetting about the -- WATCH OUT!! -- guinea pig cage that was now on the opposite side of the hallway from where it has been for the last few years. I hit it shin first. ##$@&%**^%#!!! WHEET! WHEET! WHEET! It wasn't a pretty sight. And I'm a little gimpy today.

Beautiful Southern Wisconsin

This new dog, Molly, requires a lot of exercise which has its good points and its bad points. What's good is, it gets at least one of us out to the dog parks on an almost daily basis. On Saturday we decided to go further afield, to our favorite county park, Indian Lake. We forgot, until we were nearly there and saw a lot of people in blaze orange, that it was deer huntin' season, so we walked through the field periodically waving our arms and shouting, "We're not deer!" Here are a few photos.

Here is a view of the lake, with some geese.


This is Georgia, who has gotten so much perkier since Molly came to stay. Having someone to boss around has given her a new lease on life.


This is Molly, the Temp Dog.


Indian Lake Park is beautiful at any time, but especially so at dusk.




I've long harbored a secret desire to live in this farmhouse.

Are You Listening, Tammy?

Tonight I accompanied Mr. Ether and friends Donna, Beth, and Crayons to a listening session with Congresswoman Tammy Baldwin. She holds these periodically throughout her district, although never in Madison. I wonder why. Perhaps she knows she'll get a big old earful from Madisonians, or perhaps she thinks we flap our lips enough already and the people in the outlying communities have fewer chances to flap their lips. Whatever. We drove to Middleton, recently rated #1 city to live in by Money Magazine, and home of the lovely and talented Jess Wundrun. I hoped Jess would be there, but alas, she was not.

I have to say that I appreciate that Tammy holds these sessions, and that they are very down to Earth and low key. There are no security checks, no formalities ... Mr. Ether even wore his Impeach Cheney baseball cap. This one was in the Senior Center.

The last listening session I went to I arrived at about 30 minutes before it was due to start and there were already many speakers registered in front of me. I almost had to leave to get back to work before it was my turn. Tonight we took precautions to arrive plenty early, and no one was there! No matter, we went across the street to the diner to wait.

There were many eloquent speakers, and most spoke out about the need to begin impeachment investigations. While she [belatedly] signed on to H.R. Resolution 333 to impeach Cheney, Tammy hemmed and hawed about how there is not enough support for it in Congress. The people present were having none of that. "You work for us!" "Beginning the investigation is the way to build support!" "Step up, Tammy!" and so on. I'd like to think that it was the listening sessions last spring that finally got her to sign onto Kucinich's resolution, so perhaps these sessions too will bear fruit.

Tammy plays it way too safe. I'm not sure if it is because of her position as one of the few openly gay members of Congress, or what. One gentleman, while commending her on her stance on human rights issues, took her to task for failing to see the human rights abuses in Palestine. I was disappointed in her response; predictably, she talked about the failure of Hamas to put a stop to suicide bombings. I was very proud of that speaker for saying, "Just keep in mind as you are considering this, that there is no symmetry there. One side has U.S. supplied weapons while the other side has rocks and improvised explosives." In my opinion, too many politicians, even those with whom I mostly agree, are way too deep in Israel's pockets.

I especially want to commend Beth (a.k.a. "Anonymous") for advocating for immigrants and commenting on NCLB. She even invoked Saint Alfie (Kohn, that is.) Very thoughtfully and articulately done, Beth.

And Mr. Ether, who was passionate, angry, and to the point. Congresswoman Baldwin needs to hear that.

Anyway, I'm glad I went. After a long day it was tempting to go all whiny about being tired and going out into the gray, damp November evening, but being there, I was reminded that we do still have a shred of Democracy left and we need to show up whenever possible.

Twenty Minutes Into the Future

One of the best t.v. programs ever, in my opinion, was Max Headroom, a series that aired very briefly in the mid-eighties. (Are you surprised to hear me saying that I actually liked a t.v. program? For your information, I was also an avid fan of Captain Kangaroo and Pee Wee's Playhouse.) Anyway, Max Headroom was set in a seemingly post-Apocalyptic time, where the world is essentially run by television networks. It always opened with the line "20 minutes into the future ...".

It has been eerie over the past 7 years, to see how much of Max Headroom has come to pass. One episode I recall featured a beautiful televangelist and a scheme to bilk grieving relatives out of their money by making videos of their deceased loved ones, which could speak to them from beyond the grave. Well, this morning I read this.

Weird.

Can You Help?

A week ago, the father of a student I had last year had a sudden massive heart attack and died. He leaves behind his wife and four young children. The family emigrated to the U.S. less than a year ago. This man worked two jobs and his wife worked a job as well. As you can imagine, none of these jobs payed well or carried benefits, and they were just getting by.

On the day he died, the parents were at school for parent-teacher conferences (which they probably took off from work to attend) and expressed their desire for the children to do well in school.

Right now the family's immediate concern is paying funeral expenses and transporting the man's body to Mexico for burial. Beyond that, there is the ongoing great need for groceries, warm clothing, money for rent and heating, and other living expenses. If you have some spare money, or earmark money for charitable giving around the holidays, and you would like to contribute something to this family in crisis, could you let me know, either in the comments or via email? I would be happy to send you an address where funds can be sent.

Thank you.

Just a note: At my school, where the number of students receiving free and reduced hot lunch -- a common indicator of poverty -- tops 70%, each year several families lose a parent to death. This is just one more fact of life when you are poor. As a nation, can't we do better than this and shouldn't we be demanding this from political candidates and representatives?

Happy Thanksgiving?

I watched some t.v. with my daughter last night. (I'm not a t.v. watcher, but sometimes it gives me an excuse to sit and knit.) I was disgusted by ad after ad after ad for "day after Thanksgiving" sales, many starting at 4 a.m. And our newspaper yesterday weighed at least 3 lbs. -- I'm not exaggerating -- because of all the circulars. It is obscene. All the more so, after reading this article today about hunger in the U.S.

I have to say, I take issue with the wording of this last paragraph:

“At least at this time of the year they are prepared to give generously but the worry is that a system based on charity will mean that the supply of donated food will always ebb and flow,” he [Mark Winne] said. ” We may be entering one of those perfect storms where everything goes wrong but if we depend on food charity rather than ending poverty, this is what is bound to occur.”

Calling it "a perfect storm" somehow implies that the hunger crisis facing Americans and those who would help them is an act of God. Make no mistake -- this is one more product of the greed and callousness of the Bush administration, whose policies have willfully created a shrinking middle class, a rise in the number of "working poor" and homeless families, a culture of rampant materialism, selfishness at the top, despair at the bottom, and no "safety net."

I think that statistics show that people with less income tend to give a greater percentage of what they have, than those with more. I have no problem with charitable giving. I honor anyone, rich or poor, who sees a responsibility greater than themselves to help others.

But I also happen to believe that a government has a responsibility to take care of its citizens (both those born here and those born elsewhere.)

The teachings of Jesus were essentially about not hurting others and taking care of the poor.

Most politicians like to bray loudly about their faith, and no one brays louder than George F.W. Bush.

I am disgusted.

Happy Thanksgiving

I am grateful to have a few hours to myself -- just me and the dogs (and the cats and guinea pigs) -- to play guitar and get a little sewing done for the Peace Market I've organized in a couple of weeks. Everyone else has gone over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house to watch the Packer game. I'll take any level of Hell that Dante can dish up over that, any day! I'll be joining them after the game, for dinner.

I tend not to spend this day taking inventory of all the things, people, etc. for which I am thankful. Neither do I make my students engage in that time-worn exercise of writing "I am thankful for ...". I try to live every day in a measure of gratitude, and I hope that I model the same for the children in my life.

Nevertheless, I hope that all of you are enjoying the loving company of family and/or friends today.

Abandon Every Hope

My friend Poodle Doc directed me to this quiz to determine at which level of Dante's Hell I will suffer for all eternity. As it turns out, it is the

Second Level of Hell

---

You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate.

I think this must be the level for uppity women. Woo hoo.

But, Of Course

Get a Cash Advance

You know what I'm REALLY sick of?

I'm really sick of former aides to George F. W. Bush publishing "tell all" books. Scott McClellan is only the latest in a long string of weasels (my apologies to the cute little animal above) who continues to profit off of the misery that has been visited on the world over the last 7 years.

If he knew it was wrong then, why didn't he say anything then? No, he had to wait until he had a lucrative book deal. I'm sure he'll be wringing his hands all the way to the bank.

It's times like these that I wish I believed in Hellfire and brimstone. I picture the Devil saying, "Sorry Scotty -boy. All of the mea culpas in the world aren't going to save your sorry ass!"

Sheesh.

(By the way, I have decided that henceforth I shall refer to the mean little alcoholic who is not my president as George F.W. Bush. The "F.W." stands for something not very Quakerly.)

Cirque!

Last night the Ether/Geranium/Sea Cow family spent a boatload of money to go and see Cirque du Soleil perform Saltimbanco. When our kids were little, we checked the Saltimbanco video out of the library a lot. Cinderbelle and Sparkly Sea Cow especially liked the part where the people bounced around on giant bungee cords. It was pretty cool.

We went to see them in Chicago a few years ago, but we got stuck in traffic and missed about a third of the show. I hate driving to Chicago. Still, it was an impressive show. It was in the circus tent, so everything was close, with the trapezes swinging right overhead.

Last night's show was in a large arena, and somehow, it lost some of its magic for me. The music, while well-executed, seemed kind of hackneyed. The whole thing felt just a little too packaged. (Especially knowing that they have permanent set-ups in Las Vegas and Orlando.)

Still, I had fun. The spectacle of the costumes, combined with the physical feats of strength and coordination, took my breath away at times.

Thoughts For A Saturday Morning

Well, things are going well enough with Molly the Temp Dog (especially now that Mr. Ether has been taking her to the barky park to run) that she will be with us until February. I went to pick up her stuff from the house at which she was staying before, and the person I talked to there was wearing a "Not My President" t-shirt.

This set me thinking about the little man who is not my president. My first thought was, "He's never been my president." One thing that really bothers me is, how after 9/11™, the airwaves and print media were filled with people who should have known better saying things like, "We have to support him. He's our President."

There are a couple of prominent examples: The cartoonist/humorist Ted Rall wrote an essay after the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan, saying something to the effect of, "They attacked us. We can't just turn the other cheek." To which I said, "Why not?" It's easy to be anti-war when there isn't a war on. It is extremely hard to be anti-war at the outset of a war, yet that is exactly what Jesus was preaching. Ted Rall took the coward's road, and I have not been able to enjoy his writing since then.

The other example is the NPR talking head (or is it a talking voice when it's on the radio?) Scott Simon, who identified himself as a Quaker and then spoke eloquently in favor of the bombing of Afghanistan. The effect this had was to give the general notion that the majority of Quakers (and for those of you who may not know, the Religious Society of Friends or Quakers is one of the historic peace churches) supported the invasion, which was absolutely not the case. I had a colleague say to me, "But the Quakers think the invasion is a good thing!" It was appalling. I have heard that Scott Simon made peace with his Monthly Meeting, but I have had a hard time making peace with Scott Simon! (Which probably isn't very Quakerly.)

So now it is seven years later, and opposition to the war and to the policies of BushCheneyInc. has grown exponentially, a trend for which I am truly grateful. But sometimes I am angry, furious, enraged, thinking "How could you NOT have known then?" There were many people who know how bad it all was and tried to speak out, but there were so many more -- thinking, progressive people -- who practiced self-censorship (the worst kind) and wished that the rest of us would do the same. People for whom, literally overnight, the president who stole the election became "my President."

Just look at the mess we're in now. My younger daughter talks all the time about how she is going to move to Europe when she's old enough. And though it breaks my heart to contemplate it, I hope she does! It feels as if, in the last seven years, my children's future has evaporated. Poof! Gone.

My mood matches the November weather outside. Cold. Grey. Half-hearted drizzle.

Moving right along with Saturday morning thoughts -- although now it is eleven minutes past noon -- I finished reading Terry Pratchett's Making Money. As I said before, I love his books. When I say that, people often respond, "I tried reading one of them once, but I couldn't get into it." And to all you TP nay-sayers, I say "Try again!" But don't begin at the beginning. His earlier Discworld books, such as The Color of Magic, are not nearly as good as his more recent offerings. So here are a few suggestions:

Going Postal followed by Making Money. (They go together, sort of.)
The Monstrous Regiment
The Wee Free Men, followed by A Hat Full of Sky.
Small Gods

Pratchett nerds go to L-Space and read the books following characters they like, instead of necessarily reading the series chronologically. The characters I most like to follow are Sam Vimes (a cop) and Granny Weatherwax (a witch.) For you librarians out there, Pratchett has created one of the most memorable librarians ever. Ook! If you like zombies, werewolves, trolls, vampires, and dwarves and believe in affirmative action, you may like these books.

I'll leave you with a passage I enjoyed in Making Money. The background is, an ancient army of golems has descended on the city of Ankh-Morpork. Lord Vetinari is the city Patrician, who may or may not be a tyrant. The city is in an uproar over what to do.

"Any of the other cities would attack us if they had these golems," said Lord Downey, "... Surely a bit of conquest would be in order?"

"An empirette, perhaps?" said Vetinari, sourly. "We use our slaves to create more slaves? But do we want to face the whole world in arms? For that is what we would do, at the finish. The best we could hope for is that some of us survive. The worst is that we would triumph. Triumph and rot. That is the lesson of history, Lord Downey. Are we not rich enough?"

Off to get my hair cut. I pray that I do not come home with "car crash bangs." But that is another post.

Now I'm on a Peter Gabriel jag.

I love him, even though he is dressed like a character in Battlestar Gallactica.

Here Comes the Flood:

My Life As A Dog ...

... or Stop Me, Before I Volunteer Again!

My school held its annual Scholastic Book Fair this week. Tonight was family night at the book fair. I love my school, so I always try to volunteer to help out with events. What was needed tonight was someone to dress up in a Clifford the Big Red Dog costume and walk around, entertaining children and thus inspiring parents to buy more books.

I'll just say that I am not a fan of Clifford the Big Red Dog. He's right down there with The Berenstain Bears on my children's book-o-meter. But it was actually a blast to dress up in such a way that no one recognized me. I got lots of hugs. Middle school-aged siblings were embarrassed by me. One kindergartner, whom I know quite well, took a shine to me and sat me down to read me a book, all the while barking out commands: "Sit!" "Sit criss cross apple sauce!" (I haven't tried that one out on my own dog yet.) "Stand up!" Shake!" And a younger sibling of a former student, who always looks at me like I am crazy and in possession of a chain saw, followed me around giving me hugs.

I made a toddler cry in terror. That made me feel bad, because my own kids hate-hate-hated those characters. I kept trying to avoid this little kid, but the space was small, and even though I was thinking, "Be inconspicuous!" and shrinking down inside of the suit, there is no way that a 5'1'' bright red dog can be inconspicuous. I tucked my tail between my legs and slunk off, ashamed.

A couple of the parents knew it was me, and I cannot imagine how. It wasn't as if I was saying anything. They probably knew that no one -- absolutely no one -- but me would do something like that.

After an hour, I was sweltering and I had a persistent itch on my nose -- my real nose -- that I had to scratch, so I ducked into a nearby classroom to turn back into mild mannered kindergarten teacher, Ms. Ether.

For Ed, With Love

Meet Molly ...

... the Temp Dog. She'll be staying at our house for the next 3 months. Her humans moved to New Zealand, which has very strict rules about importing animals, including a 6 month waiting period stateside, and a quarantine once they arrive there, as well. Fingers crossed that her stay with us will go well. I'm a little worried about our cat, Daisy, who is easily freaked out. (It took her 7 years to quit acting as if Mr. Ether was an ax murderer.) On the other hand, I think it will be just the ticket for the resident corgi, Georgia. We'll see.

House Concert

A nice trend around here is the blossoming of house concerts. I've been to a few, but tonight was a first -- a firehouse concert. I went to hear Mary McCaslin, a favorite of mine from waaaay back in the seventies. Unfortunately, there were about a million other musical events happening around town and it was in a temporary firehouse way out on the outskirts of town on the edge of what was once cornfields not so long ago, so it wasn't really well attended. It was a little surreal too, to see the CPR training dummies stacked like logs off to the side of the room. But I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

For Pete's Sake, Don't You Know Enough About Me Already?

Jan tagged me for a meme, 10 Random Things About Me.

1) My grandfather invented an early process for putting whipped cream in an aerosol can (There! I didn't forget this time!)
2) I only like pajama bottoms, not the tops. I make my own bottoms and I wear old t-shirts for tops.
3) I love hedgehogs.
4) I am afraid of flying.
5) I've tried whale meat. (It was served for dinner at my boarding school in Norway. It was like stringy beef.)
6) I do not care for organized sports.
7) Like Jan, I make food from scratch and do not use mixes.
8) My favorite holidays are Groundhog Day and May Day.
9) I worry a lot.
10) I like board games and word games, but not card games.

And I tag ... PoodleDoc, PoodleDoc Jr., Sminthia, Enriched Geranium, Sparkly Sea Cow and Quaker Fruit Salad.

Grrrrrr ... Charter Schools, Again

We have a free weekly alternative paper, The Isthmus, which I despise. I tend to pick it up, however, because it has a good calendar of events around town. (For example when I failed to get it a few weeks ago, I missed a concert by Eliza Gilkyson, who is one of my favorite performers.) By and large, the articles piss me off, especially the articles about education. Last week they had an article about a progressive private school, wondering whether our school district should model a charter school on it. I've written before about charter schools and my opposition to them. You can be sure that I seethed all week over this article. Tonight I finally mustered the energy to write a letter to the editor in response, for all the good it will do. Here it is:

To the editor:
I’ve spent the last week thinking about a response to Jason Shepard’s article, Rethinking How Kids Learn. Where do I begin? It continually floors me that so many people in progressive Madison have a blind spot when it comes to charter schools. Can you say “privatization?” Charter schools are back door privatization, if you will. Using public funds to run a school to which students must apply and be admitted: that sounds a lot like the voucher system, doesn’t it? Both Jonathan Kozol and Alfie Kohn -- two passionate advocates for progressive education -- speak equally passionately against school privatization, including charter schools. According to Kozol, not only do they skim resources from public schools, but they skim off the parents who have the time and wherewithal to contribute to their child’s school, leaving many children poorer. Whatever happened to working for the common good?
The dichotomy that Shepard’s article sets up between “progressive” private schools like Wingra and “traditional” public schools is false. Madison Metropolitan School District has 6,288 teachers. Philosophies of education and teaching styles run the gamut, but I would hazard a guess that many of those teachers would identify themselves as being closer to the progressive end of the spectrum. And what if they don’t? My two children have had great experiences in Madison schools, with all kinds of teachers. Furthermore, as a veteran Madison public school teacher myself, and one who believes deeply in and advocates passionately for education that is progressive and child-centered, I am insulted by that dichotomy.
Wingra School can provide things to students that Madison public schools cannot: smaller numbers that make it possible to serve organic meals from Willy Street Co-op, for example. I am also assuming a significant amount of money is available that many public schools simply do not have. Wingra trustee Patrick Sweet’s example of choosing Lombardino’s or L’Etoile [two extremely upscale restaurants] speaks volumes to that. But public schools can provide good experiences that a private school cannot replicate. Trying to compare the two, or implying that Madison is missing the boat by not modeling a school on Wingra is wrong.
The “lack of choices” in Madison that “is sending middle- and upper-class families packing” sounds like another name for white flight. “High needs kids” and kids from “unstable homes” are code words for low income and minority students. I will not deny that there are kids who can be quite disruptive in public schools. As the director of Wingra says, “The reality is, the resources just aren’t there” to adequately meet the needs of all children. However, is the answer then, to create schools which will further deplete resources, or to work together for change; doing away with the revenue caps and requiring businesses to share the property tax burden? (Ironically, the article on outsourcing immediately preceding Shepard’s, brought up the tax revenue issue which is at the heart of Wisconsin schools’ funding crisis.)
I have little quibble with the parents like the one described in the article, who choose a private school when their child is not thriving in the public school. A small number of students have always attended private schools and most seem to offer tuition aid to families that want to attend. What I object to, and will continue to object to with every last breath in my body, is the parents who make that choice, and then want the state to pay for it, either through vouchers or the establishment of charter schools.
Old progressive that I am, I am proud of many aspects of Madison public schools. I think that the fact that charter schools have not caught on here in a big way speaks well of our public schools. I wonder if some of the push for “choices” is coming from newcomers to Madison, who have come here from other cities where the expectation is simply that one’s children will go to a charter or private school. I wish that Jason Shepard would visit and write an in-depth story about a different Madison school each week, instead of going for the sensational soundbite that once again puts Madison Metropolitan School District down.

Whew, glad I got that off my chest. I feel as if I'm a caped crusader for public schools and the idea of "the common good." Destined to always be angry, I guess. And by the way, the most disruptive kid I've ever taught in 21 years was from a very well-to-do family in a very well-to-do school. And he failed to thrive at Wingra School too. Just sayin'.

Oh, Gods ...

Two excellent posts about church/state separation, theocracy, and religion in the last couple of days, one from Blue Gal and one from the good Doctor Monkey von Monkerstein.

On a related note, I am a huge fan of the novels of British satirist Terry Pratchett (and here I have to credit Mr. Ether, a.k.a. Enriched Geranium, for turning me on to them ... or he will hound me mercilessly.) I'm in the middle of the newest one, Making Money, where he takes on banking institutions, and I particularly liked this passage. (Note: Moist is the name of the protagonist.)

If we build it, wilt thou comest? he thought. But the hoped-for god never came. It was sad but, in some celestial way, a bit stupid. Well, wasn't it? Moist had heard that there were maybe millions of little gods floating around in the world, living under rocks, blown about like tumbleweeds, clinging to the topmost branches of trees ... They awaited the big moment, the lucky break that might end up with a temple and a priesthood and worshipers to call your own. But they hadn't come here, and it was easy to see why.

Gods wanted belief, not rational thinking. Building the temple first was like giving a pair of wonderful shoes to a man with no legs. Building a temple didn't mean you believed in gods, it just meant you believed in architecture.

Pratchett's books are full of this kind of thoughtful irreverence toward dogma. I consider myself to be both a human being trying to be spiritual and a spiritual being trying to be human,
and his writing often "speaks to my condition" (that's a Quakerism) plus it makes me laugh out loud. A winning combination!

Oh, Wow!

After reading at Pygalgia's blog, that his blog is worth $19,758.90, I decided to see about my blog. The answer I got is priceless.

I'm just ... speechless. I guess I won't be quitting the day job for the glamorous life of a full time blogger anytime soon.

Gallows Humor, circa 2007

First Snow!

Dias de los Muertos and a wish for peace

Display and photo by Friend, Lester Doré. He says, "Day of the Dead altar at Casa Doré-Hanner. The red poster lists the names of all confirmed US military deaths from the beginning of the Iraq War to September 4 2007; the black poster has on it thumbnail-size photos of all confirmed military deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan since the last Day of the Dead. That's pan de muerto on the plate."

I find this very moving.

Lester is an artist who creates posters that celebrate peace, peacemakers, and those who speak truth to power. You can see the full array here.

A Family Affair

It's finally happened. Mr. Ether has his own blog, so we need never engage in face to face communication again. ALL our dirty laundry will be aired in the blogoverse for YOU, dear readers. We are a TOTAL blogging family!

Please go over to Enriched Geranium, and say hello. Especially listen to the songs on the sidebar. He's a talented guy.

A Major Prize

Tonight was the night that I graciously accepted my scholarship from the Madison Folk Music Society. There was a small crisis when I forgot my tiara and members of PETA threw red paint on my mink as I got out of my limousine, but I recovered enough to make an acceptance speech, wherein I thanked my kindergarten teacher, Rae Rocca, who happened to be in the audience. Apparently, news of my honor got around.

OK, I made most of the previous paragraph up. It was a casual affair and I wore my newest jeans and trusty Danskos, but is true that my kindergarten teacher really was there. And 43 years later, she still remembers me! I adored her. She was nearly at the beginning of my love affair with education. (I had a great preschool teacher too.) She was young and pretty, she lived on my block with her parents, and she played the piano while we sang On, Wisconsin and Winky the Elephant. It was an unexpected treat to see her there this evening.

See how influential she was? I still remember the song:

Winky the elephant, Winky the elephant,
You live in a great big zoo.
Winky the elephant, Winky the elephant,
It's fun to look at you.

(We really had an elephant named "Winky" at our municipal zoo, which happened to be 2 blocks from my house. When I was around 7, a young child visiting the zoo climbed into Winky's cage with a bag of popcorn, and was stepped on and killed. I remember hearing the ambulance sirens. They sent Winky away after that. I hope that wasn't just a euphemism for euthanizing her. It was not her fault.)

Back to the scholarship. The scholarship -- for music lessons -- was established to honor the memory of folksinger Helen Schneyer, whose sister Mona is a longtime Madison resident. They awarded one to a youngster, and one to me, the 48 year old wannabee folk musician. I am truly honored.

Pondering ...

... Bono's eyewear. Someone needs to do a fashion intervention.

I ordered new glasses frames today, after the old ones broke. (Call me vain, but I do not go in for the masking tape look.) They are not anything like Bono's. Bono's glasses remind me of the giant wrap-around yellow sunglasses that my mother and her sister both wore in their later years. They make me afraid, very afraid.

And, while I am meandering on pointless topics, I'll just mention that there was a message on my answering machine this morning from an old friend of my parents, expressing appreciation for my latest letter to the editor, as well as all the others. Her comment was, "Your mother lives on in you!" It made me cry. My mom had her issues, but she always spoke out for what she believed in. I'm proud to be like her in that way.

Opening Night!

Playtime Productions' Ali Baba and a Few Thieves, with Sparkly Sea Cow playing the storyteller Dunyazad (Shahrazad's younger sister) opened last night to rave reviews ... from parents and loved ones. If you're in the geographic vicinity (or you just want to fly in for the weekend,) the schedule is here. They'll be performing all over the county for the next 5 weeks. It is a very funny, campy musical production that features 5 daughters you hope you'll never have, a diminutive chief thief, a talking camel, and more. You won't be bored or disappointed, guaranteed.

Ali Baba was Cinderbelle's first play with Playtime, 7 years ago. It was fun to see how the director changed it this time around.

Playtime Productions is a wonderful community theater. It is children's theater in the best sense of the word -- plays for children, acted by children. The actors are in 3rd through 9th grade. They work long and hard, but the adults in charge are always cognizant of the fact that they are working with kids. It's always about building community and giving kids a theatrical experience, not producing child stars.

On a side note, Thursday evening I went to see a traveling Broadway production of Annie. Sparkly Sea Cow was supposed to go with her grandpa, but she had her final dress rehearsal, so I filled in. I don't like Broadway musicals much, and the underlying story of Annie is kind of a creepy celebration of capitalism (or as my stepfather, the old Socialist, said, "It's a nice fairytale") plus those songs ... those insipid songs get stuck in my head and I find myself humming, "The sun will come out tomorrow ..." ad nauseum until I am ready to beg someone to put me out of my misery! Nevertheless, I was enjoying myself. The girls who played the orphans were all very good, but I made the mistake of reading their biographies on the program. It reminded me how grateful I am for the down-to-earth experiences my daughters have had in Playtime.

Pictures to follow.

Which Side Are They on?

John Nichols writes in the Nation:

Broadcast media’s gate-keeping “stars” have done just about everything in their power to keep the matter of presidential accountability off the radar of the American people. That was evident during the most recent Democratic presidential debate, when NBC anchors Brian Williams and Tim Russert meticulously avoided following up on Congressman Dennis Kucinich’s three references to impeachment but somehow found time to grill the contenders on UFOs and what costume Barack Obama would be wearing on Halloween.

Pollsters are almost as bad. Rarely are questions about impeachment included in statewide or national surveys.

Despite the lack of media coverage, however, when citizens are asked what they think about holding members of the Bush administration to account, they respond with an enthusiasm far greater than that displayed for impeaching Richard Nixon at the height of the Watergate scandal. It is this reality — as opposed to the state of denial fostered by so much of the media and the political class — that Congressman Dennis Kucinich will act upon next week, when he offers a privileged resolution on the House floor to bring articles of impeachment against Vice President Dick Cheney.

Kucinich will face an uphill fight in a chamber led by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, the California Democrat who continues to say that impeachment is “off the table.”

The Ohio congressman and long-shot presidential contender may not be following the rules of engagement as dictated by major media and his party leaders. But when Kucinich raises the issue of impeachment, he will be speaking for a great mass of Americans who agree with his argument that, “Congress must hold the Vice President accountable.” Read it all ...

This has languished for too long. The list of co-sponsors has notable absences, and one hopes that Kucinich's action will spotlight representatives who wear a liberal mantle, but refuse to really act on the will of their constituents. (John Conyers, among others.)

If you really believe that Clinton was impeached for perjury, and not as political vengeance, clearly there are multiple reasons to hold Dick Cheney's feet to the fire now. And the arrogance that Nancy Pelosi continues to show, in my mind makes her complicit in the crimes that have been committed.

Dennis Kucinich is doing his job and exercising his Constitutional right in offering this resolution. The question is, which side are the rest of them on? Are they in an echo chamber, or are they listening to We, the People?

Halloween

We had some truly scary trick-or-treaters.
But after seeing that we had the best candy on the block -- and consuming most of it -- Rush saw the error of his ways and converted to being one of us.
Fern, Wilbur, and Charlotte stopped by on their way to Zuckerman's barn. That's SOME PIG!
And then there were these, two of the most life-like costumes I've ever seen.
Weird Cat 1 (a.k.a. "Daisy" or "Doodle"):

Weird Cat 2 (a.k.a. "Feather", "Foodle","The Foo", or "She's your cat" ):And a gruesome facsimile of a dead dog.
Happy Halloween!