Scatterlings of Africa -- Johnny Clegg

Watch the dancing. It's so cool.

I also want to say that Johnny Clegg looks like someone who works, not someone who works out. Know what I mean? There's a big difference.

Back to School, part 2

My brain is fried (about as fried as the motor on our fancy-schmancy German vacuum cleaner, because someone - - umm, that would be me -- left the car windows open in a rainstorm, and then someone -- um, me again -- accidentally vacuumed up a bunch of water while cleaning the car -- which I do once a decade, whether it needs it or not. So while I was frying my brain at library school orientation, Mr. Ether had to take the vacuum to the lonesome Hoover fixer sucker guy. I hope it's not permanently fried.)

Impressions of graduate school in Library Science?

Almost all the students were significantly younger than me. I was one of just a few who actually has a full time profession that involves going to a job every day.

We were encouraged to sign up for student organizations and GET INVOLVED in student life, make friends, etc. It all sounded kind of appealing to me until I realized that I have lots of friends already whom I hardly have time to see more than once or twice a year, even though we live in the same town. I have a spouse, children, colleagues, a faith community ... In short, I don't need to get involved in student organizations. I need a Master's Degree.

I am tempted to volunteer for a program where you go into jails and help incarcerated moms record storybooks on tape, that are then sent to their children. That's a pretty cool project.

But overall, it seemed like a pretty tight knit community up there, and the grown-ups were all very friendly and helpful. I believe I'm on the right path, and that's a good thing.

I Call Your Name - Johnny Clegg & Savuka

A couple of thoughts to hold on to in the midst of these bleak times:

These musicians played together illegally in South Africa, performing this joyful, exuberant, hopeful, political music years before the fall of apartheid.

At the time this was recorded, few could have foreseen that apartheid would soon fall in an essentially bloodless revolution (although there was an awful lot of blood shed during the apartheid years.)

On a more personal note:

Johnny Clegg is one of my all-time favorite performers. I used to blast the album Shadowman on my car stereo driving to work when I was pregnant with my first child, and felt her first movement to this music.

When he opened for Bob Dylan in 1989, we drove 2 hours to the concert but left before Mr. Zimmerman came on. We only really wanted to see Johnny Clegg.

We saw him again in our hometown the following year, and it was absolutely the best concert I've ever been to, bar none. (He rarely tours in the U.S., so if you have a chance to see him you should.)

Anyway, I hope it provides something of sustenance on this somber anniversary.

NOLA, Two Years On

Criminal.

Back to School

I go to orientation as a new graduate student tomorrow. Yikes.

The Motor Primitives: The Flame

Mr. Ether rocks out at a recent gig in Milwaukee.

Like it? You can read their blog and buy merchandise here. (Remember ... we just sent a kid to an expensive college. Baby needs new shoes.)

$657 Billion for Endless War ...

You got a problem with that? (Read it and weep.)

No hope. Get out while you still can.

The GOP has found their new candidate!
Many thanks to my friend Donna for sending this to me.

The General We'd Like To Hear From, Come September …

I found this astounding piece in the latest issue of The Funny Times. Maybe you've seen it before. I hadn't.

"War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses.

"I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we'll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag.

"I wouldn't go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket …

"It may seem odd for me, a military man, to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty-three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major General. And during that period I spent most of my time being a high-class muscle-man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism …

"During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents."

~From a 1933 speech by Major General Smedley Butler, USMC

One of the perks of living where I do is getting The Onion every week, free. So last week when I dashed into the neighborhood market for … well, an onion, I also picked up the latest issue of The Onion. It had a bumper crop of good headlines, as follows:

DEMOCRATIC MOB CENSURES BUSH IN EFFIGY; Well behaved Protestors: 'Papier Maîché President Must Be Held Accountable'

HARD TO TELL IF WIKIPEDIA ENTRY ON DADA HAS BEEN VANDALIZED OR NOT

FDA Approves Seconds

News Van Driver Sick Of Helping Anchors Move

And an op ed piece by Karl Rove:

My Job getting Unqualified Politicians Elected By Manipulating The Media And Polarizing The Voting Public In Order to Push Through A Secret Agenda Here Is Done

It's a little disconcerting when a humorous publication has better news than the mainstream media.

No More Shopping Days 'Til Peace

I am starting a movement, and I invite you to join me.

Soon we'll be getting to the time of year when a) our mailboxes are inundated with appeals for funds from worthy organizations and b) we're exhorted, harassed, and bullied into "holiday shopping" for our loved ones.

I'm a person who gets pleasure from making things. A few years ago I started making a few items to sell at my Quaker meeting at holiday giving time; I take all of the proceeds from my sales and donate them to relief organizations (most recently American Friends Service Committee, but also to Heifer Project International.) I consider my time and material costs to be my donation; I rarely have much money to donate, but I'm awash in raw materials and the skills to make them into something.

(In my case I buy or scavenge 100% wool sweaters, which I purposely shrink and then sew into ultra-warm mittens. I also make eye pillows, eggs decorated in the Ukrainian style, and sundry other fibrous things.)

This year I am taking it to the streets, so to speak. I am planning an alternative holiday fair and inviting other artists, crafters, and creators of every stripe to come and make their wares available to holiday shoppers. The items for sale will be fairly traded and locally made, keeping the commerce within our community and out of the coffers of the big businesses that contribute to war. The other sellers will have the option of contributing their proceeds as I do, or keeping their profits.

I wish I could say that I coined the phrase "No more shopping days 'til peace." I actually attended a sale with this name in my community many years ago when that other war, the one that Vietnamese people call "The American War", was raging. The phrase has stuck with me for these many years, and it is time to proclaim it again. I love how concisely it spotlights the link between the consumer culture that keeps so many people in a stupor and the war machine that our dollars lubricate.

I am inviting you to feel free to use the phrase and have your own sales in your communities. It could be as easy as selling off those comic books that have been cluttering up your basement before the next flood comes and ruins them, selling tins of that fabulous baklava you make, cheeses you've been inspired to make after reading Barbara Kingsolver's book, or finding a market for all those scarves you knitted that look like dead Muppets. You can do a one person sale (you) or gather some friends and make a day of it.

I know that many concerned people look for ways to stay out of the consumption machine at the Hellidays, but for most people totally opting out just doesn't seem to be realistic or even desirable. No more shopping days 'til peace offers an alternative.

As Mr. Ether is fond of saying, every dollar you spend is a vote for what kind of a world you want to live in.

And if you do something with this idea, please email me and let me know. I'd like to see it grow … and even if all the troops came home tomorrow, there would (sadly) still be a need a movement like this.

You may link to this post from your blog, if you wish. (Thanks for the suggestion, QD.)

Cheesy Title for a Post

I've just gotten to the chapter in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle where Barbara Kingsolver explains how ridiculously easy it is to make cheese at home, and she references the book Home Cheese Making by Rikki Carroll. I went to our public library website to look it up, only to find that all 7 copies of the book are currently checked out and I had to go on a waiting list!

Glad to know that Barbara's book is making an impact …

Happy Birthday to my bro. Paul

That's him on the right. The family mythology goes that I was promised to him for his 3rd birthday, but I came a day early and he was pissed off. That may explain why he became my nemesis for the next 12 or so years, putting his enormous intellect to use cooking up ingenious new ways to make me cry, such as combining my name (Suzy) with the word "pig" and calling me "Sig" or directing beams of light at me and chanting, "Spotlight on stinkbomb Suzy." (When my parents finally intervened, he changed it to "Spotlight on you-know-who." When they put a stop to that, he figured out that all he had to do was quietly hum the cadence of the chant. He was a master.) He ended my one person crime spree at Treasure Island by teasing me mercilessly -- using the now patented quiet humming method -- about something I shoplifted, until in desperation I returned said item (I suppose I owe it to him that I'm not doing time in San Quentin.)

I was a textbook example of the Stockholm Syndrome and worshiped the ground he walked on. A day he let me tag along with him and his friends was a good day indeed, and I lived for those times. I frequently tried to buy my way into his good graces with Bazooka Joe comics, of which he was a passionate collector.

Somewhere around the time I was 12 the antagonism stopped and we became friends. I love him dearly. Happy birthday, Paul!

The Cuddly Menace … Resistance Is Futile

You've all been so sweet, and I have a gift in return. Think of this as your virtual treat bag, and thanks for coming to my party.

The Birthday Cake: A Love Story

Today is my birthday (48) and half my family is doing the college freshman orientation thing in a different state, so it's just me and my younger daughter. She's excited about making the day special, but of course she's still sleeping ... I'm the only morning person in my house.

I always say I don't like birthdays, but I actually do. If my family ever really took me at my word -- "I don't want anything" -- I'd be hurt. So the absent family members gave me gifts before they left. My eldest went to a Renaissance Fair and brought back a hand-blown glass goblet; I admire these things every year, but I never buy any. So that was very sweet of her and I love it. And Mr. Ether gave me a little tiny German-made metronome. I've been learning to play the guitar for a few years now, but I am very shy about it. Mr. Ether (a professional musician himself) has been unfailing in his support of my efforts -- a gift in and of itself.

I'm looking forward to the cheesecake my younger daughter is making. I started to write that no one has made me a cake in my adulthood, but that's not true. When I turned 25 I decided to throw a party at a park shelter. I had my heart set on a European-style torte with fruit and marzipan from a German bakery, and I asked my mom if she would pick it up the day before the party. Alas, she did not, and the bakery was closed on party day.

My mom decided to make me a cake; she made a mean pineapple upside-down cake. But two of my mom's idiosyncrasies were never doing things in a timely way and doing everything on a large scale. So she showed up at the park about an hour late with an enormous pineapple upside-down cake in the back of the station wagon. It had just come out of the oven and -- I'm not exaggerating -- it was about the circumference of a garbage can lid.

She was embarrassed about not getting the cake I wanted and being late, so she was in a bad temper. She inverted the cake onto a big board the way you're supposed to with a pineapple upside-down cake ... and raw cake batter ran out all over the back of her car. The cake was so huge and she hadn't baked it long enough. It was entirely raw in the middle!

I was mortified and furious -- selfish little so and so that I was. I still feel guilty about my attitude. It took me many years to see that she made me that cake because she loved me. And I was so ungracious.

My mom died 6 years ago. When we were cleaning her house, one of the things I kept was her favorite cookbook, The Settlement Cookbook. The book opens up every time right to the pineapple upside-down cake recipe, which is stained and tattered. And I say a little "thank you, Mommy, I love you" every time I see it.

A Headline from the BBC …

Rare dead star found near Earth

Elvis?

Modern Day Snake Oil

I'm sorry, but I find this just absurd.

First read this article about new cholesterol-lowering snacks coming on the market. Then walk or bike to your nearest public library or independent book store, and pick up a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's newest book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Kingsolver's family carried out an experiment of spending a year eating foods that were almost exclusively locally grown and in season. While you may not feel you can go the extent that Kingsolver did, eating closer to home and less processed foods is within many people's reach.

What I have read in various sources is that, prior to the widespread use of hydrogenated fats and high fructose corn syrup in this country, back when people consumed more whole milk and butterfat, the incidence of high cholesterol, heart disease, and stroke was far less than it is today.

Then add in the energy it takes to produce the enhanced super-snacks: fossil fuel energy, intellectual energy, energy spent marketing the stuff -- which may or may not do what it claims to do. Is it worth it?

I do most of the shopping and cooking in our household. Over the last 10 years I have been adding in more and more locally and organically grown foods. I've tried having my own garden, have been a member of various CSAs (community supported agriculture -- farms where you buy a share and then get a box full of vegies each week throughout the growing season) and one season was a member of Zephyr Garden about which my friend Poodle Doc writes so deliciously from time to time. This year I'm doing most of my shopping at a little farmers' market every Tuesday evening, and we're blessed with a wonderful food co-op. And thanks to another friend, The Sminthophile, I just found out about a place that will deliver meat and dairy right to my door!

Anyway, for a long time I wouldn't necessarily admit that I was buying organic foods -- or I'd be apologetic about it, because it seemed posh and snooty. But I actually think it costs us less than if I was buying the amount of processed foods -- the frozen microwave dinners and so on -- that so many people buy. So I'm out of the closet [pantry?] in my eating habits.

Anyway (Danger *Warning*Bad Pun Alert!) it's food for thought.

More independence than I can take ...

As if having the older one leave home wasn't enough, today my 11 year old decided she wanted to walk to the grocery store by herself (about a mile away and across a major busy street) to buy the ingredients to make me a cheesecake for my birthday. She found a recipe online, made a list, took my cell phone, and after many words of caution from me ("Cross at the light!" "Don't talk to strangers or get in anyone's car!" "Watch out for mountain lions!") she left. She called a few minutes ago, just to let me know she's on her way home now.

"All I ever wanted," said Georgie, his big blue eyes filling with tears, "was to spread democracy across the Middle East."

You almost need a barf bag handy when you read this article by Peter Baker (is that another one of Jeff Gannon's pseudonyms?) from the Washington Post.

By the time he arrived in Prague in June for a democracy conference, President Bush was frustrated. He had committed his presidency to working toward the goal of "ending tyranny in our world," yet the march of freedom seemed stalled. Just as aggravating was the sense that his own government was not committed to his vision.

As he sat down with opposition leaders from authoritarian societies around the world, he gave voice to his exasperation. "You're not the only dissident," Bush told Saad Eddin Ibrahim, a leader in the resistance to Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak. "I too am a dissident in Washington. Bureaucracy in the United States does not help change. It seems that Mubarak succeeded in brainwashing them." (Position the bag and read the rest here.)

My first question is the obvious one: He sees himself as a dissident in Washington? Just who or whom does he see himself in opposition to -- an oppressive regime, i.e. his?

My second question (and one I've asked before): How can anyone who fancies himself a journalist write about anything that Bush says or does as if it's credible?

The story of how a president's vision is translated into thorny policy is a classic Washington tale of politics, inertia, rivalries and funding battles -- and a case study in the frustrated ambition of a besieged presidency. Bush says his goal of "ending tyranny" will take many generations, and he aims to institutionalize it as U.S. policy no matter who follows him in the White House. And for all the difficulties of the moment, it may yet, as he hopes, see fruition down the road.

Oh, for Pete's sake! Or as my mom used to say, "Cry me a river!" So Jo-ji Bushie is the bold outsider with a Vision, but he's up against D.C. bureaucrats ... yes, yes, it's taking shape in my mind as a, yes, a comic book! Mild-mannered, bespectacled, slightly nerdy but lovable politician wants nothing more than to battle tyranny in the world, steps into a nearby phone booth and becomes Democracy Man!

Now where did I put that barf bag?

Beyond Petroleum ... Isn't that special?

They've changed their name to something kinder, gentler, and greener. But we're not fooled. Click on the image to enlarge it and read about BP's plans for Lake Michigan. Or go here and take the No BP Challenge. Mr. Ether and I try to buy our gas at Citgo, which is Venezuelan state-owned petroleum. They're not perfect, I know, but given the alternatives I think they're better.

Turn around and they're tiny. Turn around and they're grown.

This baby just left for college 12 hours away from home.
I made some last ditch efforts to get her to stay and be my baby again. I told her she could have all the Barbies she wanted and the pink convertible, but the siren song of independence calls. I also told her younger sister that she doesn't ever have to leave home. She can move into the basement until she's 45. She rolled her eyes and said "Mom, you wouldn't want me living in your basement." They'll understand if and when they're parents.

So if you're one of those people who lurks around my blog, please leave me a comment. I'm kind of sad right now and I need some TLC. Thanks.

What is the likelihood ...

... that my daughter is the only kid going to college with soap and bunny slippers handmade by her mom?

This just in ...

... from my lovely daughter:

Famous people who got married on your birthday [which is coming up on 8/21]:

Dennis Kucinich and Elizabeth Harper - NOT A JOKE! It's on IMDB!
Walter Matthau and Carol Grace - Awwww, I love him!
Humphrey Bogart and Mayo Methot
Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo

Anna may not know the origin of the word "nadgers" or even what it means, but she knows everything there is to know in the media world.

Thanks, honey. I love you!

See. this. movie.

"Once"
Pure sweetness.
I asked for the soundtrack for my birthday.

Cheap Plastic Crap From China

My eldest child will be leaving the nest this weekend, as she heads off to her freshman year in college. As all good mothers do [not] I spent the last 9 months or so beating myself up for all the ways I've failed as a parent. Perhaps one of my chief failures in my children's eyes, is that I am such an anti-consumer. It pains me to go shopping. It particularly pains me to shop in big box stores. I walk into one and within minutes my brain shuts down; the predictable results are either that I walk out again with nothing or I fill the cart with things I didn't know that I needed until I got there and saw them. (Sock monkey pajamas? A Hello Kitty toaster? Oh, yeah!)

So it's "back-to-school" time. Not only does that mean at least one shopping trip, but as a teacher I am also grieving the approaching end of the only sane part of my year. (Or so it seems right now. It's actually OK. I love my job.) And I'm pretty emotional about my child leaving home.

Both of my children have lists of recommended school supplies, so I steel myself for a trip to Target, which for some reason seems kinder and gentler to liberals like me than WalMart. (I think that's only an illusion.) My eldest has a list as long as your arm, and this time she's not asking, "May I buy this?" She's just loading up the shopping cart and my brain is way too addled to question what she's picking up. Two hours and $200 later when I'm back at home I begin to wonder, "Why did she need to buy a little plastic box with drawers for her make-up and jewelry at college? What has she kept her make-up and jewelry in for the last 5 years?" And so on. (To her credit, she saw how freaked out I was and offered to pay for the stuff herself, with her very meager savings. But I want her to feel cared for, and if this is one way she can feel cared for at this time, then it's important that I do it.)

I have a Depression-era mentality about stuff -- and I wasn't even born then! I had a very comfortable upbringing, where a fun family outing was to go to Treasure Island and buy cheap plastic crap, probably from Japan. Somehow, cheap plastic crap seemed higher quality in those days. (It was a better grade of plastic used in the fake vomit that I gleefully acquired from The Moon Fun Shop.) What did I do when I went to college? I think I furnished my abode from off the curb or St. Vinnie's.

When it came to my own kids, I was just this side of a Waldorf philosophy for most of their childhoods. I made them many of their toys and clothes, or mail-ordered them. (A friend just told me, in the midst of this giant toxic toy recall, that even the German brand toys from the upscale toy stores are now made in China.) I capitulated to Barbie only after much soul searching. Playmobil was probably the biggest toy "system" I bought into -- mainly because I loved the animals and pirates.

As they've gotten older, both of my kids have rebelled against that both consciously and unconsciously. And I understand that my eldest, when she goes off to college, doesn't want to be perceived as weird by her peers, some of whom will probably be quite wealthy. So she wants new sheets for her bed, not the 101 Dalmation sheets we bought when she was four. She doesn't want to keep her make-up in one of the old tea canisters that are ubiquitous in our house, because I can't bear to throw things that seem "sturdy" away. I keep talking to my eldest about locating the thrift stores and food co-op in her new town. She rolls her eyes (inwardly). But maybe given 6 months, a year, she'll seek them out.

And my youngest? She's still young enough to want to please me. Or maybe she's just different from her sister. She seems a lot more willing to recycle, reuse or go to the thrift store. I worry about how much she's just burying her resentment, so I try to balance things out. I try to model seeking quality items, things that will last. (Although that's a hard thing to find at Target.) It's a little heartbreaking when she's explaining why she needs new scissors for 6th grade this year because the ones we bought her in 3rd grade finally broke and they were kind of small for her hands anyway. It was a "bad mom" moment, when I questioned whether I'd gone too far. (As if she's a mind reader, this daughter just now walked into the room and announced, "I like my new scissors!")

I recognize that I am something of a curmudgeon and perhaps could even be called eccentric by some. I do hope that my kids, as they move out into the world, will come to appreciate my ethic somewhat -- even if they apply it in a different way.

Isn't it time for a different paradigm?

(Yeah, I'm a poet who doesn't know it.)
This nugget, from Harper's Weekly:

Nominally antiwar Democrats Barack
Obama, Hillary Clinton, and John Edwards admitted that if
elected to the White House they would worry about
terrorism launched from a failed Iraqi state, threats to
the Kurds, and the prospect of Shiite-on-Sunni genocide,
and because of these fears they would continue the occupation of Iraq for a long time. [emphasis mine]

Revisionist History … Only One Day Later

Here's what one article in The Guardian has to say about Karl Rove's "departure":

Mr Rove ultimately became a victim of the administration's hubris.

This column paints a picture of Rove as an abject failure, slinking off with his tail between his legs to lick his wounds, spend time with his family, and maybe write a book. (Ooh, maybe he'll write a children's book! About virtue.) Karl Rove is no victim of anything; he IS the administration's hubris! I don't know that earthly justice will ever be served in his case, but this lauding of his contributions is just disgusting.

Then there's this headline:

Rove Still on Democrats' Hitlist

Hitlist? What a shameful manipulation of language, implying vengeance and retaliation rather than accountability for criminal actions.

To me the al denté spaghetti that makes up the Democrats' collective spine suggests an invitation to a tea party more than a contract killing.

Sigh.

How Is Karl Rove like a Cholera Epidemic?

My current book-in-progress is The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic and How It Changed Science, Cities, and the Modern World by Steven Johnson. Here, briefly, is a description of how cholera works:

In other words, an accidental ingestion of a million Vibrio cholerae can produce a trillion new bacteria over the course of three or four days. The organism effectively converts the human body into a factory for multiplying itself a millionfold. And if the factory doesn't survive longer than a few days, so be it. There's usually another one nearby to colonize.

So the bacteria [Karl Rove & the rest of BushCo] are ingested, they colonize the small intestine [the White House] and multiply, get pooped out and contaminate the drinking water [the world], causing epidemics [wars and other catastrophes, large and small] which kill thousands of people [in Iraq, Afghanistan, New Orleans, etc.] over a short period of time [Short? 6 1/2 yrs. and counting.] I saw this article and it made me think of it:

Whatever history makes of Karl Rove’s role in the White House, his legacy as a political strategist can be measured in a presidential campaign that has already begun without him. A look at the roster of every Republican presidential candidate finds people who have worked with him, and they have brought some of his methods to this race.

Too abstract to follow? OK, maybe he's more like a cluster bomb, producing little baby bomblets all across the GOP.

I kind of like the poop analogy though. Boil the water. Wash your hands.

BUSH'S BRAIN RESIGNS!

I'd like to think this is good riddance, but like Count Olaf in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events I am quite certain Karl Rove will rear his ugly head again.

R.I.P. Merv Griffin

Now, why in the heck would I choose to eulogize television impresario Merv Griffin? Well, he was -- indirectly -- one inspiration for this blog. I first ran across the term "Luminiferous Ether" in a very funny and tender book called Prisoner of Trebekistan, comedian Bob Harris's account of being a five-time winner on the game show Jeopardy! Jeopardy! was Griffin's brainchild; in fact he wrote the famous "think music" as a lullaby for his son. Bob Harris calls it "the most lucrative lullaby in human history" bringing Griffin over $70 million in royalties.

Merv Griffin was also good friends with Ronnie and Nancy Reagan. Hmm. I guess everyone needs to have a good friend, right?

So long, Merv.

'Why don't you tell the truth? Why don't you journalists write that this army is exhausted?"

I won't cut & paste this article from The Guardian because there aren't individual salient points to bring to readers' attention. The entire article is well worth reading. And then you weep.

It reminds me once again that even most Americans who have finally come to oppose this war have it wrong: It is not this war that is the problem; the problem is the paradigm of war and conquest in which most world cultures appear to be mired. Iraq or insert your favorite ongoing war here is just one more stage on which this tragedy/travesty is played out.

"Love is not a doctrine, Peace is not an international agreement. Love and Peace are beings who live as possibilities in us." Mary Caroline Richards, 1962 (from Catherine Whitmire's outstanding book Practicing Peace)

Accountability? Impeachment? Hey, Congress ... Those words mean anything to you?

Many thanks to hippie-gone-mean Pygalgia who posted a reminder on his blog that it was on this date in 1974 that Richard Nixon resigned the presidency rather than go through impeachment proceedings.

I was 14 when Nixon resigned. I watched his resignation speech on t.v. in a Tokyo hotel room (in between watching reruns of Bewitched and I Dream Of Jeannie dubbed in Japanese.) We got home a few days later to find that my older brother, who was "watching the house", had done a little too much dancing in the streets that night. In his elation he had taken a meat cleaver and decapitated a little fiberglass mannequin that we had, before somehow knocking the ventilation fan out of the kitchen wall. My mom was kind of upset with him. (Sorry, Jim, for revealing family secrets here. But you'll never know I revealed anything, 'cause you never read my blog. Bwahahaha.)

Yeah, I remember when accountability extended to the Executive Branch.

Talks to Squirrels

Here is an interesting tidbit about Bob "It's Not My Fault" Murray, owner of both the Utah mine where 6 miners are currently trapped and the Sago mine where 12 miners died in 2006.

Ask most of the miners working at the Maple Creek or Powhatan No. 6 mines to tell you owner/operator Robert Murray's squirrel story and you're in for a treat.

The way Murray tells it, he had just been let go in 1987 as CEO of North American Coal Company and was feeling extremely down about the whole situation. At home one day, Murray was sitting on his back porch, contemplating his future, when he was approached by a squirrel. Murray says the squirrel hopped up next to him, looked him square in the eye and said "Bob Murray, you should be operating your very own mines." Unfortunately for UMWA miners, this seemingly intelligent rodent wasn't too keen on fairness, so it neglected to add the words "and make sure you treat your workers the way you would want to be treated."

Well, you'd think someone who talks to squirrels would be some kind of a humanitarian. Maybe care about his employees. Here's what one of them has said:

"Bob Murray is so anti-union that he wants to bust us even after we kept him in business. He has exploited his workers. We must stop his efforts to cut our members out of work."

And finally, this quote which describes the Bob Murray the public has been seeing this week:

"Sometimes it's like watching Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

Read the article here. Then remember which presidential candidate is staunchly pro-union. (Hint: It's not Hillary, Obama, or Edwards. Can't guess? Check my sidebar.)

Labor unions -- the folks who brought you the weekend.

One question: Why is this company allowed to mine in a national forest? BushCo:Degradation -R-Us.

Seen while driving through Indiana last spring ...

Submit to your contractor!
(photo taken by Mr. Ether while Ms. Ether was driving)

Friends in Faraway Places

When I returned home from vacation and picked up the most recent copy of our local weekly newspaper, The Isthmus, I was surprised and delighted to find that the leading story -- A Letter From Lesotho -- was written by my friend Madeline. (It's a welcome change from the usual sensational drivel they feature.) Almost a year ago she quit her job, gave up a lovely rental house on the lakeshore, put her possessions into storage, and went into the Peace Corps. Since then I have followed her adventures in Lesotho, Africa via email letters she sends to her friends. I especially like this quote in the article:

Greeting everyone slows my day. People often talk about slower lifestyles in poor countries, but they seldom explain the richness this gives a day. I have effectively traded a 90-mile-an-hour lifestyle for one at 40 kilometers-per-hour (about 25 m.p.h.). But, going slower, you see much more.

Slowing down is something that I give a lot of thought to. During the summer I consciously slow down, walking or biking to my destinations, taking the time to hang laundry out to dry, to talk with my neighbors. It's such a welcome change.

I appreciate many of the things that I have: the computer, the car, the dishwasher, the clothes washer, decent roads ... but I do not appreciate how, if I am not mindful, they control me.

I am currently reading the book Ancient Futures: Learning From Ladakh by Helena Norberg-Hodge, where she describes how Western-style development is putting the squeeze on people all around the world (including us), essentially creating a human monoculture that only benefits the multinational corporations. She paints a pretty depressing picture, but also offers a blueprint for what she calls "counter-development" that is humane, sustainable and earth-centered.

Continuing on this train of thought ... yesterday at the vet's office I got into a conversation about our government with the receptionist. She referred to the "Pandora's Box" that BushCo has opened up, and reminded me of what was left in the box after everything else had flown out -- hope.

So when I start to despair I have to go back to hope; to focus on all of the people who are working on good things all around the world.

Peace.

Friends in High Places

True confessions: In general, I don't like clowns very much (especially the ones in rainbow wigs on little go-carts. The Shriner-types.) But Davey the Clown happens to be my cousin and The Boston Herald had a nice article this past Sunday about him clowning for kids in Sarajevo. I'm really proud of him.

If you're in the Boston area, he frequently performs at Faneuil Hall and his show is a lot of fun, for kids and adults alike. So, GO!

Be it ever so humble ...

... there's no place like home.

Although Rock Island comes awfully close.

If I was a real geek I'd have photos to post today. (That photo above is from Google.) But I'm a Luddite and I still use film. Remember film? In fact, I'm the worst kind of photographer who only takes film in to be processed about twice a year. So look for vacation photos on my blog next January.

The week was wonderful. As always.

The company was delightful -- 50 people, mostly Quakers, ranging in age from 13 months to 80+ years old. Lots of kids (though they seem to grow bigger every year, fancy that) and 4 dogs. Communal dinners every evening are riotous affairs.

The weather was great. We could have used some rain to sleep by, but that's a minor complaint.

High points of the week:

* Looking for and finding a cave.

* Naked baby birds in a nest in our campsite. They were in a low thimbleberry bush, so we had a good view of them. If you made a noise their beaks would snap open to reveal gaping maws, waiting for something wiggly to be stuffed in. Very cute.

* Thimbleberries. They look like raspberries but taste slightly more sour and kind of spicy. Yum.

* Cheeky acrobatic red squirrels. I'm especially fond of these guys. When we encountered them at the Bay of Fundy a few years ago we dubbed them "cheeky squeakies." They steal your food from right under your nose and then sit nearby to give you the squirrelly equivalent of "Nyah-nyah!"

* Gorgeous sunsets every single evening (so consistently beautiful that you are in danger of becoming blasé about them. "Ho hum, another breathtaking sunset.")

* Standing out on a narrow rocky point to watch the sun set, then turning 180˚ to watch a luminous pink full moon rise 15 minutes later.

* Laying on the beach after dark looking for shooting stars and being able to see the Milky Way. We city dwellers are seriously bereft of dark skies.

* Spending lots of time with 3 great 11 and 12 year olds (who thought that marshmallows could be improved if you inserted a sour gummy worm into the middle before roasting.)

* The adult treasure hunt (set up by the kids) that had us singing like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, making alphabet letters with our bodies, wading into Lake Michigan up to our chests to retrieve a clue that was floating inside of a milk jug, and talking like pirates before we dug up the booty (a bottle of wine, what else?)

The one low point was the discovery that our beloved corgi, Georgia, seems to be going blind. At home where she knows her way around it was not as obvious. Away from home she spent a couple of days confused and somewhat demoralized, but she actually seems to be adapting quite well. She navigates with her ears and nose. One of our camping companions is a veterinarian, who was also suggested we get Georgia tested for Cushing's disease. She is displaying many of the classic symptoms. Sigh. We have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so we'll find out.

We were able to beg a spot in the rangers' refrigerator for the insulin, so that worked out OK.

Anyway, I confess I hardly missed the computer at all, although it is good to be back.