Whad'dya Think Of It Now?

Hours of tweaking and arranging, changing colors, changing fonts, adding a photo, removing a photo ... all with Enriched Geranium (whose computer I am using until our gummint rebate comes and I can replace my dead computer - thanks, Ed!) breathing down my neck because he thinks I'm being a COMPUTER HOG. I'm not a computer hog ... am I??? Do you like it? Is it bee-yoo-tee-ful? Should I change the background color, maybe to puce or mauve or even burnt umber? Or is white OK?

Note: Photo credit for the beautiful luminiferous ether in the header goes to Enriched Geranium.

In Memorium -- Better Late Than Never

Kids don't have a little brother working in the coal mine. They don't have a little sister coughing her lungs out in the looms of the big mill towns of the Northeast. Why? Because we organized; we broke the back of the sweatshops in this country; we have child labor laws. Those were not benevolent gifts from enlightened management. They were fought for, they were bled for, they were died for by working people, by people like us. Kids ought to know that. That’s why I sing these songs. That’s why I tell these stories, dammit. No root, no fruit!”

I don't pretend to be up on all the news about everything, but the fact that the May 23 death of Utah Phillips did not cross my radar screen until today is unusual indeed. I hope that it doesn't mean that his death went mostly unnoticed in the progressive news world. It shouldn't have. Phillips was a true dyed-in-the-wool liberal, the old-style kind, who believed in populist movements, workers' rights, and the power of song to bring about social change. Amy Goodman wrote a lovely tribute to the man. Read it here. Read his obituary here.

Anyway, another of the good ones is gone. I was going to wish him R.I.P., but something tells me that he wouldn't want that. So I'll just say that I'll miss you, Utah, and I'll do my best to keep carrying the banner. We need your message now, more than ever.

I Hate the New Look!

But don't worry, it's only temporary. I was just going to check my email this morning, and then I started messing around with my blog and before you know it I had messed the whole thing up and lost my blogroll, which I tried to recreate ... and I'm so sorry if I left anyone off. It's only temporary, I promise! It's high time I customized anyway. God, I hate computers!

Mark of the Devil

And now, a word from guest blogger, Feather, whom our youngest daughter does call "Devil Cat":

6666666666666666666666666666666666666

I just call her weird.

Shooting the Messenger (in a Friendly manner, of course)

Pity the poor earnest young man, trying to earn some summer cash by canvassing door-to-door for the Democratic National Committee. He just came to my door. He got an earful. He got two ears full. And a doggy bag.

I give him a lot of credit. He listened. He didn't argue with me. He didn't ask me for a penny. I've had people call on behalf of the DNC who get all huffy and tell me I'm wrong, and on more than one occasion I've had to say, "Wait a minute. You called me, asking for my money! You had darn well be willing to listen to what I have to say!"

This guy said he'd been hearing a lot about impeachment. Yeah, I'll bet. Hey, Dimocrats! Anybody home? Are you listening?

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

My stepfather is in his eighties and lives by himself in an apartment not far from my home. A few weeks ago he had a car accident that made him decide to stop driving, and he sold his car. That leaves him in the position of needing rides to the grocery store. Now, I am the world's most sporadic housekeeper, and that includes grocery shopping. I usually go by how empty the fridge is, and even then it takes me a few more days to summon the energy to get myself to the store.

(Thank heavens we have that guinea pig in the freezer -- at least we won't starve! And it's a great deterrent that keeps the teenagers from eating up the ice cream ...)

We have a wonderful grocery co-op about a mile from home, which is where I do a good share of my shopping, especially now that the big-box warehouse supermarket has hired big guns to try to bust their employees' union. The co-op also offers a shop-online, home delivery service that would be great for my stepdad when I'm not available to take him shopping.

Yesterday I took him to the co-op for the first time, so he could scope out what they have. I love my stepdad, but frankly he is a bit of a curmudgeon. And he was really irritated by all of the organic food. "I don't buy organic. I can't afford it!" he kept saying. He grumbled about the bananas and he picked up a gallon of conventional milk, although he informed me that it was a concession because the dairy that bottled it was the only non-union dairy in Milwaukee when he was growing up. He is passionate about labor issues, and I wanted to point out that buying organic is a workers' health and wellbeing issue too.

Well, in the end he joined the co-op and got information about the delivery service. Necessity made him a convert, I guess.

But is all organic food created equal? Our co-op tries to sell locally grown/produced food as much as possible. Unfortunately, the flooding last summer and this spring here in the Midwest has, quite literally, put a damper on a lot of locally grown produce, but they carry what they can.

Meanwhile, in the bowels of the evil west side of town is the archenemy Trader Joe's. When the site whereon it squats (in a self-satisfied, smug way) was being developed, a decision had to be made: a sister grocery co-op or Trader Joe's, that purveyor of ultra-cheap organic foods? Not surprisingly, the developer went with Trader Joe's, and I made one of my famously rash vows that wild horses could not drag me into that store, ever.

This week, Quaker Dave had a post that made me renew my vow. Read it, then write to Trader Joe's and ask them to do the right thing. If you are a Trader Joe's customer (and I understand that some people don't have alternatives) use your clout as a consumer. Organic products should be healthier for everyone. If they are being sold super-cheap, look for the hidden costs.
Si, se puede!

Once in a blue moon I go to a movie ...

... and last night was one of those rare occasions. I went to see Son of Rambow, and I was blown away (no pun intended.) The setting is somewhere in rural Britain in the early eighties. The protagonists are school boys. Lee Carter is your quintessential bad boy: snub nose, freckles, always getting thrown out of class for insubordination. William's family is part of a religious sect called the Brethren, who attempt to live apart from the outside world, but they allow William to attend the local school as long as he doesn't fraternize with the other students. William has a very active inner life, which comes out in his fantastic drawings that fill all of his books (including his Bible.) When Lee and William come together by accident, Lee sees their chance meeting as an opportunity to strongarm William into helping him make a film that he plans to enter in a BBC young filmmakers' contest.

Son of Rambow was quirky, funny, wholly original, and altogether wonderful. SEE IT!

How many smoking guns does it take to fill the White House?

Is anyone surprised that this has finally surfaced?

Chuck Schumer is, apparently. What planet has he been on for the last 7.6 years?

"This is the first smoking gun," said Sen. Charles E. Schumer, D-N.Y., who sits on the Senate Judiciary Committee. "We believe there will be more to come. This report shows clearly that politics and ideology replaced merit as the hiring criteria at one of our most prized civil service departments."

John Conyers is appalled. APPALLED, I tell you. NOW will he act on the 35 (or is it 36 now) Articles of Impeachment? No, I don't think so either. There are other, far more pressing, issues to take care of than the utter decimation of the Constitution and upholding the laws of the land. Maybe they can tackle steroids in baseball again. I lay awake nights in a sweat over that one.

But you can still wear the grooviest cap around. Get yours here.

Thank You, Tammy

My congresswoman, Tammy Baldwin did the right thing and signed on to Dennis Kucinich's impeachment resolution.

By the way, want a cool hat to let your bank teller and grocery store clerk know where you stand on impeachment? Go here and make a nominal contribution.

Paradise

Thanks to Quaker Dave, I spent the last 2 days almost unable to get up off the couch, nose buried deep in a book. Actually, two books: Storming Heaven and The Unquiet Earth by Denise Giardina. They are among the best novels I've ever read. Set in the coalfields of eastern Kentucky and West Virginia, beginning early in the twentieth century, they tell the all too real story of the theft, rape, and plunder of the Appalachian mountains by the coal companies with the collusion of the United States government, and the courage of the miners and their families as they stood up to them time and time again.

And the hell of it is, all of this is still going on to this day. First they dug the minerals out of the mountains. Then they stripped everything from the sides of the mountains. Now they are cutting the tops off the mountains and scooping out whatever is left. I had a revelation while I was reading it, that West Virginia is essentially occupied territory, like Palestine or Iraq. My good friend in West Virginia once told me that it is the wealthiest state in natural resources, but has the highest poverty level in the nation because everything is shipped out. The profits line the pockets of fat cat CEOs of multinational corporations.

Giardina is a powerful writer. I cared very deeply for every one of her characters, and I'm not ashamed to say that I wept through many parts of both books. The politics were clear-eyed and straightforward. The human interactions -- love, hurt, betrayal, loyalty -- were authentic. It may take some looking to find them, but please do yourself a favor and read these books. They will leave you breathless.

I don't buy many books these days, but I ordered my own copies of these ones. They are available new in mass market editions, but abebooks has many used copies. As always, if Amazon is your default online bookseller, please consider going independent. Amazon neither needs nor deserves your money.

A couple of other related book recommendations: Kentucky singer Jean Ritchie's wonderful memoir Singing Family of the Cumberlands will give a good picture of what was lost when the coal companies moved in. Another great novel is Harriet Simpson Arnow's The Dollmaker. (Hint: Jane Fonda produced and starred in a tv version of that a while back. She changed a devastating and beautiful story into The Waltons. I haven't forgiven her. Don't give it the time of day.)

Happy Solstice ...

... from a bunch of little kids (a.k.a. Fairport Convention, circa 1970. Don't you just want to pinch their youthful cheeks?)

"Now Be Thankful"

Musing

I have a love-hate relationship with Garrison Keillor. I suspect that he is something of an egotistical so and so. If he is, he is a brilliant egotistical so and so. His essays always ring true for me. Maybe it's that upper-Midwestern sensibility. This one caught my eye this morning: Eulogy for the Winnebago. Keillor wrote:

So we will need to amuse ourselves in new ways. I predict that banjo sales will pick up. The screened porch will come back in style. And the art of storytelling will burgeon along with it. Stories are common currency in life but only to people on foot. Nobody ever told a story to a clerk at a drive-up window, but you can walk up to the lady at the check-out counter and make small talk and she might tell you, as a woman told me the other day as she rang up my groceries, that she had gotten a puppy that day to replace the old dog who had to be put down a month ago, and right there was a little exchange of humanity. Her willingness to tell me that made her real to me. People who aren't real to each other are dangerous to each other. Stories give us the simple empathy that is the basis of the Golden Rule, which is the basis of civilized society.

I had to laugh. My kids are frequently embarrassed by my habit of chatting with store clerks (as I was by my mom.) 3 years ago we added a screen porch to our house, and it is my favorite place to be. (We had to argue with the project designer to get it. "Are you sure you don't want a sunroom?" right up to the day we were signing off on the final plans.) And right now it's a guitar, but we have a banjo that is going into the repair shop sometime soon. And an accordian, that sits in a corner of the living room calling out, "Suzy, learn how to play me ...." (Ha! We'd be avenged for our two closest neighbors' obnoxiously loud air conditioners!)

While there are many scary things associated with passing peak petroleum, and it's hard to find justification for the gas prices when you know that it is all going to obscene profits for the oil corporation CEOs, beginning to plan for life on a more human scale isn't such a bad thing.

Book Review: Leaving Church

Spring Reading Challenge is coming to an end. I really love reading and talking about books, so I will continue to review books that I am reading here. I'd really like to know what you're reading (as long as it isn't by Jody Piccoult. I'm sorry ... I just cannot stomach her books!)

So this is my most recent offering: Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith by Barbara Brown Taylor. I think -- correct me if I'm wrong -- that I read about this book on Jan's blog. Taylor was an Episcopalian priest for 20 years, first in a large church in Atlanta, and then for a congregation in a small town in north Georgia. In this memoir she examines the spiritual journey that led her first to the church and the priesthood, and ultimately away from it. Her insights are, by turn, funny, wise, and poignant. This is a book I would like to own, so that I can dog ear and underline pertinent passages.

While I don't necessarily relate to the "churchy" parts, the spiritual seeking has been very much a part of my adult life, and I kind of like the journey! The Quakers talk about "finding that of God in everyone." That's actually a pretty lofty and intimidating goal, and I am apt to feel guilty if I, say, epress my extreme dislike for the likes of George Bush or Dick Cheney. But finding the sacred in everyday life, that is something that I aspire to, and this book is an inspiration.

Book Review: Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

Published in 1932, Cold Comfort Farm is a send-up of every melodramatic novel published during Queen Victoria's reign. The protagonist is newly orphaned Flora Poste, a nineteen-year old beauty from London. With no place else to go on her £100 annual allowance, she turns to her distant relations in Sussex, the Starkadders at Cold Comfort Farm. These include cousin Seth, who emanates smoldering raw sexuality, the fey Elfine, cousin Amos, who preaches hellfire and brimstone at the Church of the Quivering Brethren, and the mysterious matriarch of the family, Aunt Ada Doom, who "saw something nasty in the woodshed" at a tender age and has not been the same since.

The language that Gibbons uses is over the top, and then some. Every name of every beast drips with meaning. Every description of every locale contains multiple metaphors and maybe a simile or two, just in case the reader missed the point the first couple of times. The sky is "leaden" and the light is "viscous". The farm "crouched on a hillside" amidst fields "fanged with flints" while the "dawn crept over the Downs like a sinister white animal, followed by the snarling cries of a wind eating its way between the black boughs of the thorns. The wind was the furious voice of this sluggish animal light that was baring the dormers and mullions and scullions of Cold Comfort Farm."

Into this environment comes Flora, intent upon improving each of her relations, one at a time.

This was a very enjoyable read. I recommend it.

Cardinal Babies

Photo taken by Enriched Geranium (or so he claims.)

More Molly

I haven't posted any cute dog pictures in a while (not to mention cute kids; I like the contrast of the black and white checks with the black and white spots.)




Oops -- I forgot to credit the photographers. Photos 1, 3, and 4 were taken by Enriched Geranium. Photo 2 was taken by Sparkly SeaCow.

Riled Up

I have my dander up this morning about school vouchers. It all started with an article that Quaker Dave posted about an ill-conceived safety lesson at a California high school. Dave's post generated a plethora of comments, one from a Quaker gentleman saying in effect that, this illustrates a failure of public schools and perhaps it is time for liberals to get behind school choice and vouchers.

What's so wrong with vouchers? Where do I begin? In any public school, from the wealthiest suburban school to the poorest inner city school you have a range of parents, from those with the resources and wherewithal to advocate for their children and support the school community in general, to those that can't and don't for whatever reason. When vouchers to attend private schools are made available, what happens is that a percentage of those parents who are active in a school community -- no matter what its socio-economic status -- are skimmed off the top leaving all the rest to fend for themselves. Furthermore, when they go, a chunk of money goes with them. Of course this impacts lower income schools far more profoundly than it does wealthier schools, because public school funding is absolutely not equitable.

I'm not flat-out opposed to private schools. As far as I am concerned, anyone can start their own private school for any reason. What I am opposed to and will be opposed to until the end of my days, is people who want state money for their children to attend private schools. That leaves an awful lot of children behind, in a very real sense.

I am fully aware that I am fortunate to live in a place where our public schools -- even the urban ones -- are relatively safe and kids get a good education. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I think the availability of private schools (along with a severe lack of funding for ALL public schools in this country) has contributed to the disarray that many big city public school systems are in. (And as I write this, I am thinking specifically of Philadelphia and Quaker schools. I know that I will make people uncomfortable by saying that, but it is what I believe.)

Remember also, that vouchers that are available for Quaker schools and Waldorf schools and schools modeled on Summerhill, will also have to be available for attending schools that might teach religious fundamentalism, white supremacy, etc. etc. It would be opening a regular Pandora's box.

I don't buy the argument for a minute that "a voucher system is inevitable, so liberals need to get behind it." Is fascism inevitable, so liberals should get behind that too, maybe help create a kinder, gentler form of fascism? No, thanks.

We are living in a time when every form of public works is under assault from all directions. Public schools are no exception. As in all things emanating from the Right, follow the money. There are people who stand to profit mightily from the privatization (i.e. CORPORATIZATION) of public schools. Vouchers are on that spectrum (as are charter schools, which is another concept we liberals are supposed to get behind.)

And think about this: private (and charter) schools do not have hire unionized teachers. Teachers' unions do have their warts, but I'll tell you that teachers' unions are made up of real people, teachers, who are among the best advocates for children in this country.

Okay, let me wipe the froth from my mouth and put away my soapbox. You'd think, reading this, I wasn't on summer vacation!

Can I just weigh in on Tim Russert?

I am sad for his family. It is certainly a devastating loss for them.

But I don't think it is wrong to say that this man, through what frequently passes for journalism these days, aided and abetted the criminal Bush administration whose actions have perpetrated too much death and devastation for too many people around the world.

His family, colleagues, and those who knew him personally will rightfully grieve. It does not mean that we on the left end of the political spectrum have to ignore or whitewash what he's done for the last 7 years, out of some misplaced sense of "respect."

Where do I stand?

Thanks to the lovely and talented FranIAm for posting a link to The Political Compass test. Thanks, without a doubt, to my mom for instilling in me such a deep-seated mistrust of authority and people of wealth that my political compass looks like this:
As I've gotten older, for my own peace of mind, I've begun to see the wisdom of going with the flow and not fighting all the time. For example, at work I've become more of a -gasp - team player. However, this should confirm that there are no worries that I'm crossing over to the Dark Side anytime soon!

Deep Sigh ...

... of relief, that is. School ended for the summer today. It really is bittersweet. I become very attached to my students, and I don't care for the changes that come at the end of the school year: retirements, transfers, good-byes. The flip side is the fact that I love, love, love summer vacation! (What person in their right mind wouldn't?) So I was riding my bike home, singing to myself as I am wont to do, and suddenly I realized that I was singing Alice Cooper's School's Out for Summer. What was my first clue? When I got to the line, "School's been blown to pieces." Of course I don't want that to happen. I am extraordinarily lucky that I love my school so much. I'll be back one more time on Monday to finish cleaning up my room, then I kick into summer mode. Although this year it will be different, because in 2 weeks I start student teaching in a library in a nearby school district every morning. That means that in a scant 6 weeks I will be able to be certified as a school library media specialist. How cool is that? Pretty cool. It's only taken me 7 years! Not looking for a different job yet, however.

Happy Anniversary to Us!

Well, you know what they say: The couple who snogs together blogs together. Or something like that. 21 years and still going strong. Luminiferous Ether + Enriched Geranium 4 Ever!

I was just remembering that another blogging friend -- Crayons -- helped make the music for our wedding. I believe she was part of a recorder quartet (consisting of my dad, brother, Crayons and another friend) and they played "Brightly Dawns Our Wedding Day" from Gilbert & Sullivan's The Mikado. Am I right?

We had a Gumby piñata, courtesy of another brother. And a guest with a seeing eye dog. (We didn't ask him to try to hit the piñata.)

It was a good day.

Lost Madison

My beloved spouse, who goes by the blog name Enriched Geranium, had a recent post that got me to thinking about cool buildings that once stood in our fair city but came up against the wrecking ball, mainly because of greed and stupidity (and don't those two always go hand in hand?) He was listing venues where his old band, the Appliances SFB, used to play. One of those was Turner Hall, a downtown monument and beautiful building, that was torn down, yes, to put up a parking lot. I loved Turner Hall. It had a divey little bar in the basement, The Wagon Wheel, and the main hall hosted not only many local bands, but also Cycropia, an aerial dance troupe that uses trapezes in their choreography. I saw an amazing performance there where we sat on the floor and the dancers flew over our heads.

Our public library puts up an annual exhibit of photos called "Lost Madison." I find it quite depressing, actually. The one that really gets to me is a house called "Mapleside." It was a beautiful limestone house that stood on a main thoroughfare, and was built by the first white settlers to farm in this county. In 1970, despite tremendous public outcry, Mapleside was razed to make way for (pardon my language, I don't usually swear in print) a fucking Burger King. I was 11 when it happened, and I remember it very well. In fact, I've boycotted Burger King for most of my life because of that travesty.


According to my friend the historical preservationist -- I'll call her "Beth" -- Mapleside became the poster child for historic preservation in the entire country. Its demise sparked the movement to try to preserve many old buildings nationwide. Unfortunately, what often seems to happen now is, developers are required to survey the property, but ultimately many buildings are still destroyed in the name of progre$$.

Right now our city seems to be undergoing a massive transformation. What I consider to be the landscape of my childhood is being changed to something unrecognizable. I have no idea where developers are getting their money, because there certainly doesn't seem to be any around for things like schools, for instance. The university is one of the worst offenders, and I know who's paying for that, given the absurd annual tuition increases. What a bunch of money grubbers!

Can you believe the city tore down this boathouse, designed by a young Frank Lloyd Wright?
And then, years later, out of guilt, we got this "Wright-inspired" convention center shoved down our throats:

Sigh. Sometimes I feel like such an old curmudgeon, but it sure seems as if humans are about the stupidest critters around.

Another book review? Surely it can't be true.

Yes, it is. And don't call me Shirley.

I read The Country of the Pointed Firs and Other Stories by Sarah Orne Jewett. As I read this novel, I was reminded of nothing so much as Garrison Keillor's Lake Woebegone. Jewett created a fictional town on the coast of Maine -- Dunnett Landing -- and peopled it with colorful and endearing characters. The narrator is an outsider, a writer from Boston who is spending a summer in Dunnett Landing. She boards with the widow Almira Todd, the local healer/herbalist and acknowledged repository of local history, and quickly falls in love with the place. Through her eyes we meet Mrs. Todd's elderly mother Mrs. Blackwell, who lives on an island with her middle-aged, unmarried son William, Captain Littlepage, Mr. Elijah Tilley, Esther Hight the shepherdess, and a bevy of others.

What is amazing is that, although The Country of the Pointed Firs was first published in 1896, there is nothing stilted or old fashioned about the writing. The language takes a little bit of getting used to, because the dialogue is written in regional dialect, but after that it is fresh, engaging, and gently humorous.

It is notable that the humor does not come from the locals being backwards or ignorant. In fact, Jewett makes a point of saying that the residents of Dunnett Landing had, by and large, been in the shipping trade and traveled with their families all over the world. They were educated, worldly, and open-minded.

I loved this book! The edition I have, the Norton edition reissued in 1981, has the added bonus of lovely pen and ink illustrations. It really was a completely delightful reading experience.

(I know a couple who both loved this book so much that when they moved in together neither one could bear to part with her copy, so the two books sit side by side on their book shelf.)

(Cross-posted at the Spring Reading Challenge.)

Dennis is still my man.

This arrived in my email inbox this evening, reminding me who the real peace candidate always was and still is. I don't have cable teevee, or I would be watching it.

Casualties of Bush's War

About 2 weeks ago a MedFlight helicopter from a local hospital here, crashed on its way back from delivering a patient to another city. The three people on board -- the pilot, a doctor, and a nurse -- were all killed in the accident. It was the first time in 20 some years of MedFlight services here that there has been an accident like that.

Well, accidents are accidents and statistically bound to happen, but in today's paper there was this article. Apparently the National Safety Transportation Board recommends that all pilots of medical flights use night vision goggles, but guess what? They are unable to get them from the manufacturers because the Pentagon has first dibs on them. They're needed much more in Iraq than they are here. Does the travesty never end?

Shameless Promotion of a Loved One

Hey, you! Yeah, that's right ... you! The wonderful reader of my blog. My dear spousal unit, a.k.a. Enriched Geranium, has a new album out. Well, actually it's an old album from the eighties -- remember the eighties? -- that has been released on cd for the first time. The Appliances-SFB were a rocking band. Heck, even this dyed-in-the-wool folkie liked them. Liked them? I loved them! They were ahead of their time. If you like rock 'n' roll, I urge you to get a hold of this album (and you can find out where at Enriched Geranium's blog.) You won't be disappointed.

Food for People, Food for Thought

Two articles caught my eye tonight, and I think they have some ideas in common. The first is about the possible demise of the world's honeybees. I've written about it before and it is one of those things that simply scares the living daylights out of me, until I start thinking about food production on a smaller, more human, scale. Read it here, and feel free to let me know what you think in the comments. When I read about "beekeepers" who load millions of bees into semis and drive them across the country, well, that's hardly food production on a human scale, and it is really about the corporatization of our food supply. Furthermore, it seems as if the California almond growers, as well as the big-time "beekeepers", are less concerned with finding answers to the long-term questions than they are with maximizing their profits in the short-term, the future be damned.

The other article is about small family gardens in Lesotho, as one small scale solution to the food crisis (which, by the way, I believe is largely manufactured and highly profitable for that small percentage of the Earth's citizens who always profit off the misery of the many.) Anyway, reading it was a balm for my soul tonight.

I was delighted over the weekend to find a small patch of ground in my postage stamp of a yard where tomatoes can grow. After work today I went to our Tuesday Farmers' Market and bought 4 tomato plants, 3 of them heirloom varieties, which will be going in soon. There is little as empowering as growing your own food. (Warning to Mr. Ether: This year it's tomatoes. Next year, chickens! Can backyard sheep be far behind? I hear there is a growing market for sheeps' milk cheese ...)

Thoughts

Our Meeting is taking a much needed look at how we include children (and thus their families) in the life of the Meeting. What looks like, on the surface, a discussion about First Day school (known as "Sunday School" outside of Friends' meetings) is really about the overarching question: What kind of community do we want to be? (This month's Friends' Journal has a wonderful article by Tom Hoopes addressing this issue.)

Yesterday we held the first meeting in what I hope will grow into an ongoing discussion about our Meeting community -- interspersed with parties, potlucks, etc. (My motto is Fewer meetings, more parties.) Out of the worship that preceded the discussion came this piece of wisdom, which I cherish: The speaker talked about tolerance and what a half-hearted kind of notion that is. We say "tolerance" when perhaps we really want to act out of love, the kind of love that meets people where they are and embraces them as they are.

I held on to the thought when I went to school today. Frequently my best resolutions to "tolerate" the kid who simply drives me crazy fly out the window as soon as the kid enters the room. Today I made a conscious decision to love each one of those children in my care. The funny thing was, I didn't tolerate obnoxious behavior. There were redirections aplenty, a time out or two, and one child even was removed for a time for some particularly outrageous behavior. However, I tried to carry out each and every action in a spirit of loving kindness, and it really was a lovely day.

We are in the final two weeks of school, the clock is ticking, and everyone knows it. The end of a school year is always bittersweet for me, as I suspect that it is for some of my students. It is also extremely stressful, filled with a multitude of tasks that are supposed to have been done yesterday. And me, the great non-planner! I must have been a little tired this afternoon. I came home and went out in the yard to water new plants that I put in the ground yesterday. I was watering away, and it took me several minutes to become aware that I was watering a lawn ornament! Oops. No way that thing is going to grow!

Still Reading

Anya Seton was the daughter of Boy Scouts founder Ernest Thompson Seton, and a bestselling author in her own right. She published 14 novels, mostly historical fiction featuring strong female protagonists. I went through a heavy duty Anya Seton phase in my late teens. I think it was her books that gave me an appetite for historical fiction and history in general. For many years I have been somewhat embarrassed about my love affair with Seton's novels, which are unabashedly romantic. When I found The Winthrop Woman at St. Vinnie's for $1.00 I bought it more for nostalgic reasons than anything else. I expected that rereading it as a slightly more mature adult, I wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as I had so many years ago. Boy, was I wrong!

First of all, Anya Seton is an excellent writer. I find that the best plot in the world won't hold my interest if the writing is clumsy, but her writing flows very naturally through narrative and dialogue. In addition, she was reputed to be a meticulous historical researcher who strove for authenticity in all details of her novels.

The Winthrop Woman tells the story of Elizabeth Fones, niece (and later daughter-in-law) of the Puritan John Winthrop, first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. From early childhood on, Elizabeth was feisty and independent. A childhood act of rebellion that led to a beating at her uncle's hand led her to a lifelong questioning of the existence of God. Her absolute refusal to acquiesce to the religious beliefs of her Puritan family was a thorn in Governor Winthrop's side (his extensive papers contain numerous references to his rebellious niece) and caused Elizabeth a great deal of hardship throughout her life.

By all accounts, Elizabeth was an extraordinary woman for her time. She was widowed at age 21, divorced her second husband after coping with his increasing madness for many years, and married for a third time at the ripe old age of 36. She was a landowner, at one time owning the largest tract of land in what was to become Connecticut. She befriended Ann Hutchinson, the religious rebel who was banished from Massachusetts for her teachings. She incurred the wrath of the British colonies when she allied herself with the Dutch, and later found herself caught in the political crossfire between the two. She also appeared to be in sympathy with the Indian nations, which were quickly being vanquished and eradicated.

Of special interest to me is the possibility that Elizabeth may have been a Quaker. In a comment about this book at the Powell's website, one reader identified himself as a descendant of Elizabeth and claimed that she was a founder of the first Quaker meeting on Long Island. In Seton's book, she describes a mystical experience close to the end of Elizabeth's life that struck me as particularly Quakerly. Moreover she describes a visit from a "Baptist" who attributed his spiritual awakening to hearing George Fox (the founder of the Religious Society of Friends.)

This book may be 50 years old, but the language and sensibility is as fresh as most modern writing. A word about the romance: have no fear, there are neither heaving bosoms nor throbbing members. It is tasteful without being prudish.

Highly recommended if you enjoy historical fiction.

(By the way, is anyone else bothered by this trend of decapitating women on the covers of recently published historical fiction? If you don't know what I mean, go to your local bookstore and check out the novels of, for instance, Philippa Gregory. What gives?)