Robber Barons

I almost can't post this because I find it so discouraging. But it's so important, it should be seen. This is from the incomparable investigative journalist Greg Palast, about the forced bankruptcy of GM.

Screw the autoworkers.
They may be crying about General Motors' bankruptcy today. But dumping 40,000 of the last 60,000 union jobs into a mass grave won't spoil Jamie Dimon's day.

Dimon is the CEO of JP Morgan Chase bank. While GM workers are losing their retirement health benefits, their jobs, their life savings; while shareholders are getting zilch and many creditors getting hosed, a few privileged GM lenders – led by Morgan and Citibank – expect to get back 100% of their loans to GM, a stunning $6 billion.

The way these banks are getting their $6 billion bonanza is stone cold illegal.

I smell a rat. (Read the rest ...)

I had few illusions about Barack Obama as president. I knew he wasn't progressive and had some tense moments with friends when I wouldn't just jump on the bandwagon. I hoped he would give me a respite from worry and fear, and it didn't take long to see how illusory that was as well. Steve Earle was right when he said that whoever got elected, the real work would begin on January 20, 2009. I feel so worn down after 8 years of BushCo, yet there is indeed work to be done.

This story stinks to high heaven.

Notta Book Review

Summer vacation is coming (June 12 -- YAY!!!!!!!!!!) and with it, lazy days of reading on the back porch punctuated by afternoon naps. In preparation I have put a number of books on hold at the library. Just to update my interested bookaphile readers (all 6 of you!) here is my current reading: I have taken a break from Queen Bees and Wannabes, Silk Road, and The Woman Behind the New Deal: The Life of Frances Perkins. They just weren't grabbing me, if you know what I mean.

Now I am reading In A Dark Wood Wandering: A Novel of the Middle Ages, first published in Europe in 1949, and translated from the Dutch. I picked it up on a whim at the public library friends' shop It's a tome -- 574 pages of dense print -- but so far, so good. I'm finding it to be very engaging.

Next up: Daniel Pinkwater's The Neddiad: How Neddie Took the Train, Went To Hollywood, and Saved Civilization. Followed by The Iggyssey, also by Pinkwater. He is an author I frequently forget about, but I am always delighted by his writing. We used to torment our childless friends -- the ones who were scared of our children back when we were all younger and I hadn't yet become a hermit -- by forcing them to read Pinkwater's picture book The Wuggie Norple Story aloud. (Our youngest daughter, however, gave us our just desserts by insisting that we read it every night and change all of the characters' names to people she knew. Reading it became an ordeal of her barking out corrections at us: "NO, not Wuggie Norple. Petey!" Oh, how I miss those days now.)

Anyway, stay tuned for further book reviews.

I'd move to the Netherlands if it weren't so darned flat!

I read this wonderful bit of news on Boing Boing. Now, this is the kind of unemployment problem our country should have!

For your enjoyment ...

In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan snuck into John Lennon's hotel room in Toronto and convinced him to do an interview. 38 years later, Levitan, director Josh Raskin and illustrator James Braithwaite have collaborated to create an animated short film using the original interview recording as the soundtrack. A spellbinding vessel for Lennon's boundless wit and timeless message, I Met the Walrus was nominated for the 2008 Academy Award for Animated Short.



(Hat tip to TR for sending this my way. I love it!)

Violence Against Women

As I write this there is an ongoing manhunt in our city for a man who shot and killed his wife 2 days ago, the day their divorce became final. As it turns out, the suspect is "Fokky Weber" the very same bully who used to beat up my husband when they were kids. Mr. Ether says that one time he got sick of being hit over and over by said bully, and slugged him, making him cry. It didn't stop him though. Apparently he once mugged my brother-in-law, shaking him down for a nickel. Brian ran home and told his parents, who called the police. The police came and said, "He comes from a bad home, there's really nothing we can do." And the events of this week are the culmination of all those years of thuggery.

Where I'm going with all this is that the new issue of The Nation (which I read at the dentist's office) has an excellent column by Katha Pollitt, "Unnatural Born Killer":

We are so used to violence against women we don't even notice how used to it we are. [my italics] When we're not persuading ourselves that women are just as violent toward men as vice versa if you forget about who ends up seriously injured or dead, or pointing out that most murders are of men by men, we persuade ourselves that violence against women just comes up out of nowhere. Murder is serious, especially if the victim is young, white, middle-class, pretty; harassment, abuse, domestic violence, even rape, not so much. After all, as I'm writing, I read that Houston, taking a leaf from Sarah Palin's Wasilla, is requiring rape victims to pay for the processing of their rape kits. Los Angeles has a backlog of 12,669 unprocessed rape kits, some so old the crimes have exceeded the statute of limitations. It's controversial to even use terms like "misogyny" and "male privilege" to explain the prevalence of these crimes and the shameful inadequacy of our social and legal response to them. And if you really want to be branded a square and a prude, try talking about the hatred and contempt for, and objectification of, women that permeates pop culture.

We have an awfully long way to go as a culture. Food for thought.

Dental Work

I went to the dentist today ... first time in a long time. Even with insurance we have a pretty big outstanding debt from some crowns, and that puts a damper on things like preventive health care. I finally went however, and I need some work done -- no surprises there. But my dentist is cool*. For example, how many dentists' offices have The Nation as office reading material? How many dentists are former Union steamfitters? So I'll be going back in a few weeks to rack up some more debt. What the hell?

*Other cool facts about my dentist:

• He does free dental work for people who cannot afford it, such as homeless men.
• He junk-picks bicycles from off the curb and fixes them up.
• His office is decorated with his wife's artwork, not the usual dental office schlock.
• He plays good music.

Woo Hoo!

A statewide smoking ban (in all workplaces including restaurants and bars, but not cigar bars, obviously) will be signed into law on Monday! Madison has had one for the last several years, and as the spouse of a working musician I can't tell you what a difference it has made. I am happy to see this go through.

The Merry Merry Month of May

Regretfully, I missed our local annual May Day celebration this year. It happens on May 1st at dawn. The Morris dancers, the Pagans, and other people who are in the know all converge at the end of Picnic Point to ... um, er ... erect a Maypole, dance, sing, leap over a bonfire and other fertility rites, and welcome summer. I love going to it, but it's so darned difficult to get up even earlier than usual, drive across town, then drive across town again to get to work by 7:30 a.m. (not to mention having to explain why I smell like a campfire!)

May is my favorite month, and May Day is one of my favorite holidays of the year. So I bring you The Watersons singing Hal-an-Tow:



And here is the genuine article, filmed in May 2008, in Helston, Cornwall. Someday I'm going to go there.



If British folk traditions are your cup of tea (ha ha, cultural reference intended) you should most definitely read the book In Search of Albion by Colin Irwin.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Following My Muse

I just got home from my bi-weekly guitar lesson. More and more I am finding that I look forward to these lessons. What I mean by that is, that although I have been enjoying learning to play, I often feel a sense of shame around lessons: I haven't practiced enough, I'm going to make a fool of myself, and so on and so forth. However, my new teacher is so encouraging and the music that she is giving me to learn is exactly what I want to be learning. It is a very good fit.

As I was driving to my lesson today I was musing about me and the guitar, and I realized that when I'm playing -- when I get into what Mr. Ether calls "the zone" -- it really is playing in the truest childhood sense of the word. When I can let go of my inhibitions, and quit feeling like I'm channeling the Eugene Levy/Catherine O'Hara duo from A Mighty Wind, I feel so happy.

The late, great educator John Holt addressed that in a book he wrote about learning to play the cello as an older adult, Never Too Late. It's been a few years since I read it, but if I remember correctly, he wondered if we set up psychological barriers when we talk about "practicing" an instrument, and would it be different if it was just referred to as "playing." I haven't thought about that for a long time, but I suspect he was onto something.

That's it for now. I have to go and play my guitar.

Book review: Monique and the Mango Rains by Kris Holloway

Monique and the Mango Rains: Two Years with a Midwife in Mali chronicles Kris Holloway's two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali, Africa and also tells the story of a remarkable young woman, Monique Dembele.

Kris Holloway was 21 years old and just out of college when she was assigned to the village of Nampossela, Mali. Her host in the village was 25-year old Monique Dembele, the midwife and general health care provider for the area. Monique had been born in the nearby city of Koutiala, and as is traditional, came to her husband's village to live after her marriage. Because she was fluent in French as well as the local language, she was selected by the village leaders to receive training as a health care worker. This work became Monique's passion.

One of the things that really struck me about Monique Dembele was that, although she had very little formal education and was relatively isolated from many of the ideas that women growing up in the Western world take for granted, she had an amazing feminist sensibility about her. To me it is the essence of feminism to be concerned about what's best for women and children. Monique knew from her health work that multiple successive pregnancies were often deadly for women, as was too-early weaning of babies, so she worked to make birth control pills available in her village.

Another example of this (and a very touching part of the book) was when Kris became aware of and was shocked by the Malian practice of female circumcision. Monique was equally shocked by the revelation that it was not universal practice, that women in the United States are not cut, and can actually enjoy sexual intercourse as much as men. This set Monique on the road of thinking about her younger, pre-pubescent sister, as well as her young daughter.

Over the two years that Kris lived in Nampossela and worked with Monique, the two women became fast friends, a friendship that endured after Kris returned to the United States. Monique visited the United States for a month in 1993. The two women corresponded, sharing their joys and sorrows. More than anything else, this book is a beautiful tribute to a friendship.

Holloway wrote the book after Monique's tragic death in childbirth with her fifth child. (This is not a spoiler. It is included in the book's introduction.) Kris returned to Mali in 1999 to try to understand her friend's death and to advocate for the education of Monique's three living children. The proceeds from Monique and the Mango Rains are directly benefiting her children, as well as helping to fund Clinique Monique outside of Nampossela, a medical clinic founded and run by Monique's cousin. Monique's younger sister Angelé followed in her sister's footsteps by becoming a midwife, and works at the clinic.

I highly recommend this book.

Definitely Beautiful

I posted a couple of things about work on Facebook, which elicited a chat with my friend Dave in Ottawa. (I have lots of friends named Dave, by the way.) He gave me some nice strokes -- just the sort of thing a teacher needs to hear on a Friday afternoon -- and sent me the link to this video of poet Taylor Mali. It made me cry.

You're A Swine!

In honor of "Snoutbreak '09"

Maybe You Can Help Me

I would like very much to acquire a copy of this book
but I do not wish to spend upwards of $75.00 on it. If you should ever run across it at a thrift store or yard sale, would you be so kind as to purchase it for me? Or if you happen to have it sitting in your book case ... (hint, hint. I'm not naming names, but you know who you are. I'll give you a small amount of cash and a signed note that I will never again dis' J.K.Rowling in public. I promise!)

Lunatic Fringe

In a WaPo article today, headlined Gun Owners Attack Rush Limbaugh (no comment; I try to walk the path of nonviolence) I read that a number of national sport-hunting organizations are upset with that flaming liberal Mr. Limbaugh for doing public service announcements for the extreme fringe group The Humane Society of the United States, helping them "mainstream their image."

The Post reports:

Rush Limbaugh's new pet project -- fighting animal cruelty for the Humane Society of the United States -- is riling sportsmen from coast to coast, prompting fears that the talkster typically supportive of gun rights is aiding a group they say has a secret agenda to end all hunting in America.

Twenty-eight groups representing millions of hunters and sportsmen are demanding that the conservative radio commentator end his collaboration with the HSUS and stop "helping them to mainstream their image in the minds of reasonable people."

I have a few questions here. What the hell is a "talkster", as in "talkster backs animal group"? You mean he's not a mean-spirited, treacherous, oxycontin-using, bigoted, chicken hawk anymore? He's traded all that for the kinder, gentler handle of "talkster" -- one who likes fluffy kitties, no less? Why in the world would the HSUS want Rush to be a spokesperson? Does he even know that he is a spokesperson? The interview with Faux News' Greta Von-whatever her name is would suggest not.

This is just absurd! I didn't think I was going to get to use this tag again, but ... Jesus I'm sick of these people!

Book Review: Men At Arms by Terry Pratchett

My name is Suzy and, friends, I have an addiction to the writing of Terry Pratchett. It is not necessarily a harmful addiction by standard definitions. I still go to work, stay clean and sober, and feed my family. However, it does set the bar ridiculously high for literary quality. In short, because of Terry Pratchett I can no longer read just anything. His books are that good. In fact, there is a book -- currently out of print and stupidly expensive so I have not read it -- called Guilty of Literature. It's a collection of essays by other authors (A.S. Byatt, for one) about Pratchett's writing.

Men At Arms is the second book about the Watch, the police force of the ancient city of Ankh-Morpork. When the story opens, the Watch -- a typical old boys' club -- is struggling to integrate some new affirmative action recruits: a dwarf, a troll, and a w-. Captain Samuel Vimes, a 25-year Watch veteran, is retiring in 24 hours when he marries Lady Sybil Ramkin and becomes a part of Ankh-Morpork's society elite. Corporal Carrot ( a dwarf by adoption), Sergeant Fred Colon, and Corporal Nobby Nobbs round out the core group of Watchmen.

In the midst of this internal upheaval, a series of murders rocks the city of Ankh-Morpork. A murder in Ankh-Morpork is nothing unusual, but these murders appear to have been committed with a one-of-a-kind weapon invented by the genius Leonard of Quirm, and believed to have been destroyed by the Assassin's Guild: Ennog Eht. (Leonard of Quirm preferred to write in mirror writing.) Worse yet, Ankh-Morpork's patrician, Lord Vetinari -- a former assassin himself -- has ordered Vimes not to investigate.

Men At Arms is an excellent example of the brilliance of Pratchett's writing. He combines explicit and relevant social commentary with great stories, memorable characters, and exquisitely bad puns. Dear [blog] readers, there is a reason that Pratchett became Sir Terry Pratchett last year and is the second most popular fantasy writer in Britain. (OK, that one's easy: It's because J.K. Rowling had a lot of money backing her.) Maybe his writing isn't for everyone, but if you enjoy a good book -- I mean a really well-written book -- and you like to be made to think and laugh, then for Pete's sake, don't make me say it again: Read Terry Pratchett!!

The Watch series begins with the book Guards, Guards, then Men At Arms, Feet of Clay, Jingo, The Fifth Elephant, Nightwatch, and Thud!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Ether!

Here's the cake I wish I could make for you. I love you! (Go wish him a happy birthday yourself, over at his blog, Enriched Geranium.)

Blogger Meet-Up

Tweetey and her lovely daughters in Green Bay, Easter weekend. It's fun to put real faces with the words people write.

My Trusty Steed

I had an unsettling experience this morning. When I went to the garage to get my bike for the (ridiculously short) commute to work, I immediately knew that something was not right. We're pretty loosey-goosey about our garage, which mostly seems to be a haven for the neighbor's cat, squirrels, and once, a skunk ... but things didn't look right. My first thought was for Mr. Ether's bike, a nice vintage Trek and by far the most valuable. It was there, all the bikes were there, but his bike and mine were kind of tipped over. My bike had a big old grafitti sticker stuck to the seat that hadn't been there before, and when I went to ride it, the seat was tipped up at an awkward angle.

Furthermore, in a burst of common sense Mr. Ether had closed the garage door when we left on our little vacation last week, but when we returned he found the garage door open and Sparkly Seacow's bike in the driveway. He didn't make much of it, until my discovery today.

It looks as if someone came and took our bikes out for a spin and then returned them. How strange is that? I'm grateful that they were only borrowed, not stolen, but I still feel somewhat violated. I guess the lesson is to lock up our bikes, even in the garage, and keep the door closed.

Odd, very odd.

Book Review: The Wet Engine

A few years ago my brother sent me this sweet little book, The Wet Engine: Exploring the Mad Wild Miracle of the Heart, by Brian Doyle. First, a few words about my brother Paul. He's an extremely funny and smart guy, wielding sarcasm and cynicism like a finely honed rapier. In our house there is an oft-repeated quote of his that has become something of a mantra for Sparkly Seacow: "Sarcasm in a child is an ugly thing", delivered dripping with sarcasm of course. Anyway, underneath Paul's oh so tough exterior is (and always has been) an incredible well of compassion for all sentient beings and for the natural environment. (However he doesn't suffer human fools gladly.) In short, he's a marshmallow.

Anyway, receiving this little gem of a book meant a great deal to me. Paul dropped everything and flew across the country to stay with me when our daughter Sophie died. He has been consistently attuned to my loss, and the gift of The Wet Engine was one more example of this.

Brian Doyle had twin sons. One was born healthy and whole, while the other one, Liam, had just three chambers in his heart and underwent two open heart surgeries as an infant to make his heart functional. This experience inspired Doyle to write an ode to this very essential organ, to all that it means to the human psyche, and to the doctors that saved his son and thousands of other children every year. Doyle's prose reads like poetry, by turns poignant, informative, and funny.

I've read it twice now. I will admit, it was a bittersweet read for me. Liam survived, in all likelihood will live into adulthood, and grow to be an old man. My daughter did not. But Doyle's purpose in this book isn't to celebrate a victory at the expense of all the other children who die of congenital heart defects. In fact, this book is so loving, sometimes I felt as if he was speaking directly to me and my bereavement. I often think that Sophie's death -- whatever situation led to her death -- resulted in new learning that saved the lives of many babies who came after her. Perhaps even Liam's life.

Doyle deftly interweaves his memoir with facts about the heart, some startling and some sobering. Here is a passage:

In America these days one woman dies every minute of every day from a failed heart. More women die of failed hearts than men. Failed hearts kill more women and men than the next seven causes of death combined. The highest rate of death by failed heart is in Utah. The lowest rate is in Mississippi. More than four hundred babies are born every day with flawed hearts. Eight of every thousand babies are born with flawed hearts. One percent of all babies born all over the world are born with flawed hearts. Twenty percent of all babies born with flawed hearts will die before their first birthday.

The Wet Engine is a quick read, though you might want to savor it. It's a lovely book. Highly recommended.

(Just a personal note for anyone who knows my family -- or is my family -- and is reading this. The warm embrace of family and friends, the way that Sophie has been integrated into everyone's lives even though she is not physically present, fills me with love and awe. You are amazing.)

Go, Vermont!

(From Think Progress this morning)

Yesterday, Vermont Gov. Jim Douglas (R) vetoed a bill legalizing gay marriage that passed the state legislature last week. Now the legislature has voted to override Douglas’ veto: The Senate voted 23-5 in favor of the override, and the House voted 100-49. Vermont joins Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Iowa as the only states where gay marriage is legal, and Vermont is the first state to approve gay marriage through the legislature.

Memorium

When I said "a world full of tragic news" I was thinking globally/nationally. I just found out that my former principal took his life yesterday. I am sick at heart. I worked with him for only one year but he restored my faith in teaching, in leadership, after a few years at the hands of an insane and vindictive principal. He resigned after just one year, saying that he couldn't be the kind of educator he wanted to be in the top-down, mandates-driven climate of our school district. I know that many people were angry at him for that. I was sad when he resigned, but I understood. When I talked to him privately later he told me he knew that I, more than anyone else, would get it.

I do not believe that there is ever a situation in which taking one's life is a solution. My heart goes out to him, for the pain he must have been in, as well as to his wife and children. Dan, I hope you have found peace.

"Personally, I'd pay good money to live somewhere called Treacle Mine Road."

Wow! In a world that's filled with some pretty tragic news this week, this is the best news I've read in a long time!

If you go down to Wincanton in Somerset today you can wander down Peace Pie Street and Treacle Mine Road, named after Sir Terry Pratchett's fantasy series Discworld.

Pratchett visited the town today to unveil the road names at a new housing estate, and was greeted by hundreds of fans – many dressed in costume.

Wincanton was twinned with the city of Ankh-Morpork from the novels in 2002, becoming the first UK town to link with a fictional place.

The builder of the Kingwell Rise development, George Wimpey, asked locals to vote for their favourite road name from a shortlist of 14 suggested by Pratchett.

Pratchett said: "I think it's a lovely idea, even though it makes my head spin to think of the books becoming a little closer to reality.

"And they are nice names, even though I say it myself.

"Personally, I'd pay good money to live somewhere called Treacle Mine Road."

So would I. 3 cheers for the citizens of Wincanton!

Another Day, Another Book Review, Another Book By Jon Katz

As you have probably surmised if you are one of the dozen or so people who humor me by reading my blog (even though my blog reading has dropped off considerably for the nonce -- I'm sorry ...) I'm on a bit of a Jon Katz jag right now. I've been a rather joyless reader this year. There has been very little that has inspired me. I've started a number of books, lost patience with them, and simply quit reading them. Others I've read all the way through, only to close them with a hmm. In short, it's been a dry season. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed Katz's first couple of books about his dogs, and decided to catch up with what he's doing now.

A Good Dog just about broke my heart -- perfect! I welcome a genuine good cry. Reading out of chronological order, I jumped to Izzy and Lenore: Two Dogs, an Unexpected Journey, and Me. Izzy is a purebred border collie, another rescue dog. Initially unwilling to go there again after his experiences with the rescued border collie Orson, Jon -- I've read so many of his books now, that I feel we can be on a first name basis -- Jon realizes that perhaps he has been given a second chance to get it right with Izzy, and decides to keep him. Lenore is a black lab puppy that Jon buys from a breeder.

One of the things I really love about these books is that, although they are funny, moving, and even sentimental, there is little that is syrupy, dewy-eyed, or manipulative about them. Jon simply loves his dogs (and a handful of other animals) and through them, as well as his writing and Bedlam Farm, he is trying to make sense of his life. So in a sense, he is just chronicling his muddling through, and as an experienced muddler myself, it resonates deeply.

The "unexpected journey" refers to Jon and Izzy's work as trained Hospice volunteers. The chapters where he describes Izzy's (and his own) interactions with dying people and their families are beautiful. It may also refer to Jon's struggle with a particularly deep depression that winter, about which he writes movingly and candidly.

I find these books to be very spiritual, and I was surprised and pleased to find out near the end of Izzy and Lenore that Jon is a Quaker. He doesn't claim to have any answers to anything really -- not dog training, not farming, not faith nor love -- and it is precisely that not knowing that makes me want to keep reading his work.

Did I say "keep reading"? Oh yeah, I am nearly finished reading Dog Days: Dispatches From Bedlam Farm, the book that actually precedes Izzy and Lenore. I understand there is a new book coming out this summer, one that spotlights Rose, his workhorse border collie. I'm looking forward to it.

National Poetry Month Begins ...

I do not consider myself a poet. I'm too self-conscious to write quite so intimately. However, our family enjoys making up classical haiku, mainly about our cats Feather and Daisy. Here are a few that were written on the whiteboard on our fridge for about 2 years. I'm not sure which family member wrote which poem. Mr. Ether will probably set me straight.

Daisy sits atop
the dirty kitchen linens.
Does she need a wash?

The mighty huntress
lies in wait for the ambush.
Brrt! Into the tub.
(This one commemorates Daisy's habit of hanging out in the bathroom at the top of the stairs and hopping into the tub with a kitty chirp when you come up the stairs. Weirdo.)

Stealthily she creeps
stalking the wild shoelaces.
Oopsies! Claws got stuck.

Sleek, silky, black fur.
Relentlessly she meows,
"Throw the damned pom-pom!"

The cat wants downstairs.
Loving the chase, the dog waits.
Ow! Bloody shoulders.

Is this what I get for imagining retirement this morning?

click on image to embiggen it

This came in the mail today -- an invitation to join the AARP. Only $15 for the privilege to join! I'm 5 months shy of turning 50. I'll be lucky if I can retire when I'm 65 (but by the same token, I feel very fortunate to have a job that I love right now, and will be honored to keep at it for a few years more -- with a strong union and a decent contract. of course.)

If I'm being solicited by the AARP, can my subscription to Modern Maturity be far behind?

Book Review: A Good Dog by Jon Katz

There are so many dog books around, and they are all funny and heartwarming and wise and ... and ... and ... it almost seems as if you've read one, you've read them all. In fact, I usually don't read them, because they become so ... formulaic (and manipulative) after a while. A few years ago, however, I was moved to check Katz's A Dog Year out from the library. It told the story of how Katz, a middle aged writer who was prone to owning Buddha-like labrador retrievers, acquired a troubled border collie named Devon -- whom he dubbed "the Hell dog." I read it, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

In this book Devon is back, although he has been renamed Orson (and Katz explains why this is so early on in the book.) The full title of the book is A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life. As I began reading it, I got the sense that Katz felt the first book had not done justice to Orson's story and what the dog meant to him, so he decided to tell it again. Yeah, it's a dog story and there are parts where he describes Orson's antics that are laugh-out-loud funny, as well as parts that moved me to tears. It's more than a dog story, though. It's also a rooster, sheep, and donkey story, and a people story. I found it very spiritual -- about faith, hope, and love, the ties that bind. Schlocky-sounding, I know. But there you have it.

The bottom line is, if you love dogs, you will most likely enjoy this book. If you like a good writer -- which Katz most definitely is -- you will probably enjoy this book. If you've ever dreamed about moving to the country you might enjoy this book.

Here is some of the highest praise I can bestow on a book: I plan to purchase A Good Dog. I don't buy too many books these days , and have to really love something to want to own it. Jon Katz also has a nice website, as I mentioned in the previous post, and he's becoming a damned good photographer too. Enjoy.

(Notice in the sidebar that I am now reading his most recent book Izzy and Lenore: Two Dogs, an Unexpected Journey, and Me. Stay tuned for the next review.)

One More Thing Before I Get Off This Infernal Machine

You might notice that I have posted a new book in my "currently reading" space on the sidebar, A Good Dog. I am a big fan of Jon Katz's work. He doesn't just write dog stories that are cute and heartwarming (although at times they are.) I look at his writing as much more of a road map for living. Anyway, I discovered his Bedlam Farm website, and contained within that, a lovely journal called Live Your Life. Check it out, if you've a mind to. He is a very good writer.

Highlighting a Recent Favorite Blog

My blogging has lessened recently. Blame it on being busy, blame it on being weary, or blame it on Facebook. I don't know. But my friend Dan writes a blog -- Fatherhood in 3 Easy Lessons -- that I think is really delightful. Check it out.

Another Birthday

Sophie Olivia Grindrod-Feeny, March 21-31, 1994

All of these photos were taken within the first hour after her birth. We had no idea that she had a heart problem until she was one week old. It was a blessed week, just enjoying our beautiful new daughter/sister. It's very hard to believe that she would be 15 today. I miss her.

Happy Birthday!

My firstborn turned 20 today. That blows my mind just a little. It doesn't seem like very long ago that she looked like this picture. I clearly remember singing the lovely Malvina Reynolds song Turn Around, and crying because my baby was going to grow up someday. Happy Birthday, Anna! You and your sisters are the best thing that ever happened to me! (And you can thank me for not publishing any of the naked photos ...)

Concert Review: Joan Baez

I went to hear/see Joan Baez on Saturday night. The only other time I'd seen her was in August 2005, in the blistering heat (105˚F) of Crawford, Texas at Cindy Sheehan's Camp Casey. That was an experience. Saturday night? Tickets were selling for $45 each; my mother-in-law treated me, which was extremely sweet of her, or I wouldn't have gone. I'm actually not a huge Joan Baez fan.

She played a sold-out show to an audience that was largely in the 55 - 75 year-old range ... as you might expect. It is the 50 year anniversary of her first recording (made in 1959 -- the year I was born. That's just a little bind-boggling.) The songs she played ran the gamut, from the early ballads (Long Black Veil, Silver Dagger) to songs from a brand new album, produced by Steve Earle. She actually performed 5 songs by Steve Earle! (And only 1 by Bob Dylan.)

Overall it was an enjoyable concert but too often it veered over into being the kind of concert that PBS airs when they're having a pledge drive, if you know what I mean. A crowd-pleasing kind of concert for 55 - 75 year-olds. There was one flash of inspiration, when she sang Earle's wonderful song Jerusalem.

In her introduction to another Earle song -- Christmas in Washington -- Ms. Baez spoke about Woody Guthrie as being one of the first American singer-songwriters to take risks, and said that in her opinion, it was the risk-taking that distinguished a great songwriter from the others. I found that somewhat ironic, as she really took very few risks that evening. (She even edited a line in the song, changing "The unions have been busted and their proud red banners torn" to "and their banners have been torn.") Then again, at her age and this stage of her career, I think she's entitled to do a little laurel-resting.

I will admit that I was VERY pleased when she played Love Song To a Stranger. I think I probably wore out that song on my LP (you know those 12" round black thingies with the hole in the center) -- or at least made some family member want to throttle me -- back when I was a hopelessly romantic 15-year old. Sigh.

One more thing that happened at the concert. The venue where it was held chooses to hire outside security for some shows and not for others. When they hire security, the burly goons want to check everyone's purse for (management says) cameras, bottles, and cans. I have a problem with that. It's a public building (owned by the city, in fact,) not a private club, and I don't appreciate being treated like a potential criminal with warrantless searches. No other theater in town does it. So I refused. I spoke with the manager, who finally said, "I'll let you go in because you've paid for your ticket, but if you pull this stunt again you're never coming back here!"

Here's the thing: I was there to see Joan Baez, who is known for peace, love, protest, and civil disobedience. The concert was partially a benefit for Iraq Veterans Against the War. The concession stand was staffed by a guy wearing a "Resist Militarism" t-shirt. Every other person going in to that concert dutifully opened up their bag and allowed it to be searched. I was thinking, "What the hell? Does nobody else see a disconnect here, between what they presumably believe in and submitting to having their personal effects searched?"

When I refuse I look like a wacko troublemaker. What if ten people refused? Twenty? Fifty?

I felt a little ashamed throughout the rest of the evening, as if I had done something wrong. But I didn't do anything wrong. I stood up for the rights of the other 299 concert-goers! Anyway, it's perplexing and a little bit troubling. What do you think?

Decent People, Part 2

The innertubes are all abuzz today with Jon Stewart's interview with Jim Cramer. I highly recommend watching it. Stewart is dead serious and he never lets up. This is a man who gets it about ordinary Americans and the economic crimes that have been perpetrated against us, and he is speaking up on our behalf. Furthermore, Stewart does it with such respect. He is not ripping Cramer to shreds, but he is intent on holding his feet to the fire. To Cramer's credit, he submits with grace, and one hopes that this might be a thought-provoking experience for him. One hopes.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *wipes away tears from ironic laughter*

Anyway, all told it is a little over 20 minutes and well worth the time spent. You won't get your usual Jon Stewart-induced laughs; indeed, you might be moved to tears.

Decent People

It was the kind of meeting that is taking place in restaurant kitchens, small offices, retail storerooms, and large auditoriums all over this city, all over this state, all over this country.

Paul Levy, the guy who runs Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, was standing in Sherman Auditorium the other day, before some of the very people to whom he might soon be sending pink slips.

He looked out into a sea of people and recognized faces: technicians, secretaries, administrators, therapists, nurses, the people who are the heart and soul of any hospital. People who knew that Beth Israel had hired about a quarter of its 8,000 staff over the last six years and that the chances that they could all keep their jobs and benefits in an economy in freefall ranged between slim and none.

"I want to run an idea by you that I think is important, and I'd like to get your reaction to it," Levy began. "I'd like to do what we can to protect the lower-wage earners - the transporters, the housekeepers, the food service people. A lot of these people work really hard, and I don't want to put an additional burden on them.

"Now, if we protect these workers, it means the rest of us will have to make a bigger sacrifice," he continued. "It means that others will have to give up more of their salary or benefits."

He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Sherman Auditorium erupted in applause. Thunderous, heartfelt, sustained applause.

Paul Levy stood there and felt the sheer power of it all rush over him, like a wave. His eyes welled and his throat tightened so much that he didn't think he could go on.

I'd like to keep an eye on this and see how it pans out. I often think about Mr. Ether's last employer. When he saw what was coming down the economic pike, why did it not occur to him to do something like this?

Trivial Pursuit #1

Sparkly has been tormenting us lately with pleas to play Lord of the Rings trivia. I don't know why. Mr. Ether plays with her and always beats her. I just refuse; there would be no way I could answer even a fraction of the questions. I got back at her though, by forcing her to play Trivial Pursuit with us. Once we started playing I soon realized that our "Genus Edition" of Trivial Pursuit is probably 25 years old.

Here's an example of how the game goes, played with Sparkly. I'm reading the question: "What Zigfield Follies dancing girl was portrayed in Funny Girl?" Sparkly says, "What's Funny Girl?" I answer, "It was a movie. It starred Barbra Streisand." Sparkly says, "Who's Barbra Streisand?" So we never even got to the real answer to the question, which was Fanny Bryce. ("Who's Fanny Bryce?")

I got to gloat over instantly knowing the answer to "Who was married to Oona O'Neill?" (Charlie Chaplin, DUH.) But we were all stumped by "What was the name of Sir Isaac Newton's Dog?" and the unspoken corollary question, "WHY on Earth would anyone know the name of Sir Isaac Newton's dog?" although I'm sure one of you dear readers is brainy enough to know the answer to that! (Diamond, by the way. Its name was Diamond.)

So in the spirit of fun, I will periodically choose a question from our vintage Trivial Pursuit game and post it here. Then I'll sit back and wait for the answers to come pouring in, before posting the correct answer. Whee! Won't we have fun?!

Question #1: What sport features small hops called pitty pats at the end of a run of plinkers?

Unspeakable Crimes Against Iraq

This week in Time Magazine there is an article entitled Iraq's Unspeakable Crime: Mothers Pimping Daughters.

While sexual violence has accompanied warfare for millennia and insecurity always provides opportunities for criminal elements to profit, what is happening in Iraq today reveals how far a once progressive country (relative to its neighbors) has regressed on the issue of women's rights and how ferociously the seams of a traditional Arab society that values female virginity have been ripped apart. Last month Baghdad's minister of women's affairs, Dr. Nawal al-Samarraie, resigned in protest at the lack of resources provided to her office by the government. "The ministry is just an empty post," she told TIME. "Why do I come to the office every day if I don't have any resources?" Yet even Samarraie didn't think sex trafficking was an issue. "It's limited," she says, adding that she believed the girls involved chose to engage in prostitution. (Read it and weep.)

Umm, can we talk about why this "once progressive country" is now home to these "unspeakable crimes"? It did not just happen. The war and chaos and ripping apart of the seams of society did not just happen. Never never forget that this is the result of the criminal war consciously perpetrated by the handful of people who pimped it, who all should be tried for war crimes in the ICC. Oh yeah, I forgot -- the freedom loving U.S. is one of the countries that has refused to sign on to the ICC.

Let's not forget also that Iraq was a once progressive country under Saddam Hussein. I'm not defending the guy, but the fact is when the "coalition of the willing" shocked and awed Iraq, irreparable damage was done. These are the implications of war. War is always unwinnable, immoral, and stupid. And this one, predicated on lies, is just heinous.

Finally, let's not let President Obama forget that he was elected with a mandate to end the shameful war on Iraq. To watch him flex his muscles in Afghanistan and Pakistan is horrifying. He's rumored to be smart and well-read. Has he not read his history of that area?

Note: This amazing photograph was taken by the lovely and talented Mr. Ether.

Interesting

I find it interesting that this story made it into the New York Times. I know kids who have gone to the Conserve School, and it sounded like a neat place. On the other hand, anyone who reads my blog at all regularly knows how I feel about private schools. Wisconsin's public schools have been suffering for 16 years under revenue caps that have choked off resources; urban schools have been the hardest hit. I think the problem is only exacerbated when people adopt the "I have to look out for my child" mentality and flee to private schools. This quote was a hoot:

[One parent] said he sent his son to Conserve because he was gifted academically and “our public school in Whitefish Bay does not have a gifted and talented program for the high school.”

Ummmm, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Whitefish Bay an extremely wealthy Milwaukee suburb? I find it hard to believe they do not have AP or TaG classes.

I also wonder about the conflict of interest in a school with an environmental focus being run by a steel corporation. I assumed it was started on a shoestring by tree-hugging Euell Gibbons worshipers.

Well, it will be interesting to see how it all pans out. I just love it when the privileged fight among themselves.

Welcome To Our Home ...

... in the Great Bayou of the North.

Here is the pass-through between our house and garage. Don't forget your hip waders!


Some of the resident water fowl. It's the spring migration (from the bathtub to the backyard.)


But in all seriousness, yesterday I had my first sighting of red-winged blackbirds at the bark park. Today I saw a whole passel (gaggle?) of robins in our backyard, also a first for the year. I know that spring is on its way.

WeRead

Our whole family just loves this book, Richard Bradford's Red Sky At Morning. As you can see from these photos, we've all read it. (As usual, there is no photo of me.) Well, all except for one family member. But she'll get to it. Tomorrow. :-)

Mr. Ether:

Young Sparkly Ether:

Daisy:

Feather:

Molly:

Pocket Petey:

Hello Kitty:

Have you read it?
(Note: Mostly conceived and photographed by Mr. Ether)

Oy vey!

The ignorance of some people sometimes just makes me want to hit my head against a brick wall. Like this story:

CRESAPTOWN, Md. (Map, News) - You've heard of kosher salt? Now there's a Christian variety.

Retired barber Joe Godlewski says he was inspired by television chefs who repeatedly recommended kosher salt in recipes.

"I said, 'What the heck's the matter with Christian salt?'" Godlewski said, sipping a beer in the living room of his home in unincorporated Cresaptown, a western Maryland mountain community.

By next week, his trademarked Blessed Christians Salt will be available at http://www.memphi.net, the Web site of Memphis, Tenn.-based seasonings manufacturer Ingredients Corporation of America. (Read the rest of it and weep.)

Can you say, "Missing the point?" (Saw this at Boing Boing, one of my favorite diversions on the internets.)

Book Review: Fluke by Christopher Moore

Alternatively titled I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings, this is a novel about humpback whales and the people who love them. Marine behavioral biologist Nathan Quinn has spent his adult life recording and analyzing the songs of humpback whales, trying to answer the question "What is the meaning of their songs?" Just as he feels he is closing in on an answer (pastrami on rye with mustard???) Nate disappears at sea, leaving his longtime collaborator Clay to carry on his work and untangle a handful of mysteries, with the help of perky assistant Amy Earhart, Kona the white Rastafarian surfer dude from New Jersey, Nate's ex-wife and her lesbian lover, and his benefactor the Old Broad. Moore's characters are inspired: Kona and the whaley boys will stick with you for a long time.

I've read a handful of Moore's books. (Mr. Ether has read them all, thanks to me. Or did I read them thanks to him? Debatable ... ) They are smart, well written and highly entertaining. I thoroughly enjoyed Fluke. I also recommend Lamb, the surprisingly poignant retelling of the life of Jesus as seen through the eyes of his best friend Biff. Moore's books are a good antidote to the blues brought on by too much seriousness.

Tales From the Halls of Learning, part 3

Last week I was in my classroom while my students were coming in from lunch. It's a little bit of a chaotic time, with some kids in the room getting ready for rest time, while the pokey ones (same ones every day) are still at their lockers, usually up to no good. Suddenly there is a bloodcurdling scream followed by loud wailing. I am alarmed. I run out into the hallway and see one of my girls -- I'll call her Eugenia -- sitting on the floor, crying. I ask her what happened. She says, "Matilda* pushed me really hard!" I look at Matilda. She's about 6 feet away, putting her coat in her locker in a seemingly innocent way. I beckon her over and she comes, a little reluctantly. I ask, "Did you push Eugenia down?" Almost imperceptibly, she nods. I ask, "Why did you push her?" Matilda blurts out, "Well she was in my face going, 'MEOW MEOW MEOW' and she wouldn't stop!!"

Sigh. *hits head against wall* Kindergarten.

*not her real name

Advertisement or Public Service Announcement? You Decide ...

They don't call this "the frozen North" for nothing. Up Nort' here in Wisconsin we've gotten a lot of snow this year. Then rain. Then snow and bitter cold. Then a thaw. Then this past Thursday we had thunderstorms and torrential rain ... and then it froze. So this morning I went to our local outfitter (not REI, the pseudo co-op) and invested in a pair of Yak Trax.

I bought a pair for Mr. Ether last week. He's the one who takes Molly, the official spokesdog of the Criminal Investigations? Hell, Yes!™ movement, to the bark park every day. He gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up after the last couple of days.

Anxious to try mine out, I offered to do the dog park detail today. A good portion of the path was covered in ice, bumpy in parts and smooth as a skating rink in others. (The work of what our friend Carl calls the "atmospheric Zamboni.") All around me the other dog walkers were mincing along, gingerly taking teeny tiny steps to avoid slipping. I, on the other hand, walked briskly with confidence and never slipped even once. (The only danger I encountered was from an overly enthusiastic pit bull puppy named Ophelia, who jumped up and put a nose print on my sunglasses.)

I'm here to say, if you live in places where snow and ice are a reality, $20 for a pair of Yak Trax might be money well-spent. Molly agrees. WOOF!

Guitar Lessons

I love my guitar lessons! I have a 45 minute lesson every other week and I always feel elated when I leave. Full of hope, full of promise. The funny thing is, I always have incredible anxiety leading up to my lesson. The weekend before, when I realize that my lesson is coming up and I haven't played nearly enough. I start to think about calling and canceling just this once. I did that a few times with my old teacher; so far I haven't with the new one.

The day of, I have a bit of a panic attack because I know that I'll have to play my pieces for her. It doesn't help that she is a nationally known singer/songwriter/recording artist. I get all shaky, and the piece that I played at a reasonable speed when I practiced is so s-l-o-w as to be nearly unrecognizable and full of mistakes such as putting my fingers on the wrong strings (at which the kindergarten teacher in me comes out and I say, "Oopsie!")

And then she smiles and tells me that I'm doing great, that I just need to play these things over and over again and I'll get it up to speed, and she loves her adult students. And I leave with a song in my head -- tonight it's Greg Brown's Sleeper as played by Eliza Gilkyson -- and feeling as if, yes, I might someday be a guitar player.

Academy Awards Regrets

I would have liked to have seen Philippe Petit balance the statue on his chin when Man On Wire won "best documentary." Cool film; highly recommended.

Mmmmmmmmm.

We had a most wonderful dinner experience this evening and I wanted to share it with you (dear readers) in case you might want to seek out something like it in your vicinity! A friend of ours from way back is a librarian by vocation, but her first love has always been cooking for groups of people. A couple of years ago she came into an inheritance and used it to buy a house (lucky for us) right in our neighborhood. There she hosts dinner parties with home cooked food made from scratch, served family-style (except without the family-style humiliation.) She maintains a mailing list, and when she's ready to host a dinner, she sends out an announcement. The dinners are a fixed menu and fixed price ($25 for two) with appetizers, main dish, sides, and dessert. Tonight the menu included chicken pot pie -- my absolute favorite comfort food -- and butterscotch pudding for dessert.

It turned out that Mr. Ether knew most of the other diners that were there. It was a little weird in that, rather than sitting and letting the food digest, they all beat it out of there immediately after eating. I think they were all anxious to get home and watch the Oscars. Not us. (We haven't gotten a conversion box yet, so our TV is non-functioning except for the Fox channel; if I were a TV watcher, that would be my idea of Hell ... but I'm not, which is why we don't have a conversion box.)

It was lovely, especially because mean-spirited weasels like Dick Cheney were not welcome. If you care to check out the website, you can find it here or host/chef Deb's blog here.

Book Review: The Voyage of the Narwhal

The Voyage of the Narwhal by Andrea Barrett, is a novel about Arctic exploration in the mid-nineteenth century. The protagonist of the story is Erasmus Darwin Wells, a naturalist who sees his middle age approaching and considers himself to be something of a failure in life. Given an opportunity to redeem himself by signing on with an expedition that is heading to Arctic regions of the Northwest Passage, ostensibly in search of the [real] lost expedition of Sir John Franklin, he leaps at the chance of adventure, and perhaps fame.

The Narwhal expedition is being led by Zechariah Voorhees, a young man who was mentored by Erasmus' father and is now engaged to be married to Erasmus' sister Lavinia. "Zeke" would love to be the one to find the remains of the Franklin expedition where others have failed, and more than that he is obsessed with searching for an open polar sea. (Note: An expedition leader with an obsession is almost always not good.)

The first half of the book proceeds as one might expect it would: ice, cold, deprivation, frostbite ... you know, the usual stuff of Arctic tales. It was compelling (although in my opinion, nowhere near as compelling as reading the true story Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing, which is EXCELLENT.)

My interest picked up in the second half of the book, when the expedition has returned and Erasmus must resume his life in pre-Civil War Philadelphia. That's all I'm going to give away; you knew they were going to come back, didn't you? I mean, they had to, because Erasmus is kind of telling the story ...

Barrett had done her research, and I liked the interweaving of fact and fiction. My one complaint is that the sensibilities seemed too modern. Barrett did a good job of painting human emotions and desires, but I'm not sure that people living in that time would have framed them in quite the way they were portrayed.

Overall, I enjoyed The Voyage of the Narwhal. If you are looking for something a little different, if you like historical fiction, I recommend it. It is probably not one that I'll keep to read again.

Stem Cell Research

I was heartened to see this in the news today:

Expect an executive order soon from President Barack Obama on federal funding for embryonic stem cell research.

That's the word from White House adviser David Axelrod.

Under President George W. Bush, federal money for research on human embryonic stems cells was limited to those stem cell lines that were created before Aug. 9, 2001. No federal dollars could be used on research with cell lines from embryos destroyed from that point forward.

I believe that my mother's death in 2001 was hastened, albeit indirectly, by Bush's ban on stem cell research. My mom was diagnosed with nonHodgekin's lymphoma in late spring of 2001. Her oncologist was very involved with doing stem cell research at the University of Wisconsin at that same time. I think that he was exceedingly distracted by the fallout from Bush's ruling, and consequently my mother did not get his full attention. She may not have lived much longer anyway, but I firmly believe she could have been a hell of a lot more comfortable. The doctor dropped the ball on that one, but would it have been different had he not been distracted?

Oh well, water under the bridge now, but I think of it when stem cell research comes up.

L.O.V.E.

Tax the Speculators!

As far as I can tell, the economic stimulus package that Obama is taking on the road in an attempt to drum up populist support, is another boondoggle for the poor and working people of this country. The cuts that have been made in an effort to appease the Rethuglicans (and I feel like I have to resort to name-calling in this instance, just to make myself feel a little better) are of the very things that everyday people need in order to pull themselves out of this hole that our government has been digging for nearly the last 30 years. (Thanks, Ronald Reagan. You were a saint. Not.) Look at how the cuts that are proposed by [extremely wealthy] "centrists" Susan Collins and Ben Nelson disproportionately affect women and children. Again. They just don't get it, or don't care.

What is the answer? Well it seems as if a lot of people have answers, from Jon Stewart to Paul Krugman to Ralph Nader, the man that progressives love to hate. If only Congress would listen. This is what Nader posted on Wednesday, and it makes good sense:

Let’s start with a fairness point. Why should you pay a 5 to 6 percent sales tax for buying the necessities of life, when tomorrow, some speculator on Wall Street can buy $100 million worth of Exxon derivatives and not pay one penny in sales tax? Let’s further add a point of common sense. The basic premise of taxation should be to first tax what society likes the least or dislikes the most, before it taxes honest labor or human needs. (Read the whole thing here)

Wow -- tax the rich. What a concept! I, for one, am sick and tired of being trickled down on. What would the world look like if we really put the needs of people first?

I try to make a practice of not hating ... anyone. I believe in living by nonviolent principles, and hate is violent. But I come dangerously close to hating the wealthy, corpulent politicians who are where they are today because of a lifetime of privilege, who use their position of power as a bully pulpit to preach "work ethic" to the rest of us. Now, I cannot pretend that I have known poverty. My dad was a doctor -- albeit one who worked in the public sector, so though we were never ridiculously wealthy, we were always well off.

However, I have worked for my entire adult life. We live in a modest house and have always taken modest vacations. We have very little in savings, certainly not enough to guarantee a college education for our children or an easy retirement for us. We may not be poor, but our future is looking anything but certain at this point in time. And how dare they, HOW DARE THEY, give more of our money away to the already fabulously wealthy while wagging their fingers at the general populace and talking about "work ethic"? These people who wear $1,000 shoes, maintain multiple homes, send their children to private schools, and eat out every day -- often on the taxpayers' dime?

This entire stimulus plan should be thrown out and started over. The Rethugs need to be told, "Shut the hell up!" and the Dems (including Barack Obama) asked, "Just who do you think elected you to this office?" I'm pissed off!

Please give a warm welcome to guest blogger Daisy.

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We're lucky that she didn't barf on the keyboard.

Pass the Popcorn Please

Because I love Terry Pratchett so much, I was a little loathe to see a screen adaptation of one of his books. Thanks to Cinderbelle however, and her Netflix membership, we spent the last two evenings watching the BBC production of Hogfather. It wasn't bad. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. Some of the characters were not quite as I had pictured them, but all in all it was very true to the book (which I reviewed here a few days ago.)

One question: HAVE YOU BEEN NAUGHTY OR NICE?

Recommended!

Happy Birthday, Sparkly Seacow!

My baby girl turned 13 today. I don't know where the last decade plus three has gone, but it seems like only yesterday that I was forcing my friends and loved ones to walk with me around the neighborhood while I was in labor in -27˚F weather. This child has brought me so much joy. Happy birthday! I love you!

Yippee!

Season 2 of Chad Vader is finally here! Just to catch you up on season 1: Chad Vader, Darth's younger brother, is the day shift manager at Empire Market, where he is locked in mortal combat with Clint, the night shift manager, and striving to win the heart of Clarissa. You can watch all of season 1 on the You Tubes.

What Duck?

Last year, when the news was announced that British author Terry Pratchett had a rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, a collective sigh went up around the Disc ... er, world. If you read much of my blog, you will know that I consider Terry Pratchett to be one of the finest writers alive today. I have Mr. Ether to thank for getting me hooked, and believe me, it is an addiction ... but a good one, all things considered.

The Discworld books are frequently shelved with fantasy books, but they are very much satire. Bright and joyful satire. Terry Pratchett clearly loves his fellow human beings, with all their foibles and idiosyncrasies. And he loves poking fun at them.

When I try to name a favorite character, each one makes me think of 3 more favorites: Sam Vimes, Captain Carrot, the Librarian, Quoth the Raven, Leonard of Quirm, Bloody Stupid Johnson, Death, Nobby Nobbs, Nanny Ogg, Granny Weatherwax, the Igors, Lu Tse, Gaspode the wonder dog ... they are all wonderful, imaginative, and likable.

I recommend Pratchett to many people, and I am frequently surprised when people come back to me and say that they tried a Pratchett book but just couldn't get into it. So let me offer a few tips for reading Terry Pratchett. First of all, he has been writing for many years now, and I have to say that the earlier books in the Discworld series are not as well developed as the more recent ones. Furthermore, while all of the books comprise one series, there are different series' within the series that follow specific characters or groups of characters. I like some of them better than others. If you want to follow a specific thread, you can consult the L-Space. Finally, I think people see that he has so many books and assume that they will be a quick, fluffy, fantasy read. So be forewarned: when you pick up a Pratchett book, you are reading literature. The plots are multi-layered and may take a while to figure out what's going on.

All of this is to lead up to a book review of Hogfather. It is December 32, Hogswatchnight. The night when the Hogfather travels around the Disc in his sleigh pulled by 4 pigs, delivering presents to all of the good little boys and girls. But the Hogfather has disappeared and a proxy is filling in for him. Only a few people have noticed that strange things are afoot: Susan Sto-Helit (Death's granddaughter) and the wizards at the Unseen University have just a few hours to figure out what is going on and put things right so that the sun will rise on the new day.

If you haven't read any Pratchett, this is a good one to start with. It explores one of his favorite recurring themes, belief, in a way that I certainly can believe in. I thoroughly enjoyed reading Hogfather and intend to make the reading of it an annual tradition each December.

Millennium hand and shrimp. Buggr'it!