The doctor called! This only after Keith pretty much stormed the office with a bombardment of telecommunications. There's only so much a guy can take in the way of suspense when it comes to these sorts of matters, and he had just about taken all he could.
But, as he has liked to declare in the past, his boys can indeed swim. So, we are on to Stage 1 of infertility treatments a la Indiana, which is Clomid for six months and then re-evaluate.
This is a huge weight off my mind. I did not want to go straight to artificial insemination, though I would have. This way we can just boost the chances of pregnancy by upping the amount of eggs I produce monthly. There is about an eleven percent chance of twins with Clomid, which is not much compared to other infertility drugs, drugs which are normally used in conjunction with IVF.
The downside is that I become an emotional mess twenty four seven, thirty to thirty one days a week, with all the signs of pregnancy all the time, due to the hormones. Awesome. Nothing like PMS all day, every day! I should buy Keith a safety helmet and some aspirin.
Oh, and my period still hasn't come, but I'm staying strong.
In other news, not one single, twenty four hour period had passed after selling the Ranger than Keith had purchased a Jeep Cherokee. What can I say? It's clearly an addiction. Somewhere there must be a CAPA, or Compulsive Automobile Purchasers Anonymous that I can sign him up for...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
June 29th
I keep waiting to have exciting blogging material, so there's this lag between my writing and my posting, but nothing much exciting is happening.
Therein lies the problem when the blog is about oneself. One is entirely dependent upon reality for good material. And in my life, reality only hands out good material in small doses.
If only the doctor's office would call! I called them yesterday and rebel that I am, asked for the operator instead of obediently leaving a message in the "for lab tests" voicemail box. The operator, after a long delay, assured me that my file was open on the doctor's desk and that the results had come in, and there was a note attached saying that I'd been calling. She was sure the doctor would call me that day.
But no.
In the meantime, my period is five days late. But don't go assuming anything good about that, my body just does this to screw with me. It waits just long enough for me to begin to wonder, in the slightest way if maybe, just maybe it could be and then whammo! Mother nature slams the door. I'm far too willy now to fall for it.
In other news, it is a balmy eight four degrees outside, a veritable cold wave compared to the last few weeks. We have given the poor A/C a rest and opened all the windows. I feel like I can breathe again. It drags me down, having all the windows shut, day after summer day, night after beautiful night, breathing nothing but stale A/C air, with that very slight tingle of something metalic.
I'm pretty much resigned to moving down to GA next summer and I can't see anything good about that at all. I know I should look on the bright side of life and all, but seriously, why Georgia? Why?
Actually, it feels surreal sometimes to realize I'm in Kentucky. No sooner will I get used to being in this state than I will be transported to an even more foreign world, deeper into the dark and humid mysteries of the South, the steamy world of swamps, coast lands, cotton fields and cities all tangled up in flowering vines.
Apparently that area is called the Tri Community area. It's one hour away from the Florida coastline and close to Alabama. I've looked at rental homes and found two that looked quite promising. But anyway, that's a year away, far too long to worry about.
Therein lies the problem when the blog is about oneself. One is entirely dependent upon reality for good material. And in my life, reality only hands out good material in small doses.
If only the doctor's office would call! I called them yesterday and rebel that I am, asked for the operator instead of obediently leaving a message in the "for lab tests" voicemail box. The operator, after a long delay, assured me that my file was open on the doctor's desk and that the results had come in, and there was a note attached saying that I'd been calling. She was sure the doctor would call me that day.
But no.
In the meantime, my period is five days late. But don't go assuming anything good about that, my body just does this to screw with me. It waits just long enough for me to begin to wonder, in the slightest way if maybe, just maybe it could be and then whammo! Mother nature slams the door. I'm far too willy now to fall for it.
In other news, it is a balmy eight four degrees outside, a veritable cold wave compared to the last few weeks. We have given the poor A/C a rest and opened all the windows. I feel like I can breathe again. It drags me down, having all the windows shut, day after summer day, night after beautiful night, breathing nothing but stale A/C air, with that very slight tingle of something metalic.
I'm pretty much resigned to moving down to GA next summer and I can't see anything good about that at all. I know I should look on the bright side of life and all, but seriously, why Georgia? Why?
Actually, it feels surreal sometimes to realize I'm in Kentucky. No sooner will I get used to being in this state than I will be transported to an even more foreign world, deeper into the dark and humid mysteries of the South, the steamy world of swamps, coast lands, cotton fields and cities all tangled up in flowering vines.
Apparently that area is called the Tri Community area. It's one hour away from the Florida coastline and close to Alabama. I've looked at rental homes and found two that looked quite promising. But anyway, that's a year away, far too long to worry about.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Written June 28th
I am still in the doldrums. This is Keith's eighth day straight of work. All the days just form one long, indistinguishable blur.
Last night I dreamed that I adopted three children. In the dream, I was still in high school and many of the children that attended were orphans. I had wanted to adopt some for a while, but I had to wait until I had everything ready and in place, so that I could be sure the adoption would go through.
Finally I was sure and that morning at school, I could actually feel certain that those would be my children. The youngest was a little boy of about two. I remember the joy of being able to reach out and run my hand over his hair. I was amazed at how affectionate he was with me, given that I was a complete stranger to him. He stood on my lap and jumped up and down on his tip toes, looking around with happy eyes. I didn't want to wake up from that dream.
Keith just called and said a man is coming, cash in hand, to buy the Ranger. He's going to pay the lion's share now and pay off the rest in installments.
Thank God. I feel such a release of pressure. We can replace the money from savings and pay off half of what we paid for the tv with what we made.
I have "The Shining" on right now. I've never seen the movie all the way through, though I did stay at The Stanley, the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write the book. It's up at Estes Park, way up in the Rockies.
Anyway, sometimes I have to press the guide button to make the picture shrink, kind of similar to looking through one's fingers. Heh. It is definitely a scary movie. The sound track is brilliant. If it wasn't for the sound track, it'd just be a boring movie with lots of terrible prints in it; the hallway floor, for example.
Last night I dreamed that I adopted three children. In the dream, I was still in high school and many of the children that attended were orphans. I had wanted to adopt some for a while, but I had to wait until I had everything ready and in place, so that I could be sure the adoption would go through.
Finally I was sure and that morning at school, I could actually feel certain that those would be my children. The youngest was a little boy of about two. I remember the joy of being able to reach out and run my hand over his hair. I was amazed at how affectionate he was with me, given that I was a complete stranger to him. He stood on my lap and jumped up and down on his tip toes, looking around with happy eyes. I didn't want to wake up from that dream.
Keith just called and said a man is coming, cash in hand, to buy the Ranger. He's going to pay the lion's share now and pay off the rest in installments.
Thank God. I feel such a release of pressure. We can replace the money from savings and pay off half of what we paid for the tv with what we made.
I have "The Shining" on right now. I've never seen the movie all the way through, though I did stay at The Stanley, the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write the book. It's up at Estes Park, way up in the Rockies.
Anyway, sometimes I have to press the guide button to make the picture shrink, kind of similar to looking through one's fingers. Heh. It is definitely a scary movie. The sound track is brilliant. If it wasn't for the sound track, it'd just be a boring movie with lots of terrible prints in it; the hallway floor, for example.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Written June 26
I feel like a boring blogger today. I have nothing interesting to write about and there was nothing much interesting to read on RPC either. It's Saturday, but Keith was up at four thirty anyway, during this training cycle he works seven days a week. The doctor's office did not call back and so we still have no idea in what direction the treatments will be going.
Oh, and I checked my "sent" box and guess what? Whatever hacked me has been sending out e-mail from my account for an entire month. Tons of them. All to fellow bloggers who at one time or another I had some correspondance with via e-mail. So embarrassing.
This all adds up to a particularly annoying and boring Saturday.
However, my potted garden is producing tiny little baby veggies. They are too cute. The green pepper plants have about five or six peppers per plant, smaller than my thumb. There is also one tiny little green tomato, about the size of a grape.
Oh, and I checked my "sent" box and guess what? Whatever hacked me has been sending out e-mail from my account for an entire month. Tons of them. All to fellow bloggers who at one time or another I had some correspondance with via e-mail. So embarrassing.
This all adds up to a particularly annoying and boring Saturday.
However, my potted garden is producing tiny little baby veggies. They are too cute. The green pepper plants have about five or six peppers per plant, smaller than my thumb. There is also one tiny little green tomato, about the size of a grape.
Friday, June 25, 2010
June 25th
My goodness, I think someone has hacked into the hotmail account I set up for this blog. Apparently the few bloggers that I've e-mailed have received a strange e-mail from my account with nothing more than a web address as its content. I wonder why.
Anyway, if you have received a strange e-mail from the hotmail address listed on the side of my blog, I apologize. Please ignore it, it's not actually from me. Now I have to figure out if I should just change my password, or get a whole new account.
...and doing that pretty much took up all my morning. Gah. I think it was just a phishing scam. I hope that's fixed it. If anyone gets a strange e-mail from me, please let me know.
I had such an annoying day yesterday too. It's coming on that time of the month and consequently, I'm craving potato chips. Such was my steely resolve not to eat them that I escaped from my shopping trip without any.
However, on the way home I was kicking myself for not getting a bag and determined that I would make them from scratch. I wanted them that badly.
Alas. The potatoes turned out to have putrefied. The smell of rotten potatoes lingered on in the kitchen for the next hour. Thwarted, I tried making a cheese dip with Velveeta and salsa. That turned out badly.
I ended up eating half the bag of tortilla chips with salsa mixed with sour cream and then an entire bag of kettle corn.
I should have just gotten a bag of the damned potato chips.
We still haven't heard back from the doctor's office, even though I left them a message, as instructed. That was yesterday around eleven am and they were suppose to call back within twenty four hours, but not so much. Maybe they have a high volume of test results. Their waiting room was quite crowded when I went in for my appointment.
I left them a second message today, so I hope to hear back soon.
Politically speaking...
I read this article this morning. I've copied much of it, what I thought were key points to myself, but I highly recommend reading the entire thing.
"...insidiously, the law itself is becoming negotiable — or rather, it is becoming subservient to what elite overseers at any given time determine is a higher calling of social change.
"...seldom in memory have we seen such a systematic attack on our framework of laws as the present assault from the executive branch..."
He then goes on to give specific examples of this, such as:
"Federal immigration statutes mandate a clearly defined American border, which aliens may not cross without authorization. Yet the Obama administration not only does not fully enforce those statutes (in this regard, it is not behaving much differently from the prior administration), but also is preparing to sue the state of Arizona for implementing enforcement that follows the intent of neglected federal laws on the books...
"Recently, as if on cue, the secretary of labor, Hilda Solis, produced a video advising workers to contact her office should they feel that they have been shorted wages by their employers. Fair enough. But then she goes on to explicitly include workers who are not documented and to promise them confidentiality, i.e., de facto federal protection for their illegality: “Every worker has a right to be paid fairly, whether documented or not.”
"She rightly promises to pursue lawbreaking employers, but quite wrongly not to pursue lawbreaking employees.
"Yet when we become unequal before the law, the entire notion of a lawful society starts to erode. If Secretary Solis has decided that lawbreaking aliens can in confidence count on her protection, then can those who don’t pay their taxes (perhaps citing some sort of prejudice) likewise find exemption from Treasury Secretary Geithner? Can citizens pick and chose their particular compliances — run red lights, but still want shoplifters arrested? Break the speed limit, but insist that cars stop at crosswalks? Do questions of race, class, and gender determine the degree to which the federal government considers enforcing existing law?
"Recently in Port Chester, N.Y., a federal judge made a mockery of the concept of one man, one vote. Apparently the magistrate felt that Hispanics in Port Chester needed help to elect someone with whom they can identify along racial lines. So, to ensure the election of an Hispanic to the village Board of Trustees, the judge created a system of cumulative voting. Each voter was given six votes, and the explicit hope was that Hispanics would give all their votes to Hispanic candidates, voting on the basis of race rather than policy. Now we hear this may well become a precedent that the federal government will use to ensure diversity elsewhere.
"Now there is talk of an executive decree from the Environmental Protection Agency to implement provisions of cap-and-trade legislation that Congress will not pass. Republican senators are already worried that the administration will likewise simply begin to grant amnesty to illegal aliens en masse, without introducing such a proposal to Congress, which alone has the right and responsibility to make our laws. And the recent executive order to ban all offshore drilling in the Gulf clearly circumvented the legal process. (Does the government have the right to shut down every flight if one airplane crashes, or to mothball all nuclear plants should one leak?)
"What do all these ends-justify-the-means examples portend? Mostly, they reflect an effort by a technocratic class to implement social change through extralegal means if it finds that its agenda does not meet with public approval. In some sense, the Obamians have lost all faith that our democracy shares their vision, and so they seek to impose their exalted will by proclamation — as if they are the new Jacobins and America is revolutionary France throwing off the old order.
"Note the logic of all this. Federal officials determine a supposed good and then find the necessary way to achieve it. The law be damned. “Diversity,” unions, environmentalism — any of these anointed causes trumps the staid idea of simply following the letter of the law."
-Victor David Hanson, "The Law? How Quaint!" The National Review Online, June 25, 2010
Anyway, if you have received a strange e-mail from the hotmail address listed on the side of my blog, I apologize. Please ignore it, it's not actually from me. Now I have to figure out if I should just change my password, or get a whole new account.
...and doing that pretty much took up all my morning. Gah. I think it was just a phishing scam. I hope that's fixed it. If anyone gets a strange e-mail from me, please let me know.
I had such an annoying day yesterday too. It's coming on that time of the month and consequently, I'm craving potato chips. Such was my steely resolve not to eat them that I escaped from my shopping trip without any.
However, on the way home I was kicking myself for not getting a bag and determined that I would make them from scratch. I wanted them that badly.
Alas. The potatoes turned out to have putrefied. The smell of rotten potatoes lingered on in the kitchen for the next hour. Thwarted, I tried making a cheese dip with Velveeta and salsa. That turned out badly.
I ended up eating half the bag of tortilla chips with salsa mixed with sour cream and then an entire bag of kettle corn.
I should have just gotten a bag of the damned potato chips.
We still haven't heard back from the doctor's office, even though I left them a message, as instructed. That was yesterday around eleven am and they were suppose to call back within twenty four hours, but not so much. Maybe they have a high volume of test results. Their waiting room was quite crowded when I went in for my appointment.
I left them a second message today, so I hope to hear back soon.
Politically speaking...
I read this article this morning. I've copied much of it, what I thought were key points to myself, but I highly recommend reading the entire thing.
"...insidiously, the law itself is becoming negotiable — or rather, it is becoming subservient to what elite overseers at any given time determine is a higher calling of social change.
"...seldom in memory have we seen such a systematic attack on our framework of laws as the present assault from the executive branch..."
He then goes on to give specific examples of this, such as:
"Federal immigration statutes mandate a clearly defined American border, which aliens may not cross without authorization. Yet the Obama administration not only does not fully enforce those statutes (in this regard, it is not behaving much differently from the prior administration), but also is preparing to sue the state of Arizona for implementing enforcement that follows the intent of neglected federal laws on the books...
"Recently, as if on cue, the secretary of labor, Hilda Solis, produced a video advising workers to contact her office should they feel that they have been shorted wages by their employers. Fair enough. But then she goes on to explicitly include workers who are not documented and to promise them confidentiality, i.e., de facto federal protection for their illegality: “Every worker has a right to be paid fairly, whether documented or not.”
"She rightly promises to pursue lawbreaking employers, but quite wrongly not to pursue lawbreaking employees.
"Yet when we become unequal before the law, the entire notion of a lawful society starts to erode. If Secretary Solis has decided that lawbreaking aliens can in confidence count on her protection, then can those who don’t pay their taxes (perhaps citing some sort of prejudice) likewise find exemption from Treasury Secretary Geithner? Can citizens pick and chose their particular compliances — run red lights, but still want shoplifters arrested? Break the speed limit, but insist that cars stop at crosswalks? Do questions of race, class, and gender determine the degree to which the federal government considers enforcing existing law?
"Recently in Port Chester, N.Y., a federal judge made a mockery of the concept of one man, one vote. Apparently the magistrate felt that Hispanics in Port Chester needed help to elect someone with whom they can identify along racial lines. So, to ensure the election of an Hispanic to the village Board of Trustees, the judge created a system of cumulative voting. Each voter was given six votes, and the explicit hope was that Hispanics would give all their votes to Hispanic candidates, voting on the basis of race rather than policy. Now we hear this may well become a precedent that the federal government will use to ensure diversity elsewhere.
"Now there is talk of an executive decree from the Environmental Protection Agency to implement provisions of cap-and-trade legislation that Congress will not pass. Republican senators are already worried that the administration will likewise simply begin to grant amnesty to illegal aliens en masse, without introducing such a proposal to Congress, which alone has the right and responsibility to make our laws. And the recent executive order to ban all offshore drilling in the Gulf clearly circumvented the legal process. (Does the government have the right to shut down every flight if one airplane crashes, or to mothball all nuclear plants should one leak?)
"What do all these ends-justify-the-means examples portend? Mostly, they reflect an effort by a technocratic class to implement social change through extralegal means if it finds that its agenda does not meet with public approval. In some sense, the Obamians have lost all faith that our democracy shares their vision, and so they seek to impose their exalted will by proclamation — as if they are the new Jacobins and America is revolutionary France throwing off the old order.
"Note the logic of all this. Federal officials determine a supposed good and then find the necessary way to achieve it. The law be damned. “Diversity,” unions, environmentalism — any of these anointed causes trumps the staid idea of simply following the letter of the law."
-Victor David Hanson, "The Law? How Quaint!" The National Review Online, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
June 23rd
I love it when I log on and see how many people have landed on my site around this time of the day, I'm assuming to check and see if I have blogged yet. There were four in the past two hours alone. I have a feeling those people are close relatives, but still, it's just so encouraging.
Last night I made the best whole wheat pancakes ever.
"I, Jenny Indiana, do solemnly swear to eschew all boxed pancake mixes for the entirety of my domestic engineer position, to never purchase said boxes, no matter how affordable, nor to use them for any other purpose such as biscuits or baked chicken, so help me God."
Here's this life changing recipe:
1cp all purpose flour
1cp whole wheat flour (or 2/3 cp whole wheat flour +1/3cp wheat germ)
1 1/2 ts baking powder
1/2 ts baking soda
2 1/2 tb brown sugar
1/2 ts salt (or 1 ts salt, depending on taste)
5 1/3 tb butter, room temperature (or apple butter, or some of both or some other thing like "I can't believe it's not butter.)
2 1/2 cp butter milk (or 1 cp vanilla yogurt and 1 1/2 cup 2% milk, which I did and it was fabulous. Or all yogurt. Or half butter milk and half yogurt or skim milk and lemon juice. Etc)
2 eggs, beaten
1 ts vanilla extract
2 cp blueberries, if desired
Combine all dry ingredients. Cut butter into dry, incorporate until it forms a course mixture, like sand. (I used my mixer for this.)
Add wet ingredients, incorporate by hand. Fold in blueberries.
These were so, so delicious. They smelled like vanilla cake when cooking, and they tasted so satisfying, not too sweet and they were light and fluffly, not a thing you would expect from whole wheat pancakes.
I served this with my first attempt at a frittata. Keith loved it so much that he immediately declared that eating frittata on a Sunday morning must become an enforcible Indiana family tradition heretofore. Only it was cute because he couldn't remember the name and ended up calling it "Eggs in a Pan."
It's very easy to do and I suspect its permutations are infinite. There are three basic steps.
1. Brown the meat and soften the vegetables in an oven safe skillet. I choose about 1/3 of a 1 lb. low fat Jimmy Dean sausage roll, green peppers and sweet onions, seasoned with salt, pepper and thyme. (The thyme is like a secret, killer ingredient. It was fabulous in this dish.) Drain meat and veggies before seasoning if necessary.
2. Turn off heat, add a layer of cheese and then eggs, already scrambled. I used three, next time I'll use four or five for a smallish sized skillet.
3. Put skillet directly into a preheated oven at 350 for fifteen to twenty minutes.
Voila. All the variable deliciousness of an omelet, none of the work.
It continues to be ungodly hot outside. Beautiful white, trumpet shaped flowers are blooming everywhere, in fields and strangely, on small trees that one hardly noticed before now. All early summer they are meek little things, pale green, not very tall. Now all of a sudden they are flower fashionistas, flaunting it in the middle of the yard and smelling delicious.
The blackberries have appeared, an unripe red but a few have turned black. I have definite plans to creep out one late evening when they are ripe and pick them. I feel the need to be secretive because I'm not sure if the housing association allows the picking of blackberries from the golf course.
Legal or not, I have plans for those berries. I remember many a happy summer gathering black berries and making pies or crumble with them.
From here on out, I'm going to arrange my blog the way I did yesterday, with general blogging stuff first and then whatever political thoughts my morning reading has sparked after. I think it works out well that way.
That way my readers can pick and choose which kind of blogging material they're up for and I feel free to work through lines of thought that are drifting about in my head and to wander on at will with them. And I have to warn you, I do wander.
So, there were quite a few interesting reads this morning. I read this in Reason.com:
"Although Barton was widely mocked for appearing to defend a huge corporation that is responsible for the worst environmental disaster in U.S. history, he had a point. Obama's grandstanding money grab exemplifies the lawless unilateralism that he condemned as a candidate yet embraced as a president.
Since the $75 million statutory cap on damages for oil spills does not apply in cases involving regulatory violations, "gross negligence," or "willful misconduct," BP's potential tort liability is enormous. But so are its assets, and there was no danger that it would run out of money before compensating everyone with a valid claim.
Obama could have let the legal process run its course, or he could have asked Congress to create a compensation fund in the interest of hastening payments. Instead he unilaterally extracted $20 billion from BP, on top of whatever damages the company will have to pay as a result of lawsuits, and appointed a lawyer to dole it out as he sees fit...
"Some disillusioned supporters suggest that Obama changed his mind about executive power after he started wielding it. But his pre-election concessions to political expediency indicate he was faking it all along. A politician who believes he is above the law is not above lying to the public about his principles."
-Jacob Sullun, "Oil Gushes and Power Rushes," Reason.com, June 23, 2010
Under the current law, the company would have been forced to fully compensate every valid claim, regardless of the 75 million cap, because of the company's gross regulatory violations.
Huh. So there really is no justification for Obama to act unlawfully, to take money from a private company and hand that money over to the federal government. Which, by the way, already attempted to fund an extention of the jobless benefits with it. Yeah. They were going to take that cash and funnel it into other states.
Also, I read this from National Review (emphasis added):
"Rep. Joe Barton's quickly retracted apology to BP for the administration's strong-arm tactics was horribly misconceived. Fundamentally, we don't want a free market and a system of laws to protect corporations, but to protect us from both government and corporations, especially when the two are in league with each other. Corporations like BP tend to be craven, unprincipled, and willing to use government for their own ends - all qualities evident in BP's spectacular green-marketing campaign.
The bigger and more complex government is, the more incentive corporations have to politicize themselves and get in bed with Washington. If they have resources to do it (not everyone can afford Stan Greenberg), they'll protect themselves from the worst while disadvantaging their competitors. This accounts for the corporatist paradox of the Obama administration. The president is so arbitrarily anti-business that The Economist dubs him "Vladimir Obama," yet the same industries he demonizes support key elements of his "reform" agenda."
-Rich Lowry, "Limiting Government-And Big Business" National Review, June 23, 2010
Yesterday I was thinking in a vague way about the link between government regulations and crony capitalism, and this brilliantly explains it, better than I could.
There is an argument that says without regulations, business would be free to do whatever they wish, to unlease their avarice and ambitions on the general public. It's a compelling argument, but it ignores the effect of regulations upon business (among other things).
For a multimillion or billion dollar business, regulations merely drive the company to form close contacts with the government that is suppose to enforce them. They even help shape those policies.
Classic example: Big Pharma meeting in private with Obama in the Oval Office to hammer out an agreement before the Health Care push. It doesn't get any more blatant or higher up than that. Right there, Obama cut a deal with the biggest, most powerful drug company in America. Big Pharma cut a sweet deal, they would be the sole providers of drugs under the plan, and in return, they would provide millions of dollars toward the campaign to sell Health Care reform to the rest of America.
Breathtaking. Watching this happen last summer was actually one of the pivot points that drove me from apathetic to passionate about my country.
Lastly, I read "When Greatness Slips Away," by Bob Herbert in The New York Times. It was fascinating. He talks about America missing critical moments of transformation, times when we could have choosen greatness, but instead choose to be mediocre.
"The collapse of the economy in the Great Recession gave us the starkest, most painful evidence imaginable of the failure of laissez-faire economics and the destructive force of the alliance of big business and government against the interests of ordinary Americans. Radical change was called for...
But there has been no radical change, only caution and timidity and more of the same. The royalists remain triumphant and working people are absorbing blow after devastating blow."
Actually, I complete agree with him here, but I have a feeling that his vision of radical change and mine are at polar opposites of the political spectrum.
He then goes on to suggest that as Americans we are giving in to an overpowering sense of helplessness and depression. He cites the destruction of large sections of the city of Detroit as a symbol of this reversal of American greatness.
It was fascinating to me because I'm experiencing the exact opposite. I agree, we are at a low point, the lowest we have ever been, but I feel an increasing sense of boyancy and hope. I feel like I am a part of the vangard of change that will propel this country back to the greatness that is its birthright, one built on hard work, self sufficiency, small, efficient government and innovation within a free market.
We just have to hang on through this rocky part.
Anyway, what was even more fascinating was reading the comments. The people who commented, boy, they agree with Mr. Herbert. Their comments make it abundantly clear that there is a real section of the populace that were sincerely hoping for the fundamental transformation that Obama promised when he took office.
It was also fascinating to hear how they thought about people like myself. According to them, I am duped, racist, radical, potentially violent, and retrograde.
Of course, we all know that I'm also the arm of the GOP, that I receive marching order from them, that I wave nazi flags, I'm old, white, rich and occurding to Obama, don't want to pay taxes to support schools for inner city children. I'm astro turf, a hate monger and un American. It's clear that I believe that Obama was born in Mars, that the earth is flat and that I occasionally like to go into a room lit with candles and hum mantras to Sarah Palin, not to mention I believe the code for the end of the world can be found in one of Glenn Beck's rants if played backward on tape.
I'm really quite a character!
If that were really true, well, I'd be depressed too.
Last night I made the best whole wheat pancakes ever.
"I, Jenny Indiana, do solemnly swear to eschew all boxed pancake mixes for the entirety of my domestic engineer position, to never purchase said boxes, no matter how affordable, nor to use them for any other purpose such as biscuits or baked chicken, so help me God."
Here's this life changing recipe:
1cp all purpose flour
1cp whole wheat flour (or 2/3 cp whole wheat flour +1/3cp wheat germ)
1 1/2 ts baking powder
1/2 ts baking soda
2 1/2 tb brown sugar
1/2 ts salt (or 1 ts salt, depending on taste)
5 1/3 tb butter, room temperature (or apple butter, or some of both or some other thing like "I can't believe it's not butter.)
2 1/2 cp butter milk (or 1 cp vanilla yogurt and 1 1/2 cup 2% milk, which I did and it was fabulous. Or all yogurt. Or half butter milk and half yogurt or skim milk and lemon juice. Etc)
2 eggs, beaten
1 ts vanilla extract
2 cp blueberries, if desired
Combine all dry ingredients. Cut butter into dry, incorporate until it forms a course mixture, like sand. (I used my mixer for this.)
Add wet ingredients, incorporate by hand. Fold in blueberries.
These were so, so delicious. They smelled like vanilla cake when cooking, and they tasted so satisfying, not too sweet and they were light and fluffly, not a thing you would expect from whole wheat pancakes.
I served this with my first attempt at a frittata. Keith loved it so much that he immediately declared that eating frittata on a Sunday morning must become an enforcible Indiana family tradition heretofore. Only it was cute because he couldn't remember the name and ended up calling it "Eggs in a Pan."
It's very easy to do and I suspect its permutations are infinite. There are three basic steps.
1. Brown the meat and soften the vegetables in an oven safe skillet. I choose about 1/3 of a 1 lb. low fat Jimmy Dean sausage roll, green peppers and sweet onions, seasoned with salt, pepper and thyme. (The thyme is like a secret, killer ingredient. It was fabulous in this dish.) Drain meat and veggies before seasoning if necessary.
2. Turn off heat, add a layer of cheese and then eggs, already scrambled. I used three, next time I'll use four or five for a smallish sized skillet.
3. Put skillet directly into a preheated oven at 350 for fifteen to twenty minutes.
Voila. All the variable deliciousness of an omelet, none of the work.
It continues to be ungodly hot outside. Beautiful white, trumpet shaped flowers are blooming everywhere, in fields and strangely, on small trees that one hardly noticed before now. All early summer they are meek little things, pale green, not very tall. Now all of a sudden they are flower fashionistas, flaunting it in the middle of the yard and smelling delicious.
The blackberries have appeared, an unripe red but a few have turned black. I have definite plans to creep out one late evening when they are ripe and pick them. I feel the need to be secretive because I'm not sure if the housing association allows the picking of blackberries from the golf course.
Legal or not, I have plans for those berries. I remember many a happy summer gathering black berries and making pies or crumble with them.
From here on out, I'm going to arrange my blog the way I did yesterday, with general blogging stuff first and then whatever political thoughts my morning reading has sparked after. I think it works out well that way.
That way my readers can pick and choose which kind of blogging material they're up for and I feel free to work through lines of thought that are drifting about in my head and to wander on at will with them. And I have to warn you, I do wander.
So, there were quite a few interesting reads this morning. I read this in Reason.com:
"Although Barton was widely mocked for appearing to defend a huge corporation that is responsible for the worst environmental disaster in U.S. history, he had a point. Obama's grandstanding money grab exemplifies the lawless unilateralism that he condemned as a candidate yet embraced as a president.
Since the $75 million statutory cap on damages for oil spills does not apply in cases involving regulatory violations, "gross negligence," or "willful misconduct," BP's potential tort liability is enormous. But so are its assets, and there was no danger that it would run out of money before compensating everyone with a valid claim.
Obama could have let the legal process run its course, or he could have asked Congress to create a compensation fund in the interest of hastening payments. Instead he unilaterally extracted $20 billion from BP, on top of whatever damages the company will have to pay as a result of lawsuits, and appointed a lawyer to dole it out as he sees fit...
"Some disillusioned supporters suggest that Obama changed his mind about executive power after he started wielding it. But his pre-election concessions to political expediency indicate he was faking it all along. A politician who believes he is above the law is not above lying to the public about his principles."
-Jacob Sullun, "Oil Gushes and Power Rushes," Reason.com, June 23, 2010
Under the current law, the company would have been forced to fully compensate every valid claim, regardless of the 75 million cap, because of the company's gross regulatory violations.
Huh. So there really is no justification for Obama to act unlawfully, to take money from a private company and hand that money over to the federal government. Which, by the way, already attempted to fund an extention of the jobless benefits with it. Yeah. They were going to take that cash and funnel it into other states.
Also, I read this from National Review (emphasis added):
"Rep. Joe Barton's quickly retracted apology to BP for the administration's strong-arm tactics was horribly misconceived. Fundamentally, we don't want a free market and a system of laws to protect corporations, but to protect us from both government and corporations, especially when the two are in league with each other. Corporations like BP tend to be craven, unprincipled, and willing to use government for their own ends - all qualities evident in BP's spectacular green-marketing campaign.
The bigger and more complex government is, the more incentive corporations have to politicize themselves and get in bed with Washington. If they have resources to do it (not everyone can afford Stan Greenberg), they'll protect themselves from the worst while disadvantaging their competitors. This accounts for the corporatist paradox of the Obama administration. The president is so arbitrarily anti-business that The Economist dubs him "Vladimir Obama," yet the same industries he demonizes support key elements of his "reform" agenda."
-Rich Lowry, "Limiting Government-And Big Business" National Review, June 23, 2010
Yesterday I was thinking in a vague way about the link between government regulations and crony capitalism, and this brilliantly explains it, better than I could.
There is an argument that says without regulations, business would be free to do whatever they wish, to unlease their avarice and ambitions on the general public. It's a compelling argument, but it ignores the effect of regulations upon business (among other things).
For a multimillion or billion dollar business, regulations merely drive the company to form close contacts with the government that is suppose to enforce them. They even help shape those policies.
Classic example: Big Pharma meeting in private with Obama in the Oval Office to hammer out an agreement before the Health Care push. It doesn't get any more blatant or higher up than that. Right there, Obama cut a deal with the biggest, most powerful drug company in America. Big Pharma cut a sweet deal, they would be the sole providers of drugs under the plan, and in return, they would provide millions of dollars toward the campaign to sell Health Care reform to the rest of America.
Breathtaking. Watching this happen last summer was actually one of the pivot points that drove me from apathetic to passionate about my country.
Lastly, I read "When Greatness Slips Away," by Bob Herbert in The New York Times. It was fascinating. He talks about America missing critical moments of transformation, times when we could have choosen greatness, but instead choose to be mediocre.
"The collapse of the economy in the Great Recession gave us the starkest, most painful evidence imaginable of the failure of laissez-faire economics and the destructive force of the alliance of big business and government against the interests of ordinary Americans. Radical change was called for...
But there has been no radical change, only caution and timidity and more of the same. The royalists remain triumphant and working people are absorbing blow after devastating blow."
Actually, I complete agree with him here, but I have a feeling that his vision of radical change and mine are at polar opposites of the political spectrum.
He then goes on to suggest that as Americans we are giving in to an overpowering sense of helplessness and depression. He cites the destruction of large sections of the city of Detroit as a symbol of this reversal of American greatness.
It was fascinating to me because I'm experiencing the exact opposite. I agree, we are at a low point, the lowest we have ever been, but I feel an increasing sense of boyancy and hope. I feel like I am a part of the vangard of change that will propel this country back to the greatness that is its birthright, one built on hard work, self sufficiency, small, efficient government and innovation within a free market.
We just have to hang on through this rocky part.
Anyway, what was even more fascinating was reading the comments. The people who commented, boy, they agree with Mr. Herbert. Their comments make it abundantly clear that there is a real section of the populace that were sincerely hoping for the fundamental transformation that Obama promised when he took office.
It was also fascinating to hear how they thought about people like myself. According to them, I am duped, racist, radical, potentially violent, and retrograde.
Of course, we all know that I'm also the arm of the GOP, that I receive marching order from them, that I wave nazi flags, I'm old, white, rich and occurding to Obama, don't want to pay taxes to support schools for inner city children. I'm astro turf, a hate monger and un American. It's clear that I believe that Obama was born in Mars, that the earth is flat and that I occasionally like to go into a room lit with candles and hum mantras to Sarah Palin, not to mention I believe the code for the end of the world can be found in one of Glenn Beck's rants if played backward on tape.
I'm really quite a character!
If that were really true, well, I'd be depressed too.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
June 22nd
On the update front:
We are waiting to hear back from the doctor about Keith's contribution to the baby making process. This will sound horrible, but as a writer, I simply long to spin out that particular yarn. As a wife, I know it would be high treason. No more can be said on the subject but that my husband is a brave man and deeply committed to fatherhood. The answer should come this week, maybe even today.
Since actually beginning this process, I've found that my desire for biological children has come back alive and I'm hopeful again. I'm enjoying the simple presence of that hope. Maybe I will get pregnant and have sonograms and check ups and, eventually, an epidural. But I'm not banking too much on that hope, I'm just letting it be.
Have you guys been watching that new Cooking Channel? Oh my goodness. I could keep that thing on all day long. I think I have put on five pounds just from watching Nigella make caramel pudding for dinner. And they show episodes of Julia Child and Company! What could be better? Or, as the Barefoot Contessa would say, "How bad could that be?"
My German Johnson's have sprung up beyond the deck railing, like precocious children peering into the great beyond. They have put forth lovely little yellow blooms. I love the acidic, earthy smell of tomato plants.
Keith painted the truck. He was completely right. It looks amazing now, much better than before. He's already gotten one call on it, at the price of twenty eight hundred. If it sells at that price, we would make a very tidy profit; even if it sells at a much lower price we still will.
He is back in the intense, several month long cycle of training lieutenants on tank maneuvers. Last time he was thrown in immediately after arriving. This time he was named Assistant Mission Commander, and as of the middle of last week, was promoted to Mission Commander and must oversee the entire thing.
"That's what you call "Performance Punishment," Keith has said wryly, on the assignment.
I am tired of living so stringently. If the truck sells I want to spend a portion of it on stuff. I miss buying stuff. I want one of those painted glass jars with a spigot, meant for holding lemonade. I want a silver or wooden dish rack instead of my white plastic one, a summer bedspread for upstairs and other stuff that I don't even know I want yet, but will when I see it in the store.
On the political front:
I was horrified when rereading my last post to see glaring grammatical errors. Nothing is worse when writing about politics than to do so with grammatical or spelling errors. So plebeian...(Forgive me, I had to fit that word in somewhere; I recently rediscovered it.)
It is not easy to write about this topic to begin with. In fact, no one else seems to write blog posts about politics at all. I've often wondered if it was an unspoken rule amid milspouse bloggers to avoid politics in order to enhance the sisterhood of military wives and not risk division by political points of view.
Or maybe they are afraid of being wrong or not grasping the subject, something I am also afraid of and probably do all the time. But this is America! We must have the courage of our convictions, and have informed opinions and political dialogue, no matter how amateur. We have to start somewhere.
Actually, there are blogs that have indicated by buttons and such that they are proud liberal milspouses. I follow several of them, it keeps me from making silly generalizations.
Anyway, I've been reading several articles that talk about the demise of either liberalism or the liberal agenda. On an international front, many European countries are moving more to the right, largely due to the fact that they cannot afford both their entrenched and wide spread welfare systems and their ever hungry public unions. As Margaret Thatcher has said, the problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people's money.
The other interesting thing affecting the liberal agenda is the government's inability to cap the spill. This is especially damaging to those who believe that the government is the answer, and most certainly the answer to environment concerns. To see this large, liberally controlled government helpless to stop the largest environment disaster in American history is devastating.
"The administration currently in power is committed to liberal ideology--to the notion that "government" is the solution to every problem. Faced with two actual crises--one economic, the other ecological--the administration has been ineffective and directionless. Meanwhile, it has poured great energy into remaking the country to deal with problems that are either far less urgent or nonexistent, such as health care and global warming.
The administration, that is, has set its priorities according to ideology rather than real-world contingencies."
-James Taranto, "Keith Olbermann's Wisdom" The Wall Street Journal, June 21, 2010
Which, I think, is a major problem amid a host of serious problems inherent in a top down, centralized government; such a government will make decisions based upon the ideology that drives it, rather than the reality that surrounds it.
The other thing that has been striking to me lately is the liberal tendency to trust big government over big business. I honestly can't see any difference between the two. Why is it that those in a big government are credited with intellect, civic duty, enlightenment and foresight, when those in big business are credited with greed, deception and short sightedness?
Aren't they the same people? Isn't there a revolving door between big business and government that is constantly swinging, not to mention the constant flow between government positions and positions with the lobbyists?
I think smaller, restricted government and a free market is the only way to protect us, the citizens, from the greed and over reach that is inherent in humanity itself, regardless of where that person is deriving their power from, be it government or business.
Once we begin to want government to have all the answers, we are forced then to accept the answer it gives us. We are left vulnerable to the rapaciousness created by giving the government power over the question.
We are waiting to hear back from the doctor about Keith's contribution to the baby making process. This will sound horrible, but as a writer, I simply long to spin out that particular yarn. As a wife, I know it would be high treason. No more can be said on the subject but that my husband is a brave man and deeply committed to fatherhood. The answer should come this week, maybe even today.
Since actually beginning this process, I've found that my desire for biological children has come back alive and I'm hopeful again. I'm enjoying the simple presence of that hope. Maybe I will get pregnant and have sonograms and check ups and, eventually, an epidural. But I'm not banking too much on that hope, I'm just letting it be.
Have you guys been watching that new Cooking Channel? Oh my goodness. I could keep that thing on all day long. I think I have put on five pounds just from watching Nigella make caramel pudding for dinner. And they show episodes of Julia Child and Company! What could be better? Or, as the Barefoot Contessa would say, "How bad could that be?"
My German Johnson's have sprung up beyond the deck railing, like precocious children peering into the great beyond. They have put forth lovely little yellow blooms. I love the acidic, earthy smell of tomato plants.
Keith painted the truck. He was completely right. It looks amazing now, much better than before. He's already gotten one call on it, at the price of twenty eight hundred. If it sells at that price, we would make a very tidy profit; even if it sells at a much lower price we still will.
He is back in the intense, several month long cycle of training lieutenants on tank maneuvers. Last time he was thrown in immediately after arriving. This time he was named Assistant Mission Commander, and as of the middle of last week, was promoted to Mission Commander and must oversee the entire thing.
"That's what you call "Performance Punishment," Keith has said wryly, on the assignment.
I am tired of living so stringently. If the truck sells I want to spend a portion of it on stuff. I miss buying stuff. I want one of those painted glass jars with a spigot, meant for holding lemonade. I want a silver or wooden dish rack instead of my white plastic one, a summer bedspread for upstairs and other stuff that I don't even know I want yet, but will when I see it in the store.
On the political front:
I was horrified when rereading my last post to see glaring grammatical errors. Nothing is worse when writing about politics than to do so with grammatical or spelling errors. So plebeian...(Forgive me, I had to fit that word in somewhere; I recently rediscovered it.)
It is not easy to write about this topic to begin with. In fact, no one else seems to write blog posts about politics at all. I've often wondered if it was an unspoken rule amid milspouse bloggers to avoid politics in order to enhance the sisterhood of military wives and not risk division by political points of view.
Or maybe they are afraid of being wrong or not grasping the subject, something I am also afraid of and probably do all the time. But this is America! We must have the courage of our convictions, and have informed opinions and political dialogue, no matter how amateur. We have to start somewhere.
Actually, there are blogs that have indicated by buttons and such that they are proud liberal milspouses. I follow several of them, it keeps me from making silly generalizations.
Anyway, I've been reading several articles that talk about the demise of either liberalism or the liberal agenda. On an international front, many European countries are moving more to the right, largely due to the fact that they cannot afford both their entrenched and wide spread welfare systems and their ever hungry public unions. As Margaret Thatcher has said, the problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people's money.
The other interesting thing affecting the liberal agenda is the government's inability to cap the spill. This is especially damaging to those who believe that the government is the answer, and most certainly the answer to environment concerns. To see this large, liberally controlled government helpless to stop the largest environment disaster in American history is devastating.
"The administration currently in power is committed to liberal ideology--to the notion that "government" is the solution to every problem. Faced with two actual crises--one economic, the other ecological--the administration has been ineffective and directionless. Meanwhile, it has poured great energy into remaking the country to deal with problems that are either far less urgent or nonexistent, such as health care and global warming.
The administration, that is, has set its priorities according to ideology rather than real-world contingencies."
-James Taranto, "Keith Olbermann's Wisdom" The Wall Street Journal, June 21, 2010
Which, I think, is a major problem amid a host of serious problems inherent in a top down, centralized government; such a government will make decisions based upon the ideology that drives it, rather than the reality that surrounds it.
The other thing that has been striking to me lately is the liberal tendency to trust big government over big business. I honestly can't see any difference between the two. Why is it that those in a big government are credited with intellect, civic duty, enlightenment and foresight, when those in big business are credited with greed, deception and short sightedness?
Aren't they the same people? Isn't there a revolving door between big business and government that is constantly swinging, not to mention the constant flow between government positions and positions with the lobbyists?
I think smaller, restricted government and a free market is the only way to protect us, the citizens, from the greed and over reach that is inherent in humanity itself, regardless of where that person is deriving their power from, be it government or business.
Once we begin to want government to have all the answers, we are forced then to accept the answer it gives us. We are left vulnerable to the rapaciousness created by giving the government power over the question.
Monday, June 21, 2010
June 21st
You would not believe how miserably hot it is outside right now on this, the longest day of the year. It is ungodly hot. Not unless you've spent sometime in the south. To this New Englander, it's just mind bloggling. To step out the door at eight in the morning and feel the heat hit your face is unreal. There's just so much moisture in the air out there that in the morning, the glass doors were steamed over, the vehicles are slick with water.
I read "The Right's Disturbing New Anti-Statists," by E. J. Dionne this morning. Every now and then I break out of reading stuff that just reenforces my own point of view and read something instead that challenges it. That way I don't feel as though my brain were being to atrophy.
Basically, he seems to be saying that the tea party movement is displacing the old Christian conservative right wing as the vangard of the conservative movement. Anotherwords, instead of the conservatives getting all up in arms over social issues that go against the Christian religion, they are now instead getting all up in arms over fiscal and government issues, such as a balanced budget and the size and role of the government.
I myself find this to be a good thing. Isn't it better to have a movement that is based on fiscally sound policies and efficient, small government than it is to have a movement based upon religious edicts? Wouldn't the left find more common ground with the former movement?
Apparently not, at least to this author. He goes on to copy sloguns from various Tea Party web sites, such as "a community committed to standing together, shoulder to shoulder, to protect our country and the Constitution upon which we were founded!" and "a user-driven group of like-minded people who desire our God given Individual Freedoms which were written out by the Founding Fathers."
Later on in the article, he describes this kind of thinking as "disturbing." The very structure and forms that created this country, upon which this country was founded, are now disturbing to some on the Left. The Founding Fathers themselves were anti-statists.
How eye opening is that?
I remember last summer being grief stricken and horrified as I began to look deeper into the America of today. I had no idea it had drifted so far left, so far from the individual liberties and free market principles that had made it great. I just assumed that they were woven into the very fabric of this country and could never be lost.
But I was completely wrong.
The fact of the matter is, the tea party movement is just the face of a larger swing, one that is not, as he points out, based so much on religion as it is upon commen sense and our common American values. If it were based on religion, it wouldn't be as far reaching as it is.
Americans, quite rightly, are standing shoulder to shoulder in their horror over the national debt, deficit spending and an out of control government. It's wonderful that we can do so and not let social and religious issues divide us.
By the way, I want to point out that I don't believe liberals or progressives are out to destroy the country or anything ridiculous like that. I think they are Americans who sincerely believe that the government should have a greater role and responsibility in the lives of its citizens. They believe this is the right thing to do. They believe in things like fairness and accountability to the government, as opposed to the free market.
This does not make them radicals, no more than my believing in smaller government makes me one. I enjoy writing about my political point of view because it helps me think through what I believe in a more specific and logical way than I would otherwise, but I wouldn't want anyone reading this to think that I'm labeling them "anti-American" simply because they hold opposing political view points. They are, like Jon Stewart once said, respected adversaries, not the enemy.
I read "The Right's Disturbing New Anti-Statists," by E. J. Dionne this morning. Every now and then I break out of reading stuff that just reenforces my own point of view and read something instead that challenges it. That way I don't feel as though my brain were being to atrophy.
Basically, he seems to be saying that the tea party movement is displacing the old Christian conservative right wing as the vangard of the conservative movement. Anotherwords, instead of the conservatives getting all up in arms over social issues that go against the Christian religion, they are now instead getting all up in arms over fiscal and government issues, such as a balanced budget and the size and role of the government.
I myself find this to be a good thing. Isn't it better to have a movement that is based on fiscally sound policies and efficient, small government than it is to have a movement based upon religious edicts? Wouldn't the left find more common ground with the former movement?
Apparently not, at least to this author. He goes on to copy sloguns from various Tea Party web sites, such as "a community committed to standing together, shoulder to shoulder, to protect our country and the Constitution upon which we were founded!" and "a user-driven group of like-minded people who desire our God given Individual Freedoms which were written out by the Founding Fathers."
Later on in the article, he describes this kind of thinking as "disturbing." The very structure and forms that created this country, upon which this country was founded, are now disturbing to some on the Left. The Founding Fathers themselves were anti-statists.
How eye opening is that?
I remember last summer being grief stricken and horrified as I began to look deeper into the America of today. I had no idea it had drifted so far left, so far from the individual liberties and free market principles that had made it great. I just assumed that they were woven into the very fabric of this country and could never be lost.
But I was completely wrong.
The fact of the matter is, the tea party movement is just the face of a larger swing, one that is not, as he points out, based so much on religion as it is upon commen sense and our common American values. If it were based on religion, it wouldn't be as far reaching as it is.
Americans, quite rightly, are standing shoulder to shoulder in their horror over the national debt, deficit spending and an out of control government. It's wonderful that we can do so and not let social and religious issues divide us.
By the way, I want to point out that I don't believe liberals or progressives are out to destroy the country or anything ridiculous like that. I think they are Americans who sincerely believe that the government should have a greater role and responsibility in the lives of its citizens. They believe this is the right thing to do. They believe in things like fairness and accountability to the government, as opposed to the free market.
This does not make them radicals, no more than my believing in smaller government makes me one. I enjoy writing about my political point of view because it helps me think through what I believe in a more specific and logical way than I would otherwise, but I wouldn't want anyone reading this to think that I'm labeling them "anti-American" simply because they hold opposing political view points. They are, like Jon Stewart once said, respected adversaries, not the enemy.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
June 20th
We are quietly recovering from the pre Father's Day celebrations that occured yesterday. It was probably the best time we've ever spent with Keith's side of the family, but the alcohol did flow as liberally as the old family jokes, case in point-
"I rather like this music. It's quiet and peaceful," says I.
"We're going with the woman's choice. Thinking of calming down the men?" replies father in law.
"Well, it is suppose to soothe the ravening beast, or something along those lines..."
"It won't soothe me!" pipes up lanky brother in law, determined, from the dim recesses of the Dodge mega vehicle.
Keith's father was the most mellow I've ever seen him. He's a very driven, self made man who plays his cards very close to the chest, both in business and in poker. Since his wife had her close call and successful surgery, however, his demeanor has changed. He calls her affectionately, "Little 'un" and is prone to talking in warm tones about how much value "the women" add to one's life and how he wants to stop traveling as much and just enjoy life.
So we spent hours on the wide front porch of their brick ranch, just shooting the breeze. It was lovely and cool, with an expansive view of their wide front lawn and the quiet, brick ranch neighborhood.
We had a pizza and beer dinner at the local joint. A raucous family was also there celebrating a sixtieth birthday party with noise makers. Our family table was equally jovial, where pitchers of draft beer flowed and the grease from the pizza ran down our fingers.
When we went to pay, brother in law said he'd pay entirely with cash and Keith could pay his tab in cash at poker in return. I knew we hadn't brought any cash up with us and had decided privately that we would put everything on our credit card, in order to preserve the cash in checking for some bills that were scheduled to come out. We could easily pay the credit card off on the first next month.
But Keith forgot all about our plans. He made no effort to say we would put it on our card, Instead, he said in my ear that we would simply take some cash out of savings, something we had also decided that we would put a complete stop to starting this month (we keep doing it and it prevents savings from building up).
I was horrified, caught between taking cash out of savings and making a public scene. My sister in law picked up on something wrong. I leaned across the table.
"It'd be much easier for us if we could just put the whole bill on our card," I whispered to her, to Keith's complete anger and disbelief.
But to my relief she immediately went into action, reaching across and grabbing the bill from her husband, explaining. He was fine with it and everything would have worked out right then, but Keith was livid and it promptly became a very public argument. My skin was crawling with the embarrassment of having a public argument, on its own a bad thing but still more a public argument about money, an unthinkable thing.
It was made worse because Keith's brother didn't have the right change to give us our half in cash. I apologized to the entire table for making it so confusing for everyone, but everyone had rallied around me. I was amazed and grateful.
Father in law made the right change and told Keith that no one should never take money out of savings, Keith's brother chimed in and said he only wished he could have savings and that we were paying our half just fine and I kept saying that we were family, we could just be honest about the state of our finances (I was saying this as much for myself as for him.)
On the way out to the car, brother in law made jokes about starting his own bank and accepting only hundreds because they were the easiest to work with, which helped dispell much of the lingering tension, though Keith was still fuming about how we could have just stopped at an ATM and taken money out of savings.
"You listen to your wife, Keith," said my father in law. "You can't get ahead in life without savings. He's getting a little tense, isn't he, Jen?" he asked me, humorously.
"I think someone had a little too much draft beer," I replied with a grin and everyone just burst out laughing. There was no more tension after that at all and Keith seemed to forget all about it.
Back to the house there were highballs outside in the leafy woods, where they've built a fire pit and a slate rock fountain. I nearly fell asleep listening to the fall of water. Well lubricated, everyone then went inside for some AC and poker.
We didn't leave until ten pm, after mother in law cleaned house at the poker table. Before we left we all sat out on the veranda again and watched the fireflies light up over the grass.
"You done good, son. You done good," said father in law gruffly, to Keith, as they sat talking about life.
"I have to have something to bitch about," Keith said later, as they were talking about his work truck project. "I can't come home and bitch. I can't bitch about anything at home because..." Here he dropped his voice and leaned in close to his father in the dusk, "because it's perfect."
"I heard that," I said lazily, from the steps.
"Damn it," Keith said.
"There's that woman radar thing," cried his father in wonder. "You could be talking about trucks or taxes or golf and they'll zone you out. The moment you say a word about them, their radar comes out, ping! ping! They're on to you! Right, over there?" he asked his wife.
"Oh definitely," she said. "Search and destroy!"
He also praised me for the good work I was doing keeping an eye on his son.
"Oh, it's a full time job," I said with a grin, "but it does have its rewarding moments."
It was such a good time, but I feel badly for my family. All the holidays are spent at Keith's family now, since they're just an hour or so away. Sometimes I feel like my family just gets the scraps left over, phone calls or cards or gifts ordered on line. But there's nothing for it. They simply live too far away for more.
I called my dad on the way up and we chatted about my last therapy session.
"I didn't actually bring up her habit of talking about herself during the sessions," I confessed to my father. (I'd been too afraid of conflict.) "I simply redirected her whenever she got off topic."
My father just roared with laughter. "And how much money are you paying to redirect your therapist?" he wanted to know.
"I know it's fun to talk about the Bible study you gave during the mission at the jail," I joked, "but how about we talk more about that shame that got carried forward from adolescence?"
Actually, most of the session we'd just chatted, a sure sign to myself that I've reached a peaceful stage in life and no longer needed the therapy. To be honest, most of the time I used her to verify the work I'd already done. And I definitely had needed that, sometime to say officially, "I concur," so that I could close the book on that page.
The last piece had been a letter to myself that I'd written a couple weeks ago. A fellow blogger had been doing this, and after I realized how much self condemnation I still carried from my first marriage and that whole time in my life, I'd decided to go ahead and write one myself.
It was incredibly effective; I highly recommend it. I feel like I've moved through and processed a ton of stuff these last six months and I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this next journey, whatever it brings. Maybe a baby through infertility treatments or maybe a baby through adoption.
Either way, I'm in.
"I rather like this music. It's quiet and peaceful," says I.
"We're going with the woman's choice. Thinking of calming down the men?" replies father in law.
"Well, it is suppose to soothe the ravening beast, or something along those lines..."
"It won't soothe me!" pipes up lanky brother in law, determined, from the dim recesses of the Dodge mega vehicle.
Keith's father was the most mellow I've ever seen him. He's a very driven, self made man who plays his cards very close to the chest, both in business and in poker. Since his wife had her close call and successful surgery, however, his demeanor has changed. He calls her affectionately, "Little 'un" and is prone to talking in warm tones about how much value "the women" add to one's life and how he wants to stop traveling as much and just enjoy life.
So we spent hours on the wide front porch of their brick ranch, just shooting the breeze. It was lovely and cool, with an expansive view of their wide front lawn and the quiet, brick ranch neighborhood.
We had a pizza and beer dinner at the local joint. A raucous family was also there celebrating a sixtieth birthday party with noise makers. Our family table was equally jovial, where pitchers of draft beer flowed and the grease from the pizza ran down our fingers.
When we went to pay, brother in law said he'd pay entirely with cash and Keith could pay his tab in cash at poker in return. I knew we hadn't brought any cash up with us and had decided privately that we would put everything on our credit card, in order to preserve the cash in checking for some bills that were scheduled to come out. We could easily pay the credit card off on the first next month.
But Keith forgot all about our plans. He made no effort to say we would put it on our card, Instead, he said in my ear that we would simply take some cash out of savings, something we had also decided that we would put a complete stop to starting this month (we keep doing it and it prevents savings from building up).
I was horrified, caught between taking cash out of savings and making a public scene. My sister in law picked up on something wrong. I leaned across the table.
"It'd be much easier for us if we could just put the whole bill on our card," I whispered to her, to Keith's complete anger and disbelief.
But to my relief she immediately went into action, reaching across and grabbing the bill from her husband, explaining. He was fine with it and everything would have worked out right then, but Keith was livid and it promptly became a very public argument. My skin was crawling with the embarrassment of having a public argument, on its own a bad thing but still more a public argument about money, an unthinkable thing.
It was made worse because Keith's brother didn't have the right change to give us our half in cash. I apologized to the entire table for making it so confusing for everyone, but everyone had rallied around me. I was amazed and grateful.
Father in law made the right change and told Keith that no one should never take money out of savings, Keith's brother chimed in and said he only wished he could have savings and that we were paying our half just fine and I kept saying that we were family, we could just be honest about the state of our finances (I was saying this as much for myself as for him.)
On the way out to the car, brother in law made jokes about starting his own bank and accepting only hundreds because they were the easiest to work with, which helped dispell much of the lingering tension, though Keith was still fuming about how we could have just stopped at an ATM and taken money out of savings.
"You listen to your wife, Keith," said my father in law. "You can't get ahead in life without savings. He's getting a little tense, isn't he, Jen?" he asked me, humorously.
"I think someone had a little too much draft beer," I replied with a grin and everyone just burst out laughing. There was no more tension after that at all and Keith seemed to forget all about it.
Back to the house there were highballs outside in the leafy woods, where they've built a fire pit and a slate rock fountain. I nearly fell asleep listening to the fall of water. Well lubricated, everyone then went inside for some AC and poker.
We didn't leave until ten pm, after mother in law cleaned house at the poker table. Before we left we all sat out on the veranda again and watched the fireflies light up over the grass.
"You done good, son. You done good," said father in law gruffly, to Keith, as they sat talking about life.
"I have to have something to bitch about," Keith said later, as they were talking about his work truck project. "I can't come home and bitch. I can't bitch about anything at home because..." Here he dropped his voice and leaned in close to his father in the dusk, "because it's perfect."
"I heard that," I said lazily, from the steps.
"Damn it," Keith said.
"There's that woman radar thing," cried his father in wonder. "You could be talking about trucks or taxes or golf and they'll zone you out. The moment you say a word about them, their radar comes out, ping! ping! They're on to you! Right, over there?" he asked his wife.
"Oh definitely," she said. "Search and destroy!"
He also praised me for the good work I was doing keeping an eye on his son.
"Oh, it's a full time job," I said with a grin, "but it does have its rewarding moments."
It was such a good time, but I feel badly for my family. All the holidays are spent at Keith's family now, since they're just an hour or so away. Sometimes I feel like my family just gets the scraps left over, phone calls or cards or gifts ordered on line. But there's nothing for it. They simply live too far away for more.
I called my dad on the way up and we chatted about my last therapy session.
"I didn't actually bring up her habit of talking about herself during the sessions," I confessed to my father. (I'd been too afraid of conflict.) "I simply redirected her whenever she got off topic."
My father just roared with laughter. "And how much money are you paying to redirect your therapist?" he wanted to know.
"I know it's fun to talk about the Bible study you gave during the mission at the jail," I joked, "but how about we talk more about that shame that got carried forward from adolescence?"
Actually, most of the session we'd just chatted, a sure sign to myself that I've reached a peaceful stage in life and no longer needed the therapy. To be honest, most of the time I used her to verify the work I'd already done. And I definitely had needed that, sometime to say officially, "I concur," so that I could close the book on that page.
The last piece had been a letter to myself that I'd written a couple weeks ago. A fellow blogger had been doing this, and after I realized how much self condemnation I still carried from my first marriage and that whole time in my life, I'd decided to go ahead and write one myself.
It was incredibly effective; I highly recommend it. I feel like I've moved through and processed a ton of stuff these last six months and I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this next journey, whatever it brings. Maybe a baby through infertility treatments or maybe a baby through adoption.
Either way, I'm in.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
June 19th
It's a damp and rainy morning. Keith is outside checking to see if it's safe to apply the first layer of paint on the Ranger. He finally convinced me to spend even more money on the truck, with the idea that we could then sell it for more money. I remain doubtful, but he was determined, so that was that.
A couple nights ago Keith got a disturbing text from a soldier. It sounded as though this guy was on the verge of taking his own life. Immediately people flew into motion. Keith and I drove into post, while he continued to text the soldier, while coordinating with the platoon sergeant and some other men.
They all met up at a parking lot and left together. It was moving to see this response. They were not going to leave this soldier behind, even if they weren't in the battle field. One of their own needed support, so everyone dropped what they were doing and headed off to give it, no questions asked.
I waited in the parking lot, reading my emergency in-car book. A half hour later I heard this distinct mid western accent and smiled to myself. Another Indiana boy, I thought, and then looked out the window. It actually was Keith.
We ended up taking the soldier home with us, fed him pizza and then he and Keith sat on the tailgate of the HD, staring at the falling rain and talking. He stayed the night and drove back with Keith in the morning.
We're driving up to Indiana in a couple hours to meet up with Keith's brother in law and then take their father out to eat for Father's Day. But I came across a boat load of interesting articles this morning at RealClearPolitics.com.
"The formula for "clean energy" power, on the other hand, tends to be a bit more complicated, as there is no known numerical value for moral exhibitionism and flights of the imagination. Not yet.
"I suspect all this excessive anger directed at the Obama administration over the BP oil spill is likely symptomatic of an unhealthy faith many of us have in government's supernatural abilities. But watching one of the leading proponents of The Faith taking it on the chin for not doing enough ... well, karmic justice certainly has its moments.
"Could he provide the American people with an example of government-subsidized industries that have spurred a wondrous economic boom? Because at this point, even with the billions in subsidies and handouts -- not to mention mandates -- only 5 percent of our energy needs are met with renewable sources.
"After all, outside of studies that use prospective models, "clean energy" economies haven't been working out very well. A famous 2009 report from King Juan Carlos University in Madrid found that for every green-energy-subsidizing job created by the government, at least 2.2 jobs were lost in the process. Every green job Spain has concocted since 2000 has cost taxpayers $774,000. Spain is about to be junk-bonded, and its green-energy economy is not helping."
-David Harsanyi, "Never Let An Oil Spill Go To Waste," The Denver Post, June 18, 2010
"And oh, by the way, what's the role of Congress in this catastrophe? What exactly is it doing besides presiding over these show trials? Doesn't it have oversight authority when it comes to the Minerals Management Service, which utterly failed to regulate the safety of BP's deep-water drilling operations? Why aren't more people talking about this?
"And why in the world hasn't Congress suspended the Jones Act, thereby allowing foreign-flag tankers into the Gulf of Mexico area? What is it waiting for?
"Another problem with Obama's address was his arrogant announcement that he would inform BP's CEO "that he is to set aside" an asset amount ($20 billion) for the government-run escrow fund to pay for the spill damages. Trouble is, there are no laws to permit our government to force such financial retribution. Not even a new TARP -- at least, not yet. Did someone say nationalization?
The government has no right to interfering with the financial decisions of a private, shareholder-owned corporation. This sounds like GM and Chrysler all over again. Or maybe health insurers, pharmaceuticals, private investment funds and multinational corporations. And it could end up having a serious and chilling effect on corporate investment.
"Consider this: American companies are sitting on an astonishing pile of $1.5 trillion in unused cash. Why aren't they investing to create new jobs? Well, it's because massive tax and regulatory threats coming out of Washington have created a tall barrier of disincentives and uncertainty that is blocking the normal efficiency of the free-market capitalist system."
-Larry Kudlow, "BP, the White House and Congress Are All Dirty," The National Review, June 19, 2010
And lastly,
"Enacting a law is one thing; implementing it is another. And early indications about ObamaCare's implementation via new regulations suggest this law will validate its critics' dire predictions.
The president repeatedly promised Americans that they'd be able to keep their existing health coverage under ObamaCare. Yet an early regulatory draft -- of his administration's own making -- predicts that in just three years, changes that employers will have to make will put 51 percent of workers into plans subject to new federal requirements.
Those changes will raise -- not rein in -- costs. And employers will have to keep modifications to deductibles, co-payments and benefits within a narrow range -- defined by unelected bureaucrats -- or lose their "grandfathered" plans' exemptions from those otherwise mandatory changes.
As costs and regulations rise, fewer of those "grandfathered" plans will survive. They'll cover fewer workers -- and government-designed plans will cover more. Apparently, bureaucrats will do what the ObamaCare law didn't to ensure that government takes over health care.
If the administration holds to the regulatory course it's setting, ObamaCare in practice will be an even bigger disaster than it appeared to be on paper."
-"ObamaCare: The Ruse Exposed"
A couple nights ago Keith got a disturbing text from a soldier. It sounded as though this guy was on the verge of taking his own life. Immediately people flew into motion. Keith and I drove into post, while he continued to text the soldier, while coordinating with the platoon sergeant and some other men.
They all met up at a parking lot and left together. It was moving to see this response. They were not going to leave this soldier behind, even if they weren't in the battle field. One of their own needed support, so everyone dropped what they were doing and headed off to give it, no questions asked.
I waited in the parking lot, reading my emergency in-car book. A half hour later I heard this distinct mid western accent and smiled to myself. Another Indiana boy, I thought, and then looked out the window. It actually was Keith.
We ended up taking the soldier home with us, fed him pizza and then he and Keith sat on the tailgate of the HD, staring at the falling rain and talking. He stayed the night and drove back with Keith in the morning.
We're driving up to Indiana in a couple hours to meet up with Keith's brother in law and then take their father out to eat for Father's Day. But I came across a boat load of interesting articles this morning at RealClearPolitics.com.
"The formula for "clean energy" power, on the other hand, tends to be a bit more complicated, as there is no known numerical value for moral exhibitionism and flights of the imagination. Not yet.
"I suspect all this excessive anger directed at the Obama administration over the BP oil spill is likely symptomatic of an unhealthy faith many of us have in government's supernatural abilities. But watching one of the leading proponents of The Faith taking it on the chin for not doing enough ... well, karmic justice certainly has its moments.
"Could he provide the American people with an example of government-subsidized industries that have spurred a wondrous economic boom? Because at this point, even with the billions in subsidies and handouts -- not to mention mandates -- only 5 percent of our energy needs are met with renewable sources.
"After all, outside of studies that use prospective models, "clean energy" economies haven't been working out very well. A famous 2009 report from King Juan Carlos University in Madrid found that for every green-energy-subsidizing job created by the government, at least 2.2 jobs were lost in the process. Every green job Spain has concocted since 2000 has cost taxpayers $774,000. Spain is about to be junk-bonded, and its green-energy economy is not helping."
-David Harsanyi, "Never Let An Oil Spill Go To Waste," The Denver Post, June 18, 2010
"And oh, by the way, what's the role of Congress in this catastrophe? What exactly is it doing besides presiding over these show trials? Doesn't it have oversight authority when it comes to the Minerals Management Service, which utterly failed to regulate the safety of BP's deep-water drilling operations? Why aren't more people talking about this?
"And why in the world hasn't Congress suspended the Jones Act, thereby allowing foreign-flag tankers into the Gulf of Mexico area? What is it waiting for?
"Another problem with Obama's address was his arrogant announcement that he would inform BP's CEO "that he is to set aside" an asset amount ($20 billion) for the government-run escrow fund to pay for the spill damages. Trouble is, there are no laws to permit our government to force such financial retribution. Not even a new TARP -- at least, not yet. Did someone say nationalization?
The government has no right to interfering with the financial decisions of a private, shareholder-owned corporation. This sounds like GM and Chrysler all over again. Or maybe health insurers, pharmaceuticals, private investment funds and multinational corporations. And it could end up having a serious and chilling effect on corporate investment.
"Consider this: American companies are sitting on an astonishing pile of $1.5 trillion in unused cash. Why aren't they investing to create new jobs? Well, it's because massive tax and regulatory threats coming out of Washington have created a tall barrier of disincentives and uncertainty that is blocking the normal efficiency of the free-market capitalist system."
-Larry Kudlow, "BP, the White House and Congress Are All Dirty," The National Review, June 19, 2010
And lastly,
"Enacting a law is one thing; implementing it is another. And early indications about ObamaCare's implementation via new regulations suggest this law will validate its critics' dire predictions.
The president repeatedly promised Americans that they'd be able to keep their existing health coverage under ObamaCare. Yet an early regulatory draft -- of his administration's own making -- predicts that in just three years, changes that employers will have to make will put 51 percent of workers into plans subject to new federal requirements.
Those changes will raise -- not rein in -- costs. And employers will have to keep modifications to deductibles, co-payments and benefits within a narrow range -- defined by unelected bureaucrats -- or lose their "grandfathered" plans' exemptions from those otherwise mandatory changes.
As costs and regulations rise, fewer of those "grandfathered" plans will survive. They'll cover fewer workers -- and government-designed plans will cover more. Apparently, bureaucrats will do what the ObamaCare law didn't to ensure that government takes over health care.
If the administration holds to the regulatory course it's setting, ObamaCare in practice will be an even bigger disaster than it appeared to be on paper."
-"ObamaCare: The Ruse Exposed"
Friday, June 18, 2010
June 18th
I read something really interesting in an article in The New Republic entitled "Liberal Despair and the Cult of the Presidency."
The author was talking about the speech Maddow wished Obama had given on Tuesday:
"In reality, you can't pass any of the climate bill by reconciliation. Democrats didn't write reconciliation instructions permitting them to do so, and very little of its could be passed through reconciliation, which only allows budgetary decisions. Maddow's response is to pass the rest by executive order. But you can't change those laws through executive order, either. That's not how our system of government works, nor is it how our system should work.
"I would love to eliminate the filibuster and create more accountable parties. But even if that happens, there will be a legislative branch that has a strong say in what passes or doesn't pass. And that's good! We wouldn't want to live in a world where a president can remake vast swaths of policy merely be decreeing it."
-Jonathan Chait, Liberal Despair and the Cult of the Presidency, The New Republic, June 18, 2010
No kidding. We wouldn't want to live in a world where a president can remake vast swaths of policy merely by decreeing it, because then he would be a dictator, not a president. It amazes me sometimes how those on the left just do not make this connection. They seem to think that raw power is ok so long as it's used for good, not for evil.
(Which reminds me of that scene from "The Lord of the Rings" where Gandoff bellows "Don't tempt me!" to Frodo when Frodo is trying to hand the ring to him.)
A few days ago I was watching Jon Stewart as he talked about how Obama was abusing his "authoritah." It was awesome. He pointed out the many things President elect Obama was going to reform or not do (that Bush was doing) that Obama now, as President, has decided to continue or worsen.
But the very next day the show was about how Obama is not doing enough to punish BP. It was in response to Obama's lame duck speech on Tuesday (which everyone seems to agree was horrible, though they agree this for different reasons).
One or the other, you can't have both. Either the President is going to be above the law or he is not. Following the rule of law is not situation specific, otherwise there is in effect no rule of law.
It's not that I don't empathize. I do. I would love to see the BP pay. They are a horrible company, they cut corners in despicable ways. And they should pay, in court, through rule of law.
But guess who was in bed with them? The federal government, naturally. The federal government who told them to drill in five thousand feet of water, instead of the five hundred that the company and Louisiana originally planned.
This is what happens when the government has power to regulate. They regulate poorly, they sleep with the companies instead of restricting them and then they blame the company for the resulting failures and cry out to be given even more power to regulate. But if the first regulations didn't work, why do we continue to believe that even more the same will finally make the difference?
Returning the powers of the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government to the limited and balanced system our Constitution meant it to be, and certainly not further eroding it, should be in the best interests of any American citizen, no matter where they stand on the issues. The rule of law is what prevents us from forcing our ideological beliefs upon the country at large.
That's why I think that the health care law and climate change will be overturned. Americans still believe that sovereign authority belongs to them, not to the politicians which are supposed to represent them and uphold the Constitution. They recognize that those laws do not actually fix the original problem, but fix us instead within an ideological system of governance that is at odds with what is left of the American republic.
Certainly we need energy independence and absolutely we need to prevent futher environmental disasters, but we can do so without ideolocally driven laws that transform our country and increase the power, scope and cost of the federal government.
The author was talking about the speech Maddow wished Obama had given on Tuesday:
"In reality, you can't pass any of the climate bill by reconciliation. Democrats didn't write reconciliation instructions permitting them to do so, and very little of its could be passed through reconciliation, which only allows budgetary decisions. Maddow's response is to pass the rest by executive order. But you can't change those laws through executive order, either. That's not how our system of government works, nor is it how our system should work.
"I would love to eliminate the filibuster and create more accountable parties. But even if that happens, there will be a legislative branch that has a strong say in what passes or doesn't pass. And that's good! We wouldn't want to live in a world where a president can remake vast swaths of policy merely be decreeing it."
-Jonathan Chait, Liberal Despair and the Cult of the Presidency, The New Republic, June 18, 2010
No kidding. We wouldn't want to live in a world where a president can remake vast swaths of policy merely by decreeing it, because then he would be a dictator, not a president. It amazes me sometimes how those on the left just do not make this connection. They seem to think that raw power is ok so long as it's used for good, not for evil.
(Which reminds me of that scene from "The Lord of the Rings" where Gandoff bellows "Don't tempt me!" to Frodo when Frodo is trying to hand the ring to him.)
A few days ago I was watching Jon Stewart as he talked about how Obama was abusing his "authoritah." It was awesome. He pointed out the many things President elect Obama was going to reform or not do (that Bush was doing) that Obama now, as President, has decided to continue or worsen.
But the very next day the show was about how Obama is not doing enough to punish BP. It was in response to Obama's lame duck speech on Tuesday (which everyone seems to agree was horrible, though they agree this for different reasons).
One or the other, you can't have both. Either the President is going to be above the law or he is not. Following the rule of law is not situation specific, otherwise there is in effect no rule of law.
It's not that I don't empathize. I do. I would love to see the BP pay. They are a horrible company, they cut corners in despicable ways. And they should pay, in court, through rule of law.
But guess who was in bed with them? The federal government, naturally. The federal government who told them to drill in five thousand feet of water, instead of the five hundred that the company and Louisiana originally planned.
This is what happens when the government has power to regulate. They regulate poorly, they sleep with the companies instead of restricting them and then they blame the company for the resulting failures and cry out to be given even more power to regulate. But if the first regulations didn't work, why do we continue to believe that even more the same will finally make the difference?
Returning the powers of the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government to the limited and balanced system our Constitution meant it to be, and certainly not further eroding it, should be in the best interests of any American citizen, no matter where they stand on the issues. The rule of law is what prevents us from forcing our ideological beliefs upon the country at large.
That's why I think that the health care law and climate change will be overturned. Americans still believe that sovereign authority belongs to them, not to the politicians which are supposed to represent them and uphold the Constitution. They recognize that those laws do not actually fix the original problem, but fix us instead within an ideological system of governance that is at odds with what is left of the American republic.
Certainly we need energy independence and absolutely we need to prevent futher environmental disasters, but we can do so without ideolocally driven laws that transform our country and increase the power, scope and cost of the federal government.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
June 17th
Yesterday went really well. I had trouble getting down there, but made it alive and in one piece. It was in a hospital and the waiting room was mobbed, a great gathering of women in a hushed room with pastel paintings on the dimly lit walls.
"I love getting people like you pregnant!" declared my exuberant doctor the moment she came in. She was dark haired with lively eyes and a classic Kentucky accent, all Derby and Lexington. "You're young, you're healthy, you're beautiful. You're just the kind of person who should be getting pregnant!"
She was marvelous. She asked me all kinds of questions and took her time to explain things. She said the next step would be a sperm analysis and if that came out fine then she would prescribe Clomid for me.
"This is gonna happen!" she declared, patting me knee. "We're going to get you pregnant!"
I left feeling optimistic and well cared for.
I woke up this morning so grateful for the fact that I did not have to go anywhere. Nothing makes me so grateful for my quiet little routine than any major breaks from it.
Thank God I don't have a morning commute into a city. I can wake at seven, pull on a cotton skirt and tee and wander out into the cool, delicious morning with my dogs to let the breeze wipe the sleep from my eyes.
And then come inside, make coffee and catch up on the news, like how Obama is going to use the oil leak to push through Cap and Trade and how it's slated to be voted on.
"The plan is to conference the new Senate bill with the already-passed House bill IN A LAME-DUCK SESSION AFTER THE ELECTION, so House members don't have to take another tough vote ahead of midterms." link
Never mind that cap and tax schemes like this have failed miserably in Europe. Never mind that it's vastly unpopular in America. Never mind that it's going to impoverish this country, kill jobs and, as Obama has himself said, "necessarily drive up" electricity costs. Never mind that it will amount to the largest tax increase in American history.
No. Never mind all that. Because, as Rahm Emanual has said, one should never let a crisis go to waste. So, after the President bumbled stupidly through his response to the oil leak, a response that include several golf games and a few vacations, he's decided that instead of fixing it, he's going to take more money from BP, despite it being against the law, and put into the government's capable hands, because everybody knows that if the federal government stands for anything, it's stands for excellence in money management and then hijack the emergency for his own political ends.
Awesome.
Anyway. I could go on ranting almost indefinitely. This president, his administration and the 111th Congress may think they can come in and radically transform this country but they are wrong. I don't care how many bogus victories they may claim through back room deals and cowardly lame-duck votes between now and November, all the while avoiding their actual jobs, like coming up with a budget. How stupid do they think we are? Do they think by not coming up with a budget we won't realize how much money they're spending? Seriously.
It won't stand.
"I love getting people like you pregnant!" declared my exuberant doctor the moment she came in. She was dark haired with lively eyes and a classic Kentucky accent, all Derby and Lexington. "You're young, you're healthy, you're beautiful. You're just the kind of person who should be getting pregnant!"
She was marvelous. She asked me all kinds of questions and took her time to explain things. She said the next step would be a sperm analysis and if that came out fine then she would prescribe Clomid for me.
"This is gonna happen!" she declared, patting me knee. "We're going to get you pregnant!"
I left feeling optimistic and well cared for.
I woke up this morning so grateful for the fact that I did not have to go anywhere. Nothing makes me so grateful for my quiet little routine than any major breaks from it.
Thank God I don't have a morning commute into a city. I can wake at seven, pull on a cotton skirt and tee and wander out into the cool, delicious morning with my dogs to let the breeze wipe the sleep from my eyes.
And then come inside, make coffee and catch up on the news, like how Obama is going to use the oil leak to push through Cap and Trade and how it's slated to be voted on.
"The plan is to conference the new Senate bill with the already-passed House bill IN A LAME-DUCK SESSION AFTER THE ELECTION, so House members don't have to take another tough vote ahead of midterms." link
Never mind that cap and tax schemes like this have failed miserably in Europe. Never mind that it's vastly unpopular in America. Never mind that it's going to impoverish this country, kill jobs and, as Obama has himself said, "necessarily drive up" electricity costs. Never mind that it will amount to the largest tax increase in American history.
No. Never mind all that. Because, as Rahm Emanual has said, one should never let a crisis go to waste. So, after the President bumbled stupidly through his response to the oil leak, a response that include several golf games and a few vacations, he's decided that instead of fixing it, he's going to take more money from BP, despite it being against the law, and put into the government's capable hands, because everybody knows that if the federal government stands for anything, it's stands for excellence in money management and then hijack the emergency for his own political ends.
Awesome.
Anyway. I could go on ranting almost indefinitely. This president, his administration and the 111th Congress may think they can come in and radically transform this country but they are wrong. I don't care how many bogus victories they may claim through back room deals and cowardly lame-duck votes between now and November, all the while avoiding their actual jobs, like coming up with a budget. How stupid do they think we are? Do they think by not coming up with a budget we won't realize how much money they're spending? Seriously.
It won't stand.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
June 15th
My initial doctor's appointment is tomorrow. Me being me, I'm completely dreading it. First, I'll have to drive into the city with only the GPS system and that's no substitute for Keith. Secondly...well, I'm just dreading it. Even though nothing is even going to happen. I'm simply going to pay money to sit in an office and talk about the tests that they'll take the next time I come in. If they even offer those tests.
Today I made tomato candy. I minced roasted red pepper and sweet onion. I added minced fresh lemon basil from my back deck. I mixed that into some mayo and dolloped it onto sliced tomato.
Another version of tomato candy: Slice tomato, sprinkle lightly with sugar and salt, add shredded mozzarella, put under broiler until cheese is slightly golden.
I'm very fond of the toasted tomato sandwich and have been experimenting. Here's the best version yet. Toast whole wheat, allow to cool while preparing veggies. Slice English cucumber thin, four slices. Slice tomato thin, three or four slices. Slice sweet onion thin, one slice. Mince 1 ts. roasted red pepper, add 1 and a half ts. horseradish sauce, mix into two tablespoons low fat mayo. Spread on toast. Layer on tomato, cucumber and onion. Put one handful raw baby spinach on top, cap with second piece of spread toast.
And voila, deliciousness has been achieved. Even Keith loves these sandwiches, he'll choose it over a toasted ham and cheese.
Today I made tomato candy. I minced roasted red pepper and sweet onion. I added minced fresh lemon basil from my back deck. I mixed that into some mayo and dolloped it onto sliced tomato.
Another version of tomato candy: Slice tomato, sprinkle lightly with sugar and salt, add shredded mozzarella, put under broiler until cheese is slightly golden.
I'm very fond of the toasted tomato sandwich and have been experimenting. Here's the best version yet. Toast whole wheat, allow to cool while preparing veggies. Slice English cucumber thin, four slices. Slice tomato thin, three or four slices. Slice sweet onion thin, one slice. Mince 1 ts. roasted red pepper, add 1 and a half ts. horseradish sauce, mix into two tablespoons low fat mayo. Spread on toast. Layer on tomato, cucumber and onion. Put one handful raw baby spinach on top, cap with second piece of spread toast.
And voila, deliciousness has been achieved. Even Keith loves these sandwiches, he'll choose it over a toasted ham and cheese.
Monday, June 14, 2010
June 14th
Ok, so we had a very happening weekend. In fact, I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I'll start with Sunday.
Late Sunday afternoon we were in the car headed to the RedBox to return some movies. (Defiance and Sunshine Cleaning, both were excellent.) On a whim, I suggested that we go swimming that evening. Keith thought this was a great idea. In fact, he was all for turning the car around right then so we could go get our suits as well as Abigail, as she was, in his words "born for the water."
I should have known right then and there. But I was not paying attention to those little hints life sometimes throws at us. I merely and very strongly told him that we were not bringing the dog to the beach. I did say that if there was no sign saying "No Dogs," then we could bring her the next time.
So we get home and I'm upstairs wrestling with my suit- it's just criminal the way a nylon polyester blend can shrink!-and Keith is downstairs running around getting bathing towels and starting the car and last but not least, putting Abby in it.
I open the driver's side door and see her happy mug hanging over the seat, tongue lolling.
"Keith! I told you we couldn't bring her!"
He insists that she was born for the water. I'm thinking that I'll have to turn off the car, pull out the keys, grab the dog, unlock the house door, put her in and come back and restart the car, since the keys are on the same ring.
With a heavy sigh, I resign myself to Abby being in the car. That was my second major mistake.
"She doesn't get out of the car," I tell Keith.
By now I'm pretty angry. It's the first time going to the Housing Association beach, not to mention the first time I'm in a bathing suit this year and I'm already feeling a little anxious. The last thing I want is to loudly and conspicuously break the rules on the very first trip. I want to be a good neighbor, a conscious member of the community. Blend in.
Ha. My only hope is that because it's six in the evening, the beach will be deserted.
We get to the beach and the entire parking lot is full. Or pretty close to it. As soon as I get out of the car, I see Keith has Abby on her leash and is wandering off into the grass. There's a whole party of people using the picnic tables nearby, so I can't bite his head off the way I want to.
Instead I run up to him and hiss at him to put the damn dog back in the car right this minute. I remind myself of a harpy, only with flip flops. He says ok, but then heads off again. I heckle and hiss until the dog is in the car.
By now, my head is steaming. We roll all the windows down for Abby and head down the short slope to the water. It's as warm as bath water. We play around in the water for about fifteen minutes and then I tell Keith we have to go and remind him of Abby.
We shake sand out of our towels and head back up the slope, only to meet an inebriated beach go-er coming down.
"Are you the people with the dog in the car?" she wants to know, in an accusatory and pained tone of voice, only slightly slurred.
Keith affirms this fact and she goes off on us about leaving her there. I'm somewhat behind Keith, so I miss most of the interaction. I try to catch up, but Keith already has Abby out of the car and on the grass by the time I reach him.
"Get the dog back in the car and we'll just go home," I tell him, as calmly as possible. Which is getting progressively more difficult.
"I'm going to go cool her off in the showers," he says.
In the showers!
"Keith!" I cry, but he's gone around the corner of the bath house with Abby. By the time I turn the corner (I'm quite winded from all the swimming) I see Keith and Abby on the beach. My head is so steaming that you could cook an egg on it. I'm so angry I actually don't even know what to do with myself.
I wait and wait but he doesn't bring Abby back up and I'm not going to holler at him for the entire beach to hear, so despite my aching legs I stomp all the way down the slope. Abby and Keith are in the shallows, swimming around.
"Now I'm asking you nicely," I start out with this kind of dreadful calm. "Take Abby back to the car so we can go home."
"Ok, but hun,' pleads Keith, "look at her! She's loving it! It's the first time she's been in the water her whole life!"
I can't even reply. I just turn my back and start walking back up to the wooden stairs.
Before Abby gets there, she squats and drops a load of dog crap right on the sand.
"Now what are you going to do?" I demand, flinging my arms out. Keith just hurries around me. I know how he is about dog crap. So I go back to the pile and scoop it up in my bare hands, trying to use the sand as a buffer. I throw it into the bushes off to the side.
You can only imagine my state of mind by this time. Also, on the way to the car I step in some slimy mud and sink up to my ankle. As I pass by the picnic beach area, a young boy of about nine gives me the evil eye as he sucks on a Popsicle. "You're the selfish grown up that brought a dog to the beach and then left in the car!" I can see he's thinking.
I pass by with as much dignity as I can muster, all the while limping in order to keep my slimy flipflop on, hair dripping down my back, dog shitty sand on my hands.
Keith and Abby are already in the car with the air condition on full blast. I get in and put my hands on the steering wheel to ground myself.
"I have never been so angry in my entire life," I say, putting the car in gear. And then I go off. I mean, I go off. Like I have never done in our entire marriage. I used to swear like a sailor before I met Keith but he doesn't like me to, so I've cut down on it. But right then, the F word flew like candy on a fourth of July parade.
"You f-ing lied to me! I told you not to bring the f-ing dog and for f-ing good reason as it turns out!" I holler. "But you had to sneak her in behind my f-ing back! You wanted to do whatever the f you wanted to! I just picked up f-ing dog shit with my bare hands! You f-ing humiliated me in f-ing public!"
Since I'd never spoken to Keith like that before, I fully expected him to become enraged and start fighting back, but all he did was sit quietly. He didn't even try to argue, though he mention that Abby is a Lab and was born for the water. I pretend I didn't hear this.
I pulled myself together and we drove for a while in silence. I knew I had stop being simply white hot angry without direction. I usually like anger to have a purpose. So I calmed myself down and thought about natural consequences.
"You want to do whatever you want, fine," I said in a grim voice as we turned into our street. "You're a grown man, you can make that choice. But you'll go alone. We're not going to the beach again together. You can do whatever you want by yourself."
After I'd taken a shower to rinse the sand off and had dressed in a nice cool summer dress, I felt a little better and actually looked Keith in the eye when I asked him about dinner. He came up to me as I was at the sink and put his arms around me.
"You have every reason to be angry at me," he said quietly. "I love you and I'm sorry."
How could I be angry at that point? Though this morning he called me and said for PT he was bringing the guys to the lake for a swim and was thinking about picking up Abby.
"There'll probably be no one at the beach..." he said.
"You will not take Abby to that beach," I flatly declared. "Now, you don't want to make me angry..."
"No," laughed my husband, "no, I definitely do not want to make my little Kitty angry!"
So that was Sunday. Saturday started off well too, deceptively. We decided to check out the local farmer's market so Keith got me coffee from the gas station and off we went, riding in the Ranger for the heck of it.
The farmer's market was pretty small, but with nice produce but we forgot to bring cash so we made a plan to return next Saturday. We headed off to Kroger's where we could use our card. When we got home I was putting everything away when we got a call.
Keith's mom was leaving that day to visit her family in Oregon and Keith's brother was driving her to the Louisville Airport. It turns out that they have broken down somewhere outside the city. The car was overheating and the engine was swathed in a cloud of smoke.
Keith swings into emergency mode and begins to rearrange the ungodly amount of vehicles we have in our driveway right now, so that he can get to the car trailer. Eventually it's freed and Keith loads up. I wave him away and settle happily down to Internetting.
I get a call ten minutes later.
The family has all taken a taxi to the airport, leaving the car by the side of the road. Keith now must drive all the way to the airport with a car trailer attached to his extended cab, pick up the family, drive back to the car and then back home. He's livid.
Twenty minutes later I get another call. The family has decided to eat and are waiting on their cheeseburgers just as Keith pulls up to the pick up area of the airport. With a car trailer. He tells them they have ten minutes to get out to the curb or he's going back home.
They come out and once in the truck, tells Keith their story. Their story of stress at the airport is such that Keith forgets all about being angry at them and calls me to tell me. I can't tell this story on my blog, because it just wouldn't be right, but suffice to say that everyone was so rattled in the quest to get mom in law and her frenetic little dog on the flight that they all decide to go to Hooters for some beer, even my sister in law who is the most laid back person ever.
They arrive here with some chicken hot wings in a plastic container, still rattled. Even my dynamic, back woods, lanky brother in law is strangely subdued. He and Keith begin to fiddle around with the car, a VW Bug.
By the way, at this point there are two rusting trucks parked on the side of the road, my Honda Civic on the other side of the road and the car trailer with the Bug on it taking up the whole drive way. I'm waiting to receive a fine in the mail any day now.
My sister in law and I work on making a blueberry bake recipe and we're both chatting a mile a minute. I'm having a blast, Keith no so much. We put together a lasagna and while that's baking, we grab our purses and drive on down to Kroger's for some ice cream to put on the blueberry bake. When we get home, the boys tell us that the car is an easy fix.
The lasagna comes out perfect, golden crusty mozzarella cheese on top, layers of cheesy goodness inside, rich and meaty. We have a simple salad on the side. After dinner my sister in law and I clean up together in perfect, content rhythm.
We're thinking about getting into the desert when we learn that it's not going to be an easy fix and the boys need us to drive forty five minutes to a specific Auto Zone to pick up the part. (My brother in law has the Auto Zone's number on speed dial.)
So we head off and get forty minutes down the road before Keith calls us to tell us that we have to turn around, it's not that part, it's another part that's broken. We turn around and drive all the way back home. It turns out that they're going to have to get a part from a dealer and it's going to be very expensive.
In the meantime, they have to spend the night and get up at five in the morning in order for my sister in law to get to her job on time, which starts at seven back up in Indiana. Also, Keith finds out that one of his soldiers hasn't eaten since Friday morning and won't be able to until Monday when he gets paid. In short order the soldier arrives for some left over lasagna and blueberry bake.
At ten pm I fall into bed, too tired even to read. And then Sunday dawns.
So that was my weekend. Thank God it's Monday.
Late Sunday afternoon we were in the car headed to the RedBox to return some movies. (Defiance and Sunshine Cleaning, both were excellent.) On a whim, I suggested that we go swimming that evening. Keith thought this was a great idea. In fact, he was all for turning the car around right then so we could go get our suits as well as Abigail, as she was, in his words "born for the water."
I should have known right then and there. But I was not paying attention to those little hints life sometimes throws at us. I merely and very strongly told him that we were not bringing the dog to the beach. I did say that if there was no sign saying "No Dogs," then we could bring her the next time.
So we get home and I'm upstairs wrestling with my suit- it's just criminal the way a nylon polyester blend can shrink!-and Keith is downstairs running around getting bathing towels and starting the car and last but not least, putting Abby in it.
I open the driver's side door and see her happy mug hanging over the seat, tongue lolling.
"Keith! I told you we couldn't bring her!"
He insists that she was born for the water. I'm thinking that I'll have to turn off the car, pull out the keys, grab the dog, unlock the house door, put her in and come back and restart the car, since the keys are on the same ring.
With a heavy sigh, I resign myself to Abby being in the car. That was my second major mistake.
"She doesn't get out of the car," I tell Keith.
By now I'm pretty angry. It's the first time going to the Housing Association beach, not to mention the first time I'm in a bathing suit this year and I'm already feeling a little anxious. The last thing I want is to loudly and conspicuously break the rules on the very first trip. I want to be a good neighbor, a conscious member of the community. Blend in.
Ha. My only hope is that because it's six in the evening, the beach will be deserted.
We get to the beach and the entire parking lot is full. Or pretty close to it. As soon as I get out of the car, I see Keith has Abby on her leash and is wandering off into the grass. There's a whole party of people using the picnic tables nearby, so I can't bite his head off the way I want to.
Instead I run up to him and hiss at him to put the damn dog back in the car right this minute. I remind myself of a harpy, only with flip flops. He says ok, but then heads off again. I heckle and hiss until the dog is in the car.
By now, my head is steaming. We roll all the windows down for Abby and head down the short slope to the water. It's as warm as bath water. We play around in the water for about fifteen minutes and then I tell Keith we have to go and remind him of Abby.
We shake sand out of our towels and head back up the slope, only to meet an inebriated beach go-er coming down.
"Are you the people with the dog in the car?" she wants to know, in an accusatory and pained tone of voice, only slightly slurred.
Keith affirms this fact and she goes off on us about leaving her there. I'm somewhat behind Keith, so I miss most of the interaction. I try to catch up, but Keith already has Abby out of the car and on the grass by the time I reach him.
"Get the dog back in the car and we'll just go home," I tell him, as calmly as possible. Which is getting progressively more difficult.
"I'm going to go cool her off in the showers," he says.
In the showers!
"Keith!" I cry, but he's gone around the corner of the bath house with Abby. By the time I turn the corner (I'm quite winded from all the swimming) I see Keith and Abby on the beach. My head is so steaming that you could cook an egg on it. I'm so angry I actually don't even know what to do with myself.
I wait and wait but he doesn't bring Abby back up and I'm not going to holler at him for the entire beach to hear, so despite my aching legs I stomp all the way down the slope. Abby and Keith are in the shallows, swimming around.
"Now I'm asking you nicely," I start out with this kind of dreadful calm. "Take Abby back to the car so we can go home."
"Ok, but hun,' pleads Keith, "look at her! She's loving it! It's the first time she's been in the water her whole life!"
I can't even reply. I just turn my back and start walking back up to the wooden stairs.
Before Abby gets there, she squats and drops a load of dog crap right on the sand.
"Now what are you going to do?" I demand, flinging my arms out. Keith just hurries around me. I know how he is about dog crap. So I go back to the pile and scoop it up in my bare hands, trying to use the sand as a buffer. I throw it into the bushes off to the side.
You can only imagine my state of mind by this time. Also, on the way to the car I step in some slimy mud and sink up to my ankle. As I pass by the picnic beach area, a young boy of about nine gives me the evil eye as he sucks on a Popsicle. "You're the selfish grown up that brought a dog to the beach and then left in the car!" I can see he's thinking.
I pass by with as much dignity as I can muster, all the while limping in order to keep my slimy flipflop on, hair dripping down my back, dog shitty sand on my hands.
Keith and Abby are already in the car with the air condition on full blast. I get in and put my hands on the steering wheel to ground myself.
"I have never been so angry in my entire life," I say, putting the car in gear. And then I go off. I mean, I go off. Like I have never done in our entire marriage. I used to swear like a sailor before I met Keith but he doesn't like me to, so I've cut down on it. But right then, the F word flew like candy on a fourth of July parade.
"You f-ing lied to me! I told you not to bring the f-ing dog and for f-ing good reason as it turns out!" I holler. "But you had to sneak her in behind my f-ing back! You wanted to do whatever the f you wanted to! I just picked up f-ing dog shit with my bare hands! You f-ing humiliated me in f-ing public!"
Since I'd never spoken to Keith like that before, I fully expected him to become enraged and start fighting back, but all he did was sit quietly. He didn't even try to argue, though he mention that Abby is a Lab and was born for the water. I pretend I didn't hear this.
I pulled myself together and we drove for a while in silence. I knew I had stop being simply white hot angry without direction. I usually like anger to have a purpose. So I calmed myself down and thought about natural consequences.
"You want to do whatever you want, fine," I said in a grim voice as we turned into our street. "You're a grown man, you can make that choice. But you'll go alone. We're not going to the beach again together. You can do whatever you want by yourself."
After I'd taken a shower to rinse the sand off and had dressed in a nice cool summer dress, I felt a little better and actually looked Keith in the eye when I asked him about dinner. He came up to me as I was at the sink and put his arms around me.
"You have every reason to be angry at me," he said quietly. "I love you and I'm sorry."
How could I be angry at that point? Though this morning he called me and said for PT he was bringing the guys to the lake for a swim and was thinking about picking up Abby.
"There'll probably be no one at the beach..." he said.
"You will not take Abby to that beach," I flatly declared. "Now, you don't want to make me angry..."
"No," laughed my husband, "no, I definitely do not want to make my little Kitty angry!"
So that was Sunday. Saturday started off well too, deceptively. We decided to check out the local farmer's market so Keith got me coffee from the gas station and off we went, riding in the Ranger for the heck of it.
The farmer's market was pretty small, but with nice produce but we forgot to bring cash so we made a plan to return next Saturday. We headed off to Kroger's where we could use our card. When we got home I was putting everything away when we got a call.
Keith's mom was leaving that day to visit her family in Oregon and Keith's brother was driving her to the Louisville Airport. It turns out that they have broken down somewhere outside the city. The car was overheating and the engine was swathed in a cloud of smoke.
Keith swings into emergency mode and begins to rearrange the ungodly amount of vehicles we have in our driveway right now, so that he can get to the car trailer. Eventually it's freed and Keith loads up. I wave him away and settle happily down to Internetting.
I get a call ten minutes later.
The family has all taken a taxi to the airport, leaving the car by the side of the road. Keith now must drive all the way to the airport with a car trailer attached to his extended cab, pick up the family, drive back to the car and then back home. He's livid.
Twenty minutes later I get another call. The family has decided to eat and are waiting on their cheeseburgers just as Keith pulls up to the pick up area of the airport. With a car trailer. He tells them they have ten minutes to get out to the curb or he's going back home.
They come out and once in the truck, tells Keith their story. Their story of stress at the airport is such that Keith forgets all about being angry at them and calls me to tell me. I can't tell this story on my blog, because it just wouldn't be right, but suffice to say that everyone was so rattled in the quest to get mom in law and her frenetic little dog on the flight that they all decide to go to Hooters for some beer, even my sister in law who is the most laid back person ever.
They arrive here with some chicken hot wings in a plastic container, still rattled. Even my dynamic, back woods, lanky brother in law is strangely subdued. He and Keith begin to fiddle around with the car, a VW Bug.
By the way, at this point there are two rusting trucks parked on the side of the road, my Honda Civic on the other side of the road and the car trailer with the Bug on it taking up the whole drive way. I'm waiting to receive a fine in the mail any day now.
My sister in law and I work on making a blueberry bake recipe and we're both chatting a mile a minute. I'm having a blast, Keith no so much. We put together a lasagna and while that's baking, we grab our purses and drive on down to Kroger's for some ice cream to put on the blueberry bake. When we get home, the boys tell us that the car is an easy fix.
The lasagna comes out perfect, golden crusty mozzarella cheese on top, layers of cheesy goodness inside, rich and meaty. We have a simple salad on the side. After dinner my sister in law and I clean up together in perfect, content rhythm.
We're thinking about getting into the desert when we learn that it's not going to be an easy fix and the boys need us to drive forty five minutes to a specific Auto Zone to pick up the part. (My brother in law has the Auto Zone's number on speed dial.)
So we head off and get forty minutes down the road before Keith calls us to tell us that we have to turn around, it's not that part, it's another part that's broken. We turn around and drive all the way back home. It turns out that they're going to have to get a part from a dealer and it's going to be very expensive.
In the meantime, they have to spend the night and get up at five in the morning in order for my sister in law to get to her job on time, which starts at seven back up in Indiana. Also, Keith finds out that one of his soldiers hasn't eaten since Friday morning and won't be able to until Monday when he gets paid. In short order the soldier arrives for some left over lasagna and blueberry bake.
At ten pm I fall into bed, too tired even to read. And then Sunday dawns.
So that was my weekend. Thank God it's Monday.
Friday, June 11, 2010
June 11th
It is a hot and sticky day. What with the piercing calls of song birds and the repetitive shrill of crickets, I feel transported to the rain forest. When I poured myself a glass of cold water this morning, condensation immediately sprung up, both outside and inside the cup. The toilet seats are perpetually damp.
The sky is this milky white color and there is the sound of thunder far off in the distance. Lynn, pretending to be all nonchalant, has come off the couch and settled herself next to me, in case of a storm. Should there be, she is prepared to stay at all times underfoot, causing mayhem and looking hapless.
I have been reading "The Coal Tattoo" by Silas House. It's a sequel of sorts to "A Parchment of Leaves" which is also a beautiful book, and set in the Appalachians. That was my fourth library book, I also took out "Memoirs of a Geisha" which I have read at least four or five times.
Also "Winter Solstice" by Rosamund Pilcher which I have also read a million times, but there's nothing like the comfort of one of her novels. Not only is the writing lovely, but it's comforting because as a writer, I can see the many times she is reusing her favorite characters, phrases and metaphors. One she especially likes is to compare long hair to a silk tassel, which I thought quite clever.
I like seeing how other authors are repetitious, because I see it in myself as well and it drives me crazy from time to time. Like talking about the weather. But I like talking about the weather, it grounds me. Later, when I reread my blog, I like seeing how the seasons are passing by, paragraph by paragraph.
Lastly, I took out a completely new book, "Haunted Ground," which is set in Western Ireland and is about the decapitated head of a red haired girl found in a peat bog. Grisly stuff, yes, but fascinating. Peat bogs can keep bodies perfectly preserved for centuries even, so this head could be ten years old or a hundred years old.
I was reading it yesterday when waiting for Keith to help two soldiers fix the front breaks on their truck. They were using the shop on post and couldn't figure out how to use the lift, so Keith drove all the way back on post and stayed an hour helping them out while I read in the car. I love that about him.
The sky is this milky white color and there is the sound of thunder far off in the distance. Lynn, pretending to be all nonchalant, has come off the couch and settled herself next to me, in case of a storm. Should there be, she is prepared to stay at all times underfoot, causing mayhem and looking hapless.
I have been reading "The Coal Tattoo" by Silas House. It's a sequel of sorts to "A Parchment of Leaves" which is also a beautiful book, and set in the Appalachians. That was my fourth library book, I also took out "Memoirs of a Geisha" which I have read at least four or five times.
Also "Winter Solstice" by Rosamund Pilcher which I have also read a million times, but there's nothing like the comfort of one of her novels. Not only is the writing lovely, but it's comforting because as a writer, I can see the many times she is reusing her favorite characters, phrases and metaphors. One she especially likes is to compare long hair to a silk tassel, which I thought quite clever.
I like seeing how other authors are repetitious, because I see it in myself as well and it drives me crazy from time to time. Like talking about the weather. But I like talking about the weather, it grounds me. Later, when I reread my blog, I like seeing how the seasons are passing by, paragraph by paragraph.
Lastly, I took out a completely new book, "Haunted Ground," which is set in Western Ireland and is about the decapitated head of a red haired girl found in a peat bog. Grisly stuff, yes, but fascinating. Peat bogs can keep bodies perfectly preserved for centuries even, so this head could be ten years old or a hundred years old.
I was reading it yesterday when waiting for Keith to help two soldiers fix the front breaks on their truck. They were using the shop on post and couldn't figure out how to use the lift, so Keith drove all the way back on post and stayed an hour helping them out while I read in the car. I love that about him.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
June 9th
Last night around three thirty there was a tremendous thunderstorm right over our heads. It went on forever and our house actually got struck by lightening and I had to reset the electronic clock on the stove this morning. Also, my poor German Johnson got knocked flat on the deck. Poor leggy little guy. I tied him up this morning with a coat hanger I untwisted and some string.
When Keith and I argue, it's almost always over the most trivial things. Take last night. We'd spent the day up in Indiana visiting his step mother who'd recently had a surgery (colon related, she is doing well) and didn't get back home until around four thirty in the afternoon.
When we got home, we found dog do in the man room and an awfully ripe odor coming from the garbage. After we had set the house to rights, we were happy to collapse in front of the TV. There was some desultory discussion about dinner. We decided to make chicken sandwiches.
Eventually I went down stairs. Here can be found the crux of the matter, for Keith was convinced that as I left I declared I was going to start dinner. I remember no such thing. I'm certain I asked him to tell me when he was ready for dinner.
Regardless, an hour later Keith came down the stairs, hungry and puzzled, to find me on the couch and no dinner. There was however, an empty bowl on the side table. When he found out it had been filled with blueberries and yogurt, well. That took our argument to a whole new level, due to the fact that Keith and blueberry parfait already had a poignant history together.
Once, long ago, I had made myself a bowl of bananas, yogurt and Honey Bunches of Oats for a snack before dinner. Keith wanted a taste and was immediately taken with it. He wanted some. Alas. I had used the last, sweet brown banana for that bowl. Keith was very manly about the loss but several weeks later when I made myself a bowl with the last of the strawberries, he got a little peeved.
So, last night when he realized I'd had yet another bowl of the delicious concoction and he had not even a sandwich made, well, choice words flew. I tried to make him see that it was a simple misunderstanding and more blueberries stood by if he wanted a bowl or a sandwich for that matter.
But no. Keith was convinced I was withholding delectable parfait on purpose and instead of reacting with a level head, I got all up in arms when accused.
It took the rest of the night before we'd put the argument behind us. After mutually going through the Burst of Unreasonable Anger stage, we then moved into the "I'm Ignoring You, So There!" stage.
That stage can take a long time to move through but it only makes making up that much more enjoyable. I couldn't help but notice anew how handsome my husband is, how dear and well known all his features, and the freckles all over his shoulders and arms that make him look just like the country boy that he is.
The last stage is the best- Making Fun of Ourselves. This happens after we've achieved enough distance to realize how ridiculous we've been. The argument then get slotted away into our growing collection of inside jokes.
When Keith and I argue, it's almost always over the most trivial things. Take last night. We'd spent the day up in Indiana visiting his step mother who'd recently had a surgery (colon related, she is doing well) and didn't get back home until around four thirty in the afternoon.
When we got home, we found dog do in the man room and an awfully ripe odor coming from the garbage. After we had set the house to rights, we were happy to collapse in front of the TV. There was some desultory discussion about dinner. We decided to make chicken sandwiches.
Eventually I went down stairs. Here can be found the crux of the matter, for Keith was convinced that as I left I declared I was going to start dinner. I remember no such thing. I'm certain I asked him to tell me when he was ready for dinner.
Regardless, an hour later Keith came down the stairs, hungry and puzzled, to find me on the couch and no dinner. There was however, an empty bowl on the side table. When he found out it had been filled with blueberries and yogurt, well. That took our argument to a whole new level, due to the fact that Keith and blueberry parfait already had a poignant history together.
Once, long ago, I had made myself a bowl of bananas, yogurt and Honey Bunches of Oats for a snack before dinner. Keith wanted a taste and was immediately taken with it. He wanted some. Alas. I had used the last, sweet brown banana for that bowl. Keith was very manly about the loss but several weeks later when I made myself a bowl with the last of the strawberries, he got a little peeved.
So, last night when he realized I'd had yet another bowl of the delicious concoction and he had not even a sandwich made, well, choice words flew. I tried to make him see that it was a simple misunderstanding and more blueberries stood by if he wanted a bowl or a sandwich for that matter.
But no. Keith was convinced I was withholding delectable parfait on purpose and instead of reacting with a level head, I got all up in arms when accused.
It took the rest of the night before we'd put the argument behind us. After mutually going through the Burst of Unreasonable Anger stage, we then moved into the "I'm Ignoring You, So There!" stage.
That stage can take a long time to move through but it only makes making up that much more enjoyable. I couldn't help but notice anew how handsome my husband is, how dear and well known all his features, and the freckles all over his shoulders and arms that make him look just like the country boy that he is.
The last stage is the best- Making Fun of Ourselves. This happens after we've achieved enough distance to realize how ridiculous we've been. The argument then get slotted away into our growing collection of inside jokes.
Monday, June 7, 2010
June 7th
Earlier last week, I mentioned to Keith that it's been a while since we had a date night.
"I know!" he exclaimed, the light of victory in his eyes. "But I got us tickets to the Regimental Ball this Friday."
That was the first I heard of it. Thoughts flashed through my head: the need for restrictive nylon underthings, the lack of a long, evening wear gown, the fact that I should get my hair done and my complete acceptance that I would never get any of it in the time allotted.
Indeed. Late on the Friday afternoon, I found myself being driven down to Louisville in an old black and white sheath dress- very Jackie O, sixties mod, with a broad white trim around the hem and around the boat neck, which sets off my shoulders and neck very well. Still, not at all the thing for a Regimental Ball.
I had taken my wet hair firmly in two hands and with the help of two elastics and about twelve hairpins had knotted it tightly at the base of my neck, where it ended up making an off center coil of glossy black. I also put mascara on for the first time in years and I was surprised to remember how beautifully it opened up my eyes.
Keith was frazzled, since he'd been on the flag detail but had ended up taking care of everyone else's business as well, like securing vans. He had to, since everyone else who needed one was trying to grab his. His pursuit of the vehicles got him called in the Chief Warrant Officer's office, since he had bipassed the chain of command in his frustration.
"We need thirty days to process a request," the Chief reminded him.
"I would have loved to have given you thirty days," snapped my husband, "especially since I was given this detail two days ago."
In fact, the day before he had called me and declared that we weren't going, which I took as an answer to my prayers. Bliss! I settled down to watch my program but a few hours later he called to say that he'd gone to the Command Sergeant Major and he'd straightened some things out and we were going after all.
I tried to fake enthusiasm, but not very convincingly. Then there was this confused pause and some strange man was on the phone, telling me to make my husband go and asking me what dress I was going to wear, so he could be on the look out for me.
"Excuse me?" I asked, bewildered. "Who am I speaking to again?"
Who else but the Sergeant Major. Naturally.
When we got close to the hotel parking, I saw a girl in a dress from the Special K commercial, all long red chiffon and my heart curled up and died. I was exactly all wrong, from my open toed spectator stilettos to my lack of an evening bag. It was the critical moment. Either I was going to own my exactly wrong self or I was going to spend an evening completely miserable, unable to look anyone in the eye.
I owned it. What else could I do?
Keith paused a moment in the hot afternoon sun to tuck various things away into pockets. He had, of course, brought down a flask of whiskey. It made a tell tale bulge in his blue jacket, he had no pockets in his blue pants with the gold stripe down the sides. He wanted me to bring my purse but I put my foot firmly down on that one. I was already going to stick out like a sore thumb, adding my day purse to my ensemble was just too much to bear.
So off we went, Keith holding not just the whiskey flask, but his cell phone and can of chew in his hands, still trying various pocket combinations. He looked very toothsome, I should mention, freshly shaved and smelling delicious, with what another soldier later assured me was an "impressive stack" of ribbons on his breast.
"You don't have to tell me about my husband's stack," I quipped, but that was much later on.
When we arrived in the soaring, marble floored lobby, we saw it was full of women in long evening gowns and high heeled sandals. But I was owning my bad self, so I was able to hold my head up and looked around. The first thing I saw was an older couple and immediately the man was gesturing us to come over.
It was the Command Sergeant Major.
"You made it!" he said, shaking my hand. "You look lovely."
Keith had both hands behind his back, understandably. The two talked for a while and then the Sergeant Major held his hand out to shake hands before moving on.
There was a long, pregnant pause as Keith's face turned red and frantic motion went on behind his back. The Sergeant Major suddenly narrowed his eyes.
"What have you got back there?" he asked in a completely different voice from the one he had been using.
"Nothing!" proclaimed my husband with a sudden grin and produced both hands as though a magician. In the left hand was his chew and phone, his right hand miraculously empty. Sergeant Major laughed and said that he would be happy to relieve Keith of the chew but Keith assured him that wouldn't be necessary.
They shook hands and we escaped, heading for the elevators so we could go up to the main floor.
"Where's the whiskey?" I asked him, leaning in.
"I shoved it up my sleeve!" He showed me his right arm and there indeed was a huge bulge on the inside of his arm.
He was very high from the close call and as soon as he saw the CO the story was told again and the flask proudly displayed for a moment before being tucked away.
By this time, I couldn't help but notice that a lot of other woman had dressed in shorter dresses, a few in sheaths like my own, some in flowery summer dresses. The last of my dread disappeared and I simply enjoyed the pageantry all around me, the romance of men in formal uniform with Stetsons and gold spurs on their boots, their women like exotic birds on their arms, everyone with their hair up, lots of them with a little jewel or feather tucked up amid the curls.
Someone blew a bugle and we all went in. I found a stately woman standing along at our table, in a dress like a column of twisted silk. She had pulled her brown hair away from her face very simply and had quiet, dark eyes.
"Are we not meant to sit down yet?" I asked her.
"You can, but I wouldn't recommend it. After they begin the speeches you'll have enough of sitting," she replied. Her accent was the soft music of South Africa.
She made an excellent table companion, on the other side of my husband. On my other side was a young supply sergeant who was already well lit, with expressive dark eyes in his thin face. He wanted to know if I would trade him my strawberry shortcake for his pecan pie and I was happy to make the deal.
The speeches did take a long time and so did the making of the grog, which we missed a great deal of, since we were sitting at the far edge of the room. Keith, being on the flag detail, had been in a position to stack our table and had done so. Dinner was therefor a lively event at our table, which I was quick to realize was the party table.
There were a great deal of toasts, the most moving of which was the toast to the fallen soldiers. The lights were dimmed and the whole room grew quiet and weighted down. One had the feeling that there wasn't a man in the room who didn't have a former friend to raise his glass to.
By the end of the event my husband was wandering happily around, offering everyone a high ball, including the Sergeant Major, and dancing the macarena when it came on. Which was a sight, especially to see him swivel his hips so expressively on the dance floor. We did dance one slow song together, my arms wrapped around his neck, swaying under the hot lights. I felt both dizzy and incredibly happy.
When we left the building Keith looked as impeccable as he'd had at the beginning of the night, only his black bow tie a little skewed. I, on the other hand, had put down my hair and it hung loose and straight down my back. In one hand I held the neck of a bottle of Jamison.
"Damn woman," said my husband, taking a second look at me under the streetlights. "You look dead sexy. Holy crap." He's a silver tongued beguiler, is my man.
I'm already looking forward to next year's ball. Though I have absolutely no idea what to wear.
"I know!" he exclaimed, the light of victory in his eyes. "But I got us tickets to the Regimental Ball this Friday."
That was the first I heard of it. Thoughts flashed through my head: the need for restrictive nylon underthings, the lack of a long, evening wear gown, the fact that I should get my hair done and my complete acceptance that I would never get any of it in the time allotted.
Indeed. Late on the Friday afternoon, I found myself being driven down to Louisville in an old black and white sheath dress- very Jackie O, sixties mod, with a broad white trim around the hem and around the boat neck, which sets off my shoulders and neck very well. Still, not at all the thing for a Regimental Ball.
I had taken my wet hair firmly in two hands and with the help of two elastics and about twelve hairpins had knotted it tightly at the base of my neck, where it ended up making an off center coil of glossy black. I also put mascara on for the first time in years and I was surprised to remember how beautifully it opened up my eyes.
Keith was frazzled, since he'd been on the flag detail but had ended up taking care of everyone else's business as well, like securing vans. He had to, since everyone else who needed one was trying to grab his. His pursuit of the vehicles got him called in the Chief Warrant Officer's office, since he had bipassed the chain of command in his frustration.
"We need thirty days to process a request," the Chief reminded him.
"I would have loved to have given you thirty days," snapped my husband, "especially since I was given this detail two days ago."
In fact, the day before he had called me and declared that we weren't going, which I took as an answer to my prayers. Bliss! I settled down to watch my program but a few hours later he called to say that he'd gone to the Command Sergeant Major and he'd straightened some things out and we were going after all.
I tried to fake enthusiasm, but not very convincingly. Then there was this confused pause and some strange man was on the phone, telling me to make my husband go and asking me what dress I was going to wear, so he could be on the look out for me.
"Excuse me?" I asked, bewildered. "Who am I speaking to again?"
Who else but the Sergeant Major. Naturally.
When we got close to the hotel parking, I saw a girl in a dress from the Special K commercial, all long red chiffon and my heart curled up and died. I was exactly all wrong, from my open toed spectator stilettos to my lack of an evening bag. It was the critical moment. Either I was going to own my exactly wrong self or I was going to spend an evening completely miserable, unable to look anyone in the eye.
I owned it. What else could I do?
Keith paused a moment in the hot afternoon sun to tuck various things away into pockets. He had, of course, brought down a flask of whiskey. It made a tell tale bulge in his blue jacket, he had no pockets in his blue pants with the gold stripe down the sides. He wanted me to bring my purse but I put my foot firmly down on that one. I was already going to stick out like a sore thumb, adding my day purse to my ensemble was just too much to bear.
So off we went, Keith holding not just the whiskey flask, but his cell phone and can of chew in his hands, still trying various pocket combinations. He looked very toothsome, I should mention, freshly shaved and smelling delicious, with what another soldier later assured me was an "impressive stack" of ribbons on his breast.
"You don't have to tell me about my husband's stack," I quipped, but that was much later on.
When we arrived in the soaring, marble floored lobby, we saw it was full of women in long evening gowns and high heeled sandals. But I was owning my bad self, so I was able to hold my head up and looked around. The first thing I saw was an older couple and immediately the man was gesturing us to come over.
It was the Command Sergeant Major.
"You made it!" he said, shaking my hand. "You look lovely."
Keith had both hands behind his back, understandably. The two talked for a while and then the Sergeant Major held his hand out to shake hands before moving on.
There was a long, pregnant pause as Keith's face turned red and frantic motion went on behind his back. The Sergeant Major suddenly narrowed his eyes.
"What have you got back there?" he asked in a completely different voice from the one he had been using.
"Nothing!" proclaimed my husband with a sudden grin and produced both hands as though a magician. In the left hand was his chew and phone, his right hand miraculously empty. Sergeant Major laughed and said that he would be happy to relieve Keith of the chew but Keith assured him that wouldn't be necessary.
They shook hands and we escaped, heading for the elevators so we could go up to the main floor.
"Where's the whiskey?" I asked him, leaning in.
"I shoved it up my sleeve!" He showed me his right arm and there indeed was a huge bulge on the inside of his arm.
He was very high from the close call and as soon as he saw the CO the story was told again and the flask proudly displayed for a moment before being tucked away.
By this time, I couldn't help but notice that a lot of other woman had dressed in shorter dresses, a few in sheaths like my own, some in flowery summer dresses. The last of my dread disappeared and I simply enjoyed the pageantry all around me, the romance of men in formal uniform with Stetsons and gold spurs on their boots, their women like exotic birds on their arms, everyone with their hair up, lots of them with a little jewel or feather tucked up amid the curls.
Someone blew a bugle and we all went in. I found a stately woman standing along at our table, in a dress like a column of twisted silk. She had pulled her brown hair away from her face very simply and had quiet, dark eyes.
"Are we not meant to sit down yet?" I asked her.
"You can, but I wouldn't recommend it. After they begin the speeches you'll have enough of sitting," she replied. Her accent was the soft music of South Africa.
She made an excellent table companion, on the other side of my husband. On my other side was a young supply sergeant who was already well lit, with expressive dark eyes in his thin face. He wanted to know if I would trade him my strawberry shortcake for his pecan pie and I was happy to make the deal.
The speeches did take a long time and so did the making of the grog, which we missed a great deal of, since we were sitting at the far edge of the room. Keith, being on the flag detail, had been in a position to stack our table and had done so. Dinner was therefor a lively event at our table, which I was quick to realize was the party table.
There were a great deal of toasts, the most moving of which was the toast to the fallen soldiers. The lights were dimmed and the whole room grew quiet and weighted down. One had the feeling that there wasn't a man in the room who didn't have a former friend to raise his glass to.
By the end of the event my husband was wandering happily around, offering everyone a high ball, including the Sergeant Major, and dancing the macarena when it came on. Which was a sight, especially to see him swivel his hips so expressively on the dance floor. We did dance one slow song together, my arms wrapped around his neck, swaying under the hot lights. I felt both dizzy and incredibly happy.
When we left the building Keith looked as impeccable as he'd had at the beginning of the night, only his black bow tie a little skewed. I, on the other hand, had put down my hair and it hung loose and straight down my back. In one hand I held the neck of a bottle of Jamison.
"Damn woman," said my husband, taking a second look at me under the streetlights. "You look dead sexy. Holy crap." He's a silver tongued beguiler, is my man.
I'm already looking forward to next year's ball. Though I have absolutely no idea what to wear.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
June 2nd
The army, in its infinite wisdom, has referred me to a clinic that has no infertility treatments at all advertised on its pale pink website. Pregnancy and everything related to already being preganant, yes. All manner of womanly preventive treatments and exams, yes. Even such things as cosmetic surgery. But not a word about infertility treatments.
Please tell me my appointment is not going to be a complete waste of my time. I won't lie; I cried when I saw the website. The stupid doctor will tell me to take my temperature every morning to track my ellusive ovulation and to have sex every forty eight hours or some other basic level of advice that frankly, I can find on any one of dozens of websites.
Not being pregnant after all has tipped me over into a different place. Until last month, I hadn't really assumed the identiy of infertility. I was just playing with the possibility, looking at different avenues if it should be true, trying them on to see what they would feel like.
Now I am owning that identity and it has really shaken me up, more than I was prepared for.
I sometimes feel as though I should go through life feeling less, allow myself to become disengaged or cynical. Early on I decided I would rather live a messy, vibrant life than a safe, insulated one and I keep coming up against this choice, do I still want to continue making it? It's one thing to decide that at sixteen, it's a whole other choice at thirty two.
On an entirely different note, buying fresh fruit and vegetables is such a responsibility. Firstly, there's the initial cost investment. It's not cheap. Secondly, it's highly perishable and must, absolutely must be eaten quickly. Lastly, once it's gone, it must be acquired again so as to continue the cycle of eating healthily.
The last time Keith and I went shopping we got a little carried away. It was a combination of the flyer handed to us at the door-blueberries two for four! and then the box of seedless watermelon just at the entrance to the produce department.
We lost our heads. We bought one watermelon, a head of lettuce, seven on the vine tomatoes, one seedless cucumber, two cartons blueberries, one of strawberries, fresh spinach, two head of broccoli, four sweet potatoes, a bag of ruby red cherries, six Georgia peaches and six corn on the cob.
So, you can imagine that we have been feverishly eating all of it so as not to let it go to waste. Let me tell you, there is a lot of fruit in one watermelon. We're slowly hacking away at it, but it's a serious investment. Keith had watermelon with his dinner yesterday (which was herb roast chicken, mashed potato, sliced tomato with fresh basil and olive oil, and corn on the cob.) He had watermelon for breakfast this morning and he had watermelon for lunch. I did fix him a sandwich, but he dived on past it for the luscious red wedges.
"It's like eating and drinking at the same time," he excitedly explained.
I have to go and finish eating up the strawberries.
Please tell me my appointment is not going to be a complete waste of my time. I won't lie; I cried when I saw the website. The stupid doctor will tell me to take my temperature every morning to track my ellusive ovulation and to have sex every forty eight hours or some other basic level of advice that frankly, I can find on any one of dozens of websites.
Not being pregnant after all has tipped me over into a different place. Until last month, I hadn't really assumed the identiy of infertility. I was just playing with the possibility, looking at different avenues if it should be true, trying them on to see what they would feel like.
Now I am owning that identity and it has really shaken me up, more than I was prepared for.
I sometimes feel as though I should go through life feeling less, allow myself to become disengaged or cynical. Early on I decided I would rather live a messy, vibrant life than a safe, insulated one and I keep coming up against this choice, do I still want to continue making it? It's one thing to decide that at sixteen, it's a whole other choice at thirty two.
On an entirely different note, buying fresh fruit and vegetables is such a responsibility. Firstly, there's the initial cost investment. It's not cheap. Secondly, it's highly perishable and must, absolutely must be eaten quickly. Lastly, once it's gone, it must be acquired again so as to continue the cycle of eating healthily.
The last time Keith and I went shopping we got a little carried away. It was a combination of the flyer handed to us at the door-blueberries two for four! and then the box of seedless watermelon just at the entrance to the produce department.
We lost our heads. We bought one watermelon, a head of lettuce, seven on the vine tomatoes, one seedless cucumber, two cartons blueberries, one of strawberries, fresh spinach, two head of broccoli, four sweet potatoes, a bag of ruby red cherries, six Georgia peaches and six corn on the cob.
So, you can imagine that we have been feverishly eating all of it so as not to let it go to waste. Let me tell you, there is a lot of fruit in one watermelon. We're slowly hacking away at it, but it's a serious investment. Keith had watermelon with his dinner yesterday (which was herb roast chicken, mashed potato, sliced tomato with fresh basil and olive oil, and corn on the cob.) He had watermelon for breakfast this morning and he had watermelon for lunch. I did fix him a sandwich, but he dived on past it for the luscious red wedges.
"It's like eating and drinking at the same time," he excitedly explained.
I have to go and finish eating up the strawberries.
Written June 1st, A Little Later On
Holy crap. My father linked this small, backwater blog to his very happening facebook page and the Free Believers Network and consequently I've had loads of traffic all morning, just in time for them to read all about my procreating angst.
"You're up for being vulnerable, so I thought I'd give you a platform for that," he said, when I called him this morning to tell him that he'd opened a portal to the masses.
Yes, yes I am up for being vulnerable, I think there's tremendous value in it. Even if I do end up writing like a glowingly articulate manic depressive. Still though, I feel like, gosh, if I'd known I was having company, I'd have written a really stunning blog post instead of just the usual blathering on. Speaking of which.
Outside it is sticky hot with a saturating, debilitating humidity. As soon as I step out the door, I feel as though I've put on twenty pounds and lost all my muscle mass. And it's only ten thirty in the morning. The sibilance of the AC is a constant background noise, an ominous sound for our electricity bill.
Stubbornly, I have tried to continue walking the dogs in the early afternoon. As of today, I give up. I'm officially surrendering to the southern climate. I acknowledge the error of my ways and repent. I will train myself to walk at seven thirty in the morning, as I had originally planned.
And people lived here before the invention of AC! How on earth did they do it? Mint juleps and wide verandas can only go so far in mitigating the heat, I assure you. Sponge baths, dimity and gingham equally so. They must have lived each and every day from April to October just dripping in sweat.
"You're up for being vulnerable, so I thought I'd give you a platform for that," he said, when I called him this morning to tell him that he'd opened a portal to the masses.
Yes, yes I am up for being vulnerable, I think there's tremendous value in it. Even if I do end up writing like a glowingly articulate manic depressive. Still though, I feel like, gosh, if I'd known I was having company, I'd have written a really stunning blog post instead of just the usual blathering on. Speaking of which.
Outside it is sticky hot with a saturating, debilitating humidity. As soon as I step out the door, I feel as though I've put on twenty pounds and lost all my muscle mass. And it's only ten thirty in the morning. The sibilance of the AC is a constant background noise, an ominous sound for our electricity bill.
Stubbornly, I have tried to continue walking the dogs in the early afternoon. As of today, I give up. I'm officially surrendering to the southern climate. I acknowledge the error of my ways and repent. I will train myself to walk at seven thirty in the morning, as I had originally planned.
And people lived here before the invention of AC! How on earth did they do it? Mint juleps and wide verandas can only go so far in mitigating the heat, I assure you. Sponge baths, dimity and gingham equally so. They must have lived each and every day from April to October just dripping in sweat.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
June 1st
"We do not have to work out how to get ourselves into a good position for having a relationship with God, we do not have to design ways of explaining our position to him, we do not have to create a pretty face for ourselves, we do not have to achieve any state of feeling or understanding. The newness inherent in any situation of encounter with God is brought by him, not by us..."
-Simon Tugwell, The Beatitudes, Soundings in Christian Traditions
I pulled this from my father's facebook page. It was too good.
-Simon Tugwell, The Beatitudes, Soundings in Christian Traditions
I pulled this from my father's facebook page. It was too good.
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