The Iraqi Election
Yesterday was an amazing day in Iraq, they held a third election this year, the first for the provisional government who would write their new constitution, the second to ratify that constitution, written in an amazingly short 7 months, and yesterday they elected their permanent parliament. How cool is all of that? Way. Considering that we didn't have a constitution in place until September 17, 1787, eleven years after we declared independence, and the government wasn't in place until March 4, 1789, I think the Iraqis have done an amazing and Herculean work to get a ratified constitution and an elected parliament all within the span of a year. Now, I do understand that communication and transcription technology is quite updated from the days of our own Revolution, but the wrangling over policy and law is unchanged from that time, people must discuss and discuss and talk and talk and talk until an agreement is made. That just takes a lot of time.
Below is a poll taken in Iraq in the days before the election. Very, very interesting.
Iraqi Poll
The War - Here, There and Everywhere
Just a few thoughts on the American response to the war and the results of the war itself.
There & Everywhere
Afghanistan - Is anyone else astounded that there is barely any news coming out of Afghanistan? Does anyone else understand how cool this is? If there were an increasing number of terrorist attacks, you can bet your sweet bippy that someone who hates the US would pounce on it and run with it. Actually, Afghanistan is doing quite well, women are able to vote, get an education, dance, own a business and all just four short years after a most repressive and brutal regime of Islamo-thugs tried to squish them flat and breathless.
Iraq - See above.
Egypt - Did anyone notice that Egypt held an election as well, that women also voted in this and that it was an actual election? Rather cool.
Libya - Remember that Qaddafi suddenly gave up his WMD's without a fight. Yeah, I remember that too.
Lebanon - The Cedar Revolution was crazy wonderful. Syria is out of Lebanon. Hurrah!
Here
One of the reasons I think Americans don't support the war and don't really understand it is that it hasn't cost us enough. NOT in lives, that's not what I'm saying. But in time, convenience, effort, even pocket change, we aren't investing in the War on Terror. We are Monday morning quarterbacking it. Now, do I think we could have vetted the intelligence more? Yes. But considering that for the last 10 years EVERYONE has said that Saddam had WMD's, and that small amounts of WMD's WERE found in Iraq after the war and that there is good reason to believe that the missing WMD's are in Syria, I still think it was the right thing to do. Both Iraq and Afghanistan are better off, as is the world. We don't see the cost in money because we already pay taxes, no one is selling war bonds. We aren't growing victory gardens, we aren't rationed for oil, we aren't sending our stay at home moms off to the Boeing factories. We don't have to, we are so much more fantastically wealthy than we were in 1941. In fact we Americans are amoung the 5% most wealthy people on the planet. All of us, except the poorest and they are amoung the top 9%. We are no longer used to sacrificing for anything, and so when it isn't immediately and easily granted to us, we not only lose interest, but we want to take our toys and go home.
Since my nephew just got back with nary a scratch from Iraq, I can't say that my family has sacrificed. My nephew in law got back a few years back from Afghanistan, also without injury. Are we more fantastically blessed than we deserve? Yes. I am forever grateful to have them home safe. I am also incredibly and deeply grateful for ALL the men and women who serve us in far-flung places, and I grieve deeply for the losses. All of them. But it's worth it. Freedom, liberty, justice, all three are worth fighting for. Don't forget that we have found thousands of mass graves in Iraq, many filled with just women and children, skulls with a bullet wound in the back of the head, that families in Kurdistan are just now getting word that their hopes for the return of The Disappeared are forever hopeless. Saddam himself was a WMD, he caused immesasurable suffering to his own people. It's okay to me that the Iraqi's want us to leave, that's great motivation to get up to speed all the faster, but what on earth do we have all this power for if it is not to remove murderous tyrants like this?
Hopefully we will go after that nut in Pyongyang and the monster in Africa soon.
The Economy
I'll come back to this. Suffice it to say, I think we are doing well. Overall, people, not everyone is doing well, but most people are.
The Ambassador
Read this for an update on John Bolton's work in the UN. YAY for Mr. Bolton. So far, my favorite diplomat.
The article is yet another reason I refuse to limit my reading of the news to one source. The MSM in this country would be one conglomerate source in my eyes.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Monday, December 05, 2005
A Deeper Magic
There are fables and legends aplenty for Christmas, St. Nicolas, Santa Clause, flying reindeer, elves and a magical ride around the earth in one night with lots of presents and just a little coal, and POOF! you have a childhood fairy tale. The problem is that this fairy tale is just that, a tale, and once you turn four, somehow you know that there isn't a real Santa, that reindeer don't fly and Mom, Dad and the Grandparents are really responsible for all those great presents under the tree, partly cause you specifically did not ask Santa for a 6 pack of tighty whiteys. So, somehow, Christmas looses some of it's magic when you find out that the jolly man with the supersled and the cold, cold workhouse packed with elf-slaves doesn't exist.
But there is a deeper magic to Christmas, one that doesn't unravel when you gain some thinking skills. This past Sunday my pastor, Mike Coleman, preached on the truth of the biblical story of Christmas, more specifically, the story of the birth of the Christ Child. We don't know precisely when Jesus was born, but we do know about when. We have the Roman records of the census call from Caesar Augustus, we know that the census was taken around 1 AD. We don't know what month or what day he was born, but we know he was born.
The deeper magic of Jesus birth and the circumstances of his conception are such that if we pay attention, we can only stand in awe. Or bow down in awe. In the very begining, at the creation, evil magic crept in to spoil everything. Even then the deeper magic of redemption was at work, the deeper magic was there all the time. God became man retaining his perfect holiness so that he could reconcile a wicked people to be his own. It happened at the right time and in the right location. Magic.
But there is a deeper magic to Christmas, one that doesn't unravel when you gain some thinking skills. This past Sunday my pastor, Mike Coleman, preached on the truth of the biblical story of Christmas, more specifically, the story of the birth of the Christ Child. We don't know precisely when Jesus was born, but we do know about when. We have the Roman records of the census call from Caesar Augustus, we know that the census was taken around 1 AD. We don't know what month or what day he was born, but we know he was born.
The deeper magic of Jesus birth and the circumstances of his conception are such that if we pay attention, we can only stand in awe. Or bow down in awe. In the very begining, at the creation, evil magic crept in to spoil everything. Even then the deeper magic of redemption was at work, the deeper magic was there all the time. God became man retaining his perfect holiness so that he could reconcile a wicked people to be his own. It happened at the right time and in the right location. Magic.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Narnia - The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe
See the trailer here.
I'm nearly ready to embarrass myself, I'm so excited for this movie to come out. Everything I've heard and read tells me that Walden Pictures and Disney made every logical attempt to stick to the story, Weta Workshop showed they can be faithful with the work they did on LOTR. Even the interviews of the director that I've read indicated that he was aware that if he mucked this story up, there would be heck to pay.
Obviously one reason is that I adore these stories. This one in particular, even though the Last Battle is my favorite, this story of Aslan's sacrifice for the cruel and petty Edmond, Lucy's love for Aslan and Peter and Susan's courage is wonderful, moving and beautiful. I've enjoyed the mental images of the trees coming to life and joining in the battle. Unlike Tolkiens Ents, these really are the spirits of the trees coming to life. The themes of sacrifice, honor, courage and humility are stirring and encouraging. I also need the visual of the havoc created by a sinful desire for just one more taste of Turkish Delight.
More than anything, though, I'm hoping that this movie turns people back to the books, as was the case with Tolkiens masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings. The books are so magical and wonderfully evocative of life and it's deeper meanings. Even if your kids can't understand the themes, the stories are filled with creatures of legend and myth, treasure, princesses, brave knights, serious quests and heroic children.
I'd just hate for some child to miss out on Reepicheep. Or ole Puzzle. Or Hwin. Or Eustace. Or Puddleglum. But especially Reepicheep. I love Reepicheep.
I'm nearly ready to embarrass myself, I'm so excited for this movie to come out. Everything I've heard and read tells me that Walden Pictures and Disney made every logical attempt to stick to the story, Weta Workshop showed they can be faithful with the work they did on LOTR. Even the interviews of the director that I've read indicated that he was aware that if he mucked this story up, there would be heck to pay.
Obviously one reason is that I adore these stories. This one in particular, even though the Last Battle is my favorite, this story of Aslan's sacrifice for the cruel and petty Edmond, Lucy's love for Aslan and Peter and Susan's courage is wonderful, moving and beautiful. I've enjoyed the mental images of the trees coming to life and joining in the battle. Unlike Tolkiens Ents, these really are the spirits of the trees coming to life. The themes of sacrifice, honor, courage and humility are stirring and encouraging. I also need the visual of the havoc created by a sinful desire for just one more taste of Turkish Delight.
More than anything, though, I'm hoping that this movie turns people back to the books, as was the case with Tolkiens masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings. The books are so magical and wonderfully evocative of life and it's deeper meanings. Even if your kids can't understand the themes, the stories are filled with creatures of legend and myth, treasure, princesses, brave knights, serious quests and heroic children.
I'd just hate for some child to miss out on Reepicheep. Or ole Puzzle. Or Hwin. Or Eustace. Or Puddleglum. But especially Reepicheep. I love Reepicheep.
No Turkey, That Bird Was Good
Dry turkey is a cursed thing, one that can not be cured no matter how much gravy you throw at it. If your Thanksgiving turkey is dry you may as well just give up on the dinner and head for the pie table.
Every year, I dread the thoughts, nay, fears, of being responsible for a dry turkey on Thanksgiving Day. This year I was perusing Nigella Lawson's excellent FEASTS and came across a recipe for Brined Turkey. Yup, brined, as in pickle. Water, salt, sugar, maple syrup, honey, lime, herbs & spices were mixed to form a highly fragrant bath for our 18 pound turkey. Then we dumped it in and let that sucker sit for two days. Chilled of course, stirred, not shaken. Then an hour before lift-off we take the turkey out to dry it off and warm it up to room temperature, cause apparently everything likes to be treated like a frog. That is, food likes to be room temperature before you apply heat to it, it cooks and tastes better if you do that.
Dad freaked out a bit about the turkey soaking, but after reading the recipe, he calmed down and rolled with it.
Then pop that bird into a hot oven, 450, for 1/2 an hour, then set it to 350 for the rest of the time it needs. 3 1/2 hours to cook an 18 pound turkey to perfection. I mean perfection, it was golden brown and oh so yummy. It was juicy and TASTY stone cold out of the fridge the next day too. The gravy was a breeze also, but then I make stock ahead of time and use that to be sure that we have plenty of that nectar of the gods around for leftovers.
I recommend that book. The recipe and timing was dead on. Plus her commentary is hilarious. I'm using her recipe for our Christmas Goose this year.
Every year, I dread the thoughts, nay, fears, of being responsible for a dry turkey on Thanksgiving Day. This year I was perusing Nigella Lawson's excellent FEASTS and came across a recipe for Brined Turkey. Yup, brined, as in pickle. Water, salt, sugar, maple syrup, honey, lime, herbs & spices were mixed to form a highly fragrant bath for our 18 pound turkey. Then we dumped it in and let that sucker sit for two days. Chilled of course, stirred, not shaken. Then an hour before lift-off we take the turkey out to dry it off and warm it up to room temperature, cause apparently everything likes to be treated like a frog. That is, food likes to be room temperature before you apply heat to it, it cooks and tastes better if you do that.
Dad freaked out a bit about the turkey soaking, but after reading the recipe, he calmed down and rolled with it.
Then pop that bird into a hot oven, 450, for 1/2 an hour, then set it to 350 for the rest of the time it needs. 3 1/2 hours to cook an 18 pound turkey to perfection. I mean perfection, it was golden brown and oh so yummy. It was juicy and TASTY stone cold out of the fridge the next day too. The gravy was a breeze also, but then I make stock ahead of time and use that to be sure that we have plenty of that nectar of the gods around for leftovers.
I recommend that book. The recipe and timing was dead on. Plus her commentary is hilarious. I'm using her recipe for our Christmas Goose this year.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Top 10 List - Why Fall Rocks
10. Sleeping with your windows open again after a summer of over 90 degree heat. 11 would be having a window fan, but it's sort of redundant, so I won't really include it here.
9. The clarity of the skies. It's bluer than is possible in summer because the heat haze is gone.
8. Fresh Apples. Yeah baby, they haven't really been fresh since last autumn. Right off the tree and soo perky.
7. Fresh Candy Corn. That hasn't been fresh since last year either. Makes you kinda wonder about what the heck they sell these days, doesn't it?
6. Planning to Christmas shop early. I know, it's just plans and you won't actually get any shopping done until December 22, but it's nice to plan.
5. Did I mention that the temperature has dropped? If I weren't scared of the repeater police, 10 - 1 would be lower temperatures. I am really really happy when the evenings are down below 65, when the days don't go much above 75 and when it goes into the 50's at night.
4. Crisp Fall Mornings when there's frost on the pumpkins. And I love pumpkins too.
3. The changing leaves. In Maryland you can see every color right of verde: orange, yellow, red, brown and sometimes purple. I love the colors all different on one tree and then mixing it up with dozens of other species. It's the best.
2. Leaf piles. I still flop into them every chance I get, I actually like to rake if I get to look forward to some quality leaf flops. Getting to watch the kiddies do it is the bonus round.
1. The smell. Every season has a smell, falls is simply my favorite. When the leaves start to rot and the weather gets colder, there is a metallic smell to the air that reminds me of the delicious anticipation of Halloween and Thanksgiving, and farther into the distance of kid-dom, the motherlode of all holidays, Christmas. That smell is a glorious thing, I cherish it, and breathe it in every chance I get. Even though I'm not a child anymore, well, mostly, I still look forward to the end of the year and winter in that first smell of fall. I don't think you can buy a leaf rot candle, but if I could, I would.
9. The clarity of the skies. It's bluer than is possible in summer because the heat haze is gone.
8. Fresh Apples. Yeah baby, they haven't really been fresh since last autumn. Right off the tree and soo perky.
7. Fresh Candy Corn. That hasn't been fresh since last year either. Makes you kinda wonder about what the heck they sell these days, doesn't it?
6. Planning to Christmas shop early. I know, it's just plans and you won't actually get any shopping done until December 22, but it's nice to plan.
5. Did I mention that the temperature has dropped? If I weren't scared of the repeater police, 10 - 1 would be lower temperatures. I am really really happy when the evenings are down below 65, when the days don't go much above 75 and when it goes into the 50's at night.
4. Crisp Fall Mornings when there's frost on the pumpkins. And I love pumpkins too.
3. The changing leaves. In Maryland you can see every color right of verde: orange, yellow, red, brown and sometimes purple. I love the colors all different on one tree and then mixing it up with dozens of other species. It's the best.
2. Leaf piles. I still flop into them every chance I get, I actually like to rake if I get to look forward to some quality leaf flops. Getting to watch the kiddies do it is the bonus round.
1. The smell. Every season has a smell, falls is simply my favorite. When the leaves start to rot and the weather gets colder, there is a metallic smell to the air that reminds me of the delicious anticipation of Halloween and Thanksgiving, and farther into the distance of kid-dom, the motherlode of all holidays, Christmas. That smell is a glorious thing, I cherish it, and breathe it in every chance I get. Even though I'm not a child anymore, well, mostly, I still look forward to the end of the year and winter in that first smell of fall. I don't think you can buy a leaf rot candle, but if I could, I would.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Mysterious Humility
There is a wonderful mysteriousness to God, his plans are not our plans, and his ways are not our ways. His total otherness to our humanness and the mystery of the incarnation are impossible to wrap our brains around. In Job God doesn't answer Job's why questions with answers, but rather reminds him of who God is and what he is. "Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me."* God says. Then "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements - surely you know!"* For the next two chapters God asks Job all these, to us humans, unanswerable questions. Those chapters come at the end of Jobs long lament for his lost children and they have been invaluable to me over the years, keeping me humble when my pride threatens to overwhelm me. God reminds me that he is in charge and I am not, that his perspective is not mine and that he really is in control of all things and does as he pleases for his own reasons and that I can't possibly understand or comprehend him. I know that he judges us, I know that I don't understand him.
After Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in late August I heard rumblings in the Christian community of Gods judgment on New Orleans for it's sins. I also read a story that some al Qaida terrorist boys had celebrated the storms vast damage and dubbed it a private in their little army of terror. They saw the destruction of New Orleans and the rest of the terrible damage as proof of God's wrath against us, Americans for being the Great Satan.
Actually, I think coming from a puny human with a highly limited understanding of the workings of God, (and I include everyone still breathing as a puny human) that it is a dangerous and proud thing to engage in declaring something a judgment from God. Considering that we just don't know unless he comes and reveals that clearly and evidently to many people, it would seem highly prudent to remain silent on what God was doing when a disaster strikes.
So what is our response to be? Compassion, obviously, go help in anyway we can. How do we explain the whys of a disaster? You don't because you can't. Really, you can't. You can say that there was a recurring cycle of higher cyclonic activity as was last seen in the 50's, and that we are just going through a high period. That is true. You can say that the Gulf waters are very warm at that time of year and that contributed to the strength of the storm, that is true as well. Why did it hit where it hit? Only God knows. And then leave it there, there are no other answers. Considering that we don't even slightly understand 1% of the wheres and whys of weather, I think it is wise humility that lets it be.
When the terrible earthquake hit Central Asia this past week and killed thousands, I cried as I watched the mothers and fathers search for their children in the rubble of crushed schools, knowing that their babies were most likely dead and praying that they would be found. But I didn't think that this earthquake in anyway was a result of the general sinfulness of the people who lived there or as a heavenly referendum on the Muslim faith. I am a Christian and I have strong convictions about ways to God and salvation and where it is from, I just don't see that when people are hurting and dying it's time to step into a blame game, rain falls on sinner and saint, move on. It's time to show where your faith is and who you serve. I didn't see the hurricanes as a sign that God is more especially ticked at the Gulf states than he is at the rest of the country. I don't see the tsunami's, mudslides, earthquakes or flooding that wreak havoc in our world as anything other than a call for us to show mercy. If God has another meaning in these events, it's up to him to make that clear, not me, my marching orders from him are to comfort and to show mercy, not to judge a case that is far beyond my scope of understanding.
Sure, there are somethings that made the flooding of New Orleans worse, the MR-GO waterway being one, and the poor construction in Pakistan that made those buildings unable to withstand an earthquake. Those are things we need to look at and learn from.
There are just some times that should remind us that we are dust, and we will return to dust, and that we stand in the way of the awesome power of nature and of God. Even more importantly, especially when tragedy stikes, we should refrain from assuming the mind, heart and purposes of God, purposes we can not possibly be privy to.
*Job 38:2 -4 English Standard Version
After Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in late August I heard rumblings in the Christian community of Gods judgment on New Orleans for it's sins. I also read a story that some al Qaida terrorist boys had celebrated the storms vast damage and dubbed it a private in their little army of terror. They saw the destruction of New Orleans and the rest of the terrible damage as proof of God's wrath against us, Americans for being the Great Satan.
Actually, I think coming from a puny human with a highly limited understanding of the workings of God, (and I include everyone still breathing as a puny human) that it is a dangerous and proud thing to engage in declaring something a judgment from God. Considering that we just don't know unless he comes and reveals that clearly and evidently to many people, it would seem highly prudent to remain silent on what God was doing when a disaster strikes.
So what is our response to be? Compassion, obviously, go help in anyway we can. How do we explain the whys of a disaster? You don't because you can't. Really, you can't. You can say that there was a recurring cycle of higher cyclonic activity as was last seen in the 50's, and that we are just going through a high period. That is true. You can say that the Gulf waters are very warm at that time of year and that contributed to the strength of the storm, that is true as well. Why did it hit where it hit? Only God knows. And then leave it there, there are no other answers. Considering that we don't even slightly understand 1% of the wheres and whys of weather, I think it is wise humility that lets it be.
When the terrible earthquake hit Central Asia this past week and killed thousands, I cried as I watched the mothers and fathers search for their children in the rubble of crushed schools, knowing that their babies were most likely dead and praying that they would be found. But I didn't think that this earthquake in anyway was a result of the general sinfulness of the people who lived there or as a heavenly referendum on the Muslim faith. I am a Christian and I have strong convictions about ways to God and salvation and where it is from, I just don't see that when people are hurting and dying it's time to step into a blame game, rain falls on sinner and saint, move on. It's time to show where your faith is and who you serve. I didn't see the hurricanes as a sign that God is more especially ticked at the Gulf states than he is at the rest of the country. I don't see the tsunami's, mudslides, earthquakes or flooding that wreak havoc in our world as anything other than a call for us to show mercy. If God has another meaning in these events, it's up to him to make that clear, not me, my marching orders from him are to comfort and to show mercy, not to judge a case that is far beyond my scope of understanding.
Sure, there are somethings that made the flooding of New Orleans worse, the MR-GO waterway being one, and the poor construction in Pakistan that made those buildings unable to withstand an earthquake. Those are things we need to look at and learn from.
There are just some times that should remind us that we are dust, and we will return to dust, and that we stand in the way of the awesome power of nature and of God. Even more importantly, especially when tragedy stikes, we should refrain from assuming the mind, heart and purposes of God, purposes we can not possibly be privy to.
*Job 38:2 -4 English Standard Version
Friday, September 09, 2005
The Gold My Mother Left Me
Last week I had a chance to move two fairy roses from where they were dying to someplace new. One of the roses I planted in one of the front beds. The soil was okay, but it was basic Maryland soil, very clayey and needed plenty of humus and fertilizer. The other rose was going in the back yard. The soil in this back yard bed is a fabulous dark loose lovely soil that will grow anything. I didn't need a shovel for this hole, I could have dug it with my bare hands.
That soil is the gold my mother left to me. Everytime I dig in it I remember her, more specifically I remember her in the garden, in this sturdy white dress that had sunflowers on it. It's a memory from when I was a child. I would come home from school and not even go inside, I would head around to the back of the house because I knew that in the spring time, she would be there. I remember her hands, but especially I remember her hands covered in the soil.
When we moved to Maryland in 1969 my mother set out immediately to change the dead soil we bought with the house into a rich piece of living earth. The builders scraped away the topsoil and sold it, then built our house and laid down sod. I was too young to remember if the sod survived, but I think I remember the reseeding process.
Mom's garden was magical to me when I was little. I remember running home from school in the spring and the fall and not even going in the house, but running around back because I knew that was where she would be, and joining her in the garden, me to play, her to continue working. My brother and I had a section one summer that we begged to be kept just dirt so we could play. We built an elaborate system of roadways, tunnels, rivers with real water and houses that we could run our vast collection of matchbox cars across, over and through. We used our Tonka toys to move that dirt around and we played out there for hours. I can still hear her shouting from the house to shake off as much of the dirt from our clothes as possible while still in the garden.
From the beginning Mom wanted an organic garden, so she used grass clippings to keep the weeds away. Not just from our yard. One of the most embarrassing recurring episodes of my growing up years, Mom used to take me and my brother out to collect grass clippings from the neighbors. The embarrassing part is that Mom would roam the neighborhood checking on who used Chemlawn or some such service and note that house. She then noted those homes where chemicals weren't used and then almost daily during the summer we have to get in the back of the old station wagon and ride with her to pick up bags of other peoples grass clippings, we would beg to avoid classmates homes. My brother and I used to hide, lay low and throw those bags in the wagon as fast as we could. Once we got home it wasn't a big deal to unload. The worst was if there was trash mixed in with the grass.
But all those years of spreading grass clippings over the beds and in the garden have surely done an incredible job of making the pure clay soil of 30 + years ago into some of the richest and deepest garden loam in our neighborhood. Now that she's gone, I'm so grateful I have that treasure of gold. This summer I have come back to the garden with renewed vigor and hope, and it has repaid my attention with delicious peas, raspberries, tomatoes, lettuces and micro greens and bounteous fragrant herbs. It repaid the deer with the cucumbers, which they ate down to the ground, stalks and all after we only harvested one or two. Even now in the waning days of summer I have bushes of basil and lemon verbena I must put to good use and a ton of tomatoes that will never ripen. Planning for next years garden has already begun.
That soil is the gold my mother left to me. Everytime I dig in it I remember her, more specifically I remember her in the garden, in this sturdy white dress that had sunflowers on it. It's a memory from when I was a child. I would come home from school and not even go inside, I would head around to the back of the house because I knew that in the spring time, she would be there. I remember her hands, but especially I remember her hands covered in the soil.
When we moved to Maryland in 1969 my mother set out immediately to change the dead soil we bought with the house into a rich piece of living earth. The builders scraped away the topsoil and sold it, then built our house and laid down sod. I was too young to remember if the sod survived, but I think I remember the reseeding process.
Mom's garden was magical to me when I was little. I remember running home from school in the spring and the fall and not even going in the house, but running around back because I knew that was where she would be, and joining her in the garden, me to play, her to continue working. My brother and I had a section one summer that we begged to be kept just dirt so we could play. We built an elaborate system of roadways, tunnels, rivers with real water and houses that we could run our vast collection of matchbox cars across, over and through. We used our Tonka toys to move that dirt around and we played out there for hours. I can still hear her shouting from the house to shake off as much of the dirt from our clothes as possible while still in the garden.
From the beginning Mom wanted an organic garden, so she used grass clippings to keep the weeds away. Not just from our yard. One of the most embarrassing recurring episodes of my growing up years, Mom used to take me and my brother out to collect grass clippings from the neighbors. The embarrassing part is that Mom would roam the neighborhood checking on who used Chemlawn or some such service and note that house. She then noted those homes where chemicals weren't used and then almost daily during the summer we have to get in the back of the old station wagon and ride with her to pick up bags of other peoples grass clippings, we would beg to avoid classmates homes. My brother and I used to hide, lay low and throw those bags in the wagon as fast as we could. Once we got home it wasn't a big deal to unload. The worst was if there was trash mixed in with the grass.
But all those years of spreading grass clippings over the beds and in the garden have surely done an incredible job of making the pure clay soil of 30 + years ago into some of the richest and deepest garden loam in our neighborhood. Now that she's gone, I'm so grateful I have that treasure of gold. This summer I have come back to the garden with renewed vigor and hope, and it has repaid my attention with delicious peas, raspberries, tomatoes, lettuces and micro greens and bounteous fragrant herbs. It repaid the deer with the cucumbers, which they ate down to the ground, stalks and all after we only harvested one or two. Even now in the waning days of summer I have bushes of basil and lemon verbena I must put to good use and a ton of tomatoes that will never ripen. Planning for next years garden has already begun.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Mom's Funeral
I went back in time and pulled this out of a post I'd made to a Pancreas Cancer Support Group I was a part of when Mom died. Just wanted to post this here, make it permanent.
______________________________________________
The day was SOOOOOOO amazing. That it didn't rain was incredible given the summer we've had, and that it had been dry and lovely for a few days was great, but honestly I don't remember a prettier day this summer. Maryland has had such an interesting summer, but it gave us a gorgeous, lovely, bright day, with high blue skies, a kind breeze and just the right temperature.
The bagpiper was this great guy who did so much more that we thought he would do. He played for 1/2 hour before the service, so of course we were all crying as we walked in. It was just incredibly touching. Even inside you could hear him play.
Then, it was standing room only. People I hadn't seen in years, decades even, were there, as well as really dear friends and nearly all the family. My nephew in the service made it into town the night before and was there in his uniform, mom would have loved to see him dressed in his Marine greens. The service and the readings were wonderful, I got through mine, we all did, excellently. My dad's eulogy was so amazing, it was funny and dear and really honored her. Mom's best friend gave the other eulogy and oh my gosh she did such an amazing job. My mom asked her to make sure that everyone there heard the gospel, heard that Jesus Christ is God and that he died for us and that through him we can be saved and go to heaven. She did a great job for mom, kind through out, but still very specific. We sang one of her favotite hymns, 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic' I can still hear mom marching around the house singing at the top of her lungs, 'Glory Glory Halleluia!' Then at the end, my brother was going to get her urn to take it to the cemetary and he improptu got to the mike and said 'My mother always said, 'My son, my son.' well, My Momma, my Momma'. His voice cracked, he started to cry a little, we all just wept. He got the urn, then dad, and the kids followed behind.
When we got outside, the day was still so amazing and wonderful, and we gathered the family and waited for a minute or five, and then the piper started playing, and he walked with my brother in the middle carrying her urn and my father on the other side. We walked behind. The cemetary is about a quarter mile away from the church, so we stopped traffic, which mom would have loved, and the long procession lead by the piper walked on the glorious day to the cemetary. I loved that walk. Once we got there, the piper played until everyone was up at the grave site. Then there was the little ceremony, then we put dozens of roses over her urn, everyone filed by to put a rose down. And as the minister finished, the piper played Amazing Grace. It was all so beautiful and lovely. The piper played the family and who ever was left back to the church and for a little while after.
Then we ate the amazing lunch prepared by her church and talked about her. People brought the things she had made for them, quilts, cross stich, afgans, memories. We had three boards of pictures of mom. There were lots of flowers, even though we said to donate to John's hopkins, but mom loved flowers, so it was totally appropriate.
What an amazing way to honor a wonderful lady.
Afterwards, the family all came back to dad's house and we ate and drank and danced and remembered, till very late in the night. Mom would have loved that too.
My mom was so amazing. I miss her so much, but I am very glad that we could honor her, her memory and accomplishments so well. She will be so terribly missed.
______________________________________________
The day was SOOOOOOO amazing. That it didn't rain was incredible given the summer we've had, and that it had been dry and lovely for a few days was great, but honestly I don't remember a prettier day this summer. Maryland has had such an interesting summer, but it gave us a gorgeous, lovely, bright day, with high blue skies, a kind breeze and just the right temperature.
The bagpiper was this great guy who did so much more that we thought he would do. He played for 1/2 hour before the service, so of course we were all crying as we walked in. It was just incredibly touching. Even inside you could hear him play.
Then, it was standing room only. People I hadn't seen in years, decades even, were there, as well as really dear friends and nearly all the family. My nephew in the service made it into town the night before and was there in his uniform, mom would have loved to see him dressed in his Marine greens. The service and the readings were wonderful, I got through mine, we all did, excellently. My dad's eulogy was so amazing, it was funny and dear and really honored her. Mom's best friend gave the other eulogy and oh my gosh she did such an amazing job. My mom asked her to make sure that everyone there heard the gospel, heard that Jesus Christ is God and that he died for us and that through him we can be saved and go to heaven. She did a great job for mom, kind through out, but still very specific. We sang one of her favotite hymns, 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic' I can still hear mom marching around the house singing at the top of her lungs, 'Glory Glory Halleluia!' Then at the end, my brother was going to get her urn to take it to the cemetary and he improptu got to the mike and said 'My mother always said, 'My son, my son.' well, My Momma, my Momma'. His voice cracked, he started to cry a little, we all just wept. He got the urn, then dad, and the kids followed behind.
When we got outside, the day was still so amazing and wonderful, and we gathered the family and waited for a minute or five, and then the piper started playing, and he walked with my brother in the middle carrying her urn and my father on the other side. We walked behind. The cemetary is about a quarter mile away from the church, so we stopped traffic, which mom would have loved, and the long procession lead by the piper walked on the glorious day to the cemetary. I loved that walk. Once we got there, the piper played until everyone was up at the grave site. Then there was the little ceremony, then we put dozens of roses over her urn, everyone filed by to put a rose down. And as the minister finished, the piper played Amazing Grace. It was all so beautiful and lovely. The piper played the family and who ever was left back to the church and for a little while after.
Then we ate the amazing lunch prepared by her church and talked about her. People brought the things she had made for them, quilts, cross stich, afgans, memories. We had three boards of pictures of mom. There were lots of flowers, even though we said to donate to John's hopkins, but mom loved flowers, so it was totally appropriate.
What an amazing way to honor a wonderful lady.
Afterwards, the family all came back to dad's house and we ate and drank and danced and remembered, till very late in the night. Mom would have loved that too.
My mom was so amazing. I miss her so much, but I am very glad that we could honor her, her memory and accomplishments so well. She will be so terribly missed.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Silliness in Politics
This is a rant on the British, one of our best allies, or so I thought. Until I heard something so terrifyingly silly I had to rethink the meaning of that word.
In the aftermath of the London bombings one British official had the following to say when questioned about Londonistan, the concentration of terrorism preaching imams in the local mosques, read carefully, the silliness may shock you, "We thought that if we were nice to them they wouldn't harm us."
Can you imagine? These terrorists think nothing at all of lobbing a bomb at their own people, from blowing up car bombs in a schoolyard, to ramming jets full of innocent people into buildings full of innocent people, but apparently if you are nice and give them a lolly they won't mess with you. Not only is that scary thinking, it's also deadly wrong.
And another thing, thank you so much for allowing the very sort of preaching that gave us Osama Bin Laden's World Tour, 1995 - Present. If you are my ally, I expect that at all times you do not allow speeches encouraging the death of my family to be given with any kind of regularity, I especially do not expect that you will give these nutballs visas and allow them repeat access to your country AND that you would pay for their medical and dental plans. That's a bit over the top for a marginal "ally" like France, but for one of our closest allies, it's abominable behavior. Inexcusable folly, really.
I am sad that London was bombed, and in no way do I think that the people injured in the attacks were asking for it. But I do think the British Government was.
In the aftermath of the London bombings one British official had the following to say when questioned about Londonistan, the concentration of terrorism preaching imams in the local mosques, read carefully, the silliness may shock you, "We thought that if we were nice to them they wouldn't harm us."
Can you imagine? These terrorists think nothing at all of lobbing a bomb at their own people, from blowing up car bombs in a schoolyard, to ramming jets full of innocent people into buildings full of innocent people, but apparently if you are nice and give them a lolly they won't mess with you. Not only is that scary thinking, it's also deadly wrong.
And another thing, thank you so much for allowing the very sort of preaching that gave us Osama Bin Laden's World Tour, 1995 - Present. If you are my ally, I expect that at all times you do not allow speeches encouraging the death of my family to be given with any kind of regularity, I especially do not expect that you will give these nutballs visas and allow them repeat access to your country AND that you would pay for their medical and dental plans. That's a bit over the top for a marginal "ally" like France, but for one of our closest allies, it's abominable behavior. Inexcusable folly, really.
I am sad that London was bombed, and in no way do I think that the people injured in the attacks were asking for it. But I do think the British Government was.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Summer's Dirge
It's not my favorite month, for lots of reasons. It's always freakishly hot, I don't like hot. It's the end of the summer, can't much like that either. Two of my sisters were born during this month, and while I like them just fine, it's not my birthday, so I still don't like this month.
Besides all of that, this is when my mom died two years ago. She died of pancreas cancer, a nearly perfect killer. The cancer that ravaged her, ravaged us too. It killed her relatively quickly as cancer goes, we found out at the end of May and by the end of August she was gone. We had to figure out in such a short time what this killer did, what it's MO was and what we could do to fight it. Turns out, not much. It was always running so far ahead of us that we never even had a chance, it wasn't a fair fight. We had lost it before we even knew we were in a fight.
Pancreas cancer is a sneaky killer, it's one of those stealth cancer's that you only find when it's too late. Rarely does anyone live past two years, usually it's six months. For my Mom it was eleven weeks. Just eleven. And what it did to her. Unspeakable really, her pain was enormous and unbearable even with morphine. She never complained. Really, she was incredible the whole time.
The day Mom died was Friday August 29th, at 4:25 in the morning. It was cool and rainy, a soft drizzly sort of a rain. In the room was Dad, holding her hand, my sisters Jennifer, Annie and Laura, Laura's husband Jon, my nieces Sam and Noelle and my nephew Dirk. It was so peaceful where just a few hours earlier the room had been hectic and filled with equipment and the smells of a sickroom.
We left the room after we were sure she was really gone, when the ragged breaths came no more. We cried and called who we had to call. Laura and Jon left to get Uncle and bring him back for Dad, Dad stayed downstairs with Dirk to make some last calls and just to take in the full body blow of losing his wife of 51 years.
The girls, Annie, Jennifer, Noelle, Sammy, Carolina and I, all went back upstairs to wash Mom's body. The first thing we did was to open the windows and light candles to air out the scent of death. We washed every part of her, including her hair, she had slept naked that last week and so we chose one of her favorite nightgowns, dressed her, arranged her hair, put on her favorite rose perfume, changed the bed and called Dad back in the room. In that light, a soft glow from the candles and the reading lamp, Mom was lovely in death. Her face was peaceful in a way we hadn't seen in months, since the first whisper of cancer had hit us.
The mortuary came to take her about three hours later, she still looked lovely. Hideously, the football sized tumor on her liver was still warm, the rest of her started to grow cold hours before she took her last breath.
The pictures we took that day don't capture the beauty I saw, maybe it was just grace that day. But my Mother was lovely in death. Washing her body was one of the most amazing things I've ever been privledged to do. It helped me more than I can say.
Besides all of that, this is when my mom died two years ago. She died of pancreas cancer, a nearly perfect killer. The cancer that ravaged her, ravaged us too. It killed her relatively quickly as cancer goes, we found out at the end of May and by the end of August she was gone. We had to figure out in such a short time what this killer did, what it's MO was and what we could do to fight it. Turns out, not much. It was always running so far ahead of us that we never even had a chance, it wasn't a fair fight. We had lost it before we even knew we were in a fight.
Pancreas cancer is a sneaky killer, it's one of those stealth cancer's that you only find when it's too late. Rarely does anyone live past two years, usually it's six months. For my Mom it was eleven weeks. Just eleven. And what it did to her. Unspeakable really, her pain was enormous and unbearable even with morphine. She never complained. Really, she was incredible the whole time.
The day Mom died was Friday August 29th, at 4:25 in the morning. It was cool and rainy, a soft drizzly sort of a rain. In the room was Dad, holding her hand, my sisters Jennifer, Annie and Laura, Laura's husband Jon, my nieces Sam and Noelle and my nephew Dirk. It was so peaceful where just a few hours earlier the room had been hectic and filled with equipment and the smells of a sickroom.
We left the room after we were sure she was really gone, when the ragged breaths came no more. We cried and called who we had to call. Laura and Jon left to get Uncle and bring him back for Dad, Dad stayed downstairs with Dirk to make some last calls and just to take in the full body blow of losing his wife of 51 years.
The girls, Annie, Jennifer, Noelle, Sammy, Carolina and I, all went back upstairs to wash Mom's body. The first thing we did was to open the windows and light candles to air out the scent of death. We washed every part of her, including her hair, she had slept naked that last week and so we chose one of her favorite nightgowns, dressed her, arranged her hair, put on her favorite rose perfume, changed the bed and called Dad back in the room. In that light, a soft glow from the candles and the reading lamp, Mom was lovely in death. Her face was peaceful in a way we hadn't seen in months, since the first whisper of cancer had hit us.
The mortuary came to take her about three hours later, she still looked lovely. Hideously, the football sized tumor on her liver was still warm, the rest of her started to grow cold hours before she took her last breath.
The pictures we took that day don't capture the beauty I saw, maybe it was just grace that day. But my Mother was lovely in death. Washing her body was one of the most amazing things I've ever been privledged to do. It helped me more than I can say.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Shellfish Thoughts
Recently my brother was discussing the dwindling oyster population in the Chesapeake Bay. He rattled off some statistics that may or may not be true, but got me thinking nonetheless. If, as he said, there once were enough oysters in the Bay to cleanse the waters 4 times per day and now that number has dwindled to once a week, what the heck are we doing eating them? And the same is true of shrimp, crabs and all other bottom feeders. God forbade the Israelites from eating bottom feeders, carrion eaters and dung eaters. I began to think it wasn't just what they ate, it was the service they provided, cleaning.
The more I thought about it the more convinced I was. The fish we eat would be much cleaner, our waters much purer and thus our environment much better. So, I made a decision to stop eating all shellfish and bottom feeders. I never ate mushrooms anyway, so the dung/carrion eaters is hopefully not something I'll have to adjust. I really love Lobster, but they were supposed to perform a necessary but grotesque task, I mean for them to do it without interference from me.
Now I just have to convince everyone else and find a new way for the watermen who make their living on the oyster beds, the crabbers and shrimpers to make a good living. I have no idea. But I really think we would be better for it.
The more I thought about it the more convinced I was. The fish we eat would be much cleaner, our waters much purer and thus our environment much better. So, I made a decision to stop eating all shellfish and bottom feeders. I never ate mushrooms anyway, so the dung/carrion eaters is hopefully not something I'll have to adjust. I really love Lobster, but they were supposed to perform a necessary but grotesque task, I mean for them to do it without interference from me.
Now I just have to convince everyone else and find a new way for the watermen who make their living on the oyster beds, the crabbers and shrimpers to make a good living. I have no idea. But I really think we would be better for it.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Child Molesters and the Judges that Love Them
Shasta Groene suffered at the hands of a monster while her mother, two brothers and her mother's boyfriend died, for what? So the wheels of a crooked justice could spew a monster out of jail to satisfy some weak thought process? Shasta spent a month and a half, 45 days, 6 weeks, in the hands of a despicable creature that should have still been in jail.
At some point the laws of this country have to change to protect children. I appreciate that we have to treat everyone humanely, check, got it. But what we don't have to do is allow predators to walk the streets hunting children for their sick pleasure. We would shoot a killer bear, why do we think these predators are any less dangerous because they have to "register"? Already we've seen that is an ineffective deterrent for child sex offenders. (see story on Jessica Lunsford below.) Again, why do we expect law breakers to be law abiders all of a sudden once they are convicted. Has something momentous changed? No, it never has.
I've said it before, child sex offenders should be imprisoned for life, no chance of parole ever, first offense. (It's the first time they got caught, it wasn't the first time they perpetrated.) If they killed a child during the commission of the crime, they die. Period.
Now, the Judge that let that man go so he could prey upon the Groene family should be made to pay a penalty also. He can't get off with out some kind of justice.
At some point the laws of this country have to change to protect children. I appreciate that we have to treat everyone humanely, check, got it. But what we don't have to do is allow predators to walk the streets hunting children for their sick pleasure. We would shoot a killer bear, why do we think these predators are any less dangerous because they have to "register"? Already we've seen that is an ineffective deterrent for child sex offenders. (see story on Jessica Lunsford below.) Again, why do we expect law breakers to be law abiders all of a sudden once they are convicted. Has something momentous changed? No, it never has.
I've said it before, child sex offenders should be imprisoned for life, no chance of parole ever, first offense. (It's the first time they got caught, it wasn't the first time they perpetrated.) If they killed a child during the commission of the crime, they die. Period.
Now, the Judge that let that man go so he could prey upon the Groene family should be made to pay a penalty also. He can't get off with out some kind of justice.
Monday, July 18, 2005
The Irish in Me
I'm half German, and a quarter Peruvian too, but it's that quarter Irish that I most identify with. And it's not the goofy Erin go braugh! part, or the leprechauns, it's the green soul of Ireland that calls to me. Celtic music plays across my heartstrings like nothing else, Celtic Worship most of all. The lonesome sounds of the sea, mixed with strings and pipes are nearly enough to transport me elsewhere, to another place and time. Maybe it's the pirate history of my Irish relatives, maybe it's the salt air in my lungs and the poetry that runs through my head, but I feel Irish through and through.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
My Summer Love Affairs
When I lived in Colorado I ached for rain. Not that it doesn't rain there, it just rains for a couple of minutes, then it's over, have a rainbow, move on. I missed the kind of rain that goes on for days and days, when you stayed inside and read good books. I missed rumbling thunder and lightning, I missed a cool breeze on a hot day that smelled of water. I missed hurricanes and so I was very happy when God moved me back to the East Coast.
Yes, I missed hurricanes. The air running before a hurricane smells of the sea and turns the world green, telling it's tale of wind to come. Then the wind does come, and it howls like an animal, then the rain, washing everything away. Hours later the clearing comes and the world is fresh again. I can't stay inside during the storms, I have to see the sky mad with boiling fury, feel the wind lashing in anger and the rain crying itself out on this poor earth. Somehow, at least to me, the world feels more alive when hurricanes blow, like God is walking beside me when I am out there.
Now there is the pesky matter of storm damage and deaths, I do pray that people are able to find secure shelter and that the damage isn't too high. But always remembering that with out these storms the world would become hopelessly and forever polluted. It is just that we humans have built up and love our things so much that we forget that these storms have scoured the face of the earth for millennia, and like the forest fires that are currently ravaging the west, they are necessary to our very survival.
So, here I remain, one of the few that is actually excited at the prospect of a busy hurricane season.
Yes, I missed hurricanes. The air running before a hurricane smells of the sea and turns the world green, telling it's tale of wind to come. Then the wind does come, and it howls like an animal, then the rain, washing everything away. Hours later the clearing comes and the world is fresh again. I can't stay inside during the storms, I have to see the sky mad with boiling fury, feel the wind lashing in anger and the rain crying itself out on this poor earth. Somehow, at least to me, the world feels more alive when hurricanes blow, like God is walking beside me when I am out there.
Now there is the pesky matter of storm damage and deaths, I do pray that people are able to find secure shelter and that the damage isn't too high. But always remembering that with out these storms the world would become hopelessly and forever polluted. It is just that we humans have built up and love our things so much that we forget that these storms have scoured the face of the earth for millennia, and like the forest fires that are currently ravaging the west, they are necessary to our very survival.
So, here I remain, one of the few that is actually excited at the prospect of a busy hurricane season.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Annoying Grammer - Top 3
These are the top 3 most irritating grammer issues, for me anyway.
3. Their, there, they're. One is possesive, one is an adverb (as my friend the Queen tells me, not a preposition), the last is the conjunction of they are. These are different words used in specific instances. Different instances.
2. Had Went. You may have gone, perhaps you went, but never ever will you had went anywhere.
1. Your & You're. Again, one is possesive, one is the conjuntion of you are.
Feel free to add.
3. Their, there, they're. One is possesive, one is an adverb (as my friend the Queen tells me, not a preposition), the last is the conjunction of they are. These are different words used in specific instances. Different instances.
2. Had Went. You may have gone, perhaps you went, but never ever will you had went anywhere.
1. Your & You're. Again, one is possesive, one is the conjuntion of you are.
Feel free to add.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Top 10 List - Organic Gardens
Here is my list of reasons why keeping an organic garden ROCKS!
10. The smell of the dirt, it doesn't smell like anything other than dirt, which means the smell is clean. That is a lovely smell.
9. You can assign children to work in the garden with out worrying what limb will grow out of their back in a week. Nothing out there is really unsafe for handling at anytime.
8. You can use that nasty light beer left over from a family gathering to catch slugs. You won't waste it and you can then make more room for good beer. And it works.
7. Peas. Peas in June, right off the vine. Oh, my, that's nice.
6. Eating a salad in which the only thing you didn't grow is the dressing. (Olive trees don't grow in Maryland. :-( )
5. Raspberries, right off the bushes. right off, no washing.
4. The smell of the herbs as the sun warms them.
3. Mint. Just pick a leaf and crush it then rub it between your hands. That is a heavenly smell.
2. EVERYTHING tastes incredible. There are no chemical aftertastes, it's all just really lovely. really.
1. Being able to barely rinse, or not, the things you eat. I need to find a waterproof salt shaker to keep next to the tomato beds, so I can just stand there and glut myself on sun warmed vine ripened heirloom tomatoes. The taste of fresh herbs on everything. Nothing like, really. There is such a difference between picked two days ago and picked three minutes ago.
Last night there was a fabulous storm and the fading light of the day mixed with the greening air of the coming storm to create really lovely light. The roses, peony, clematis and the rest of the flowers were just gorgeous. I took pictures which I hope to post in the next few days.
10. The smell of the dirt, it doesn't smell like anything other than dirt, which means the smell is clean. That is a lovely smell.
9. You can assign children to work in the garden with out worrying what limb will grow out of their back in a week. Nothing out there is really unsafe for handling at anytime.
8. You can use that nasty light beer left over from a family gathering to catch slugs. You won't waste it and you can then make more room for good beer. And it works.
7. Peas. Peas in June, right off the vine. Oh, my, that's nice.
6. Eating a salad in which the only thing you didn't grow is the dressing. (Olive trees don't grow in Maryland. :-( )
5. Raspberries, right off the bushes. right off, no washing.
4. The smell of the herbs as the sun warms them.
3. Mint. Just pick a leaf and crush it then rub it between your hands. That is a heavenly smell.
2. EVERYTHING tastes incredible. There are no chemical aftertastes, it's all just really lovely. really.
1. Being able to barely rinse, or not, the things you eat. I need to find a waterproof salt shaker to keep next to the tomato beds, so I can just stand there and glut myself on sun warmed vine ripened heirloom tomatoes. The taste of fresh herbs on everything. Nothing like, really. There is such a difference between picked two days ago and picked three minutes ago.
Last night there was a fabulous storm and the fading light of the day mixed with the greening air of the coming storm to create really lovely light. The roses, peony, clematis and the rest of the flowers were just gorgeous. I took pictures which I hope to post in the next few days.
Friday, June 03, 2005
What is a Hero?
Former FBI guy, Mark Felt, revealed this week that he was "the man" who leaked all that information to Woodward and Bernstein at the Washington Post (henceforth WaPo.) Mr. Deep Throat came out of the closet. Great. Expessly for money. Even better.
Mark Felt was J. Edgar's poodle at the FBI, groomed to take over when Hoover died. When that happened, Nixon passed him over for the top spot and soon after Mr. Felt was breaking every oath he had ever sworn to out him. Funny, to me it doesn't look like heroism, just a big case of poopy pants. There were other, and legal, options. Today it's easy to say it just would have been too hard to take that evidence to the Grand Jury, or to say that if he had, the information still would have been suppressed. The problem is that Mr. Felt didn't even try to do things the right way and through proper channels. He had taken an oath not to reveal classified information. He broke that oath.
Bob Bradlee, editor of the WaPo, has some interesting ties to JFK, cover-ups and such, that in light of the eviseration of Nixon on his watch are rather hypocritical in nature. He too is looked as a hero, as are Woodward and Bernstein. Whatever.
The left has often pointed at Nixon as proof of the corruption on the right, and in a gesture of fairness, I'll give them that Nixon was unprincipled and uncouth, actually, not even a nice guy. But now in that same gesture of fairness I'd like to point out that nearly every democratic president from FDR on has acted the criminal. FDR stacked the Supreme Court, Truman overlooked and condoned Soviet spies in our midst, even to the highest levels of government, JKF, a drug addict, used his fathers methods and brother RFK to get things done that shouldn't have gotten done including murder, LBJ, well, ick, there's just too much. Carter's missteps have come from bullheadedness and a petulance not seen often this side of the woobie, but as far as I know he hasn't been charged with anything. Okay, except a case of stunning and stellar blindness, like when he said that Venezuela's recent election is more democratic than our own. (What planet is he on anyway?) WJC, well, it starts with sexual harassment, misappropriating FBI files, the rape of Juanita Broaderick and we can just keep going from there. Remember that he was disbarred, you know, lost his lawyers license because he broke the law and lied under oath. On the Republican side you have Ike, one of the most honest politicians ever to inhabit the White House, Reagan, say what you will of Iran-Contra, he ended the cold war, and 41, he got us into GW1, and got us out again, but he made that "read my lips" mistake. Say what you will of W, his tenure is unfinished, and we still have to see what the WMD thing was all about.
One thing has always baffled me, the left's hatred of the Vietnam conflict. All the protests, all the anger, all the "hawks and doves" junk, and it always looked to me that the left forgot who started, promulgated and LOST that "police action". It was the left, that was their baby, if you look closely at Somalia you will see Vietnam on a smaller and shorter scale. That same fight-but-don't-fight thing. We were in Vietnam because of the policy of "containment", a leftist idea and a poor idea at that. It took Reagan's vision to stop that silliness and bring an end to the coldwar. I just never understood all the anger from the left at the right over Vietnam when it was the left's doing. Why didn't those radical kids all go Republican?
Okay, so, back to Mark Felt. Is he a hero? No. And just to clarify, I'm not saying that Nixon didn't commit crimes and wasn't a mediocre president. What I am saying is that selling out your boss because you didn't get a promotion and then outing your self as the mole for profit doesn't fit the definition of a hero. Like I said, poopy pants. If Mr. Felt was still on the playground he would have been roundly pounded.
A hero looks like the firefighters who run into burning buildings when every one else is running out. And like Abdul Amir, who gave his life to protect his fellow Iraqi citizens so that they might vote. And like Amy Carmichael, who bought children being sold into prostitution and raised them as her own. And like the Ten Boom family, who built a secret room in their home so they could hide Jews from the Nazi's and get them to safety. And like the men and women in uniform fighting a world away to give a people not their own a chance at peace. All these people are just ordinary folks who act admirably and bravely to aid others at great personal and physical peril. That is the definition of a hero.
http://www.spectator.org/dsp_article.asp?art_id=8254
http://www.nationalreview.com/interrogatory/kessler200506010934.asp
Mark Felt was J. Edgar's poodle at the FBI, groomed to take over when Hoover died. When that happened, Nixon passed him over for the top spot and soon after Mr. Felt was breaking every oath he had ever sworn to out him. Funny, to me it doesn't look like heroism, just a big case of poopy pants. There were other, and legal, options. Today it's easy to say it just would have been too hard to take that evidence to the Grand Jury, or to say that if he had, the information still would have been suppressed. The problem is that Mr. Felt didn't even try to do things the right way and through proper channels. He had taken an oath not to reveal classified information. He broke that oath.
Bob Bradlee, editor of the WaPo, has some interesting ties to JFK, cover-ups and such, that in light of the eviseration of Nixon on his watch are rather hypocritical in nature. He too is looked as a hero, as are Woodward and Bernstein. Whatever.
The left has often pointed at Nixon as proof of the corruption on the right, and in a gesture of fairness, I'll give them that Nixon was unprincipled and uncouth, actually, not even a nice guy. But now in that same gesture of fairness I'd like to point out that nearly every democratic president from FDR on has acted the criminal. FDR stacked the Supreme Court, Truman overlooked and condoned Soviet spies in our midst, even to the highest levels of government, JKF, a drug addict, used his fathers methods and brother RFK to get things done that shouldn't have gotten done including murder, LBJ, well, ick, there's just too much. Carter's missteps have come from bullheadedness and a petulance not seen often this side of the woobie, but as far as I know he hasn't been charged with anything. Okay, except a case of stunning and stellar blindness, like when he said that Venezuela's recent election is more democratic than our own. (What planet is he on anyway?) WJC, well, it starts with sexual harassment, misappropriating FBI files, the rape of Juanita Broaderick and we can just keep going from there. Remember that he was disbarred, you know, lost his lawyers license because he broke the law and lied under oath. On the Republican side you have Ike, one of the most honest politicians ever to inhabit the White House, Reagan, say what you will of Iran-Contra, he ended the cold war, and 41, he got us into GW1, and got us out again, but he made that "read my lips" mistake. Say what you will of W, his tenure is unfinished, and we still have to see what the WMD thing was all about.
One thing has always baffled me, the left's hatred of the Vietnam conflict. All the protests, all the anger, all the "hawks and doves" junk, and it always looked to me that the left forgot who started, promulgated and LOST that "police action". It was the left, that was their baby, if you look closely at Somalia you will see Vietnam on a smaller and shorter scale. That same fight-but-don't-fight thing. We were in Vietnam because of the policy of "containment", a leftist idea and a poor idea at that. It took Reagan's vision to stop that silliness and bring an end to the coldwar. I just never understood all the anger from the left at the right over Vietnam when it was the left's doing. Why didn't those radical kids all go Republican?
Okay, so, back to Mark Felt. Is he a hero? No. And just to clarify, I'm not saying that Nixon didn't commit crimes and wasn't a mediocre president. What I am saying is that selling out your boss because you didn't get a promotion and then outing your self as the mole for profit doesn't fit the definition of a hero. Like I said, poopy pants. If Mr. Felt was still on the playground he would have been roundly pounded.
A hero looks like the firefighters who run into burning buildings when every one else is running out. And like Abdul Amir, who gave his life to protect his fellow Iraqi citizens so that they might vote. And like Amy Carmichael, who bought children being sold into prostitution and raised them as her own. And like the Ten Boom family, who built a secret room in their home so they could hide Jews from the Nazi's and get them to safety. And like the men and women in uniform fighting a world away to give a people not their own a chance at peace. All these people are just ordinary folks who act admirably and bravely to aid others at great personal and physical peril. That is the definition of a hero.
http://www.spectator.org/dsp_article.asp?art_id=8254
http://www.nationalreview.com/interrogatory/kessler200506010934.asp
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Movie Review - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith
This made Speilburg cry? All I could think was: How on earth did this sticky treacle make that man cry. It just wasn't that good or that moving. There was too much to mock and frankly, the script was so awful, direction so juvenile and the plot, wait, there was a plot? It was hard not to start mocking out loud, but I truly was afraid the star wars believers there would shoot me with their laser guns.
There were too many silly things to be believed, and before you blast me, I know this is fiction, it's just BAD fiction. Good fiction transports you away to new worlds and makes you believe that they could exist. In George Lucas' Star Wars world there is a vast emptiness of nothing to draw you in and make you believe it could have happened. Star Trek was silly, but somehow made me believe long enough to just enjoy the entertainment. RotS just makes me mad I wasted my time.
There were some little things, like Padme's night gown, it's lovely, really beautiful. In fact, I had no idea it was a night gown until I saw her in bed with it still on. The problem? Beads, lots of them, strings of them across her arms. She's pregnant and sleeping on her side wearing a dress more suited to meeting the Queen of England than catching some shuteye. All I could think was: My arm would be asleep in that, it looks uncomfortable. But often it's the stupid little things that lend believability to unbelievable stories. Lucas fails miserably to bring his audience, me, in to the plot to care at all what happens. It's just a series of cool but meaningless special effects that are just mildly interesting in the way that watching grass grow is mildly interesting.
Anakin's final transformation into Darth Vader was laughable. Obi Wan and Anakin have a lightsaber duel floating on lava on a volcanic planet without any sort of heat protection and absolutely no breathing apparatus. First of all, he lost me at hello. Volcanic planet? It's one big lava flow, and lava being notoriously treacherous for humans or anything else slightly alive, between the intense heat and toxic gases, I can't believe that even Jedi powers can overcome the physical difficulties of dueling inches away from toxic flowing lava. So already I'm laughing. Then Anakin loses his limbs, then he catches on fire, but hey, he's still alive enough to curse Obi Wan who just walks away. (Has no one learned that you don't just walk away from an evil person, you must actually KILL THEM DEAD. Dang, do I have to do everything?)
The emperor shows up and collects the crispy cripple and shuttles him off to the hospital where he gets turned into the Lord Vader we all know. Now, in the hospital HE'S STILL SMOKING when they lock him into the Vader suit. What, people in that world don't need to heal from third degree burns? How about stripping all that melted cloth off him before you attach his prosthesis? How about some skin grafts? Maybe give him a little advil? Why not just put him out first! Just pour some water on him. I'm sure Sith Lords are powerful, but still, do they not suffer from infection because of badly cleaned, or in this case uncleaned, wounds? At least put some cream on those burns, that suit will chafe.
As I watched the "battle" between the Emperor and Yoda all I could think was "They got the wrong muppet to kill this guy, give Animal a lightsaber and he would have offed him quicker than you please. That would be a fight I'd be happy to pay to see."
And what was all the excitement about going to the Wookie homeworld. It's not like anything happened there that was slightly interesting. All you find out is that Chewbacca is an old dog. That's it. Whatever.
All in all, I give it an F. Lucas wasted four movies and some incredible actors to pile up 8 hours of trash. How do you make Liam Neeson, Natalie Portman and Ewan McGregor look like no-talent high school actors? How in the world do you take the edge out of Samuel L. Jackson? The dialog was so weird, stodgy, stilted and silly, just plain old silly, as to render it laughable. The original Star Wars (ANH) was fun and incredible and a blast, the Empire Strikes Back (TESB) was equally fun. Then it all fell apart into sappy stupid vacuous nothingness, like the emptiness of space. TESB was, by the way, the only one of the movies that Lucas did not direct, and that only one he had help in writing, it is by far the best of the lot. That's very telling, and very interesting. George Lucas has a vision, and it could have been a fun one, but he let his navel gazing pride get in the way of making great movies. He should have gotten help, outside eyes to assist him, someone unafraid of saying "Midiclorians? That's stupid and doesn't flow with what came before." and "Another Senate scene? Gimme action, fast and furious! Common, let the Wookies really fight!" I wanted to shout "The Empire has no clothes!!" It started with the Ewoks. Stupid teddy bears, just too cute.
This movie, and the previous junk, Episodes 1, 2 and 6, all lacked the kind of character development that draws an audience in to want to come back. The plot, writing and direction were ponderous in the way that a legless hippo trying to wriggle it's way ashore in wet season mud is ponderous, and trite. I didn't care at all about any of them. Frankly I missed the Death Star blowing up planets willy nilly, that was fun stuff. I wanted to Emperor to win, he at least was interesting to watch. Just like at the tedious end of Titanic, I wanted to shout "DIE, please, just die!!!" Thankfully, this franchise will die and be resurrected no more. I think it could only have been worse if Ben Affleck had played Obi Wan. (Now, if I could just convince the Rolling Stones to stop touring, my work here will be finished.)
There is one consolation, and it is a small one, M&M's came out with dark chocolate M&M's. Wait, see, the Emperor did win. SWEET!
*At the theater were some Star Wars geeks, people dressed up like the characters. The best part of the whole experience was getting an ironic chuckle because the guy in the vader suit was shorter than everyone else. I mean like 5'2", shorter than me. Oh, and the other guy in the vader suit was using his lightsaber as a tapstick for a blind person. I nearly snotted soda out my nose. That was funny.
There were too many silly things to be believed, and before you blast me, I know this is fiction, it's just BAD fiction. Good fiction transports you away to new worlds and makes you believe that they could exist. In George Lucas' Star Wars world there is a vast emptiness of nothing to draw you in and make you believe it could have happened. Star Trek was silly, but somehow made me believe long enough to just enjoy the entertainment. RotS just makes me mad I wasted my time.
There were some little things, like Padme's night gown, it's lovely, really beautiful. In fact, I had no idea it was a night gown until I saw her in bed with it still on. The problem? Beads, lots of them, strings of them across her arms. She's pregnant and sleeping on her side wearing a dress more suited to meeting the Queen of England than catching some shuteye. All I could think was: My arm would be asleep in that, it looks uncomfortable. But often it's the stupid little things that lend believability to unbelievable stories. Lucas fails miserably to bring his audience, me, in to the plot to care at all what happens. It's just a series of cool but meaningless special effects that are just mildly interesting in the way that watching grass grow is mildly interesting.
Anakin's final transformation into Darth Vader was laughable. Obi Wan and Anakin have a lightsaber duel floating on lava on a volcanic planet without any sort of heat protection and absolutely no breathing apparatus. First of all, he lost me at hello. Volcanic planet? It's one big lava flow, and lava being notoriously treacherous for humans or anything else slightly alive, between the intense heat and toxic gases, I can't believe that even Jedi powers can overcome the physical difficulties of dueling inches away from toxic flowing lava. So already I'm laughing. Then Anakin loses his limbs, then he catches on fire, but hey, he's still alive enough to curse Obi Wan who just walks away. (Has no one learned that you don't just walk away from an evil person, you must actually KILL THEM DEAD. Dang, do I have to do everything?)
The emperor shows up and collects the crispy cripple and shuttles him off to the hospital where he gets turned into the Lord Vader we all know. Now, in the hospital HE'S STILL SMOKING when they lock him into the Vader suit. What, people in that world don't need to heal from third degree burns? How about stripping all that melted cloth off him before you attach his prosthesis? How about some skin grafts? Maybe give him a little advil? Why not just put him out first! Just pour some water on him. I'm sure Sith Lords are powerful, but still, do they not suffer from infection because of badly cleaned, or in this case uncleaned, wounds? At least put some cream on those burns, that suit will chafe.
As I watched the "battle" between the Emperor and Yoda all I could think was "They got the wrong muppet to kill this guy, give Animal a lightsaber and he would have offed him quicker than you please. That would be a fight I'd be happy to pay to see."
And what was all the excitement about going to the Wookie homeworld. It's not like anything happened there that was slightly interesting. All you find out is that Chewbacca is an old dog. That's it. Whatever.
All in all, I give it an F. Lucas wasted four movies and some incredible actors to pile up 8 hours of trash. How do you make Liam Neeson, Natalie Portman and Ewan McGregor look like no-talent high school actors? How in the world do you take the edge out of Samuel L. Jackson? The dialog was so weird, stodgy, stilted and silly, just plain old silly, as to render it laughable. The original Star Wars (ANH) was fun and incredible and a blast, the Empire Strikes Back (TESB) was equally fun. Then it all fell apart into sappy stupid vacuous nothingness, like the emptiness of space. TESB was, by the way, the only one of the movies that Lucas did not direct, and that only one he had help in writing, it is by far the best of the lot. That's very telling, and very interesting. George Lucas has a vision, and it could have been a fun one, but he let his navel gazing pride get in the way of making great movies. He should have gotten help, outside eyes to assist him, someone unafraid of saying "Midiclorians? That's stupid and doesn't flow with what came before." and "Another Senate scene? Gimme action, fast and furious! Common, let the Wookies really fight!" I wanted to shout "The Empire has no clothes!!" It started with the Ewoks. Stupid teddy bears, just too cute.
This movie, and the previous junk, Episodes 1, 2 and 6, all lacked the kind of character development that draws an audience in to want to come back. The plot, writing and direction were ponderous in the way that a legless hippo trying to wriggle it's way ashore in wet season mud is ponderous, and trite. I didn't care at all about any of them. Frankly I missed the Death Star blowing up planets willy nilly, that was fun stuff. I wanted to Emperor to win, he at least was interesting to watch. Just like at the tedious end of Titanic, I wanted to shout "DIE, please, just die!!!" Thankfully, this franchise will die and be resurrected no more. I think it could only have been worse if Ben Affleck had played Obi Wan. (Now, if I could just convince the Rolling Stones to stop touring, my work here will be finished.)
There is one consolation, and it is a small one, M&M's came out with dark chocolate M&M's. Wait, see, the Emperor did win. SWEET!
*At the theater were some Star Wars geeks, people dressed up like the characters. The best part of the whole experience was getting an ironic chuckle because the guy in the vader suit was shorter than everyone else. I mean like 5'2", shorter than me. Oh, and the other guy in the vader suit was using his lightsaber as a tapstick for a blind person. I nearly snotted soda out my nose. That was funny.
Monday, May 16, 2005
You Can't Ever Take It Back
In 1900 four journalists in Denver sat down to figure out what kind of blockbuster story they could come up with, but it would be a hoax. The story that ran was about a local contractor winning the bid to tear down The Great Wall of China. This story was picked up by the international press. It was all fun and games until the story got to China. In a land already inflamed by fear of foreigners and a fastly imploding ruling class, that was the spark that set off a year of slaughter. The Boxer Rebellion left many innocent dead, including many Chinese.
Now if any of this sounds eerily familiar, you may have heard about the the riots, the calls for jihad and the 17 deaths that have resulted from the fictious bit piece in Newsweek's Periscope regarding the supposed desecration of the Koran in GITMO. Now, however much Newsweek apologizes for their error in reporting an unsubstatiated rumor, they can't fix the havoc wreaked by this rumor taken as truth. It was absolutely irresponsible of them to print it, especially with out fully vetting it. Good luck trying to get the truth out there, Muslims won't believe it, neither will the progressives. Both love conspiracies too much to hear the truth.
Lately, freedom of the presses is translating into slander, rumor-mongering and libel, and it begins to look more like abuse of liberty than freedom of the presses. CBS, The New York Times and Newsweek have all been guilty of making up stories to suit their political ends. But now it's begun to cost the lives of innocents a world away. Just like it did in China a century ago.
Liberty and freedom are costly things, they come with a hefty price tag. One of the costs of liberty is the responsibility to use it wisely. Freedom of the presses means only that the government can not tell you what you can and can not print. It does not mean that you can print just anything. It means that with careful research, vetting and honor, you can choose to run stories that will matter, make a difference and inform. You also have a responsibility to weigh the outcomes of printing a story. It's called self-editing.
Now if any of this sounds eerily familiar, you may have heard about the the riots, the calls for jihad and the 17 deaths that have resulted from the fictious bit piece in Newsweek's Periscope regarding the supposed desecration of the Koran in GITMO. Now, however much Newsweek apologizes for their error in reporting an unsubstatiated rumor, they can't fix the havoc wreaked by this rumor taken as truth. It was absolutely irresponsible of them to print it, especially with out fully vetting it. Good luck trying to get the truth out there, Muslims won't believe it, neither will the progressives. Both love conspiracies too much to hear the truth.
Lately, freedom of the presses is translating into slander, rumor-mongering and libel, and it begins to look more like abuse of liberty than freedom of the presses. CBS, The New York Times and Newsweek have all been guilty of making up stories to suit their political ends. But now it's begun to cost the lives of innocents a world away. Just like it did in China a century ago.
Liberty and freedom are costly things, they come with a hefty price tag. One of the costs of liberty is the responsibility to use it wisely. Freedom of the presses means only that the government can not tell you what you can and can not print. It does not mean that you can print just anything. It means that with careful research, vetting and honor, you can choose to run stories that will matter, make a difference and inform. You also have a responsibility to weigh the outcomes of printing a story. It's called self-editing.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Creatures that make you go "hmmm"
Hmm - Part 1
So let's say that your daughter steals some money from you then goes on a bike ride with her best friend when she's supposed to be home grounded, what do you do? Probably stabbing the girls a total of 30 times and beating the heck out of them and leaving them to die in the park wouldn't be high on a rational parent's mind. But to Jerry Hobbs it made sense. He says he was mad that she was out WITH her mother's permission ON Mother's day, and that her friend pulled the knife on him. Yeah, right. Dude just got out of prison, I'm totally sure he could have disarmed a 9 year old little girl with out beating the crap out of her then turning the knife on her. Sheesh, he could have run back to her mother and told on her.
Hmm - Part 2
It's 2005, right? If you live in the Washington DC/New York, NY area, which includes Pennsylvania, and you were able to vote in 2001 you remember life before the terrorist attacks and you can now tell the difference. One thing would be the extra security around buildings, much of which was actually put in place after the Oklahoma City bombing. Another change would be the much expanded no-fly zone around Washington's power center. Now if you are a pilot, even of a small Buddy-Holly-Lawn-Dart Cessna, you would be aware of the extensive no fly zone AND of the stated intentions of the US Military to shoot down any aircraft straying into that no fly zone and failing to respond.
Now read this wee little paragraph:
"The Cessna pilot appeared confused by the aircraft escort and did not respond to repeated signals ordering the plane to turn away. The F-16s fired four warning flares before the Cessna finally veered west and away from the secure zone." (from My Way News, story linked below)
Some student pilot and his teacher from Pennsylvania wandered into the no fly zone and were seconds away from being shot and killed AND THEY DIDN'T RESPOND? Why? Maybe they turned their radio off or just didn't like the "tone" of the F-16 pilots and ground control. What ever, they are obviously too stupid to be allowed to fly, maybe even drive. I'm not sure what's really confusing about an F-16 wagging it's wings at you and acting threateningly, they are fighting aircraft build for war after all.
Also, I'd like to point out that Washington DC has a VERY distinctive aerial look. It's not really like you can miss either the Appalachians on one side, the Potomac in the middle and the Chesapeake on the other side, or DC itself.
http://apnews.myway.com/article/20050513/D8A207VG0.html
So let's say that your daughter steals some money from you then goes on a bike ride with her best friend when she's supposed to be home grounded, what do you do? Probably stabbing the girls a total of 30 times and beating the heck out of them and leaving them to die in the park wouldn't be high on a rational parent's mind. But to Jerry Hobbs it made sense. He says he was mad that she was out WITH her mother's permission ON Mother's day, and that her friend pulled the knife on him. Yeah, right. Dude just got out of prison, I'm totally sure he could have disarmed a 9 year old little girl with out beating the crap out of her then turning the knife on her. Sheesh, he could have run back to her mother and told on her.
Hmm - Part 2
It's 2005, right? If you live in the Washington DC/New York, NY area, which includes Pennsylvania, and you were able to vote in 2001 you remember life before the terrorist attacks and you can now tell the difference. One thing would be the extra security around buildings, much of which was actually put in place after the Oklahoma City bombing. Another change would be the much expanded no-fly zone around Washington's power center. Now if you are a pilot, even of a small Buddy-Holly-Lawn-Dart Cessna, you would be aware of the extensive no fly zone AND of the stated intentions of the US Military to shoot down any aircraft straying into that no fly zone and failing to respond.
Now read this wee little paragraph:
"The Cessna pilot appeared confused by the aircraft escort and did not respond to repeated signals ordering the plane to turn away. The F-16s fired four warning flares before the Cessna finally veered west and away from the secure zone." (from My Way News, story linked below)
Some student pilot and his teacher from Pennsylvania wandered into the no fly zone and were seconds away from being shot and killed AND THEY DIDN'T RESPOND? Why? Maybe they turned their radio off or just didn't like the "tone" of the F-16 pilots and ground control. What ever, they are obviously too stupid to be allowed to fly, maybe even drive. I'm not sure what's really confusing about an F-16 wagging it's wings at you and acting threateningly, they are fighting aircraft build for war after all.
Also, I'd like to point out that Washington DC has a VERY distinctive aerial look. It's not really like you can miss either the Appalachians on one side, the Potomac in the middle and the Chesapeake on the other side, or DC itself.
http://apnews.myway.com/article/20050513/D8A207VG0.html
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