honor

USS Arizona Memorial, Honolulu

photo by me, 2007

Thanks

by W. S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

self-righteous do-gooder

On the heels of dreaming about becoming an ass-kicking roller derby maven, I am here to flash my Upstanding Citizen card. Call me schizophrenic multi-faceted.

I did wait until the last day to fill in my squares (completely with blue or black ink) but I specifically did not leave my ballot to languish on the kitchen counter, race to arrive at the polling place by 7:59, nor park and allow my car to idle in the fire lane while I dropped my ballot in the box. Not that I'm judging anyone who happened to do any of those things.

But I am thinking about practicing my checking skills on those legions of moms who leave their engines running in the school parking lot every time I pick up my kids.

Okay, I'm judging.

road trip back in time

My nerdilicious son & his equally delightfully geeky friend clamored to see a local Civil War reenactment on Saturday and though I generally do not love outdoor activity, it seemed a fine opportunity to encourage study of history [read: war & weapons]. And to wear my supercute polka dot boots.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

fireworks

Celebrating life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness.

Happy Birthday, USA

lived, loved and were loved

My friend from high school, Lt. Colonel Brian Serota, flew this flag for our family during one of his recent missions in Iraq. I am thankful for the sacrifices he & his soldiers are making on behalf of our nation - the time away from ordinary hours with their families spent instead avoiding unimaginable peril. We hope to honor them and all of the troops by flying this flag and praying for their safety every day.

For those who have served, for those who have lost family & friends ~ the sons & daughters, fathers & mothers, husbands, wives, lovers ~ let us not break faith with the ones who have died, so they may sleep in peace.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

blessings

I was proud to stand in the rain Saturday morning, to watch my Boy Scout march and to honor the veterans who have served as well as the men and women who continue to sacrifice on my behalf. Today I offer another salute of thanks.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you, Doug.

Thank you, Amy and April and Narvie and Lee.

Thank you, friends, students, and teachers, past & present.

And thanks to Mr. Brady for his thoughtful mission.

As I pray without ceasing, so I also am grateful without end.

Bless you all.

home of the brave

Make a Smilebox slideshow

this kind of exercise i can handle

Democracy is so exciting!

(I'm being serious. I think I could become a total voting geek).

Children who caucus.
(Note bag full of snacks; some grown-ups were ready to jump them for it...)

________________________

I have exercised my political muscle.

It is tired and now needs a nap.

day of the caucus (not carcass)

I really really want to go and be a responsible voting citizen. I know I should, especially since I found out the Democratic party does not count the primary ballots when awarding delegates in Washington State. Argh.

And I want my kids to check it out, witness potential mayhem democracy in action. They did watch the last Presidential inauguration, even though they were only 5 & 3 and it wasn't the winner we were hoping for. (Paige was excited to see Mrs. Cheney, though, because she wrote A is for Abigail, which we adore).

The only hitch today is that my parents have brought a Wii for us and will be wounded if the worship is interrupted. So. I'm leaning toward telling my children they can play unlimited Wii after they attend the caucus with me. What say ye, wiser readers? Is it bad to bribe young people to pay attention to the world around them for a bit?

Must go ponder...And shower. (One doesn't want to smell like a carcass at the caucus).
_____________________________
There is also this to read today, if you get really lonely.

one of my best prayers - thank you, thank you, thank you

Because it's the best I can do right now. Please visit Reconnect America to find something that works for you. There are e-cards, bulletin board postings, and links to other sites where you (and I) can make donations or volunteer help. Hopefully beyond today.

In honorable, grateful, loving memory of my grandpas (one of whom went AWOL now & again but hey, he came back right?), and with many thanks to my brave dad, father-in-law, uncles, cousins, neighbors & classmates. Amazing. Grace.

Memorial Day - it's not just for picnics anymore.

god bless america

Hearing our national anthem sung or played always makes me teary. It doesn't even matter if it's done poorly, as long as it is performed with conviction & sincerity. (So, Jimi Hendrix = brilliant and moving; Roseanne = disgraceful and rage-inspiring). I'm sure when you read this, you understand the sentiment because a) you are undoubtedly a kind & thoughtful person and b) it is, after all, a song to remind us of those who fought - and still fight - for our freedoms. However, think about how embarrassing this affliction is in the context of setting.

The most forgiving situation is me sitting in my own home surrounded by family members - they love me and know I'm a sensitive person who gets a little wiggly during certain movies (and commercials, and stories, and some songs...). But it's still alarming for kids to see Mom cry. Moms shouldn't cry! At least not in front of anyone! What do we do?? Look away, get some chocolate, tell a joke!

In the mildly distressing category is me at a public sporting event. Luckily this doesn't happen often as the only sport I truly love is pro football, but my team rarely plays within 200 miles of here and tickets are crazy expensive. Plus, no one wants to go with me; something about taking it 'too seriously.' Whatever. Anyway, here is how it goes at the game: Everybody's excited, getting concessions and finding seats, chatting and laughing and betting before the start. Then out comes the flag, usually with soldiers or Boy Scouts or somebody else far braver than I, and my throat constricts. I can still play it cool, as long as no one wants me to talk. But then the music starts. I have to swallow repeatedly and open my eyes very wide - I've tried closing them and thinking of something else (the coach's ugly tie, what's for dinner, who I want voted out of Survivor), but that doesn't help - eyes sting, tears fall, much worse for everyone. When the song ends, I can never decide if it's better to clap enthusiastically and hoot with the rest of the crowd (are they also feeling uncomfortable about this strangely reflective & affecting moment?) or avoid everyone's eyes and take a quiet minute to breathe deeply. I've done both; neither feels particularly comfortable for me. I can't imagine breaking down and sobbing will bring relief (to anyone, frankly), but switching gears so quickly reminds me of the guys who are accidentally emotional in front of each other then start talking forcefully about manly things. And then, incongruously, the event erupts and we're back to game faces, howling at refs and whooping for our team. Reflection over, PLAY BALL!

The worst scenario, however, is a school event. I have vowed never to bawl in front of students, not because I don't want them to know I am a sensitive individual but because it is inevitably a sign of weakness. Like limping in front of hyenas. To them, there is no difference between patriotic crying and frustrated, defeated crying - all crying is embarrassing to teenagers, and their embarrassment leads to hostility. Thus, I have to prepare mightily for assemblies in order to avoid irreparable damage to my street cred; one red-rimmed eye or a sniffle and I've lost the pack. It is particularly difficult in this case because almost certainly the anthem singer/player is a kid, which is far more poignant for me. Maybe it's the innocent earnestness, or the slight lack of confidence in otherwise cool & savvy teens. Regardless, those are the longest four minutes of my professional life. Deep breath, exhale.

The take-away point for today: In the event of our being together at any function involving the American flag and/or our national anthem, please do us both a favor and avoid eye contact until, well, I'll let you know when. Okay? *sob* Look away.

where can i get a toilet brush, socks, hamster food, and dinner?

My best friend is really lucky. To begin with, I have not called anyone my 'best friend' (without sarcasm) since high school, which was long ago in a galaxy far, far away. Secondly, she is taller than me and can wear dark lipstick unselfconsciously, with glamour - usually two big strikes against best friend status. Moreover, she's from Southern California, pooh-poohs my processed food warnings, and...she shops at that place. I know I should be Harry Potter-brave and just say the name of the wicked and evil thing to take away its power, but I am weak [okay; sounds like 'tall fart']. I'm a little afraid they might sue me or send their poor slave workers after me with pitchforks and torches. Okay, I'm being silly - they would never bother to sue me.

So you know, I'm not a 21st century Norma Rae vigilantly fighting to unionize downtrodden laborers (although I do believe that to be an issue with you-know-who) - the words 'vigilant' and 'fight' make me tired just typing them, frankly. And I can't spout the numbers for comparing how THEY help vs. hurt the US economy, though I have a strong suspicion which way the balance leans in the long run. No, these very important problems are icing on the rancid cake that is my intense dislike of the overall atmosphere of desperation and deceitful manipulation. I have set foot in you-know-where 3 times - once dragged by my mom, another time to spend a gift card on PTA supplies, and once more as a Secret Shopper for which I was paid $5, which I seriously consider blood money. Each visit left me feeling like doing two things: 1) Apologize to every employee for whatever I did or didn't do as an American to help them find a better job and 2) Burn the place down. Then dance on the ashes. Okay, three things.

These strong, bitter (violent?) feelings about a store give me pause. I think it's because I'm frustrated, feeling powerless to stop the madness that is blind support of a company that obviously exploits its workers and cruelly undercuts other establishments. I get Capitalism and the economic reality of competition and I don't begrudge anyone doing business. However, doing it viciously at the expense of others and pretending to be an asset to the community - that is despicable. I am perfectly okay with someone hating me (this is just hypothetical of course) and saying so to my face. Fine. But sniping about me to others, hitting on my husband and insulting my kids before cheerfully greeting me and inviting me to a Tupperware party - that is insidious and intolerable. That place is the one inviting me to a party while deriding me behind my back. Not cool.

So what's a best friend to do? We have occasional thoughtful, reasonable discussions about American consumerism and our role as responsible citizens. Then she sneaks off to the devil store for a few things before the kids get home. But apparently my silent contempt is a great guilt-inducer, and sometimes that's all we need to change. Yes, sir, she's lucky to have me.