(Here)
"And now for something completely different..." ~Monty Python
Gravity seems weak, but weaker still here--
is his grip. I'm free-falling toward the stars.
Minutes hail from the rails of the clock face,
while my boys find time to hand out blue cigars.
The air? It is thin enough to drink here,
where the horizon falls away to give me view.
My girls stop playing for a moment, or a decade,
to pen an honest analytical review.
The atmosphere gulps in another year here,
while paper dolls are decomposing in the lawn.
I write in crayon on the moon I find eclipsed here,
then fall to watch the majesty of dawn.
~Mari Nichols Haining
It's another One Shot Wednesday.
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Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
her first untimely death
her first untimely death
(Or: A teenager mourns a death)
She couldn't have known it was Childhood's last night.
So she stood on the wet grass and sang to the evening
as though it was any other.
She should have realized when she noticed,
in grown-up thoughts,
the stars arcing above her had shifted
and were marking time like the hands of a clock.
Then somewhere far away a boy died
and the moon winked a minute.
She could not have known she was waiting for a shooting star
to note the second on the asphalt sky.
In ten hours, the phone will ring.
She will step outside her body without effort. To watch,
because events like those need historians.
Detached, she'll consider it theatrical.
And when she falls to the ground
she'll wonder if the wail filling the room and straining against the walls
really comes from her.
Somewhere, innocence just isn't anymore.
It will be too late for her to know
she's wishing she were outside, singing to the stars again.
Oblivious to the clock.
~Mari Nichols Haining
This is my contribution to One Shot Wednesday - a poetic flash mob. Go check it out!
(Or: A teenager mourns a death)
She couldn't have known it was Childhood's last night.
So she stood on the wet grass and sang to the evening
as though it was any other.
She should have realized when she noticed,
in grown-up thoughts,
the stars arcing above her had shifted
and were marking time like the hands of a clock.
Then somewhere far away a boy died
and the moon winked a minute.
She could not have known she was waiting for a shooting star
to note the second on the asphalt sky.
In ten hours, the phone will ring.
She will step outside her body without effort. To watch,
because events like those need historians.
Detached, she'll consider it theatrical.
And when she falls to the ground
she'll wonder if the wail filling the room and straining against the walls
really comes from her.
Somewhere, innocence just isn't anymore.
It will be too late for her to know
she's wishing she were outside, singing to the stars again.
Oblivious to the clock.
~Mari Nichols Haining
This is my contribution to One Shot Wednesday - a poetic flash mob. Go check it out!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Text from early labor. Bonus photo included!
This text came from my daughter-in-law about 4.5 hours after her water broke. She was at the hospital in early labor with her first child.
This is bbbboring.
I responded:
No worries - I bet it will be more interesting three hours from now!
-----------
I was right. An hour later, after an emergency c-section, she and my son became parents and I met my first grandchild. Mother and baby are doing fine.
Congratulations Jonathan and Sierra! You will be phenomenal parents. In parenthood and life in general, I hope you both remember to let the small stuff go; pick each battle carefully and choose your words as though they'll be the last the other person will hear; and most importantly, to really live each moment, because they are the memories you'll treasure each tomorrow.
Welcome to the world Baby Alex! I'm crazy about you already!
This is bbbboring.
I responded:
No worries - I bet it will be more interesting three hours from now!
-----------
I was right. An hour later, after an emergency c-section, she and my son became parents and I met my first grandchild. Mother and baby are doing fine.
Congratulations Jonathan and Sierra! You will be phenomenal parents. In parenthood and life in general, I hope you both remember to let the small stuff go; pick each battle carefully and choose your words as though they'll be the last the other person will hear; and most importantly, to really live each moment, because they are the memories you'll treasure each tomorrow.
Welcome to the world Baby Alex! I'm crazy about you already!
Alexander
7lbs 10 oz
20 1/2" long
8:38 PM
8:38 PM
To-do list
To-Do (in order): Charge video & still cameras. Prep spare room for arriving family. Sleep. Go to the hospital. Meet 1st grandchild. Cry.
Friday, November 12, 2010
A game! Brought to you by YouTube and Japanese zit tools!
 |
I'll start! digusting (d  g- s tng)adj. Something a user of digg.com would find abhorrent. |
YouTube has standards? And a Japanese commercial for a zit popping tool violated those standards? Weird. I glad they draw the line at digusting content, because we all know there's plenty disgusting stuff up there!
Newly edited: The Second Kind
After you gave me her poem, the name replaced,
I said there were two kinds of women:
those who inspire sonnets
and those who don't.
And then I laughed;
the tension was too much to bear.
It's fine, I said.
I tried not to sound like a martyr
but thought,
Why have I never inspired
art of any kind?
Not even a charcoal sketch or quick haiku.
Once, I convinced myself I was a rough draft
living in the coffee-stained pages of your journal.
On that occasion, I didn't mind --
because we were a draft
and romance can be rough.
I am aware of my own gracelessness.
Yet grace is required of a muse.
Still, consider that I have desire,
and what is love without desire?
And here is patience,
because what is art without patience?
I remember now. Again.
And the uneasy laugh escapes again.
I conclude aloud
(with melancholy, not martyrdom)
that if I had been the first kind,
I would have abandoned beauty and art
as just moments.
Moments as transient as our forever.
I said there were two kinds of women:
those who inspire sonnets
and those who don't.
And then I laughed;
the tension was too much to bear.
It's fine, I said.
I tried not to sound like a martyr
but thought,
Why have I never inspired
art of any kind?
Not even a charcoal sketch or quick haiku.
Once, I convinced myself I was a rough draft
living in the coffee-stained pages of your journal.
On that occasion, I didn't mind --
because we were a draft
and romance can be rough.
I am aware of my own gracelessness.
Yet grace is required of a muse.
Still, consider that I have desire,
and what is love without desire?
And here is patience,
because what is art without patience?
I remember now. Again.
And the uneasy laugh escapes again.
I conclude aloud
(with melancholy, not martyrdom)
that if I had been the first kind,
I would have abandoned beauty and art
as just moments.
Moments as transient as our forever.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Becoming Ms. Fix-it - Handy tip
Another Becoming Ms. Fix-it Tip:
Before using that circular saw you left on the patio for months, check that stinkbugs haven't claimed it as home.
Before using that circular saw you left on the patio for months, check that stinkbugs haven't claimed it as home.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The grass sighs
Melancholy floats in the wind today.
Memories are deposited by the rippling breeze,
and the waving grass sighs.
I remember when fall winds
brought fairy songs twisting around me
teaching me to dance and fly in concert.
Later, zephyrs nudged me to the future,
before towing me urgently by my whipped umbrella.
Yet, aren't I too young to hear the sigh?
These days beneath the crimson,
I see the dust has settled now as crystal morning frost.
These evenings, no nanny in the wind
and no longing for the memories.
But the grass?
It still sighs.
From somewhere: a bird.
I am cold, my sweater damp,
but I am only here.
Without decision,
I stay to watch a leaf parachute
and listen for the wind to shift
until the sighs fade in to day.
~Mari Nichols-Haining
One Shot Wednesday: A poetic flashmob.
Memories are deposited by the rippling breeze,
and the waving grass sighs.
I remember when fall winds
brought fairy songs twisting around me
teaching me to dance and fly in concert.
Later, zephyrs nudged me to the future,
before towing me urgently by my whipped umbrella.
Yet, aren't I too young to hear the sigh?
These days beneath the crimson,
I see the dust has settled now as crystal morning frost.
These evenings, no nanny in the wind
and no longing for the memories.
But the grass?
It still sighs.
From somewhere: a bird.
I am cold, my sweater damp,
but I am only here.
Without decision,
I stay to watch a leaf parachute
and listen for the wind to shift
until the sighs fade in to day.
~Mari Nichols-Haining
One Shot Wednesday: A poetic flashmob.
Monday, November 8, 2010
There once was a lady who lived in a boot, after Jacobs and Kors took all her loot...
I love fall. The browns and golds and burnt siennas. Those reds and blacks--oh..all of the season's colors--they enliven me. I find myself inhaling deeply to catch the sweet leathery smell that permeates the air this time of year and wakes up my soul. Oh sure, the changing leaves are pretty too, but I'm talking about boots. I admit it: I love my boots and look forward to pulling them from the back of the closet each fall. Like the unique love felt by that mother (the one who lived in a shoe) for each child, I love every pair of boots I own for some unique quality. Some might claim I have an unnatural obsession with them.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Sometimes, I want a wife too!
The satirical essay below has been floating around for 40 years, so there's a good chance you've seen it before. It was originally published in the first edition of Ms. in 1971. A friend's status message reminded me of it tonight, so here I am. It's worth a reprint every now and again.
-------------------------------------
Judy Syfers, (1971)
I belong to that classification of people known as wives. I am A
Wife. And, not altogether incidentally, I am a mother.
Not too long ago a male friend of mine appeared on the scene fresh
from a recent divorce. He had one child, who is, of course, with his
ex-wife. He is obviously looking for another wife. As I thought
about him while I was ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to me
that I, too, would like to have a wife. Why do I want a wife?
I would like to go back to school so that I can become economically
independent, support myself, and, if need be, support those dependent
upon me. I want a wife who will work and send me to school. And
while I am going to school I want a wife to keep track of the
children's doctor and dentist appointments. And to keep track of
mine, too. I want a wife to make sure my children eat properly and
are kept clean. I want a wife who will wash the children's clothes
and keep them mended. I want a wife who is a good nurturant attendant
to my children, who arranges for their schooling, makes sure that they
have an adequate social life with their peers, takes them to the park,
the zoo, etc. I want a wife who takes care of the children when they
are sick, a wife who arranges to be around when the children need
special care, because, of course, I cannot miss classes at school. My
wife must arrange to lose time at work and not lose the job. It may
mean a small cut in my wife's income from time to time, but I guess I
can tolerate that. Needless to say, my wife will arrange and pay for
the care of the children while my wife is working.
-------------------------------------
Judy Syfers, (1971)
I belong to that classification of people known as wives. I am A
Wife. And, not altogether incidentally, I am a mother.
Not too long ago a male friend of mine appeared on the scene fresh
from a recent divorce. He had one child, who is, of course, with his
ex-wife. He is obviously looking for another wife. As I thought
about him while I was ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to me
that I, too, would like to have a wife. Why do I want a wife?
I would like to go back to school so that I can become economically
independent, support myself, and, if need be, support those dependent
upon me. I want a wife who will work and send me to school. And
while I am going to school I want a wife to keep track of the
children's doctor and dentist appointments. And to keep track of
mine, too. I want a wife to make sure my children eat properly and
are kept clean. I want a wife who will wash the children's clothes
and keep them mended. I want a wife who is a good nurturant attendant
to my children, who arranges for their schooling, makes sure that they
have an adequate social life with their peers, takes them to the park,
the zoo, etc. I want a wife who takes care of the children when they
are sick, a wife who arranges to be around when the children need
special care, because, of course, I cannot miss classes at school. My
wife must arrange to lose time at work and not lose the job. It may
mean a small cut in my wife's income from time to time, but I guess I
can tolerate that. Needless to say, my wife will arrange and pay for
the care of the children while my wife is working.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Once Gold
Like Midas in this world
far removed from myths and gods,
your touch consumed it all--
time, the past, then even vague dreams.
In their places
are thoughts like statuettes.
They stare, unnerve me, remind me
that value is often measured differently.
So, once reminded, I think
Perhaps I didn't understand you.
But of course, I did.
And perhaps I didn't love enough?
But of course I did.
It is reflected in the obscene glint of all that is left
unconsumed.
It is in the grime that settles after droughts and dusty summers;
a blanket on the golden of the decayed.
far removed from myths and gods,
your touch consumed it all--
time, the past, then even vague dreams.
In their places
are thoughts like statuettes.
They stare, unnerve me, remind me
that value is often measured differently.
So, once reminded, I think
Perhaps I didn't understand you.
But of course, I did.
And perhaps I didn't love enough?
But of course I did.
It is reflected in the obscene glint of all that is left
unconsumed.
It is in the grime that settles after droughts and dusty summers;
a blanket on the golden of the decayed.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
In Passing: For my complicated friends.
A repost from my other blog...
It's time now to admit that if I'm lucky
these are my middle years.
That while watching the obvious enormity
of each morning rise,
this other life I couldn't watch
became the one I'm living.
Before I thought to look, four decades passed,
while people wandered in and out of doubt
and of these years.
And while I thought I was moving
(or knew I was standing still)
I met the people who will become
my old, complicated friends in another cycle of time.
In our complications then
we'll play chess and talk of now with nostalgic fondness
while watching the imperceptible shadow of each day fall.
And if we're honest, we'll admit we're content
with enduring our passions
and with the passing decades.
It's then, I think, that time will stall.
~Mari Nichols-Haining
It's time now to admit that if I'm lucky
these are my middle years.
That while watching the obvious enormity
of each morning rise,
this other life I couldn't watch
became the one I'm living.
Before I thought to look, four decades passed,
while people wandered in and out of doubt
and of these years.
And while I thought I was moving
(or knew I was standing still)
I met the people who will become
my old, complicated friends in another cycle of time.
In our complications then
we'll play chess and talk of now with nostalgic fondness
while watching the imperceptible shadow of each day fall.
And if we're honest, we'll admit we're content
with enduring our passions
and with the passing decades.
It's then, I think, that time will stall.
~Mari Nichols-Haining
Is it a roar, or a meow?
I'm not going to lie. I get a thrill when I successfully fix something around the house, especially if it's something that seemed daunting to me when I considered trying. Being single has been educational: I've learned to use a propane torch, sweated pipes, fixed a dishwasher and a washer and dryer, wired lights and doorbells, and deconstructed (then reconstructed) a box spring that was too tall for a stairwell. I just purchased my own multimeter and electric receptacle tester; I purchased and own my own circular, jig, chain, miter, and hack saws; and I literally carry the scar of someone who has learned, through trial and huge error, how not to cut her finger off when the protective plate for the electric hedge trimmer is broken.
The cycle of concentration-frustration-elation (wash, rinse, repeat)
The cycle of concentration-frustration-elation (wash, rinse, repeat)
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Travelers will understand...
One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.-Henry Miller
At this very moment (who knows how I’ll feel tomorrow), I have a great need to get away. From what? I’m not sure. Actually, I think I have the need to wander; it’s a subtle difference, but the need to go is different than the need to get away. I call it my ‘gypsy blood,’ although there's no evidence that I actually have any real gypsy heritage.
Between the ages of 16 and 30, I moved around often. I don't think I spent more than two consecutive years in the same house or same town, and I convinced myself I needed to move. Now I think I get the same relief from traveling without a firm itinerary. What I didn't know back then was that I didn't need to physically relocate my household, I just needed whatever it is I get from interacting with other travelers, meeting people with different experiences, seeing things I’ve never seen, feeling life happening again after I've let it stagnant around me in my tiny hometown, watching the sunset from a different horizon (or from a horizon at all, considering I don't have one at home)....
It's time for a trip and I don't care where I go. My feet are getting twitchy and my lightest suitcase is beckoning from the back of my closet. The world is vast and I have an urgent need to see more of it.
“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
This is not supposed to happen.
A friend wrote:
I still can't believe it. Honestly. All day today I spent not believing any of it. Does that ever go away? I mean,I can't believe that he's really gone. That this has happened to me. This is not supposed to happen.
Sometimes, I think it would be wise for me to remember my own response to hm:
--clipped--
You know, I started a response a few days ago and fell asleep while writing it. I'm glad I did, because today seems more right. My answer today is No. It never seems exactly real...
I flipped on the news this morning and came across a story about a little girl who died. Her parents said that right before she died, she was reaching and grabbing at the air from her bed. When they asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to catch the butterflies she could see everywhere.
Ron died 15 years ago this December, yet hearing this made me wonder what he saw as he died. It left me crying. The kids are at a sleepover this weekend, so I did the 'talking out loud' to him thing I seem to do when I'm alone and get into moods like this.
My secret craziness goes deeper. This is how sick I am: sometimes, I'm mad at the world that people can give birth to 8 preemies in a small hospital in PA and every one of them survives and are healthy. But my one preemie, who wasn't even THAT early, couldn't make it out of a top notch Children's Hospital in LA. WTF? I'm not saying I wish anything had happened to other babies, I'm just pissed about the randomness.
So my answer is that the bad days go on forever. But they become a comfort, because to hurt this long means I've loved intensely. To have loved and lost is better than having never loved at all is really true on a much deeper level than most people realize. To have known the kind of love that can touch you randomly on a Saturday morning 15 years later is astounding. It's weird to be so pained and so grateful at the same time.
So, I hope you're having better days. But I don't hope you're not sad anymore. And I hope that if you're dating again, you're having fun and enjoying the people you meet for who they are; but I don't hope it erases the joy of loving Antonio or the pain of losing him.
And I really hope I explained myself well enough that my last paragraph made sense and doesn't sound like I'm just cruelly wishing you endless pain.
--------
I still can't believe it. Honestly. All day today I spent not believing any of it. Does that ever go away? I mean,I can't believe that he's really gone. That this has happened to me. This is not supposed to happen.
Sometimes, I think it would be wise for me to remember my own response to hm:
--clipped--
You know, I started a response a few days ago and fell asleep while writing it. I'm glad I did, because today seems more right. My answer today is No. It never seems exactly real...
I flipped on the news this morning and came across a story about a little girl who died. Her parents said that right before she died, she was reaching and grabbing at the air from her bed. When they asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to catch the butterflies she could see everywhere.
Ron died 15 years ago this December, yet hearing this made me wonder what he saw as he died. It left me crying. The kids are at a sleepover this weekend, so I did the 'talking out loud' to him thing I seem to do when I'm alone and get into moods like this.
My secret craziness goes deeper. This is how sick I am: sometimes, I'm mad at the world that people can give birth to 8 preemies in a small hospital in PA and every one of them survives and are healthy. But my one preemie, who wasn't even THAT early, couldn't make it out of a top notch Children's Hospital in LA. WTF? I'm not saying I wish anything had happened to other babies, I'm just pissed about the randomness.
So my answer is that the bad days go on forever. But they become a comfort, because to hurt this long means I've loved intensely. To have loved and lost is better than having never loved at all is really true on a much deeper level than most people realize. To have known the kind of love that can touch you randomly on a Saturday morning 15 years later is astounding. It's weird to be so pained and so grateful at the same time.
So, I hope you're having better days. But I don't hope you're not sad anymore. And I hope that if you're dating again, you're having fun and enjoying the people you meet for who they are; but I don't hope it erases the joy of loving Antonio or the pain of losing him.
And I really hope I explained myself well enough that my last paragraph made sense and doesn't sound like I'm just cruelly wishing you endless pain.
--------
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Random Handy Homeowner Thoughts with Bonus Handy Woman Tips
I've necessarily become a DIY homeowner. Although I hate that things seem to be breaking in rapid succession, I love the feeling I get after successfully diagnosing and fixing the problem. Before this period in my life, I had never considered that a toilet would even need a wax ring, what the guts of my washer looked liked, how to discharge an appliance capacitor, or how to track down and fix an 'open ground' for three different outlets.
The truth is that although I theoretically knew how to use a soldering iron, I couldn't read a circuit board schematic to save my life, and although I could have figured out how to wire a light switch, I would have started an electrical fire if I had tried to wire a few 3-way switches for one socket.
Most of the time, I can do those things now and can proudly declare that I'm not afraid of my house anymore! I may be frustrated during the diagnosis process, but I feel like roaring out loud (ROL!) when I figure out the fix, turn on a previously-broken appliance, and find it works perfectly. I will never quit my day job, but I like that I don't need to see a repairman's buttcrack anymore when my garbage disposal dies.
In the interest of shared knowledge, I'm passing on just a few random tips I've picked up over time:
Go on now, fix something! And ROL!
The truth is that although I theoretically knew how to use a soldering iron, I couldn't read a circuit board schematic to save my life, and although I could have figured out how to wire a light switch, I would have started an electrical fire if I had tried to wire a few 3-way switches for one socket.
Most of the time, I can do those things now and can proudly declare that I'm not afraid of my house anymore! I may be frustrated during the diagnosis process, but I feel like roaring out loud (ROL!) when I figure out the fix, turn on a previously-broken appliance, and find it works perfectly. I will never quit my day job, but I like that I don't need to see a repairman's buttcrack anymore when my garbage disposal dies.
In the interest of shared knowledge, I'm passing on just a few random tips I've picked up over time:
- No user serviceable parts" really means "Non-standard screwheads inside."
- A handy one learned today: when you caulk or grout around a toilet, leave an inch or two uncaulked around the back so you can see leakage and know if the wax ring failed before your subfloor is ruined. Finally, a cool, handy tip learned BEFORE I screwed it up!
- If you go into your attic and notice daylight around the edges, do not fill the soffit vents with insulation thinking that is the source of your high winter heating bills. Or if you do, don't be surprised when deadly icicle daggers form from your gutters during next winter's snowstorms.
- If you hear a dripping sound and your ceiling is wet every time it rains, but you can't find a roof leak to go along with the dripping, assume the obvious: there's a leak and you just haven't found it yet!
* NOTE: This is true even if all your male DIY-type friends say "it's probably just rain blowing through the vents during heavy storms and isn't a problem at all" when they look at it after the storm has ended and the wet spot has dried. Eventually, the telltale stain will appear, you'll still have to find the leak and repair part of your ceiling, and you'll kick yourself for not listening to your gut. The only good news will be that the leak will be probably much easier to find after it rots part of your roof and expands.
Go on now, fix something! And ROL!
Monday, June 21, 2010
WIN FREE STUFF and help me with a Social Networking/Blogging experiment
BP Oil Protest Song!
I'm interested in seeing if how long it takes a video to 'go viral.' I've seen some really stupid 'viral videos' aired on CNN, so at least this isn't another baby dancing.
So help me out and forward this, tweet it, like it on facebook and youtube, and then leave me a comment telling me what you did. Leave your comment here though--not on facebook or twitter.
If it's played on CNN's viral video segment, one lucky commenter will be chosen by random drawing to receive a copy of his next CD (which will be released in July).
A review of his last album, can be found here, at iberkshires.com,
I'm interested in seeing if how long it takes a video to 'go viral.' I've seen some really stupid 'viral videos' aired on CNN, so at least this isn't another baby dancing.
So help me out and forward this, tweet it, like it on facebook and youtube, and then leave me a comment telling me what you did. Leave your comment here though--not on facebook or twitter.
If it's played on CNN's viral video segment, one lucky commenter will be chosen by random drawing to receive a copy of his next CD (which will be released in July).
A review of his last album, can be found here, at iberkshires.com,
Monday, June 14, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Grown-up Me
Feb. 2009
Growing up taught me there are no gallant steeds.
White horses, though they exist,
just aren't commonplace around here.
And though I could fill my rooms with round tables
the knights I hoped would visit
all died in the plague.
I understand that sleep can not be cast by spell;
a kiss can not restore the tragedy of death;
a frog is a frog, or more likely --
a mistaken toad. And warts are caused by virus.
I've learned
wicked witches aren't always ugly,
the bad guys don't always wear black,
and poisoned fruit is sold in darkened doorways
by scruffy fallen boys.
Growing up taught me that crystal slippers slice my heels;
ball gowns suffocate;
wolves don't take the time to huff and puff
(nor are they limited to forests);
and mirrors only talk in whispers
to those who listen.
I have learned there is a genetic law:
once born a duck you'll never be a swan.
And while the mallard is a fickle lover,
it is the swan that mates for life.
Growing up taught me, most importantly,
that fairy tales are absolutely never shelved
with non-fiction
between biographies and history.
Which is where you will someday find
the grown-up me.
~mnh
Censorship Advice to the Drunk
Censorship Advice to the Drunk
(Not taking my own advice about turning off the computer after Irish Coffee on a Friday night. Drunken poetry is especially bad. ~Mari)
When a writer has toasted with too many shots
and pounds out a rambling missive,
clicking 'send' isn't wise, but there aren't many sots
who can separate wise from derisive.
There's something about whiskey that forces the truth,
that makes one decide to tell all.
In the earliest hours it's gin and vermouth
I blame for the indiscreet calls.
To those women dialing three sheets to the wind
or sending tomes to long-gone suitors,
Take my advice before you hit send:
turn off your phones and computers!
~Mari Nichols-Haining - 2006
(Not taking my own advice about turning off the computer after Irish Coffee on a Friday night. Drunken poetry is especially bad. ~Mari)
When a writer has toasted with too many shots
and pounds out a rambling missive,
clicking 'send' isn't wise, but there aren't many sots
who can separate wise from derisive.
There's something about whiskey that forces the truth,
that makes one decide to tell all.
In the earliest hours it's gin and vermouth
I blame for the indiscreet calls.
To those women dialing three sheets to the wind
or sending tomes to long-gone suitors,
Take my advice before you hit send:
turn off your phones and computers!
~Mari Nichols-Haining - 2006
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
In Time (revised)
There was a time
...when I needed to name the moments
so each could be filed in a memory
that is too worn and weary to recall without cues--
...when my throat, inflamed and rough,
couldn't hold my voice;
when doubt strangled my thoughts before words formed--
--Because minutes don't pause to be mourned
I keep postcards from the past in a worn leather briefcase.
They were ribboned and packed only after
I did my business with time.
Now, names I assigned to the moments then,
fall into my head
as dead as the browned autumn leaves.
And as easy to ignore,
--in time.
~MNH
...when I needed to name the moments
so each could be filed in a memory
that is too worn and weary to recall without cues--
...when my throat, inflamed and rough,
couldn't hold my voice;
when doubt strangled my thoughts before words formed--
--Because minutes don't pause to be mourned
I keep postcards from the past in a worn leather briefcase.
They were ribboned and packed only after
I did my business with time.
Now, names I assigned to the moments then,
fall into my head
as dead as the browned autumn leaves.
And as easy to ignore,
--in time.
~MNH
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A Woman and her Tools
When I was 17 (that's not a typo), my husband taught me to change a tire. Necessity is the mother of invention, but Poverty is the Saint of Do-it-Yourselfers. Poverty not only meant that we scavenged our tires from a recycling heap, but "changing a tire" meant we literally changed our tires: we took the exploded tire off the rim and put the new-to-us one on the rims. In retrospect, this may be why we had so many exploded tires (you think?). I learned the difference between wrench and pliers in those years, and we learned together how to change the car's struts without killing ourselves. Trust me on this kids: don't try that one at home.
We bought our tools and automobile parts from Pick-a-Part (although I don't even want to think about why people are junking cars with shovels and axes in the trunks). Years later, my uncle stopped by the family home to collect some of my grandpa's stuff and accidentally left with most of Ron's tools. I felt like I had betrayed us by letting it happen. Although I eventually boxed up and gave away his things after he died, I kept the tools that were left. The greasy hand prints were his, and attached to nearly every tool was a memory of working on a car together. Plus, I used them sort of regularly.
When I remarried, my new husband didn't understand why I was crushed when the marital-merging of tools made me feel like they were his tools. He used them more often and they went into his toolbox, which sometimes had a lock on it. I felt like I had to ask to use them, and I lost a bit of independence when I couldn't leave my screwdriver in the kitchen drawer without irritating him when it didn't make it back in his box. Ron's beat-up old toolbox, scavenged from a well-used Chevy's truck bed, got thrown out along the way in favor of something newer. When I found out, I was unexpectedly taken by the feeling that something familiar and comforting had been lost. More than a decade later, it shocked me that the only physical belongings I was willing to fight for in the divorce were the tools I came into the marriage with. He could have the car, TV, bed, dressers, and house--everything but the tools.
My brother came to visit shortly after the divorce proceedings started. He's an insightful person: he brought me some of his spare tools and organized mine. I was thrilled to have a collection started again, but after loaning them out and having people 'borrow' them without telling me, I feel again like I have to ask to use my own tools and it's time to make a stand. Often, I first have to make the uncomfortable call to ask if he (that's gender neutral 'he', of course) has the tool before I can ask for it to be returned. And just as often, whether the tool is sitting in my shed or he borrowed it without asking, the response is righteous indignation at the question and if he has it, at my request for its return.
I'm considering getting a set of pink tools. Call me crazy, but I think they'd be borrowed less often. And if you're ever at the junk yard and see a woman peeking in the back of every Chevy on the lot, it's me--looking for a weathered pink toolbox.
Yes, they make them!
Apollo Precision Tools DT9706P 39-piece Pink General Tool Set
Apollo Precision Tools DT0773N1 135-Piece Household Pink Tool Kit
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We bought our tools and automobile parts from Pick-a-Part (although I don't even want to think about why people are junking cars with shovels and axes in the trunks). Years later, my uncle stopped by the family home to collect some of my grandpa's stuff and accidentally left with most of Ron's tools. I felt like I had betrayed us by letting it happen. Although I eventually boxed up and gave away his things after he died, I kept the tools that were left. The greasy hand prints were his, and attached to nearly every tool was a memory of working on a car together. Plus, I used them sort of regularly.
When I remarried, my new husband didn't understand why I was crushed when the marital-merging of tools made me feel like they were his tools. He used them more often and they went into his toolbox, which sometimes had a lock on it. I felt like I had to ask to use them, and I lost a bit of independence when I couldn't leave my screwdriver in the kitchen drawer without irritating him when it didn't make it back in his box. Ron's beat-up old toolbox, scavenged from a well-used Chevy's truck bed, got thrown out along the way in favor of something newer. When I found out, I was unexpectedly taken by the feeling that something familiar and comforting had been lost. More than a decade later, it shocked me that the only physical belongings I was willing to fight for in the divorce were the tools I came into the marriage with. He could have the car, TV, bed, dressers, and house--everything but the tools.
My brother came to visit shortly after the divorce proceedings started. He's an insightful person: he brought me some of his spare tools and organized mine. I was thrilled to have a collection started again, but after loaning them out and having people 'borrow' them without telling me, I feel again like I have to ask to use my own tools and it's time to make a stand. Often, I first have to make the uncomfortable call to ask if he (that's gender neutral 'he', of course) has the tool before I can ask for it to be returned. And just as often, whether the tool is sitting in my shed or he borrowed it without asking, the response is righteous indignation at the question and if he has it, at my request for its return.
I'm considering getting a set of pink tools. Call me crazy, but I think they'd be borrowed less often. And if you're ever at the junk yard and see a woman peeking in the back of every Chevy on the lot, it's me--looking for a weathered pink toolbox.
Yes, they make them!
Apollo Precision Tools DT9706P 39-piece Pink General Tool Set
Apollo Precision Tools DT0773N1 135-Piece Household Pink Tool Kit
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Does my Mother-in-Law know she's eating dung?
Okay, she's probably not actually eating dung. I assume, although I haven't looked into it, that cooking with human feces would violate some health department sanitation rules.
When she last visited me, she went on a city-side search for Ezekiel Bread. The full name is Ezekiel 4:9 Bread, and it's made by Food For Life. She couldn't find it then, but I saw it in the store the other day so it much be catching on.
I can't bring myself to buy any though. You see, if you read past 4:9, the recipe continues. The key to the bread is in 4:12-13, which reads:
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When she last visited me, she went on a city-side search for Ezekiel Bread. The full name is Ezekiel 4:9 Bread, and it's made by Food For Life. She couldn't find it then, but I saw it in the store the other day so it much be catching on.I can't bring myself to buy any though. You see, if you read past 4:9, the recipe continues. The key to the bread is in 4:12-13, which reads:
"And thou shalt eat it as barley cakes, and thou shalt bake it with dung that cometh out of man, in their sight. And the LORD said, Even thus shall the children of Israel eat their defiled bread among the Gentiles, whither I will drive them."I think I'll stick with Wonder.
Monster turds and Morgan Freeman? A real-time movie review.
I'm watching Dreamcatcher
. I'm 13 minutes into it and I already hate it. My real-time, unedited reactions:
(started 15 minutes into the movie:)
General impression: horrible acting.
One of the stars, Professor Jones, has just been annihilated by a van.
Next scene: Wait a minute. Is this him? He's limping. But he's outside fetching firewood. No way. He's like Superman. I should tell you too that the main characters can read minds. I don't know why I should tell you this, except that it was revealed within the first five minutes of the movie and they've made it clear it's important.
A completely fake scene with these guys sitting around a table 'guy talking.' This is the most unbelievable crap I've ever seen. Horrible, horrible dialogue. We get some backstory and character development: they've been coming up to this cabin for 20 years. They're good guys who once saved an autistic little boy. They toast to a dreamcatcher. We get the impression someone has died.
Later:
A horrific car accident. Quadruple rollover down a snowy hill. I"m pretty sure it's not even a Toyota! I predict they'll survive.Maybe they'll have a limp.
Okay, these guys are superman. No limps.
Back at the cabin: there's an exodus of animals. The two men there, Toothpick guy and Prof. Jones, just watch. I'd start running too.
The other two guys from accident are trekking up the hill to confront the woman they swerved to avoid, who is still standing in the middle of the road.
One of the guys (the witty one, I suppose) quips
Back at the cabin, the animals are still running. The men are standing outside watching them run. One comments on the red stuff they see on the animals and another wonders out loud about what they're running from. Finally. But do they run? No.
A helicopter appears. They're under quarantine. Morgan Freeman is in the helicopter. This gives me hope for the movie!
Hmm... that red stuff? Looked like blood to me and it's all over their cabin now. It came from the sick guy they took in earlier. Sorry, I forgot to mention that part.
Okay, the sick guy just laid a monster turd and died. Literally. This provides me with another great example of bad dialogue:
They trap it (the monster turd) in the toilet with toothpick-guy sitting on the lid, but the turd keeps banging the toilet lid. Toothpick-guy's (hereafter called Stupidguy) toothpicks get knocked out of his pocket and falls into a puddle of the blood the sick guy pooped out. Stupidguy wants his toothpicks so badly that he's willing to die for them. Idiot. Looks like he may.
Oh, whoa. This monster poop is has some crazy teeth!
(seconds later) Stupidguy is wrestling the turd. This is kind of like alligator wrestling, but with poop.
My excrement is definitely not this smart. Smart logs know how to turn the door handle. I think I'm out of shit synonyms. Sorry.
An Alien poopmommy just appeared? WTF? Her head exploded.
NSA or something is moving in.
I swear this really needs to get better. Did I mention Morgan Freeman was piloting the helicopter? Jeez. I love Morgan Freeman. He saves any movie. This may be his FAIL.
I'm giving up on this movie. It's time to sleep anyway.
I turned it back on accidentally. I'm glad I gave up on it though. Apparently the mommy poop took over Prof Jone's body and gave him a silly English accident. He's going to Massachusetts. I should have known. Not only do they have funny accents there, but that state recently sent an alien-like being to run for president.
Pete, one of the guys in the accident, has been infested with a monster turd. Guess they eat some and crawl up the butts of others.
Seriously. I'm giving up on it now. Not. One. More. Second.
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. I'm 13 minutes into it and I already hate it. My real-time, unedited reactions:(started 15 minutes into the movie:)
General impression: horrible acting.
One of the stars, Professor Jones, has just been annihilated by a van.
Next scene: Wait a minute. Is this him? He's limping. But he's outside fetching firewood. No way. He's like Superman. I should tell you too that the main characters can read minds. I don't know why I should tell you this, except that it was revealed within the first five minutes of the movie and they've made it clear it's important.
A completely fake scene with these guys sitting around a table 'guy talking.' This is the most unbelievable crap I've ever seen. Horrible, horrible dialogue. We get some backstory and character development: they've been coming up to this cabin for 20 years. They're good guys who once saved an autistic little boy. They toast to a dreamcatcher. We get the impression someone has died.
Later:
A horrific car accident. Quadruple rollover down a snowy hill. I"m pretty sure it's not even a Toyota! I predict they'll survive.Maybe they'll have a limp.
Okay, these guys are superman. No limps.
Back at the cabin: there's an exodus of animals. The two men there, Toothpick guy and Prof. Jones, just watch. I'd start running too.
The other two guys from accident are trekking up the hill to confront the woman they swerved to avoid, who is still standing in the middle of the road.
One of the guys (the witty one, I suppose) quips
"Hey, Miss Road Kill, you almost got us killed!"Oh, she's sitting. And not dead.
Back at the cabin, the animals are still running. The men are standing outside watching them run. One comments on the red stuff they see on the animals and another wonders out loud about what they're running from. Finally. But do they run? No.
A helicopter appears. They're under quarantine. Morgan Freeman is in the helicopter. This gives me hope for the movie!
Hmm... that red stuff? Looked like blood to me and it's all over their cabin now. It came from the sick guy they took in earlier. Sorry, I forgot to mention that part.
Okay, the sick guy just laid a monster turd and died. Literally. This provides me with another great example of bad dialogue:
"He's dead, Beav."
"Bullshit he is, he just dropped a clinker, man, I heard it!"
They trap it (the monster turd) in the toilet with toothpick-guy sitting on the lid, but the turd keeps banging the toilet lid. Toothpick-guy's (hereafter called Stupidguy) toothpicks get knocked out of his pocket and falls into a puddle of the blood the sick guy pooped out. Stupidguy wants his toothpicks so badly that he's willing to die for them. Idiot. Looks like he may.
Oh, whoa. This monster poop is has some crazy teeth!
(seconds later) Stupidguy is wrestling the turd. This is kind of like alligator wrestling, but with poop.
My excrement is definitely not this smart. Smart logs know how to turn the door handle. I think I'm out of shit synonyms. Sorry.
An Alien poopmommy just appeared? WTF? Her head exploded.
NSA or something is moving in.
I swear this really needs to get better. Did I mention Morgan Freeman was piloting the helicopter? Jeez. I love Morgan Freeman. He saves any movie. This may be his FAIL.
I'm giving up on this movie. It's time to sleep anyway.
I turned it back on accidentally. I'm glad I gave up on it though. Apparently the mommy poop took over Prof Jone's body and gave him a silly English accident. He's going to Massachusetts. I should have known. Not only do they have funny accents there, but that state recently sent an alien-like being to run for president.
Pete, one of the guys in the accident, has been infested with a monster turd. Guess they eat some and crawl up the butts of others.
Seriously. I'm giving up on it now. Not. One. More. Second.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Frustrated with importing!
I've been trying to export old blogs from MySpace and am frustrated by my progress. I was able to export them as Atom feeds, but Google/blogger is pretty particular about rejecting xml that didn't come from their own export tools.
Exporting them to HTML and then cutting and pasting one entry at a time seems to be only only option, but it's a tedious one. If anyone has any simple fixes, please let me know!!
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Exporting them to HTML and then cutting and pasting one entry at a time seems to be only only option, but it's a tedious one. If anyone has any simple fixes, please let me know!!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Your Photo
You are frozen in a frame above the mantle.
Your face thin, I notice now; but though it seems
not for the first time.
There are things I want to ask you; when I'm alone
I do. You haven't answered me yet-
this is the first promise you've broken.
It's been too many years for me to keep talking
to ink behind glass.
This photographic love must end.
My sweet memory. I should forget.
Your face thin, I notice now; but though it seems
not for the first time.
There are things I want to ask you; when I'm alone
I do. You haven't answered me yet-
this is the first promise you've broken.
It's been too many years for me to keep talking
to ink behind glass.
This photographic love must end.
My sweet memory. I should forget.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
EverySam's Summary of the Health Care Reform Process
The best summary of the Health Care Reform process was posted as a Digg comment by EverySam:
Democrats: "We need health care reform"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Give us a majority and we'll do it better"
Democrats: "Done, you have majority of both houses"
12 years later, health care is irrefutably worse in every respect for every single person in the United States
Democrats: "We need health care reform"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Americans are tired of partisan politics!"
Democrats: "OK, let's compromise"
Republicans: "OK, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done. Time to end debate"
Republicans: "Too liberal, we need more debate, we will filibuster to prevent you from voting"
Democrats: "OK, we'll vote--sorry guys, debate is ended. It's time to vote on the bill"
Republicans: "Too liberal, we vote no"
Democrats: "OK, it passed anyway--sorry guys."
One month later
Republicans: "Wait--wait, OK, we have less of a minority now so we can filibuster forever."
Democrats: "Sorry, the bill already passed, we need it to pass the House now"
Republicans: "But we have enough to filibuster"
Democrats: "Sorry, the bill already passed, we need it to pass the House now"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You haven't listened to our ideas! You've shut us out of this whole process!"
Democrats: "Sorry, show us your proposal"
Republicans: "Smaller government"
Democrats: "That's not very specific"
Republicans: "OK, here's our detailed proposal--It's our common-sense ideas we spent 12 years not enacting"
Democrats: "OK, we'll add a bunch more of your ideas"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You included all these back-room deals"
Democrats: "OK, we'll get rid of the back-room deals"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You're using obscure procedural tricks to eliminate the back-room deals!"
Democrats: "No, we're using reconciliation, which both parties have used dozens of times for much larger bills"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You're pressuring Congressmen to vote for your bill! Scandal!"
Democrats: "It's called 'whipping', it's been done since 1789"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Can't you see the American people don't want this?"
Democrats: "This bill is mildly unpopular (40-50%), doing nothing (your proposal) is extraordinarily unpopular (4-6%)"
Republicans: "We need to start over! We need to start over!"
Democrats: "We should really consider voting--"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Start over! Clean slate! Common-sense! America!"
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Democrats: "We need health care reform"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Give us a majority and we'll do it better"
Democrats: "Done, you have majority of both houses"
12 years later, health care is irrefutably worse in every respect for every single person in the United States
Democrats: "We need health care reform"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Americans are tired of partisan politics!"
Democrats: "OK, let's compromise"
Republicans: "OK, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done"
Republicans: "Too liberal, get rid of half your ideas"
Democrats: "Done. Time to end debate"
Republicans: "Too liberal, we need more debate, we will filibuster to prevent you from voting"
Democrats: "OK, we'll vote--sorry guys, debate is ended. It's time to vote on the bill"
Republicans: "Too liberal, we vote no"
Democrats: "OK, it passed anyway--sorry guys."
One month later
Republicans: "Wait--wait, OK, we have less of a minority now so we can filibuster forever."
Democrats: "Sorry, the bill already passed, we need it to pass the House now"
Republicans: "But we have enough to filibuster"
Democrats: "Sorry, the bill already passed, we need it to pass the House now"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You haven't listened to our ideas! You've shut us out of this whole process!"
Democrats: "Sorry, show us your proposal"
Republicans: "Smaller government"
Democrats: "That's not very specific"
Republicans: "OK, here's our detailed proposal--It's our common-sense ideas we spent 12 years not enacting"
Democrats: "OK, we'll add a bunch more of your ideas"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You included all these back-room deals"
Democrats: "OK, we'll get rid of the back-room deals"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You're using obscure procedural tricks to eliminate the back-room deals!"
Democrats: "No, we're using reconciliation, which both parties have used dozens of times for much larger bills"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! You're pressuring Congressmen to vote for your bill! Scandal!"
Democrats: "It's called 'whipping', it's been done since 1789"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Can't you see the American people don't want this?"
Democrats: "This bill is mildly unpopular (40-50%), doing nothing (your proposal) is extraordinarily unpopular (4-6%)"
Republicans: "We need to start over! We need to start over!"
Democrats: "We should really consider voting--"
Republicans: "Liberal fascists! Start over! Clean slate! Common-sense! America!"
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Firefox keyboard scrolling issues
Firefox has been driving me crazy lately. I use my keyboard 99% of the time and mouse only when necessary. I didn't even realize I relied on keystrokes so much until caret browsing stopped working after an update. Once I installed 3.6, when I'd try to scroll down using page down or the down arrow, my cursor would jump to the bottom of the screen and then snap back to the top of the page.
Thankfully, I figured out the fix! I present it here as a public service:
Select Tools ¦Options ¦Advanced ¦General
Make sure Always use the cursor keys to navigate within pages and Use autoscrolling are not checked.
It's counter-intuitive, but it worked for me! You can switch caret browsing on and off by hitting the F7 if you're using a PC.
Thankfully, I figured out the fix! I present it here as a public service:
Select Tools ¦Options ¦Advanced ¦General
Make sure Always use the cursor keys to navigate within pages and Use autoscrolling are not checked.
It's counter-intuitive, but it worked for me! You can switch caret browsing on and off by hitting the F7 if you're using a PC.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Water of Love
Jesse Sterling Harrison on YouTube--pass it around and then subscribe to his YouTube channel so you can say you knew him when. His original music is even better and I have it straight from the horse's mouth that there's more of it on the way very, very soon.
Logan's Run
I loved Logan's Run
as a child. It came out when I was seven and I've been trying to find a copy of it for years. Thank you Netflix!!
It's funny how things change over time. I can't remember it looking so fake to me back then and apparently I wasn't the only on. It was nominated for two Oscars, won a Saturn and Nebula award, and it received an Academy award for Special Achievement for its visual effects. And since I'm spewing trivia, I should mention that it was a ground breaking movie for its sound too! It was the first movie made using Dolby Stereo.
I'm not sure why my parents let me watch it, except that parent's were not quite as protective in the '70s as they are today. The carousel scene was horrifying:
as a child. It came out when I was seven and I've been trying to find a copy of it for years. Thank you Netflix!!It's funny how things change over time. I can't remember it looking so fake to me back then and apparently I wasn't the only on. It was nominated for two Oscars, won a Saturn and Nebula award, and it received an Academy award for Special Achievement for its visual effects. And since I'm spewing trivia, I should mention that it was a ground breaking movie for its sound too! It was the first movie made using Dolby Stereo.
I'm not sure why my parents let me watch it, except that parent's were not quite as protective in the '70s as they are today. The carousel scene was horrifying:
Friday, March 19, 2010
Census 2010
This seems like the most reasonable answer. I wonder if they'll send someone to my door to verify my race.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it...
Heads up! We're not a democracy anymore. Seriously. Texas said so! And the entire state must be part of some alternate USA, because their country has a different history than the rest of us in the US. Really, if my kids ever kids passed a test based on the new curriculum standards, I'd consider grounding them.
If you stumble on this post months or years from now, I hope the new standards haven't spread throughout the country and become ingrained in society. If they have, I do hope you remember what happened to spark this post and your skewed-version of history. If not, take this chance to research the Texas Board of Education ruling in 2010.
If you're reading this soon afterwards and start thinking about the ruling too hard, you'll get yourself all worked up. Actually, I can't imagine not getting worked up about this even if I were comatose! Still, I had t laugh through the irritation, and other articles online have helped. For example, Mark Morford's article at sfgate.com, Dear Texas, Please shut up. Sincerely, History, had me at the word Dear. From that article:
And from a TFN press release:
If you stumble on this post months or years from now, I hope the new standards haven't spread throughout the country and become ingrained in society. If they have, I do hope you remember what happened to spark this post and your skewed-version of history. If not, take this chance to research the Texas Board of Education ruling in 2010.
If you're reading this soon afterwards and start thinking about the ruling too hard, you'll get yourself all worked up. Actually, I can't imagine not getting worked up about this even if I were comatose! Still, I had t laugh through the irritation, and other articles online have helped. For example, Mark Morford's article at sfgate.com, Dear Texas, Please shut up. Sincerely, History, had me at the word Dear. From that article:
Hey, kids! Here's something I bet you didn't know: Black people? Back in 1800 or whenever? They liked volunteered for that fine, desirable position. It was a completely balanced, fair, hugely successful system, until those damn liberals came along and ruined everything. I know, right? What a shame....
And from a TFN press release:
The Texas State Board of Education’s vote today against requiring that students learn what the nation’s Founders did to protect religious freedom represents an irresponsible rewriting of American history and a stunning triumph of politics over education, the president of the Texas Freedom Network said today.
“These board members voted to reject the most fundamental constitutional protection for religious freedom in America today: the principle that government may not disfavor or promote any religion over all others,” TFN President Kathy Miller said. “In a world plagued by religious conflict, the Founders understood that keeping government out of religion was essential to protecting freedom. It’s stunning that this board, which directs the education of nearly 5 million public school children, doesn’t understand that.”
The board’s vote came on an amendment offered by Mavis Knight, D-Dallas: “examine the reasons the Founding Fathers protected religious freedom in America by barring government from promoting or disfavoring any particular religion over all others.”
The board rejected Knight’s amendment on a party-line vote, with all Republicans voting no and all Democrats voting yes.
The board is continuing the revision of social studies standards today and tomorrow and will take a final vote in May. Publishers will use the standards to write new textbooks that will be sold in Texas and across the country.
My morning started with a bang!
I'd write the story but I'm very late on a deadline for work, so it'll have to wait.
If anyone is actually reading this and you care to hear what happened, leave me a comment and in return, I'll post the story.
Have a great Thursday. And remember...things could be worse!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Well, they don't know me.
I just noticed there was a Google ad at the bottom of my page that said "How to save your marriage."
I found that ironic.
I found that ironic.
Please, don't be American!
I just had a random memory. Since no one is reading this blog right now anyhow...
France, September 2001
I was once approached by two girls in front of the Louvre. They had a tourist map out and unfolded, which they had been referencing as they argued about which way to go. I'm sure you've seen these types of maps: it was one of those cartoony maps with only the major streets marked and large caricatured drawings of major attractions.
They asked if I knew where "the Leaning Tower of Pizza" was. I'm positive I accidentally used the "duuuuuh, you idiots" voice when I answered "uhh. in Pisa." They thrust the map at me and asked if I could show them where it was. I said if they showed me a map of Italy, maybe I could. But a map of Paris just wasn't going to cut it. I mentally chanted "please be Canadian! Please be Canadian!" when I asked them where they were from, and I was beyond relieved to learn they actually were Canadian!
Of course, I mean no slight to my Canadian friends. I'm just really, really happy they weren't American. We have enough problems with our international image these days!
France, September 2001
I was once approached by two girls in front of the Louvre. They had a tourist map out and unfolded, which they had been referencing as they argued about which way to go. I'm sure you've seen these types of maps: it was one of those cartoony maps with only the major streets marked and large caricatured drawings of major attractions.
They asked if I knew where "the Leaning Tower of Pizza" was. I'm positive I accidentally used the "duuuuuh, you idiots" voice when I answered "uhh. in Pisa." They thrust the map at me and asked if I could show them where it was. I said if they showed me a map of Italy, maybe I could. But a map of Paris just wasn't going to cut it. I mentally chanted "please be Canadian! Please be Canadian!" when I asked them where they were from, and I was beyond relieved to learn they actually were Canadian!
Of course, I mean no slight to my Canadian friends. I'm just really, really happy they weren't American. We have enough problems with our international image these days!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
My roar may be a meow.
I'm not going to lie. I get a thrill when I successfully fix something around the house, especially if it's something that seemed daunting to me when I considered trying. Being single has been educational: I've learned to use a propane torch, sweated pipes, fixed a dishwasher and a washer and dryer, wired lights and doorbells, and deconstructed (then reconstructed) a box spring that was too tall for a stairwell. I just purchased my own multimeter and electric receptacle tester; I purchased and own my own circular, jig, chain, miter, and hack saws; and I literally carry the scar of someone who has learned, through trial and huge error, how not to cut her finger off when the protective plate for the electric hedge trimmer is broken.
The cycle of concentration-frustration-elation (wash, rinse, repeat) as I figure out how to accomplish some household fix-it task is similar to what I used to feel when I did coding or computer hardware troubleshooting. I enter some weird time-tunnel; everything stops until I figure out the problem, and when I come out of the vortex after that "aha!" moment, I realize what felt like an hour was really a day.
In the end, I glean a bit of knowledge that will be with me forever, whether I want it to be or not. Seriously, someday I'll be taking a written driver's license exam and my mind will freeze on "traveler wires" and "ground" when I see the words "red" or "green" and "light." Useless knowledge tends to lodge into the most inconvenient ledges of my brain.
My kids and I play a game at dinnertime. I ask them what they've learned that day. If they say nothing, they'll (almost jokingly) be required to go gain a tidbit of knowledge to share. They'll come back with a new word, some random trivia, or most often, something surprisingly hilarious. It's because of them that I know farts have been clocked at 10 feet per second and that Leonardo Da Vinci is credited with inventing the scissors. My input to this game lately is all about household stuff.
Mom: "Today I learned that the R-value marked on insulation is a measure of thermal resistance!"
Kids: "uh. okay. What's thermal resistance?"
Mom: "The resistance to heat flow."
Kid: "Cool mom. Did you know crocodiles can't stick out their tongues?"
I feel their pain really. Because you know, I really could have gone my entire life without knowing this stuff and still have been perfectly happy. Although I may feel victorious when I 'get it', the truth is that I'd rather someone else do it and leave me to the things I want to know.
I'm taking this opportunity to make a list, just for the hell of it, of things I never particularly wanted to learn. I may be setting the feminist movement back a few decades, but I never said I wanted it all.
(grammar nazis beware: the following list is not parallel)
I never wanted to learn
Although I am woman (hear me roar), it's empowering enough to know I can learn this stuff if I have to. I'm also woman enough to say that if I someday live happily ever after with a man enjoys doing these things, more power to him. And I'm not sexist: if you're a woman looking for room and board in exchange for handy woman work, give me a call!
Until the phone rings, it's back to figuring out what to do with the neutral and how to wire the travelers when converting two 3-way switches (each controlling the same two lights) to one single-pole motion-sensor and one regular single-pole switch.
But...did you know that Sesame Street's Bert and Ernie were named after the policeman (Bert) and the taxi driver (Ernie) in Frank Capra's "Its A Wonderful Life
"?
P.S. Measure twice, cut once is a nice truism. Unfortunately, some of us were apparently born without the ability to use a measuring tape accurately. I can measure eight times and if I'm lucky enough to come up with the same measurement twice, what I cut will still be wrong. A better ditty: measure twice and let someone else handle the saw.
The cycle of concentration-frustration-elation (wash, rinse, repeat) as I figure out how to accomplish some household fix-it task is similar to what I used to feel when I did coding or computer hardware troubleshooting. I enter some weird time-tunnel; everything stops until I figure out the problem, and when I come out of the vortex after that "aha!" moment, I realize what felt like an hour was really a day.
In the end, I glean a bit of knowledge that will be with me forever, whether I want it to be or not. Seriously, someday I'll be taking a written driver's license exam and my mind will freeze on "traveler wires" and "ground" when I see the words "red" or "green" and "light." Useless knowledge tends to lodge into the most inconvenient ledges of my brain.
My kids and I play a game at dinnertime. I ask them what they've learned that day. If they say nothing, they'll (almost jokingly) be required to go gain a tidbit of knowledge to share. They'll come back with a new word, some random trivia, or most often, something surprisingly hilarious. It's because of them that I know farts have been clocked at 10 feet per second and that Leonardo Da Vinci is credited with inventing the scissors. My input to this game lately is all about household stuff.
Mom: "Today I learned that the R-value marked on insulation is a measure of thermal resistance!"
Kids: "uh. okay. What's thermal resistance?"
Mom: "The resistance to heat flow."
Kid: "Cool mom. Did you know crocodiles can't stick out their tongues?"
I feel their pain really. Because you know, I really could have gone my entire life without knowing this stuff and still have been perfectly happy. Although I may feel victorious when I 'get it', the truth is that I'd rather someone else do it and leave me to the things I want to know.
I'm taking this opportunity to make a list, just for the hell of it, of things I never particularly wanted to learn. I may be setting the feminist movement back a few decades, but I never said I wanted it all.
(grammar nazis beware: the following list is not parallel)
I never wanted to learn
- to fix anything on the car. Although female mechanics are cool, I wouldn't mind just sticking to changing oil and the rogue flat tire now and again. Even those, I would have been happy to hire out.
- what my dishwasher's guts looked like.
- what my dryer's guts looked like.
- how to bypass the door sensor's wiring on my washing machine.
- how to read a wiring schematic and use a soldering iron.
- how to cut open (and then patch) a ceiling to access the plumbing for an upstairs bathtub.
- how to replace a clogged disgusting u-trap for said bathtub. Some things are just plain gross.
- to fish a dead possum out of a pool when opening it. Did I mention that some things are just plain gross?
- how to clear ice from a gutter at 6 am in -2 degree weather
- what exactly is in the crawl space behind the basement.
- how to run a water line to the refrigerator across the room from the sink.
- landscaping. Really. I don't want to know anything about keeping up my yard. I want it to just magically look beautiful and well kept.
- how my neighbors would react if I chose to let my yard return to its god-given state. It's not pretty (both their reactions and the yard). I don't recommend trying this one if you like your neighbors.
- how to rip out a preformed shower unit and put in a new one on a minimal budget. I don't actually know how to do this yet, because I'm still in the 'reading everything ever written about it' stage. Likewise with:
- how to tear out an upstairs bathtub when it requires going through walls.
- how to beg for help from knowledgeable friends when I get myself in over my head; and hoping they don't feel used for their arm mass.
Although I am woman (hear me roar), it's empowering enough to know I can learn this stuff if I have to. I'm also woman enough to say that if I someday live happily ever after with a man enjoys doing these things, more power to him. And I'm not sexist: if you're a woman looking for room and board in exchange for handy woman work, give me a call!
Until the phone rings, it's back to figuring out what to do with the neutral and how to wire the travelers when converting two 3-way switches (each controlling the same two lights) to one single-pole motion-sensor and one regular single-pole switch.
But...did you know that Sesame Street's Bert and Ernie were named after the policeman (Bert) and the taxi driver (Ernie) in Frank Capra's "Its A Wonderful Life
"?P.S. Measure twice, cut once is a nice truism. Unfortunately, some of us were apparently born without the ability to use a measuring tape accurately. I can measure eight times and if I'm lucky enough to come up with the same measurement twice, what I cut will still be wrong. A better ditty: measure twice and let someone else handle the saw.
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