This is amazing!
Youtube tags it "500 Years of Female Portraits in Western Art"
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Speaking Up
I get a lot of email forwards from people of many different opinions and beliefs with whom I don't necessarily agree. Usually, I don't respond. Today, though, I got this one, and I felt compelled to respond to the way the message was twisted to represent a xenophobia that is downright unbecoming. Those who make ignorant assumptions or harbor misconceptions about immigrants in this country need to hear from those of us who don't share their views. I couldn't let this one go without sending a reply to EVERYONE on the list of recipients.
Here's the forward:
The year is 1907.....but the speaker knew what he was talking about. READ PRINT UNDER PICTURE
Theodore Roosevelt's ideas on Immigrants and being an AMERICAN in 1907. "In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American...There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag... We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language ... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people." Theodore Roosevelt 1907 EVERY AMERICAN NEEDS TO READ THIS!
Here is my reply:
This is true, and while we are agreeing with this, we need to remember our parents and grandparents who spoke their "first" language at home for years while they became fully versed in English, kept and honored the customs of their countries of origin, and loved and longed for "the homeland" while they were proud Americans. We see evidence of this all around us, and it remains part of the beautiful, complex heritage of our country today.
Immigrants have always been demonized, but don't be fooled by those who say Mexicans and other immigrants don't want to assimilate- I am a teacher in a public school and I see evidence, every day, of this desire to become one of us. Don't be fooled by the tongues that wag and mouths that spout hatred for those who look and speak differently than we who are blessed to have been born here by an accident of birth. The people who have come to this country recently are willing to work the most menial and difficult jobs, and have, against all odds, made their way to America. They are so grateful for the opportunities this country affords them. They are willing to work hard, they want their children to do well in school, and they desperately want to take part in our democracy and become full-fledged American citizens.
Sometimes, a girl's just gotta speak her mind.
Here's the forward:
The year is 1907.....but the speaker knew what he was talking about. READ PRINT UNDER PICTURE
Theodore Roosevelt's ideas on Immigrants and being an AMERICAN in 1907. "In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American...There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag... We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language ... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people." Theodore Roosevelt 1907 EVERY AMERICAN NEEDS TO READ THIS!
Here is my reply:
This is true, and while we are agreeing with this, we need to remember our parents and grandparents who spoke their "first" language at home for years while they became fully versed in English, kept and honored the customs of their countries of origin, and loved and longed for "the homeland" while they were proud Americans. We see evidence of this all around us, and it remains part of the beautiful, complex heritage of our country today.
Immigrants have always been demonized, but don't be fooled by those who say Mexicans and other immigrants don't want to assimilate- I am a teacher in a public school and I see evidence, every day, of this desire to become one of us. Don't be fooled by the tongues that wag and mouths that spout hatred for those who look and speak differently than we who are blessed to have been born here by an accident of birth. The people who have come to this country recently are willing to work the most menial and difficult jobs, and have, against all odds, made their way to America. They are so grateful for the opportunities this country affords them. They are willing to work hard, they want their children to do well in school, and they desperately want to take part in our democracy and become full-fledged American citizens.
Sometimes, a girl's just gotta speak her mind.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Give Me a Day
This morning, I learned from The Writer's Almanac web page that the piano tune ushering in Garrison Keillor's voice every day on that site is a Scandinavian folk song called "Gi Mig En Dag" ("Give Me a Day").
Next, I did a Google search and found a paper on the "internets" written by a musicologist named Frans Mossberg. He uses the tune to offer some "principal and methodogical issues on studies of timbre in words, music, and vocal performance." Yup, that's what Frans' paper does. I think I'll leave that work to him, but he provides this English free translation for part of the song:
Give me a day of winds and of sun by beaches so light and so clear,
Where silences roam in meadows and grass by the sea down by the valleys of Osterlen.
Lovely words, aren't they?
Then, I wondered exactly what timbre means. This comes from my dictionary on cdrom:
timbre (tàm´ber, tîm´-) noun
1. The quality of a sound that distinguishes it from other sounds of the same pitch and volume.
2. Music. The distinctive tone of an instrument or a singing voice.
[French, from Old French, drum, clapperless bell, probably from Medieval Greek *timbanon, drum, from Greek tumpanon, kettledrum.]
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition copyright © 1992 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Electronic version licensed from InfoSoft International, Inc. All rights reserved.
Life would be so much less interesting without our computers.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Unholy & Cannoli
I haven't had any tears over the war for a long time, now. The daily grind of hearing the awful news seems to have numbed me in the way that war does when you're far from it, not making any personal sacrifices. But I did last night, and it surprised me. As I drove home from school, NPR was reporting the killing of the two Iraqi newsmen who worked for ABC. I listened and drove on. Then, at home, I had the tv on in the background and something in the voice of the reporter stopped me; there was such a remarkable sadness, I had to take myself over to the box and look. There it was again, the story of the deaths of these two men. There were pictures of them doing their jobs, clips from stories they had covered, and a brief description of their personalities. One had been a joker, a boisterous fellow with a wife and two small children, the other described as a shy man. He looked like a shy man. In the moment I felt a stab of utter futility, did a sort of coughing thing and banged out a sob. It caught me completely off guard.
I signed up for a daily podcast called "The Writer's Almanac." There's a daily vignette from Garrison Keillor that includes a brief "today in history" report and a poem. I've been listening first thing every morning and have fallen in love with its musical introduction, a sweet, simple chorded piano piece that reminds me of the kind of music my second grade teacher used to play for us in the classroom. Remember when second grade teachers all played the classroom piano?
Today's poem addresses a much less traumatizing version of that same surprise of emotion that caught me off guard last night:
Appeal to the Grammarians
by Paul Violi
We, the naturally hopeful,
Need a simple sign
For the myriad ways we're capsized.
We who love precise language
Need a finer way to convey
Disappointment and perplexity.
For speechlessness and all its inflections,
For up-ended expectations,
For every time we're ambushed
By trivial or stupefying irony,
For pure incredulity, we need
The inverted exclamation point.
For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,
For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift
Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,
Or felt love or pond ice
Give way underfoot, we deserve it.
We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,
The child whose ball doesn't bounce back,
The flat tire at journey's outset,
The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.
But mainly because I need it—here and now
As I sit outside the Caffe Reggio
Staring at my espresso and cannoli
After this middle-aged couple
Came strolling by and he suddenly
Veered and sneezed all over my table
And she said to him, "See, that's why
I don't like to eat outside."
Here's the link if you want to listen or sign up:
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/
I signed up for a daily podcast called "The Writer's Almanac." There's a daily vignette from Garrison Keillor that includes a brief "today in history" report and a poem. I've been listening first thing every morning and have fallen in love with its musical introduction, a sweet, simple chorded piano piece that reminds me of the kind of music my second grade teacher used to play for us in the classroom. Remember when second grade teachers all played the classroom piano?
Today's poem addresses a much less traumatizing version of that same surprise of emotion that caught me off guard last night:
Appeal to the Grammarians
by Paul Violi
We, the naturally hopeful,
Need a simple sign
For the myriad ways we're capsized.
We who love precise language
Need a finer way to convey
Disappointment and perplexity.
For speechlessness and all its inflections,
For up-ended expectations,
For every time we're ambushed
By trivial or stupefying irony,
For pure incredulity, we need
The inverted exclamation point.
For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,
For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift
Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,
Or felt love or pond ice
Give way underfoot, we deserve it.
We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,
The child whose ball doesn't bounce back,
The flat tire at journey's outset,
The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.
But mainly because I need it—here and now
As I sit outside the Caffe Reggio
Staring at my espresso and cannoli
After this middle-aged couple
Came strolling by and he suddenly
Veered and sneezed all over my table
And she said to him, "See, that's why
I don't like to eat outside."
Here's the link if you want to listen or sign up:
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Needing some summer
School is getting to me! I've seen this look on the faces of kids lately.
Could this be what they're thinking? Could it be we all need to get us some summer?
I know, I know, teachers have it made, having summers off.
Seriously, I don't know if I could do this job if it didn't involve getting away from it for a couple of months at a time. I guess we adjust to the circumstances of our work, so I'll just say that if this job didn't involve summers off, I'm not sure if I'd be any good at it at all, and leave it at that. Cuz I have 15 days left at the moment, and at this stage I'm ready to crack.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Code Monkey Dance
Today I read about Jonathan Coulton, a musician who quit his job in the tech industry to devote himself to music full time. He markets his music on the internet and committed to writing a song a week for a year. His song "Code Monkey" is a tribute to his former life, and his fans love it. I haven't heard a lot of this other stuff, but this one is very pop-y. Confession... I love pop-y sounding music! And I like this song. I think it's funny; extra funny considering Mr. Coutlon's former life as a code monkey.
Here's a YouTube version I particularly like:
A girl in what appears to be a dorm room sets up her web cam and does the Code Monkey dance. In an interview about the infectious nature of the web, he said he was playing a gig and some people in the venue were doing the dance.
I was singing this song in my head all day at school. Have I mentioned I really like monkeys?
Here's a YouTube version I particularly like:
A girl in what appears to be a dorm room sets up her web cam and does the Code Monkey dance. In an interview about the infectious nature of the web, he said he was playing a gig and some people in the venue were doing the dance.
I was singing this song in my head all day at school. Have I mentioned I really like monkeys?
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Pi
I decided I'm going to read Life of Pi again this summer. I really liked that book, and after watching something about people lost at sea on the Discovery Channel (it was really gruesome), I simply have to read it again. My friend told me her son read it for a college class, so now I can't wait to attack the kid when he gets home this summer, to find out what was said about the story in his class. I have theories and I WANT VALIDATION!!!!
Speaking of reading, I'm presently reading and grading short stories from my creative writers. Does this sound like fun? It's actually one of the most difficult things about my teaching job. Sometimes I find myself thoroughly impressed by the talent of a student, sometimes I read and spend a reeeeeeeeeally long time figuring out what to say about a story that leaves me wondering how this writer could take my class and write THIS story. Someone's not listening...... Nuff said.
It's Mother's Day. I got a card from my daughter that says this:
Today, we celebrate our most valuable resource-- mothers....
Tomorrow, we go back to oil.
I just luuuuuuuv my quirky, funny, smart, Texas daughter! You can read her blog at:
http://butterflypalacedispatch.blogspot.com/
It's a goodie!
Speaking of reading, I'm presently reading and grading short stories from my creative writers. Does this sound like fun? It's actually one of the most difficult things about my teaching job. Sometimes I find myself thoroughly impressed by the talent of a student, sometimes I read and spend a reeeeeeeeeally long time figuring out what to say about a story that leaves me wondering how this writer could take my class and write THIS story. Someone's not listening...... Nuff said.
It's Mother's Day. I got a card from my daughter that says this:
Today, we celebrate our most valuable resource-- mothers....
Tomorrow, we go back to oil.
I just luuuuuuuv my quirky, funny, smart, Texas daughter! You can read her blog at:
http://butterflypalacedispatch.blogspot.com/
It's a goodie!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
A Poem
This poem came out of nowhere, but I'm putting it somewhere, so I don't forget it.
I went to Screw U
But didn’t learn a thing
About any of it
Until I met the one I’d
Leave by waiting
For the locksmith
Early in the morning.
Then I figured out you
Change it all and don’t
Look back until you’ve
Gone so far
The phone book won’t help.
The pots and pans don’t even
Remember a time the meals
Were made by chopping up stuff
Throwing it all together
They took on new
Flavors and less fat.
Where there was fearless
Faltering at every turn
I turned in to a little place
Where I unlocked the secrets of
My adult education.
Kind of crotchety, isn't it? Not the kind of poem that becomes a beautiful morning like this! I'm going peace walkin', and then I'll see if I can stand to cough up the 60 bucks for a Wisconsin fishing license with a trout stamp.
I recently drove over to have a look at my perfect little stream near Red Wing. I'm almost afraid to get my fly rod out of its case, after not using it at all last summer. If it's bent or something, I don't think I'll be able to stand the sadness. Or I'll figure out a way to fish with a bent rod.
One of the best things about the stream is that there is almost never anyone on it, except for some cows and a bull I fear greatly. But not as much as I fear being seen by "the fellas," or the yuppie experts with their $300 polarized lenses and other fancy gear, who would detect, in a heartbeat, that I have almost no idea what I'm doing.
But HA!- Even they don't know about this glittering little gem, perfectly landscaped for a shy novice without waders. Well, there's one old guy who's nice; I trust him not to watch me spend 15 minutes tying on a fly and then flinging it into the weeds behind me. If he does, he keeps his distance and minds his own beeswax.
I went to Screw U
But didn’t learn a thing
About any of it
Until I met the one I’d
Leave by waiting
For the locksmith
Early in the morning.
Then I figured out you
Change it all and don’t
Look back until you’ve
Gone so far
The phone book won’t help.
The pots and pans don’t even
Remember a time the meals
Were made by chopping up stuff
Throwing it all together
They took on new
Flavors and less fat.
Where there was fearless
Faltering at every turn
I turned in to a little place
Where I unlocked the secrets of
My adult education.
Kind of crotchety, isn't it? Not the kind of poem that becomes a beautiful morning like this! I'm going peace walkin', and then I'll see if I can stand to cough up the 60 bucks for a Wisconsin fishing license with a trout stamp.
I recently drove over to have a look at my perfect little stream near Red Wing. I'm almost afraid to get my fly rod out of its case, after not using it at all last summer. If it's bent or something, I don't think I'll be able to stand the sadness. Or I'll figure out a way to fish with a bent rod.
One of the best things about the stream is that there is almost never anyone on it, except for some cows and a bull I fear greatly. But not as much as I fear being seen by "the fellas," or the yuppie experts with their $300 polarized lenses and other fancy gear, who would detect, in a heartbeat, that I have almost no idea what I'm doing.
But HA!- Even they don't know about this glittering little gem, perfectly landscaped for a shy novice without waders. Well, there's one old guy who's nice; I trust him not to watch me spend 15 minutes tying on a fly and then flinging it into the weeds behind me. If he does, he keeps his distance and minds his own beeswax.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Holy Cow!
I haven't been able to sign in to my blog for...a really long time. I switched to the google version, and it screwed up everything. The "it" being me, probably, as I'm sometimes so absent-minded and disorganized I charge into a new tech situation without understanding just what it is I'm doing. My take on this is that you gotta hand it to me for the charging in in the first place, but, as I have learned (well, evidently not), that can sometimes create problems.
So, just this minute, I was fooling around with ALL the issues forums, trouble-shooting, and suggestions and it worked!
Now, I fear I'll never get on again, as I have no idea what I did that made the signing on happen. Story of my life, in one way or another, and as fears go, a rather minor one.
But I'm back. For this moment in time. We shall see about the rest of them.
And why am I Holy-Cowing over my return? I missed me! Ha!
So, just this minute, I was fooling around with ALL the issues forums, trouble-shooting, and suggestions and it worked!
Now, I fear I'll never get on again, as I have no idea what I did that made the signing on happen. Story of my life, in one way or another, and as fears go, a rather minor one.
But I'm back. For this moment in time. We shall see about the rest of them.
And why am I Holy-Cowing over my return? I missed me! Ha!
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Up for Air
I'm staying home this Thanksgiving, to come up for air. I made a concerted effort to do a better job with the word "no" this school year, and I can't say that it's helped. If I made a list, here, of the things I have said "no" to so far this school year, I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt, so I won't. And here's the kicker: It doesn't seem to have helped me feel less busy, or more accurately, overwhelmed.
I have a couple of theories concerning this phenomenon:
First, I'm an anxietal goofball when it comes to teaching. I was talking to my sister about this and said I seriously have to wonder what's wrong with me in that I live alone, have no obligations to young children, husband, or anybody but me for that matter, and I can't seem to keep up. I live like a slob half the time and commit cleaning frenzies the other half; I reduced my possessions, hauling untold loads of the stuff to the thrift store last summer, and I consider myself generally low maintenance. So on the home front my responsibilities are few. But I find myself very frequently mired in a ton of school work and am constantly obsessing about my students and my teaching.
Isn't she wonderful? She cares so much! Um, well, the truth is, not so much; I honestly want to care less. I think being less neurotic about all of this would be better for my students and a healthier way to conduct the business of my life. Once, when I was training to become a teacher, I was obsessing in the way that I do, and my boyfriend said, "Rox, it's not rocket science." Obviously I was offended, because I remember those five little words to this day, but moreover, he was right! Rox can make rocket science out of teaching. God knows what the state of my mental health would be had I actually become a rocket scientist, but there's little danger of that, considering my next theory:
Isn't there some principle relating to available space and the expansion of matter? Go ahead and take a moment to grieve the decline of general knowledge among public school teachers; then give the system credit for guiding me to a major in English rather than physical science. But I digress. What I mean to say is it seems that saying "no" has only created more space to fill with guilt and other matters of teaching.
So, on this Thanksgiving, one item on my gratitude list is the four days I have to come up for air. Other things are (in no particular order) :
The glimmer of hope concerning the mid-term election results and Rumsfeld's "resignation"
My daughter Kara and her new husband Charley
Nature
The love of family and friends
Naps
Books
Cotton
I have a couple of theories concerning this phenomenon:
First, I'm an anxietal goofball when it comes to teaching. I was talking to my sister about this and said I seriously have to wonder what's wrong with me in that I live alone, have no obligations to young children, husband, or anybody but me for that matter, and I can't seem to keep up. I live like a slob half the time and commit cleaning frenzies the other half; I reduced my possessions, hauling untold loads of the stuff to the thrift store last summer, and I consider myself generally low maintenance. So on the home front my responsibilities are few. But I find myself very frequently mired in a ton of school work and am constantly obsessing about my students and my teaching.
Isn't she wonderful? She cares so much! Um, well, the truth is, not so much; I honestly want to care less. I think being less neurotic about all of this would be better for my students and a healthier way to conduct the business of my life. Once, when I was training to become a teacher, I was obsessing in the way that I do, and my boyfriend said, "Rox, it's not rocket science." Obviously I was offended, because I remember those five little words to this day, but moreover, he was right! Rox can make rocket science out of teaching. God knows what the state of my mental health would be had I actually become a rocket scientist, but there's little danger of that, considering my next theory:
Isn't there some principle relating to available space and the expansion of matter? Go ahead and take a moment to grieve the decline of general knowledge among public school teachers; then give the system credit for guiding me to a major in English rather than physical science. But I digress. What I mean to say is it seems that saying "no" has only created more space to fill with guilt and other matters of teaching.
So, on this Thanksgiving, one item on my gratitude list is the four days I have to come up for air. Other things are (in no particular order) :
The glimmer of hope concerning the mid-term election results and Rumsfeld's "resignation"
My daughter Kara and her new husband Charley
Nature
The love of family and friends
Naps
Books
Cotton
Monday, October 02, 2006
Look Out!
| > WARNING |
| PRAIRIEHOMIE is radioactive. Wear protective clothing at all times. |
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Sorry, Joe
I haven't posted for awhile, and I wonder if anyone noticed that in my last few posts I made an effort to stay away from politics. Anyone? I know there are those who are political and those who aren't, and the constant discussion of political issues can bore the face off of those who aren't. It's hard for me to understand this, as I find the subject the single most relevant aspect of life in our democracy, not to mention that I find it endlessly fascinating. I follow politics the way some people follow sports, or Hollywood, and I'll be the first to admit I feel superior about it, because I know politics actually MATTERS- ha!
So, I have something to say about Ned Lamont's victory over Joe Lieberman in the Connecticut Democratic primary:
I'm glad Lamont won. I'm glad that he beat the guy who is seen as "reaching across the aisle" to Republicans. If it's true that he won solely on his antiwar stance, I'm glad for that too. I'm glad Americans (or at least Democrats) are taking a stand against a failed military effort that has killed thousands of people for reasons that are still a mystery to most of us. I don't want my party to continue to be represented by a senator who votes to cut estate taxes for multimillionaries while the administration continues to spend billions on this war and our health care system is broken, our schools are underfunded, middle class earnings are falling, and huge corporate subsidies continue while the poor and elderly are largely ignored.
I want a Democrat who IS a Democrat, and Lieberman hasn't been acting like one lately. Republicans say the Democratic party doesn't have an agenda, that we don't know what we stand for; well I'm a Democrat who does know. Call me an idealogical polarizer, better yet, call me a bleeding heart liberal because, proudly, I am one. I'm a Democrat who knows what I want from my country and my party, and if Ned Lamont's primary victory sends a message to my party about that, sorry Joe, but I'm glad you lost.
So, I have something to say about Ned Lamont's victory over Joe Lieberman in the Connecticut Democratic primary:
I'm glad Lamont won. I'm glad that he beat the guy who is seen as "reaching across the aisle" to Republicans. If it's true that he won solely on his antiwar stance, I'm glad for that too. I'm glad Americans (or at least Democrats) are taking a stand against a failed military effort that has killed thousands of people for reasons that are still a mystery to most of us. I don't want my party to continue to be represented by a senator who votes to cut estate taxes for multimillionaries while the administration continues to spend billions on this war and our health care system is broken, our schools are underfunded, middle class earnings are falling, and huge corporate subsidies continue while the poor and elderly are largely ignored.
I want a Democrat who IS a Democrat, and Lieberman hasn't been acting like one lately. Republicans say the Democratic party doesn't have an agenda, that we don't know what we stand for; well I'm a Democrat who does know. Call me an idealogical polarizer, better yet, call me a bleeding heart liberal because, proudly, I am one. I'm a Democrat who knows what I want from my country and my party, and if Ned Lamont's primary victory sends a message to my party about that, sorry Joe, but I'm glad you lost.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Good and Gracious Gobbles
I did a few hours of volunteer work yesterday with the kind people at the beautiful ARC Retreat Center. One of my tasks was to help prepare Gazpacho for the next day's crew. This stuff smelled so good, I wanted to stick my face in the vat and slurp. I'll share the recipe, if you promise to check out their web site:
www.arcretreat.org
They publish a cookbook that can be obtained through the site. It contains the recipe below and also the one for their Cucumber Gazpacho. I was treated to lunch there, and it was served. Delicious!
ARC Gazpacho
4 c tomato juice
2 c fresh diced tomatoes
1 med cucumber. Peeled, seeded, and diced
2 scallions, minced
½ c onions, finely minced
1 green bell pepper, minced
4 coves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of ½ lemon
1 t salt
½ t pepper
2 T. wine vinegar
1 t tarragon
1 t basil
½ t ground cumin
¼ t Tobasco
2 1/2 T. olive oil
Combine, chill, and serve to 6 people
From St Martin’s Table Cookbook
www.arcretreat.org
They publish a cookbook that can be obtained through the site. It contains the recipe below and also the one for their Cucumber Gazpacho. I was treated to lunch there, and it was served. Delicious!
ARC Gazpacho
4 c tomato juice
2 c fresh diced tomatoes
1 med cucumber. Peeled, seeded, and diced
2 scallions, minced
½ c onions, finely minced
1 green bell pepper, minced
4 coves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of ½ lemon
1 t salt
½ t pepper
2 T. wine vinegar
1 t tarragon
1 t basil
½ t ground cumin
¼ t Tobasco
2 1/2 T. olive oil
Combine, chill, and serve to 6 people
From St Martin’s Table Cookbook
Monday, July 24, 2006
A Crooked Path
Today is my birthday, and I mostly agree with the statement I heard somewhere that by about 11, we should get over the idea that our birthday should be a big deal. I'd change the age in the statement to 21, and make an exception for moms, as we moms reserve the right to celebrate every one of the birthdays of our children.
A friend and I were having a conversation about aging and I told him how grateful I am that I lived as long and I did before having a single worry associated with my own aging. I can't remember ever having a birthday when I became depressed about reaching another milestone. Not at 30, not at 40, not at 50. Of course I would observe the struggles of old folks, and my heart would go out to them, but for some reason I didn't personalize those struggles until I saw my mom suffer, shortly before she died. Is this a sign of a calloused heart or clueless denial? Beats me. I hope not.
After Mom's death, for the first time ever I thought about how I would manage growing old and infirm and how it would impact the people who love me. It was depressing. It's not that my mother's death was the first experience I'd had with illness and infirmity in someone close to me; it wasn't, but it was the first time I witnessed it so closely in someone truly elderly. And she was my mom; I'm sure that had a lot to do with my feelings about it.
Today, I'm not depressed, I'm celebrating middle age- I like it! But, as I mark another milestone, I'm reminded of a couple of poems by Friederich Holderlin:
At the Middle of Life
The earth hangs down
to the lake, full of yellow
pears and wild roses.
Lovely swans, drunk with
kisses you dip your heads
into the holy, sobering waters.
But when winter comes,
where will I find
the flowers, the sunshine,
the shadows of the earth?
The walls stand
speechless and cold,
the weathervanes
rattle in the wind.
and this excerpt from "The Course of Life"
You too wanted better things, but love
forces all of us down. Sorrow bends us more
forcefully, but the arc doesn't return to its
point of origin without a reason.
Upwards or downwards! In holy Night,
where mute Nature plans the coming days,
doesn't there reign in the most twisted Orcus
something straight and direct?
This I have learned. Never to my knowledge
did you, all-preserving gods, like mortal
masters, lead me providentially
along a straight path.
The gods say that man should test
everything, and that strongly nourished
he be thankful for everything, and understand
the freedom to set forth wherever he will.
A friend and I were having a conversation about aging and I told him how grateful I am that I lived as long and I did before having a single worry associated with my own aging. I can't remember ever having a birthday when I became depressed about reaching another milestone. Not at 30, not at 40, not at 50. Of course I would observe the struggles of old folks, and my heart would go out to them, but for some reason I didn't personalize those struggles until I saw my mom suffer, shortly before she died. Is this a sign of a calloused heart or clueless denial? Beats me. I hope not.
After Mom's death, for the first time ever I thought about how I would manage growing old and infirm and how it would impact the people who love me. It was depressing. It's not that my mother's death was the first experience I'd had with illness and infirmity in someone close to me; it wasn't, but it was the first time I witnessed it so closely in someone truly elderly. And she was my mom; I'm sure that had a lot to do with my feelings about it.
Today, I'm not depressed, I'm celebrating middle age- I like it! But, as I mark another milestone, I'm reminded of a couple of poems by Friederich Holderlin:
At the Middle of Life
The earth hangs down
to the lake, full of yellow
pears and wild roses.
Lovely swans, drunk with
kisses you dip your heads
into the holy, sobering waters.
But when winter comes,
where will I find
the flowers, the sunshine,
the shadows of the earth?
The walls stand
speechless and cold,
the weathervanes
rattle in the wind.
and this excerpt from "The Course of Life"
You too wanted better things, but love
forces all of us down. Sorrow bends us more
forcefully, but the arc doesn't return to its
point of origin without a reason.
Upwards or downwards! In holy Night,
where mute Nature plans the coming days,
doesn't there reign in the most twisted Orcus
something straight and direct?
This I have learned. Never to my knowledge
did you, all-preserving gods, like mortal
masters, lead me providentially
along a straight path.
The gods say that man should test
everything, and that strongly nourished
he be thankful for everything, and understand
the freedom to set forth wherever he will.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
One Single Thing
This, from today's New York Times:
From 2002 until this year, NASA’s mission statement, prominently featured in its budget and planning documents, read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers ... as only NASA can.”
In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted. In this year’s budget and planning documents, the agency’s mission is “to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research.”
David E. Steitz, a spokesman for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, said the aim was to square the statement with President Bush’s goal of pursuing human spaceflight to the Moon and Mars.
But the change comes as an unwelcome surprise to many NASA scientists, who say the “understand and protect” phrase was not merely window dressing but actively influenced the shaping and execution of research priorities. Without it, these scientists say, there will be far less incentive to pursue projects to improve understanding of terrestrial problems like climate change caused by greenhouse gas emissions.
Can this administration do one, single thing that doesn't piss me off? Words do matter, Mr. President, and although you can't seem to express yourself as though they do, it's apparent from this omission that somebody in your posse gets it.
This is sinister and outrageous. ARRRRRRGH!
From 2002 until this year, NASA’s mission statement, prominently featured in its budget and planning documents, read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers ... as only NASA can.”
In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted. In this year’s budget and planning documents, the agency’s mission is “to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research.”
David E. Steitz, a spokesman for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, said the aim was to square the statement with President Bush’s goal of pursuing human spaceflight to the Moon and Mars.
But the change comes as an unwelcome surprise to many NASA scientists, who say the “understand and protect” phrase was not merely window dressing but actively influenced the shaping and execution of research priorities. Without it, these scientists say, there will be far less incentive to pursue projects to improve understanding of terrestrial problems like climate change caused by greenhouse gas emissions.
Can this administration do one, single thing that doesn't piss me off? Words do matter, Mr. President, and although you can't seem to express yourself as though they do, it's apparent from this omission that somebody in your posse gets it.
This is sinister and outrageous. ARRRRRRGH!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Garrison Keillor Knows His Lutherans
My sister sent me the following Garrison Keillor essay and it rang so true with me, I just have to post it. I adore Garrison Keillor; he gets me. And as for singing with Lutherans, I did it for a very long time, as I was raised Lutheran.
For the formative years of my life in my small Iowa town, there were two locations for most of the activity: church and school. I sang my heart out in both places. Singing was my thing. I sang pop music with the "swing choir", classical and operatic pieces for competition, folk music with my guitar, hymns, chorale music, show tunes, you name it. My best friend, who is a very talented pianist, and I performed as a duo, mostly at school functions and for her father's company parties. As a young wife and mother I sang every song I knew to my child, and annoyed my husband by singing in the car so much and so loudly he would turn off the radio and glare at me. Sometimes I hardly noticed.
But I don't sing any longer; I've ruined my voice with cigarettes. It's one of the self-inflicted tragedies of my life, and I really don't wanna talk about it.
The Lutheran thing. My mother was German and my father Norwegian, so I was a Lutheran. Period. I can't claim to be a Lutheran now, but in my town people were mostly either Catholic or Lutheran. There were two Catholic churches, the one on the west side of town for the Irish and the one on the east side of town for the Germans. There had to have been people there with Eastern European roots (didn't there?), but there was no sign of them when referencing the Catholic churches. There were two Lutheran churches, the Missouri Synod and (at that time) the American Lutherans . The Missouri Synods were "strict", and I distinctly remember feeling lucky to have avoided the straightjacket of being born Missouri Synod- ha!
By the way, there was one Jewish family in town. ONE. They owned a market, and people would actually refer to it as "Eddie the Jew's" as in, "there's a good buy on rump roast this week at Eddie the Jew's." Must have been a real treat to be them in that hotbed of diversity.
So, here's the Garrison Keillor essay on singing with Lutherans, and some other interesting Lutheran "facts". Many of them fit my life as a Lutheran to a T.
SINGING WITH THE LUTHERANS
by Garrison Keillor
I have made fun of Lutherans for years - who wouldn't, if you lived in Minnesota? But I have also sung with Lutherans and that is one of the main joys of life, along with hot baths and fresh sweet corn. We make fun of Lutherans for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese. But nobody sings like them.
If you ask an audience in New York City, a relatively Lutheranless place, to sing along on the chorus of Michael Row the Boat Ashore, they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Lutherans they'll smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road!
Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It's a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person's rib cage. It's natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We're too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you're singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it's an emotionally fulfilling moment.
I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.
I do believe this:
People, these Lutherans, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you're in deep distress. If you're dying, they'll comfort you. If you're lonely, they'll talk to you. And if you're hungry, they'll give you tuna salad!
The following list was compiled by a 20th century Lutheran who, observing other Lutherans, wrote down exactly what he saw or heard:
1. Lutherans believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.
2. Lutherans like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.
3. Lutherans believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don't notify them that they are there.
4. Lutherans usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.
5. Lutherans believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.
6. Lutherans feel that applauding for their children's choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.
7. Lutherans think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.
8. Lutherans drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.
9. Some Lutherans still believe that an ELCA bride and an LCMS groom make for a mixed marriage.
10. Lutherans feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.
11. Lutherans are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.
12. Lutherans think that Garrison Keillor stories are totally factual.
13. Lutherans still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.
14. Lutherans believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take
themselves too seriously.
15. You know when you're a Lutheran when: It's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.
16. You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can!
17. Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.
18. The communion cabinet is open to all, but the coffee cabinet is locked up tight.
19. All your relatives graduated from a school named Concordia.
20. When you watch a "Star Wars" movie and they say, May the Force be with you, you respond, "and also with you".
21. You actually understand those folks from Lake Wobegon, MN.
22. And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye.
For the formative years of my life in my small Iowa town, there were two locations for most of the activity: church and school. I sang my heart out in both places. Singing was my thing. I sang pop music with the "swing choir", classical and operatic pieces for competition, folk music with my guitar, hymns, chorale music, show tunes, you name it. My best friend, who is a very talented pianist, and I performed as a duo, mostly at school functions and for her father's company parties. As a young wife and mother I sang every song I knew to my child, and annoyed my husband by singing in the car so much and so loudly he would turn off the radio and glare at me. Sometimes I hardly noticed.
But I don't sing any longer; I've ruined my voice with cigarettes. It's one of the self-inflicted tragedies of my life, and I really don't wanna talk about it.
The Lutheran thing. My mother was German and my father Norwegian, so I was a Lutheran. Period. I can't claim to be a Lutheran now, but in my town people were mostly either Catholic or Lutheran. There were two Catholic churches, the one on the west side of town for the Irish and the one on the east side of town for the Germans. There had to have been people there with Eastern European roots (didn't there?), but there was no sign of them when referencing the Catholic churches. There were two Lutheran churches, the Missouri Synod and (at that time) the American Lutherans . The Missouri Synods were "strict", and I distinctly remember feeling lucky to have avoided the straightjacket of being born Missouri Synod- ha!
By the way, there was one Jewish family in town. ONE. They owned a market, and people would actually refer to it as "Eddie the Jew's" as in, "there's a good buy on rump roast this week at Eddie the Jew's." Must have been a real treat to be them in that hotbed of diversity.
So, here's the Garrison Keillor essay on singing with Lutherans, and some other interesting Lutheran "facts". Many of them fit my life as a Lutheran to a T.
SINGING WITH THE LUTHERANS
by Garrison Keillor
I have made fun of Lutherans for years - who wouldn't, if you lived in Minnesota? But I have also sung with Lutherans and that is one of the main joys of life, along with hot baths and fresh sweet corn. We make fun of Lutherans for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese. But nobody sings like them.
If you ask an audience in New York City, a relatively Lutheranless place, to sing along on the chorus of Michael Row the Boat Ashore, they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Lutherans they'll smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road!
Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It's a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person's rib cage. It's natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We're too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you're singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it's an emotionally fulfilling moment.
I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.
I do believe this:
People, these Lutherans, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you're in deep distress. If you're dying, they'll comfort you. If you're lonely, they'll talk to you. And if you're hungry, they'll give you tuna salad!
The following list was compiled by a 20th century Lutheran who, observing other Lutherans, wrote down exactly what he saw or heard:
1. Lutherans believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.
2. Lutherans like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.
3. Lutherans believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don't notify them that they are there.
4. Lutherans usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.
5. Lutherans believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.
6. Lutherans feel that applauding for their children's choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.
7. Lutherans think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.
8. Lutherans drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.
9. Some Lutherans still believe that an ELCA bride and an LCMS groom make for a mixed marriage.
10. Lutherans feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.
11. Lutherans are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.
12. Lutherans think that Garrison Keillor stories are totally factual.
13. Lutherans still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.
14. Lutherans believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take
themselves too seriously.
15. You know when you're a Lutheran when: It's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.
16. You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can!
17. Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.
18. The communion cabinet is open to all, but the coffee cabinet is locked up tight.
19. All your relatives graduated from a school named Concordia.
20. When you watch a "Star Wars" movie and they say, May the Force be with you, you respond, "and also with you".
21. You actually understand those folks from Lake Wobegon, MN.
22. And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
So STOOPID it Hurts
Have you ever felt so embarrassed for someone that it almost hurts? Ever had that feeling for a complete stranger? It probably has something to do with our egos, feeling that somehow someone's behavior is reflected back on us, but I prefer to think it's our compassionate natures kicking in. It's no secret that I don't like our president, and might even take a tiny bit of pleasure seeing him embarrass himself, but when I read about the following, I actually winced.
Lots of people have probably heard that Bush said the word "shit" to Tony Blair when the mike was on after a dinner at the end of the G8 summit. And he did some kind of weird neck massage thing to Germany's chancellor, but, in my book, the worst was an exchange that took place at that same "shit" dinner. This is where my wincing comes in. Read this section of a post from the Democratic Undergound, and see if you don't feel the same excrutiating unease:
"So the president said "shit" and couldn't hold a conversation without stuffing his face. We've all done it. But what's as concerning to me, if not more, was the manner by which the president spoke with his fellow world leaders in an unguarded moment caught on tape. Hint: Like an idiot. When asked by someone, most likely an aide, something about whether or not the president wanted a prepared statement to close the meeting, Bush replied, "No. Just gonna make it up. I'm not going to talk too damn long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long."
Then, the president shifted his conversation to, quite likely though the exchange wasn't on camera, Chinese President Hu Jintao. "Gotta go home," Bush said. "Got something to do tonight. Go to the airport, get on the airplane and go home. How about you? Where are you going? Home?" Continuing, Bush added, "This is your neighborhood. It doesn't take you long to get home. How long does it take you to get home?"
Though the reply was inaudible, Bush then said, "Eight hours? Me too. Russia's a big country and you're a big country." As the Washington Post indicates, it's at this point that the president apparently brought someone else into the exchange. "It takes him eight hours to fly home," Bush said, telling a server that he wanted a Diet Coke. "It takes him eight hours to fly home. Eight hours. Russia's big and so is China."
Russia's big and so is China? Just gonna make it up? Is he, as Cenk Uygur said, a third grader? Do you feel a lot safer knowing that you voted for a man whose idea of tableside conversation is asking world leaders how long their ride home is and marveling at the size of their countries? "
Oh George, too bad you didn't grow up in my household, where we learned that when in an unfamiliar social situation, use basic good manners and SHUT UP. Because it's better to be viewed as quiet and perhaps uncomfortable than stupid and too stupid to know you're stupid.
And this is my president. Ooooooooooh ouchie!
Lots of people have probably heard that Bush said the word "shit" to Tony Blair when the mike was on after a dinner at the end of the G8 summit. And he did some kind of weird neck massage thing to Germany's chancellor, but, in my book, the worst was an exchange that took place at that same "shit" dinner. This is where my wincing comes in. Read this section of a post from the Democratic Undergound, and see if you don't feel the same excrutiating unease:
"So the president said "shit" and couldn't hold a conversation without stuffing his face. We've all done it. But what's as concerning to me, if not more, was the manner by which the president spoke with his fellow world leaders in an unguarded moment caught on tape. Hint: Like an idiot. When asked by someone, most likely an aide, something about whether or not the president wanted a prepared statement to close the meeting, Bush replied, "No. Just gonna make it up. I'm not going to talk too damn long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long."
Then, the president shifted his conversation to, quite likely though the exchange wasn't on camera, Chinese President Hu Jintao. "Gotta go home," Bush said. "Got something to do tonight. Go to the airport, get on the airplane and go home. How about you? Where are you going? Home?" Continuing, Bush added, "This is your neighborhood. It doesn't take you long to get home. How long does it take you to get home?"
Though the reply was inaudible, Bush then said, "Eight hours? Me too. Russia's a big country and you're a big country." As the Washington Post indicates, it's at this point that the president apparently brought someone else into the exchange. "It takes him eight hours to fly home," Bush said, telling a server that he wanted a Diet Coke. "It takes him eight hours to fly home. Eight hours. Russia's big and so is China."
Russia's big and so is China? Just gonna make it up? Is he, as Cenk Uygur said, a third grader? Do you feel a lot safer knowing that you voted for a man whose idea of tableside conversation is asking world leaders how long their ride home is and marveling at the size of their countries? "
Oh George, too bad you didn't grow up in my household, where we learned that when in an unfamiliar social situation, use basic good manners and SHUT UP. Because it's better to be viewed as quiet and perhaps uncomfortable than stupid and too stupid to know you're stupid.
And this is my president. Ooooooooooh ouchie!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Crazier and Crazier
The following is taken from an article on the Forbe's magazine web site, and I also just read that Lou Dobbs reported it tonight:
The State Department said Monday that it will ask Americans to pay for rides out of Lebanon that include chartered vessels.
"What we have to do in a situation like this is, we have to go out on an emergency basis and rent vessels," Burns said. "That's what we're trying to do ... We do that on behalf of American citizens. We're not quite sure how many of these Americans will come out."
House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi objected to billing evacuees.
"A nation that can provide more than $300 billion for a war in Iraq can provide the money to get its people out of Lebanon," Pelosi said in a statement.
Just when I think I've seen the limit of nuts from this administration, they show me I haven't. Yes, people, truth is stranger than fiction.
The State Department said Monday that it will ask Americans to pay for rides out of Lebanon that include chartered vessels.
"What we have to do in a situation like this is, we have to go out on an emergency basis and rent vessels," Burns said. "That's what we're trying to do ... We do that on behalf of American citizens. We're not quite sure how many of these Americans will come out."
House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi objected to billing evacuees.
"A nation that can provide more than $300 billion for a war in Iraq can provide the money to get its people out of Lebanon," Pelosi said in a statement.
Just when I think I've seen the limit of nuts from this administration, they show me I haven't. Yes, people, truth is stranger than fiction.
Monday, July 17, 2006
One of These Days, Alice
I've posted about this in the past, but it's still happening and I'm stuck about how to deal with it. There are people in my circle of family and friends who have very different political beliefs from mine. I think they're wrong, or misinformed, often buying into ideas against their own self-interests, and I take the opportunity to tell them so... if they "start it." Or if I'm asked. By "starting it" I mean if they spout their opinions, I take my turn and spout mine, but I don't steer the conversation toward our differences, lecture out of the blue, or forward emails that circulate among my fellow lefties. Mostly because I love these people and prefer to focus on what keeps us close rather than what might divide us. I'm nice like that.
However...it bothers me that some of my contacts send me emails (usually forwards) that are blatantly political, and so obviously not "me" that I can't help but think they're trying to make a point. Ick. Because I'm nice, I let it be. I delete the mail without a response and focus on the other things they send: cute pictures of family babies or pets, funny commentaries about the silly things we all struggle with, regardless of our politics, inspirational messages, stuff like that.
Why? Because I really don't want to create a problem where there doesn't have to be one: I think there are enough polarizing divisions between people in this world, and I don't believe for a second that a forwarded email is going to plant any kind of seed or better yet, magically turn them into believers.
I do send an occasional reminder that I have a blog and invite people into conversation here, but, as you can see, that's pretty much ignored by everyone- ha! And that's okay, I blog because I like to write and I want to practice what I preach to my students about writing for practice and pleasure. To me, writing a blog is different than forwarding a mass email. If they want to start a blog and take the time to write about what they think and how they feel, I think they should show the world their chops.
So, I sit here and wish they'd stop it with the forwards, feeling angry about their lack of consideration, wondering why they haven't considered how they'd like it if I turned the tables and started forwarding them my "stuff." Believe me, I could load 'em up with material that would argue against the shallow thinking contained in those forwards and rage against their hate machine, but I don't. Though sometimes, just to soothe my wounded ego, I concoct a fabulous response and dream of reigning supremely victorious over their inboxes. How passive-aggressive, what a whimp. Maybe, but I'm supposed to be the peacenik here, and I prefer to think of it as maintaining good relations between those of us who should be loving and caring for each other.
But one of these days, Alice, one of these days...
However...it bothers me that some of my contacts send me emails (usually forwards) that are blatantly political, and so obviously not "me" that I can't help but think they're trying to make a point. Ick. Because I'm nice, I let it be. I delete the mail without a response and focus on the other things they send: cute pictures of family babies or pets, funny commentaries about the silly things we all struggle with, regardless of our politics, inspirational messages, stuff like that.
Why? Because I really don't want to create a problem where there doesn't have to be one: I think there are enough polarizing divisions between people in this world, and I don't believe for a second that a forwarded email is going to plant any kind of seed or better yet, magically turn them into believers.
I do send an occasional reminder that I have a blog and invite people into conversation here, but, as you can see, that's pretty much ignored by everyone- ha! And that's okay, I blog because I like to write and I want to practice what I preach to my students about writing for practice and pleasure. To me, writing a blog is different than forwarding a mass email. If they want to start a blog and take the time to write about what they think and how they feel, I think they should show the world their chops.
So, I sit here and wish they'd stop it with the forwards, feeling angry about their lack of consideration, wondering why they haven't considered how they'd like it if I turned the tables and started forwarding them my "stuff." Believe me, I could load 'em up with material that would argue against the shallow thinking contained in those forwards and rage against their hate machine, but I don't. Though sometimes, just to soothe my wounded ego, I concoct a fabulous response and dream of reigning supremely victorious over their inboxes. How passive-aggressive, what a whimp. Maybe, but I'm supposed to be the peacenik here, and I prefer to think of it as maintaining good relations between those of us who should be loving and caring for each other.
But one of these days, Alice, one of these days...
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