No Mo' NaBloPoMo!

NaBloPoMo Day Thirty:
No Mo' NaBloPoMo!

Cheri: "I've written some of my best posts this month, haven't you been reading them?"

Kristen: "Mom, I read your blog, but don’t you see that these types of mother-daughter questions are rare?"

Cheri: "What do you mean?"

Kristen: "You ask me things like, 'Didn’t you read my post about such and such?' or you call and ask me to remind you about something one of us said so that you can write about it. None of my friends’ parents have blogs."

Cheri: "So, what are you saying?"

Kristen: "Just that this is unfamiliar territory. I don't have anyone to talk with about stuff like this."

Cheri [laughing]: "So, there should be a support group? Like Adult Children of Bloggers?"

Kristen [laughing]: "Yes, something like that."

Cheri: "Hey, now that you mention it, that’s a pretty funny idea. I should write a post about that.

Kristen: "See? That's what I'm talking about."

Cheri: "What?"

Kristen: "What you just said? That's just the kind of thing I would talk about in the support group."

Readers, who's doing NaBloPoMo in December?

Cheri: "One, two, three, [*touches nose*] NOT IT!"

Do Ask, I’ll Tell

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Nine:
Do Ask, I’ll Tell

In the comments section of my post yesterday, DOMA: Elephants on Parade, some of you asked me to explain the apparent contradictions in Obama’s position on same-gender marriage.

Sojourner asked: In the debates Joe Biden said that neither he nor Barack Obama were in favor of marriage for gays. I thought at the time that he was talking through his ass about Obama. But then I read an article in Equality, the publication of the HRC that stated he was in favor of civil unions. That goes against what you have cited here, also. So maybe he has changed his mind since 2004? I hope not. His statements there are very bold and powerful, and I thank you for bringing them to my attention.

Jason asked: While I love the comments from 2004, and I totally love this post, I have the same question as Sojourner...during the presidential campaign he didn't say what he said four years ago. Why was that? Please explain. Because I love it when you explain things.

Trish said: I love it when you explain things too and I love it when you find the loose thread and pull on it.

In light of what Joe Biden said during the Vice-Presidential debate and Obama’s statements at other times on the subject of same-gender marriage before, during, and subsequent to the November 2008 election, the question on many minds is what can and will Obama do about legalized same-gender marriage.

Rather than using my words to explain what may or may not be in Obama's heart or on Obama's mind, I prefer to use his words to explain what's on his agenda. Yesterday’s post quoted Obama’s February 2004 letter to the Windy City Times because in that letter he so eloquently reminded us of the reasons why he is a civil rights defender and that the “prize” is “equal rights for every American.” Most importantly, those words reflect Obama's most recent statements on the subject.

The Obama-Biden Plan to Strengthen Civil Rights on Obama's website at change.gov calls for the repeal of DOMA (section two authorizes states to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages from other states; section three prohibits the federal government from extending federal marriage-based benefits, privileges and rights to same-sex couples), the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," an opposition to a Constitutional ban on same-gender marriage, and legislation that would ensure that the 1,100+ federal legal rights and benefits currently provided on the basis of marital status are extended to same-sex couples in civil unions and other legally-recognized unions, among numerous other civil rights protections.

So . . . does this mean that Obama supports same-sex marriage or only civil unions?

Again, in Obama's words, which can be found in the link "Open Letter from Barack Obama" on Obama's LGBT Pride page, our President-elect says:

"As your President, I will use the bully pulpit to urge states to treat same-sex couples with full equality in their family and adoption laws. I personally believe that civil unions represent the best way to secure that equal treatment. But I also believe that the federal government should not stand in the way of states that want to decide on their own how best to pursue equality for gay and lesbian couples--whether that means a domestic partnership, a civil union, or a civil marriage. I support the complete repeal of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA). Federal law should not discriminate in any way against gay and lesbian couples, which is precisely what DOMA does. "

Why is this Obama’s plan and what will be its effect? Without getting into a lengthy discussion here about how equal rights for same-gender couples will eventually play out in light of the 10th Amendment and states' powers, checks and balances between the branches of governments, and the power of the judiciary all the way up to the U.S. Supreme Court to find laws unconstitutional, the importance of Obama’s plan is that it is immediate and effective.

Obama’s plan uses all of the powers available to the federal government to have the broad-reaching effect of making discrimination against same-gender partners illegal under federal law. Moreover, until the U.S. Supreme Court determines (and I believe it will) that prohibition of state marriage licenses to same-gender couples is unconstitutional under the Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment, and/or whether individual states have domestic partnership, civil unions, or civil marriage (again, whatever states do, I think the U.S. Supreme Court will eventually find that states' laws will have to apply to all couples uniformly under the Equal Protection Clause), all couples, mixed- or same-gender, will nonetheless have the same rights and benefits under federal law.

Again, Obama’s words:

"No one has to guess about what I will do in Washington. My record makes it very clear. I will be an unapologetic voice for civil rights . . . ."

DOMA: Elephants on Parade

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Eight:
DOMA: Elephants on Parade

Many moons ago, Last Place Finisher and I went to law school. Our first-year class was divided into three sections, and we were in the same one. We formed a study group along with two other students who fit one particular demographic: The four of us were among a handful of older students. Not that we were that old mind you, but we hadn’t gone to law school straight out of college. Most of us had previous careers, some had spouses, some had children, and all had a variety of life experiences that uniquely added to our decisions to study law and our law-school experiences.

Professor Garbesi taught first-year Torts (a tort is a civil wrong) by the Socratic method. When using the Socratic method, the teacher formulates questions that the student cannot answer except by a correct reasoning process. Regardless of the accuracy and thoroughness of the student's answer, the professor will practically fixate upon overlooked issues or unexplained details. And if there aren’t any of those lying about or the professor wants to move in another direction, then he or she will manipulate the facts of the actual case into a hypothetical that may or may not demand different reasoning.

Professor Garbesi’s ability to put first-year law students on the hot seat was the stuff of legends. Before our first class, our section started a hot-seat pool. Everyone chipped in $5, and the first person called upon by Garbesi would take the cash. Last Place Finisher won the cash, and along with it the respect of every person in the room, especially Garbesi’s, as he stood up to the legendary grilling with his sharp mind and good nature.

During study group sessions with Last Place Finisher, he would constantly (sometimes so relentlessly that I’d be ready to throw a Civil Procedure book at his head) pose Garbesi-esque questions about cases we were reviewing. We would spend hour upon hour discussing fact patterns and forming arguments for and against particular conclusions. Anyone on the outside looking in would be bored to tears, but we couldn’t get enough of ourselves at the time.

Although there are certain frustrations that come with someone who tugs at what may be a loose thread in your well-reasoned argument, comes too a chance for deeper thinking and growth. Last Place Finisher’s questions, and willingness to be asked questions, his conclusions, and willingness to consider other conclusions, made him a valuable study partner. Just when I’d think I had something figured out and why, he’d come along and challenge me. It was like I was Jaime Summers and he was Oscar Goldman. Last Place Finisher helped develop my bionic legal eye.

Recently, in the comment section of one of my several recents posts on California’s Proposition 8 (“Why Protest?”), Last Place Finisher asked this excellent question:

“Why argue Prop 8 while the Defense of Marriage Act is still law? Is it possible to argue that Prop 8 is unconstitutional under federal law if DOMA is still the law? Please, please, please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that DOMA is either right or wrong. I'm just saying that narrowing the focus to Prop 8 ignores some pretty big issues. Feels like there's an elephant in the room.”

Although I loved me some Clinton Presidency overall, the navy blue Gap dress was not the only place that Bill left a stain during his years in the White House. The Defense of Marriage Act of 1996 and “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” are two examples of such. But with a new President in office who opposed DOMA, a President who does not have a single focus, a new day is dawning. Whether the undoing of DOMA comes by repeal or in a finding by the U.S. Supreme Court that denial to same-gender couples of state marriage licenses is unconstitutional (perhaps directly as a result of California’s Proposition 8), it will be undone.

In the words of President-elect Barack Obama (excerpts are from his 2004 letter to the Windy City Times):

"[DOMA] should be repealed . . . and I will also oppose any proposal to amend the U.S. Constitution to ban gays and lesbians from marrying. This is an effort to demonize people for political advantage, and should be resisted . . . ."

"When Members of Congress passed DOMA, they were not interested in strengthening family values or protecting civil liberties. They were only interested in perpetuating division and affirming a wedge issue. . . ."

"As an African-American man, a child of an interracial marriage, a committed scholar, attorney and activist who works to protect the Bill of Rights, I am sensitive to the struggle for civil rights. As a state Senator, I have taken on the issue of civil rights for the LGBT community as if they were my own struggle because I believe strongly that the infringement of rights for any one group eventually endangers the rights enjoyed under law by the entire population."

"We must be careful to keep our eyes on the prize—equal rights for every American."

"No one has to guess about what I will do in Washington. My record makes it very clear. I will be an unapologetic voice for civil rights . . . ."

Last Place Finisher, the elephant is not in the room -- it is on parade.


(Picture courtesy of Google Images.)

Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Seven:
Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

Over at Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers, Tranny Head has announced the Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway. Readers of Tranny Head’s hawt blog know of what we speak when we say “green beans.” For the rest of you, green beans pretty much stands for sex. Hawt, huh? Tranny Head had a most noble cause in mind as she announced the Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway – to spread “green beans” across the Blogosphere and have "green beans" end up in Urban Dictionary. I can see the definition now, right next to a photo of Tranny Head’s hawt rack (because we’ve never seen her Tranny face):

GREEN BEANS

A can of what you’re willing to hump when your husband is serving in the armed forces.

What you get lots and lots of when you’re husband is home on leave.

Green beans are best served hawt.

So, Tranny Head, this is for you. After you read it, send me my dang prize because based upon my helping you get green beans in the urban dictionary, I’m pretty sure that my mother-in-law will have disowned me, my children will run away from home, and my husband will . . . well, my husband will forgive me because I’m too expensive to get rid of now and he likes the way I make green beans. Here goes:

Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

In every long-term romantic relationship there are bound to be peaks and valleys, as Mrs. G. once told us. Those peaks and valleys happen in the bedroom too.


When you first fall in love, you can’t get enough of each other.




After you’ve been married for a while, you sometimes fall into a pattern.




After you’ve been married for a while longer, there are times that you fall out of the pattern.




And there are times when you fall head over heels out of the pattern.




Often it is very comfortable.




Sometimes you do it for a higher purpose.




Sometimes you do it for a lower purpose.




Usually? High or low or in between, there is one underlying reason that keeps you coming back for more.




But this one time? For me and Tom? There were multiple partners. Just thinking of the Googling pervs who will show up from that keyword search makes me {{{cringe}}}. Go away Google-searching pervs. There is nothing here for you.

One night, while I was spending some time with my laptop boyfriend, Tom came into the room. He sort of had that look in his eye, but it was really more than that look, it was that look from sixteen years ago. I recognized it as he gazed at me lovingly, and then started caressing my arm very gently, as though my bicep might be the holy grail of appendages.




Just as I was wondering what the frick had gotten into Tom, just as I was trying to figure out where this demonstration of adoration was headed, just as I was pondering why this moment was happening, just as I was attempting to over think this particular encounter like I over think everything . . . Deepak Chopra popped into my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. God. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So I stopped thinking and allowed myself to feel the simple joy that my husband’s love offered. After Tom stared into my eyes for a while, and rubbed my arm for another while, he took my hand and started walking with me to the bedroom. And then? He stopped six feet from the bed and started kissing me gently, and still looking into my eyes adoringly, he continued caressing me. And then? He began slowly removing my clothes.




Just as I was wondering what the frick was going on here, just as I was trying to figure out why Tom was so fervent but gentle with his kisses, just as I was attempting to unearth in my mind the purpose for which Tom was being so attentive to every detail came the moment in which I swore off reading any future Oprah’s Book Club selections for the rest of my life . . . Eckhart Tolle popped into my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. God. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So I stopped thinking and allowed myself to be in the present moment. I noticed that Tom was so competent and confident. I noticed how he could at once be strong and gentle. I started feeling overcome by how expertly he was handling the matters at hand. He was so attentive to every detail.




Just as I was wondering what I should do, just as I was pondering whether I should do anything, just as I was asking myself whether Tom wanted me to reap the benefits of his efforts or participate in them . . . Jesus popped into my my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. Uh. His. Father. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So . . . I thought about what Deepak, Eckhart, and Jesus said to me, and then I kicked everyone but Tom out of the room.



The end.




Readers, Do you prefer your green beans steamed, sautéed, or in a casserole?




(Images courtesy of Google Images.)

A Wicked Case of Elphaba Toe

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Six:
A Wicked Case of Elphaba Toe

(Actual Retouched Photograph)

I have received an outpouring of emails asking for an update on the condition of my big toe or I just made that up because it is day twenty-six of NaBloPoMo and I ran out of things to write about on day four. I share this information with everyone only because in so doing, I might be reaching out to another human being with a big toe condition and save a life by encouraging someone else to seek medical assistance or I am happy to talk on and on about myself and another one of the medical mysteries that prey upon my otherwise healthy and cheerful existence on this planet.

After a two-week stint on a broad-spectrum antibiotic for cellulitis of the big toe, yes, it was cellulitis, a true affliction, I had to go back to the doctor because my big toe got worse. It started turning green, and I’m not even joking. The doctor named a type of bacteria that was known for turning flesh green, something like elphabaphylococcusareus (they last four syllables are pronounced “you sorry ass”). So the doctor put me on a thirty-day round of antibiotics and recommended vinegar soaks. Vinegar soaks? Apparently the vinegar can penetrate skin and weaken bacteria. While I will embrace western medicine with both arms when it’s a decision between life or life without a big toe and death, I’m all about the homeopathic remedy. So I was totally down with giving vinegar soaks a try.

My vinegar-smelling big green toe totally made me think of Easter eggs. Totally. So, while my toe was soaking, I pondered whether I should pack my bottle of vinegar for our Thanksgiving trip to the Bay Area to see Kristen and Adam, or should I stand in line with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers to buy vinegar there. Then I remembered this post on Adam’s blog, about how he and Kristen have six different kinds of vinegar in their pantry. Foodies. So now my big dilemma is whether I want to stick with big green Easter egg toe or go for big green salad toe.

When Tom and I were in bed on Monday night, I told him all about my visit to the doctor earlier that day. Tom listened attentively. I made a compelling case about the seriousness of my condition, emphasizing multiple doctor visits and antibiotics and green flesh and, you know, that it is an actual condition. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that I had already thought over the possibility that the doctor might recommend amputation, like they might have to remove my big toe to save my life. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that I thought that getting a second opinion on a recommended big toe amputation would be worthwhile. Tom listened attentively. I told him that I’ve heard that you can’t walk properly without a big toe, something to do with balance. Tom listened attentively. I told him if they amputated my toe to save my life, I might have to buy a strap-on toe in order to walk properly. Tom listened attentively. Moreover, I told Tom, I'd need a strap-on toe so that I could run from the car into Target when it rains so my hair doesn't frizz. Tom listened attentively. I asked Tom if it were his big toe would he get a second opinion because the doctor called in one of his partners to look at my big toe because even the doctor wanted a second opinion about my big toe. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that neither one of the doctors mentioned amputation yet. Tom listened attentively.

And then Tom wanted sex.

So . . . by way of a warning to my mother-in-law and children, tomorrow I will be posting about sex as part of Tranny Head’s Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway (“green beans” being Tranny Head’s euphemism for sex). Tranny Head is giving away a number of items as part of a "Holiday Survival Kit" including Starbucks and Target certificates (since I will be able to run into Target with my strap-on toe, I hope to win this), so enter the giveaway tomorrow. What do you have to lose by posting about sex? Heh.

So, Mom, Kids, maybe just stick with actual green bean casseroles on Thanksgiving and stay away from my blog tomorrow. Everyone else? Stop by to find out what I have to say about sex in a long-term marriage.

Readers, who thinks my big green toe and I should start practicing "For Good" right now?

Held

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Five:
Held

Deb at San Diego Momma is hosting PROMPTuesday #32: One Word.

From Deb:

Try to write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kick in.

Aim for 250 words or less.

Just look at the word. And write.




Act One

The first time that I held you in my arms I was amazed at my own feelings. I was in twenty-something love to the power of ten. You literally took my breath away, but I knew that even without a breath in my body I could fight to the death for you and win. I just knew that I could if it came down to it. And once it did. You were perfect in every way, that first day. You stayed that way too. You’ve always been a smart cookie, beautiful, good, and an artist. The thing that set you apart, high above, and sometimes made things feel so feely for you, is that you have the highest emotional intelligence of anyone I’ve ever met. Even as a little girl. Especially now. The wisdom, grace, and depth that are your heart and mind amaze me. It is my honor to be a part of your life. I am in forty-something love to the power of ten.

Act Two

The first time that I held you in my arms I was certain that never before on Earth had such a beautiful baby been born, and I knew the world was a better place that day because of you. Your skin was milky soft, your fluff (not hair) was the color of morning sunshine, and your eyes were clear blue pools. You weren’t just the most beautiful baby on Earth either. You were smart and self-sufficient too. And through the years, whether you were dressed in oversize T-shirts, giant green-framed glasses, all black from head to toe, volleyball or basketball or track shorts, or a vintage Emma Domb prom dress, you have always been beautiful. You’ve grown up to travel the western world all by yourself, and now you make the world a better place because you teach special kids who will make the world better too because you help them. You make me better too, and you didn’t even need to try, but still you do.

Act Three

The first time that I held you in my arms I felt like I was looking into a familiar face. We had known each other for a long time before. Every movement and feeling we gave to each other for nine months had been pondered, enjoyed, and memorized. I had imagined your face for many years. And although the first time ever I looked at you it was puffy with one eye swollen from a plugged tear duct, it was a beautiful surprise because I recognized you. And then I watched the rest of you unfold. You revealed your personality and power to me on that first day. From that plastic hospital bassinet, you lifted your head and looked around. I knew you were already soaking in information, figuring out the world around you. I wondered how I’d keep up with you. And my feet, my brain, and my heart have been in motion since the day you were born, trying to pace you. I’m blessed to be a travel companion on your journey.

Is NaBloPoMo Having an Effect at Your House?

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Four:
Is NaBloPoMo Having an Effect at Your House?

"Post every day for a month. That's all you have to do."
National Blog Posting Month Website

I found this message from Laura
on my laptop boyfriend this afternoon:

Readers, is NaBloPoMo having an effect at your house?

Hamsters are Taking Over the World!

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Three:
Hamsters are Taking Over the World!

Before he planned world domination with Pinky's assistance,
Brain knew another genetically enhanced rodent, a hamster named Snowball.

To read Gary Rith Pottery Blog is to love Gary and his missus. Gary's pottery (he operates his own studio and teaches at Cornell) is just the beginning. It puts smiles on our faces, to be sure. But if you follow his blog, you will soon find out that Gary has a lovely missus named Maude. However, on Gary's blog Maude is mostly known by his terms of endearment, which most often take the form of edibles such as "apple crisp" or "pickled beet." (Gary wonders aloud whether the pet names he has for his missus might be more her pet peeve . . . ) Gary shares a lot of photos, particularly of his pottery, pets, and "pecan pie" (sorry Maude, I sold out a sister for the allure of alliteration). One of the more interesting things about Gary (as if calling your spouse "tofu pup" weren't interesting enough), is that he dreams about hamsters, but in a good way. Have we lost you yet? Almost? Hang in there, keep reading, Gary really is an awesome guy.

Sometimes Gary's dream hamster is wearing a white Elvis jumpsuit and little pompadour hair. Other times that hamster is wearing little glasses and holding a book to its chest. And then there was the time that Gary's dream hamster showed up wearing a cape. Can you guess my favorite of Gary's dream hamster characters? Pirate! Yeah-huh. Gary, we may have lost everyone else now, but you keep reading.

So . . . Gary, guess what? Laura and I thought you would especially like our new iPhone application -- Pet Hamster.




In fact, we made you a little video so you could see how it works!



In other hamster-related news (who thinks I'm scraping the bottom of the brain barrel twenty-three days into NaBloPoMo?), we went to see the movie Bolt today, and Gary, you will love it! The hamster totally steals the show. I laughed out loud many times during the movie, always because of the hamster. I'm sure that Tom was a little embarrassed because I was the only adult in the theater laughing out loud, but Tom's a good sport, and, anyway, a break-up at this stage in our lives would be much too expensive for him. Here is a review of Bolt at Wired. And here is a peek at Rhino the Hamster. Rhino is not only the brilliant guest star in Bolt, but apparently appears in other Disney movie trailers . . .



Maude, I'm guessing that you won't have to feed Gary any hamster-dream prompts tonight. This post should be enough to keep you both in hamster dreams until Christmas!


Readers: Do you have any pet dreams, pet names, or pet peeves?

And Then They Made Me Clean Latrines

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Two:
And Then They Made Me Clean Latrines

I’m pretty sure that the Girl Scout organization is in violation of the Geneva Conventions, or, at the very least, the 8th Amendment Constitutional protection against cruel and unusual punishment.

After I graciously agreed to give my time and energy to be a Girl Scout leader? (Please don’t tell anyone I’m a Girl Scout leader, I have a bad-ass image to protect.) After I volunteered for the good of the girls? After I did so knowing that “good of the girls” would involve camping? After I signed up for said camping trip with twelve of the sixteen girls in our troop? After I drove up mountain roads with four carsick girls? After I left my king-size bed, 400-thread-count sheets, and gave up two day's worth of hawt green beans? After two nights of sleeping in a sleeping bag, on a bunk bed, in a cabin filled with eight-year-old girls? After following the no-hair dryer rule? After only violating the no-cell phone rule a little bit? After leaving my laptop boyfriend home alone? After I was fed very small portions of burned carbohydrates for two days? After I dealt with sleep-talking girls, girls who needed to go to the bathroom in the wee hours of the night, girls who took turns needing one thing or another, girls who were otherwise perfect but still numbered twelve?

After all of that?

The Girl Scout camp director made us clean latrines. Yes, she did so. And? She wouldn’t check us out of our cabin or return our medical forms to us until she’d inspected said latrines. Inspected. Holding a clipboard. You can’t make up this kind of stuff.

WTFrick?

Now, let me be clear. Just in case Last Place Finisher someone out there is thinking, “So? I've cleaned toilets when I was in the Air Force before I had a housekeeper. Stop your whining.” Yeah, yeah. I’ve cleaned toilets too. At home. One at a time. People? These latrines? The latrines at camp? Five fricking toilets, five fricking sinks, and five fricking showers, used by 48 fricking people who are not members of my immediate family. And? They tried to make me clean out the sanitary napkin disposal containers. I am not making that up. They tried. I had to draw the line there. If I didn’t put anything into those toxic-waste containers, you can be damn skippy sure I was not taking anything out.

This latrine cleaning? That I did? (Oh, yes, I did.) Bothered me on many levels, and I’m wondering what y’all think (and, if you think I’m a whiner, say so in the comments, but just know that I might be invoking my dusty trial-lawyer skillz in a reply). In addition to how gross and disgusting it was to clean a stranger’s hair out of a shower drain (even with two pair of rubber gloves), okay really just one pair of rubber gloves, but still, one of the things that bothered me was that they wanted the girls to do the latrine cleaning.

Now, I’m all about our kids learning responsibility, cleaning up after themselves, serving others, and not having every experience be fairy tales and silver spoons prepared in advance by a team of overachieving mothers. But eight-year-olds cleaning public latrines at camp? The camp provided several bottles of various chemicals (in unmarked plastic bottles), mops, sponges, and gloves. I had twelve girls who may or may not have allergies/sensitivities to chemicals, and I had bottles of cleaning solutions of unknown chemical content. Not to mention that these third-grade girls probably all have little or no experience handling chemicals and toxic waste. So I set them to work sweeping out the cabin, bunks, and porches. I cleaned the latrines. And I left the sanitary napkin disposal containers untouched by me.

Also? I see this as a feminist issue. (Last Place Finisher, don't even start with me. We’ve known each other for a long time, and leopards don’t change their spots.) Tom and Laura go camping with their YMCA Princess tribe several times per year, and Not Even Once has Tom or any of the other dads been told to clean public latrines. Most of the volunteer work in schools and community organizations falls to the hands of women, who to some degree allow themselves to be exploited for the good of the children. Don’t get me wrong. I'm usually the first one to sign up. In the modern workplace, women still earn only 69 cents on the dollar compared to our male counterparts. It is common knowledge that women perform the bulk of unpaid work in our society. And, according to my research (a comparative study between Girl Scouts and YMCA Princesses), only women volunteers are scrubbing latrines.

I plan to do more than simply rant about this and then sign up again for camp again next year. I plan to rant about this and then check in to someplace next year that comes with a bell captain, room service, and Internet access.



Readers, Take the poll:

1. Cleaning latrines at Girl Scout camp is asking too much of volunteer moms.

2. There’s no real difference between trial law and latrine cleaning. Shut up.

3. What? You didn’t pay your housekeeper to come to camp? Suckah.

4. You win for using more question marks than periods in paragraph two.



(Image and cartoon courtesy of Google.)

If Tim Russert Was an Eight-Year-Old Girl

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-One:
If Tim Russert Was an Eight-Year-Old Girl

Tim Russert 1950-2008
(his famous whiteboard is now in the Smithsonian Institute)

According to Cathy A. Malchiodi in Understanding Children's Drawings"Drawing has been undeniably recognized as one of the most important ways that children express themselves and has been repeatedly linked to the expression of personality and emotions. [C]hildren may use drawing to explore, to problem solve, or simply to give visual form to ideas and observations . . . and can be representative of many different aspects of the children who create them."

Blog This Mom! presents . . .
A Peek Inside of Laura's Mind

October 2008


September 2008

January 2008

November 2008

Readers, help a mama out! What do these mean?

Animal, Vegetable, Debacle

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty:
Animal, Vegetale, Debacle
(or How Barbara Kingsolver Kicked My Ass)

Over the summer I read Barbara Kingsolver’s book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Kingsolver brings to the pages her skills as an accomplished novelist, creating a rather charming tale of her family’s one-year project: to eat only locally grown, sustainably farmed, seasonal, and organic foods. Most of what the family eats is grown on their own farm in rural Virginia, and what they do not raise themselves, they buy only from local farmers. They become “locavores” primarily to reduce their carbon footprint, to answer the growing nutritional crisis in our country, and to support their local economy. In so doing they discover rich flavors, valuable nutrients, true friendships, family ties, and wholesome fun.

As the author provides a seasonal accounting of her family’s project, it is flavored with engaging stories of turkey mating, her nine-year-old daughter’s efforts at her egg business, and descriptions of home-made bread, cheese, sausage, and other assorted delectables that one can practically taste. In addition to baking the family's daily bread, Kingsolver’s husband, Steven L. Hopp, adds to the book sidebars chock full of facts, figures, and statistics, revealing how agribusiness puts money mostly in the pockets of the shipping industry, robs our food of its nutritional value, and increases our dependence on fossil fuels. Hopp writes, “Food transport has become a bizarre and profitable economic equation that’s no longer really about feeding anyone: in our own nation we export 1.1 million tons of potatoes, while we also import 1.4 million tons.” The author’s eldest daughter, Camille, adds some delightful essays as she observes the effect her family’s project has on her young conscience, and she shares some excellent recipes.

With thoughts of socially and environmentally conscious living lodged in my brain, coupled with my advancing age and accompanying thoughts that I ought to start focusing on what’s important in life before I die, I started thinking about lifestyle changes. I have grown weary of late with the fast-paced, traffic-jammed, dog-eat-dog, competitive, conspicuous-consumption, way of life in which I am immersed and nobody around me seems to question, at least not much. So when my friend Gary posted some pictures of the farm that his parents have talked about selling, the wheels of my imagination began to turn.

I posted about wanting to buy that farm. Go take a look. It's a quick read, and pictures of the farm are included.

So, if you read my "People, I Just Want to Buy the Farm" post linked above, you will know that my sweet and well-intended thoughts of living a simple life made everyone start mocking me. Seriously. I was mocked. How was I supposed to know what a tractor really does? And now that I know that it does many things, including pulling a tiller, can someone please tell me what a tiller does? And aside from my big straw hat bumping up against the sunroof and my butt crack not being visible, come someone tell me why my Volvo XC90 won’t pull a tiller just as well as any tractor? Whatever a tiller is.

Anyway, since buying a farm in upstate New York was not on the immediate horizon, my husband’s common and economic sense being a major impediment to many of my best ideas, I decided that our family could experience local farming at someone else’s local farm. Julian, California is famous for its apple pie, and every fall, folks can come and pick apples at one of the many orchards in the community. Tom and I loaded Laura and her friend, Lauren, into the Volvo one Sunday morning in October, and off we headed to pick apples at an organic orchard that I found on Google. So began our debacle.

Laura and Lauren
enjoying a simple life.

Note the livestock in the background,
thus fulfilling the "animal" portion
of our Animal, Vegetable, Debacle experience.

If you give a juggler a pancake,
or apples, or anything that
fits in his hands in numbers of three . . .
(Good thing the Lord gave me just two breasts.)

See? I could totally be a farmer
in my Volvo XC90. Boo-ya.

See how nice is the view of the farm

from the driver's seat of a Volvo?

Do you think these kids were in it for
the apple picking or the apple pie?

So . . . how was this a debacle? The ride to Julian took nearly two hours, but due to a traffic accident and a detour route home, it was nearly a four-hour return trip. Hence, my foray into produce picking was a shambles in view of the primary purpose of Kingsolver's mission in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle being to address global warming by not relying on fossil fuel to transport food. And her argument that by supporting local economies, our food costs are cheaper in the end? Uh, not so much around me these parts.

$25 Bag of Apples picked in Julian, California

Time spent in Volvo: 6 hours.
Time spent picking apples: 45 minutes.

Cost of fuel: $95.00
Cost of one bag of self-pick apples: $25.00

Bottom line: Debacle


Readers, do you have any debacles experiences trying to reduce your carbon footprint to share?

A Shout Out to My Peeps

NaBloPoMo Day Nineteen:
A Shout Out to My Peeps

Around the country and across the world, many of you answered the call and joined the impact. You have filled our hearts with joy from your shared stories, gratitude to those of you who organized this effort, hope from those of you who shared your photos, and pride for those of you who raised up your voices.

Here are a few of the photos shared with me:

My Oldest Daughter, Kristen
With Signage Help from Her Partner, Adam
(from San Francisco, California)

Children Should be Seen and Heard
(from San Francisco, California)

Best Sign Ever Award Goes to Blade and Friend
(from San Francisco, California)

Asking the Right Question
(from San Francisco, California)

Building Bridges
(from Omaha, Nebraska)

Rainbows in a Red State
(from Austin, Texas)

Faces of Families, Faces of Love
(from Oakland, California)

The Butterfly Effect in Action

(from San Diego, California)

Yes We Will
(from San Diego, California)

This is a shout out to those of who raised your voices, spread the word, and took action in some way. If you took part in the National Protest on Saturday, November 15, 2008, even (and especially) if your part was simply to spread the word, please leave a link in the comments. I will post it here. Also, please take the badge below (a simple right click will do the trick) for your website as a heartfelt thank you and recognition from Blog This Mom! and Michael Luther Queen.

Blogroll of Peeps
(National Protest Supporters)

California:

Michael Luther Queen at Neely Barrow
Michael took time away from his San Diego real estate business to be one of the main organizers of the largest turnout in the U.S. (an estimated 20,000-25,000 attended the San Diego march). If you or someone you know has any real estate or relocation needs in the area, sending business his way would be a great way to support him.

Kristen at familyjuliebox

Adam at ClunkClunk

Jenn at Juggling Life

Stacey at Tales of the Burbs

Aaryn at San Diego CityBeat's Last Blog on Earth and thematically fickle


Indiana:

Liz at Eternal Lizdom


Nebraska:

Sojourner at What does it all mean, anyway?


Texas:

PhD in Yogurtry at coffeeyogurt


Washington:

Mrs. Chili at The Blue Door

Mrs. G. at Derfwad Manor

Take the badge!

Readers, if you or someone you know stood up for civil rights, please leave a link in the comments.

Faking It

NaBloPoMo Day Eighteen:
PROMPTuesday #31: Faking It

Deb at San Diego Momma is hosting PROMPTuesday #31: Faking It

Deb's prompt: Write a story about someone faking a skill to gain the attention of someone else, which only forces him/her into a situation where s/he must use this skill in order to save him/herself from a bigger threat. Include a cast-iron lamp and two nuns giggling in the corner.

Faking It

She was ill the day that the choir director held tryouts. She had auditioned every year for the past three, but had never been chosen. When she approached the director at the first rehearsal, she had reconciled herself to the expected rejection, but she planned to ask for a make-up audition anyway. It was worth a try. She badly wanted to sing in the choir. Stephen with the black plastic glasses was in it every year, and she wanted to be near him.

As she approached the director, he said shortly, “Soprano, Alto, Tenor or Bass?” She paused, stunned momentarily, but quickly recovered. “Soprano,” she answered, not knowing where she belonged, but instead choosing the voice she’d always wanted to have. “Go take your place,” he snapped, annoyed. She paused again, thinking the better of this opportunity to perchance steal this coveted membership. “I haven’t auditioned yet,” she explained, “I was sick last week.” The director barked, “We’ll audition you after practice. We’re starting now.”

She grabbed a spot on the risers, and the members of the choir who weren’t already in place quickly filled in the rows. The director stood in front, and the pianist began to play the first song. She moved her lips, but did not sing aloud. She was afraid if she did, she’d be called out, in front of everyone, and Stephen. She soon realized that the girls on either side of her would know that she was lip-syncing, but nobody else would be the wiser, and she might be allowed to stay that way, at least through the first rehearsal. One week near Stephen was better than nothing.

At the end of practice, she filed out of the risers along with the group. She was emotionally exhausted from faking and waiting to be caught, but she had just enough energy to walk right past the choir director without asking for her tryout. The director was absorbed in conversation with the pianist, heads bent over sheet music. She walked out of the auditorium, looked up at the afternoon sky, and noticed a couple of dark clouds in the distance, like two nuns in black habits, perched in a corner, giggling over her dilemma.

The following week when she showed up for choir practice, the sky was cloudy again, and a dim yellow glow outside of the auditorium came from one in a pair of old cast-iron lamps hanging on a wall on either side of the double doors. Stephen was standing under the lit lamp. He walked in with her, and she wondered if he had timed his entrance with hers, if he’d been waiting for her. But he acted nonchalant, and said nothing as they walked to the risers. She momentarily wondered if the director would remember that she had not auditioned, but he said nothing and neither did she. She took her place on the risers, this time on the very end of the first row of sopranos. Stephen was in the end position on the other side of the risers, with the bass singers.

From behind the black music stand in front of the group, the choir director announced, “We are going to run through the music once as a group . . . .” He broke off, distracted, and the pianist began playing. She lip-synced again, this time with feeling. She might just get away with this after all, she thought. How bad could it be standing in the choir all year, just a few feet away from Stephen, week after week? And was he looking at her just now, from the corner of his eye? It was hard to tell with the glare from his glasses under the florescent auditorium lights. At the end of the first song, the director tapped the black music stand and announced, “Now we are going to audition for the soprano/bass duet. Let’s start with the singers on either end and work our way to the middle.”

Family Dynamics: From the Fly on the Wall, Episode 2

NaBloPoMo Day Seventeen:
Family Dynamics: From the Fly on the Wall, Episode 2

____________________________

Laura is getting ready for school.

Mom [calling from her bedroom into Laura’s bedroom down the hall]: “Laura, we need to leave in a few minutes. Are you brushing your teeth?”

Laura: “Yes. Can’t you hear me taking the cap off of my toothpaste?”

____________________________

Adam and Cheri are shopping at Whole Foods. Cheri's cell phone rings.

Cheri [looks at caller ID and answers]: “Hey, Kristen.”

Adam [holding the grocery list]: “Did Kristen forget to put something on the list?”

Cheri: “Yes, she wants you to get a bottle of surface cleaner, like Method, or anything that doesn’t have . . .”

Adam [interrupts]: “I know. I know. She wants organic, free-range, sustainably farmed surface cleaner. I’m on it.”

____________________________

Courtney and Cheri are chatting. Cheri is asking if Courtney has read Cheri's Slow Cook Thursday at Derfwad Manor, in which she describes her infatuation with a certain bass player at her church (a bass player who dresses in black, has a shaved head, and may or may not have a pierced ear).

Cheri: "Did you read my Slow Cook Thursday?"

Courtney: "Yes. And, Mom, I’m not calling the bass player 'Dad.'"

____________________________

Cheri is talking to Courtney last week and the call drops. Laura is sitting nearby.

Cheri [calls Courtney back]: "Sorry about the dropped call. It happens all the time. AT&T totally blows, but my iPhone is worth every bit of trouble AT&T dishes out. So every time calls drop, I just call back. I love my iPhone boyfriend and I will never ever break up with it no matter how much I dislike AT&T's service."

Laura: "Mom, I’m not calling the iPhone 'Dad.'"

____________________________

For new readers, if you liked this episode, check out the series premiere: Family Dynamics: From the Fly on the Wall

Readers, what has the fly on the wall
heard at your house lately?

Happy Birthday Trish!

NaBloPoMo Day Sixteen:
Happy Birthday Trish!

My dear friend Trish is having a special birthday today, so I'm borrowing a gift idea from my oldest daughter, Kristen. For Tom's 40th birthday, Kristen gave Tom a list entitled "40 Reasons Why I Love My Dad." So here is my list for Trish's birthday. See if you can figure out Trish's age. (Sorry, Trish.)


"Reasons Why I Love Trish"

1. She goes by different names for different people/periods of time in her life: Trish, Patti, Mom, and Gran.

2. She has hands that move as gracefully as a ballerina dances.

3. She loves soundtracks and show tunes.

4. She climbed the Great Wall of China with Henry.

5. She cried at the end of The Other Boleyn Girl.

6. Jamie

7. Anthony

8. Brandon

9. Henry

10. Tatum

11. Chase

12. She always laughs at my dumb jokes.

13. She has read my blog since the very first post.

14. She always asks me when I’m going to write that book.

15. She takes my telephone calls when I’m low with shoulder pain, high on Vicodin, and crying.

16. She French braids Laura's hair.

17. She created this beautiful shirt for my Brownie Troop.

18. She created this beautiful shirt for my wife.

19. She created this bag for the San Diego Blog Bitches BitchHer 2008.

20. She created the masthead for my blog, making one of my crappy pictures look hawt.

21. She is an incredible photographer.

22. She has a Mac and knows how to use it.

23. She has a black (duh) iPhone and knows how to use it.

24. She introduced me to Jared.

25. She introduced me to Don.

26. She knows what Don would say in any given situation.

27. She never judges me.

28. She never judges anyone, although sometimes I wish she would.

29. She has saucy hair.

30. She rocked the orange toenail polish last fall.

31. She always tells me which Oprah shows to be sure to watch.

32. She is the only person I could stand to drive with all the way to Las Vegas and back.

33. She has the only kid I could stand to drive with all the way to Las Vegas and back.

34. She gets up off the couch and meets me for sushi in ten minutes flat when I ask.

35. She created Tuesday night folder dinners with Laura and Henry.

36. She rocks the thrift store post office uniform dress.

37. She rocks the $17.98 dress from Wal-Mart.

38. She has sweet glasses, and if she doesn’t give them to Jamie, I want them.

39. She always sees the good in people.

40. She loves going to the theater with our kids.

41. She says “gobsmacked.”

42. She was David in the Valley of Elah.

43. She has sandals that look like the ones David wore when he was in the Valley of Elah.

44. She rocks the sandals that look like the ones David wore when he was in the Valley of Elah.

45. She always says a prayer when she passes a traffic accident.

46. She never carries a purse larger than a VHS tape.

47. She tried to talk me out of buying a car with a V8 engine for environmental reasons. (She was right.)

48. We always get addicted to the same drink, which we can never get enough of until we’re sick of it. (Our current favorite beverage is Pellegrino.)

49. She has a seriously awesome rack.

50. She might be the most loving human being I’ve ever met.


Readers, please join me in a Happy ??th Birthday wish for Trish!

Tom Speaks

NaBloPoMo Day 15: Tom Speaks

My wife will be without her computer for one agonizing day this month so I volunteered to do a guest post on her blog, it being NaBloPoMo after all. Fortunately for me this is not a prompt day, so instead of putting out I can rely on prior work.

About seven years ago I wrote a poem for my wife entitled If I had a Boo, which I have inserted below. Loyal readers of her blog may have some insight into hidden meanings; for all others, here’s hoping you appreciate nonsensical rhyming. Oh, and at the risk of stating the obvious, “Boo” is a term of endearment. Anyway, one night in bed I recited it to her from memory. I remember hoping she liked it.

If I had a Boo

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
With a mind that’s always in motion
Thinking things through
Yet quick on the draw
And a wisdom as deep as the ocean.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
With a heart as big as a house
With a white picket fence
And a huge backyard
And a family that goes by Rouse.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
With eyes that still know how to smile
Though if you looked close
You’d come away sure
That their depth must be measured in miles.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
She’d strive to get everything done
In her clamor to see
That our needs were all met
She might leave out Number One.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
With a pair of gems shining bright
Through clouds thick and thin
They would always be there
No matter the dark of the night.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
Who could give me a child so gifted
That while I pick her up
She need only smile
And I am the one who is lifted.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
She’d be willing to look deep inside
She could talk to me
And show me the parts
That are so much simpler to hide.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
She could teach me of love that is real
Not always a high
Yet floats far above
Simply refusing to feel.

If I had a Boo she’d be just like you
She’d be all that and she’d love me too.
What a wonderful thing that I already do.

I have on occasion written other poems, including Courtney is a Cuddle Puff. It’s about Courtney (who, by the way, now goes by Punky Puff). I wrote it when she was a little girl. To this day I don’t know whether she liked the poem, but I have my suspicions.

I was deeply troubled to find that I could not find one about K-Dawg (Kristen). So I wrote one called Changes in the Force. I emailed it to her and she was touched.

Laura? ‘Nuff said. To know me is to know I love Laura. So, yes, I have written a poem or two about her.

I would like to think you can say it with words, even if you don’t say “the words” enough. While I wouldn’t wish some of my poetry on anyone, I sincerely hope that some of it reminds my family just how much I love them.

Why Protest?

NaBloPoMo Day Fourteen:

Why Protest?

This message is brought to you by
Blog This Mom! and Michael Luther Queen . . .

. . . with a little help from
Martin Luther King.

Why protest?

As in so many past experiences, our hopes bad been blasted, and the shadow of deep disappointment settled upon us. We had no alternative except to prepare for direct action, whereby we would present our very bodies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and the national community.

[Protest brings injustice] out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

Let us all hope that the dark clouds of [prejudice] will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.

Excerpts from Martin Luther King’s
Letter from Birmingham Jail, April 16, 1963
I Have a Dream - Address at March on Washington, August 28, 1963

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Join the Impact!

For information about the nationwide protest in your city: CLICK HERE

If you cannot participate on Saturday, you can still help spread the word on your blogs, Facebook, and through Google and Yahoo groups.

For Facebook: CLICK HERE

For badges for websites and blogs: CLICK HERE

Readers, are you in?

Take My Initiative, Please

NaBloPoMo Day Thirteen:
Take My Initiative, Please

In response to my post yesterday, Proposition 8: Be the Change, in which I asserted my view that the California initiative process is flawed, my dear old law-school buddy, who goes by the name Last Place Finisher in the Blogosphere, ended his comment by asking:

Do we need an initiative to fix initiatives?

To answer that question I responded with a hearty "heh" or two, and I said some other stuff. I would also add the following about voter initiatives in general, and Proposition 8 in particular:

Power to the people is hardly revolutionary and is important part of democratic self-government. However, James Madison and Alexander Hamilton pointed out that pure democracy would produce a tyranny of the majority, and only representative government could both implement the people's will and filter out the passions and prejudices of majority factions. It is obvious that the importance of having some form of direct democracy is sometimes at odds with the having a representative government intended to protect individual interests. The remedy for this dichotomy is in the proper structure of government, according to Madison and others. The principles of direct democracy versus representative government are balanced between the powers of the state and federal government, and checked through the legislative and judicial branches of each.

For example, the federal government has no mechanism for lawmaking directly by the people. Any change in positive law must come through Congress, or in the case of a constitutional amendment, in state legislatures or conventions. However, in about half of the states, including California, direct legislation through popular vote is allowed. The initiative process in California has been described by some constitutional scholars as one that is on the liberal side of the direct-democracy spectrum. In any event, while the scholarly debate about whether and how it might be overhauled is not a new subject, the passing of Proposition 8 has highlighted the need to examine the problems with California’s initiative process more closely and make changes more immediately.

Meanwhile, courts must fulfill their purpose in our system of checks and balances. In this case, the California Supreme Court must decide whether Proposition 8 violates the state constitution, procedurally and substantively. In my humble opinion, it does. On the federal level, the U.S. Supreme Court must eventually decide the issue of whether denying state licenses to same-sex marriage partners is a violation of the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution. In my humble opinion, it is.

Although we cannot take away the flaws in the California voter initiative process overnight, we can take the initiative to effectuate change in another and more immediate way. We can Join the Impact and be a part of nationwide protest against Proposition 8 on Saturday, November 15.

Join the Impact!

For information about the nationwide protest in your city: CLICK HERE

If you cannot participate on Saturday, you can still help by spreading the word on your blogs, Facebook, and through Google and Yahoo groups.

For Facebook: CLICK HERE

For badges for websites and blogs: CLICK HERE

Readers, are you in?

Proposition 8: Be the Change

NaBloPoMo Day Twelve
Proposition 8: Be the Change

I'm hardly the first to recognize that the California initiative process is flawed. California permits constitutional amendment by a simple majority vote in a referendum. In the case of Proposition 8, it was a proposed constitutional amendment to take away the civil rights of a minority group, which civil rights expressly and properly belonged to that group according the California Supreme Court.

The requirement of obtaining signatures reflecting 8% of the voters to put a constitutional amendment into a ballot proposition (5% is all that is required for a law) is a relatively easy task these days. A well-funded group can readily harness the power of modern electronic communication (from emails to television ads), making the California constitution vulnerable to the tyranny of the majority – the very thing the Framers sought to protect individuals from when drafting the U.S. Constitution. In the case of Proposition 8, the simple majority of voters needed to pass it were lead by a group with an admitted religious agenda, a large amount of out-of-state funding, and a campaign fraught with untruths and scare tactics.

Proposition 8 would not be the first improper voter initiative to be struck down by the California Supreme Court. Meanwhile, is there anything standing in the way of an effort to sponsor another ballot initiative to again amend the California Constitution, this time to define marriage as between any two consenting adults? So then would a game of constitutional amendment ping pong begin, with the civil rights of an entire group of people serving as the ball in play.

The procedural problems with Proposition 8 will not be the only issue held up for legal scrutiny, and the matter will not be considered only locally. The substantive civil rights issues extant in denying same-sex partners the same rights to marriage that heterosexual partners have will be more closely examined in a national spotlight. Historically, we know that the major civil rights cases decided by the U.S. Supreme Court started with unconstitutional ballot initiatives, state laws, state courts, and/or state constitutions. Noted examples are Brown v. Board of Education (1954) (finding state segregation of schools, i.e., “separate but equal” to be unconstitutional) and Loving v. Virginia (1967) (finding state anti-miscegenation laws to be unconstitutional). Law Professor Jennifer E. Rothman opined over at The Huffington Post that Proposition 8 "may ultimately lead to a decision under the U.S. Constitution holding all marriage bans in all states unconstitutional. The federal constitution also protects privacy, liberty and equal protection and even conservative judges have not looked kindly on majority votes taking away rights." I believe that California will become the ground upon which equal protection for same-sex marriage partners will be built nationwide.

Meanwhile, just like racial segregation in schools and other public places was not a black issue, neither is taking away the right to marriage for same-sex partners an LGBTQ issue. Our constitution is supposed to protect everyone equally, and when it doesn’t, we the people have to stand up and do something about it. I received many emails and comments to my posts on this subject, and I have read many blog posts in support of civil rights for same-sex marriage partners. Many of you said that if you lived in California, you would have voted NO on Proposition 8. Well, now we all have the chance to say NO, to raise our voices against discrimination.

On Saturday, November 15, a national protest will be taking place simultaneously in all 50 states in the U.S. Some international locations are also participating. Please visit the website at Join the Impact and find out where to meet in your area and/or what you can do to participate in this historic event. This is a call to action. Whether or not you can or will be marching for civil rights on Saturday, you can still help. We can harness the power of electronics too, with emails, websites and blogs, Facebook, and Google or Yahoo groups. Spread the word.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

10:30AM West Coast

11:30AM Mountain
12:30PM Central
1:30PM East Coast

The ability of all loving adult partners to obtain a state marriage license in California may have been temporarily suspended, but the love we share can never be taken away. Rather, our love for each other, and the desire for equal protection for every last one of us, is now firmly planted in the fertile soil of California to spread across the nation. Share the message. Spread the word. Be the change that you want to see.

Over the Hills and Far Away

NaBloPoMo Day Eleven:
Over the Hills and Far Away

Deb at San Diego Momma is hosting PROMPTuesday #30: Over the Hills and Far Away. Deb's prompt today is to make up a story inspired by the picture below, a painting done by her friend Rebecca. Rebecca passed away yesterday.




Over the Hills and Far Away, To Grandmother's House We Go
by Cheri

Elsie sat on the blue naugahyde sofa. She called it the davenport in the days when it was in her home. Now it was in a mobile home park in Hawthorne, California. Elsie sat upon it, finally defeated for good. She had given up, really years before, but her defeat was now unmasked. She would die in that trailer. Lawrence Welk was on the television set in the corner of the small room, and bubbles floated across the black and white screen. It was a modern television set at the time, encased in a wood-grained pressboard cabinet. A pot of artificial violets sat on top of it. Illusory indications of comfort like that were about.

He sat in his recliner across from her, cruel, vacant eyed, and quiet. He smoked. He drank coffee with milk and Sweeta. He wore dark polyester-blend pants, house slippers, and a sleeveless white undershirt. Grey whiskers spread across his jaws, neck, and chin. His hair had not been washed in days, perhaps weeks. He sat. He schemed. He’d always been one, a schemer. There were businesses started and failed, and there would be another when Elsie was gone. There were marriages started and failed, but his to Elsie would be the last. There were children and stepchildren started and failed, and although he would die alone someday, the damage from his cruelty would linger in them.

Day after day, they went through the motions. She was dressed, fed, and given her various prescriptions, including a daily dose of insulin injected into her belly. She would sometimes muster a smile with her lips, but her eyes were always pleading, defeated. She would sometimes utter a sentence or even a joke, but her voice was always whining, defeated. She no longer read it having once committed much of it to memory, but would sometimes hold her Bible with its soft worn cover and gilt-edged pages. Her sister pleaded with him in earnest to let her take Elsie home with her, but he wouldn’t allow it. Her daughter made pleas too, but not so passionately. The daughter had long ago surrendered her life to perceived helplessness.

There was no autopsy when Elsie passed away, an elderly diabetic woman. She was laid to rest in a Southern California cemetery, the last plot in a row of them, next to a building. It was a double crypt, and eventually he would be buried on top of Elsie. The location of Elsie’s plot, and her coffin’s position in it, bothered her daughter. But however bitterly, all she ever did was complain. Later, years and years later, he would tell his children that one day he had decided to stop giving Elsie her insulin. He said he thought it was best, all things considered.

Help a Tranny Head Out

NaBloPoMo Day Ten:
Help a Tranny Head Out

I posted about hawt green beans the other day. And then G from Doves Today posted about green beans too. The whole hawt green beans thing started with a Tranny Head post over at Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers. If you haven’t checked out Tranny Head, her baby Sumo, and the hot blog design created for her by Nap Warden, heck, do it. Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers is a smokin’ hawt blog, with flames to prove it. I think Tranny Head is hawt too, but I can only go by pictures I’ve seen of her trantastic rack. She keeps her tranny head a big secret. It’s how she rolls. Totally hawt, huh?

Anywho, when Tranny Head saw my post and G’s post, she emailed me and was all “Two posts about green beans” and all “Hawt” and all “Urban Dictionary someday!”

So I got to thinking.

Since my work to defeat Proposition 8 went down in a statewide-violation-of-civil-rights-ball-of-flame, maybe I could start a campaign for someone else. (This doesn’t mean, by the way, that the Proposition 8 battle for civil rights is over by a long shot. No sir! No ma'am! California just became the fertile ground upon which nationwide civil rights for same-sex marriage partners will be built. More on that later. Boo-ya.) So I emailed Tranny Head with a proposition of my own about hawt green beans.

Dear Tranny Head:

We have much to be thankful for in our country. George Bush is packing up his shit. And there will be hawtness in the oval office once again.

Let's throw a green bean party to celebrate. How about on Thanksgiving Day everyone will post his or her hawtest green bean story?

Are you in?

Signed: Thankful for Hawt Green Beans

And that darling Tranny Head? She was undeterred by my losing campaign record. Hawt, huh? She liked the idea of spreading hawt green beans across the land. She posted breaking news of the Hawt Green Beans Challenge on her blog today!

Click on over to Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers. Say hello to Tranny Head. And if you join the Hawt Green Bean Challenge, let her know so you can enter her contest. If you join the cause, you can take Hawt Green Bean Challenge badge over at her place or from here:



Hawt Green Beans are delicious served warm, on blogs, and in the Urban Dictionary! Help a Tranny Head out. Spread the word. Spill the beans.


Readers: Are you in for Tranny Head's Hawt Green Beans Challenge?

(And here's another challenge: Can you write a post in which you use "hawt" more times than I just did?)

Same-Sex Marriage and Gluten-Free Diets

NaBloPoMo Day Nine:
Same-Sex Marriage and
Gluten-Free Diets

Inquiring minds want to know: How did she work same-sex marriage and gluten-free diets into one post? It was like writing a Seinfeld episode, but a decade too late and without pay. But read on anyway if you don't mind.


My wife and I almost met for the first time in person over a cup of coffee. Almost because she was at one coffee place, and I was at another. Who do you think went to the wrong place? The woman who drops cupcakes, loses her keys, and has only one lightbulb in her house? Or me, the über-organized, recovering volunteer, former lawyer? Yeah, so, I went to the wrong place.

We courted. Briefly. We fell in love. Eventually. But first she was all girl-crush on Bossy this, and Bossy's sleeping at my house that. Whatever. I bided my time. I heard that Bossy was beautiful, warm, funny, and real. B.O.R.I.N.G. Bossy left town. Good riddance. Out of sight, out of mind. Except for Bossy's pesky newly re-designed awesome blog, she'd be all but forgotten. And when Bossy left? I moved in for the kill. Where moved in for the kill equals my wearing a team katydidnot T-shirt to our most recent group date. (Also, did you note how I did that "equals" thing that Bossy does? Bossy, watch out. First I stole your girl crush, next your blog.) My wife? Saw the T-shirt. And married me on the spot.

Tech Support? Bah. You'll need more than a T-shirt to take me down. And? You got nothing on me with your accent, motorcycle, and penis. She may sleep with you. She loves me. Which is why we tied the knot before Proposition 8 was passed (and now we look forward to the U.S. Supreme Court smackdown of this violation of our civil rights, by the way. A rant post about that is forthcoming.) Tech Support, you are so hosed because I have a secret weapon: I Can Read Her Mind. That's a skill you will never have because: P-E-N-I-S. Moreover, don't even try to neutralize me with your computer-repair skills or buying her a black iPhone for Christmas. (TS: Make sure it is black. Duh. I have to spell it out everything for you -- with links -- because: You Can't Read Her Mind Like Me. So, yeah, black iPhone. B.L.A.C.K.). Tech Support, there are two other reasons you can't be rid of me, ever, mwah ha ha. One is Laura. And the other is the Girl. They are in love too -- With. Each. Other. (Spelling it out for you there, Tech Support, did you catch that?). Our daughters fell in love, got married and had three children, sleep in a nest, and trot the globe together. Tech Support? These are the ties that bind.

Meanwhile, behind my back, in a conversation with karla with a k, which wasn't actually a conversation, more like a handing-karla-her-ass-on-a-plate, my beloved wife asked,

"And about reading labels...can anyone tell me what a gluten is? Really, anyone?"

Yes, my love, my katydidnot, I can tell you about glutens (I'm guessing Tech Support cannot even pronounce glutens, boo-ya to you, Tech Support, boo-ya). Here is an article I wrote for a friend's website on the subject, reprinted here, because katydidnot, my wife, my love, you asked.

Just what is gluten? And does anyone need to be free of it?

Gluten is a form of protein. It is found in wheat and other grains such as barley, spelt, kamut, and rye. Persons with Celiac Disease (a digestive disease that affects the small intestine and interferes with absorption of nutrients) and Dermatitis Herpetiformis (a severe skin disease) must follow a gluten-free diet. A gluten-free diet means avoiding most grain, pasta, cereal, and many processed foods. Although medical researchers say that over 100,000 Americans have been diagnosed with Celiac Disease, they estimate that if everyone with the disease were diagnosed, the numbers would be closer to three million.

So what about those who do not have Celiac Disease? Many people still suffer from some degree of gluten intolerance or sensitivity, causing symptoms ranging from bloating to rashes. Whether or not you have a serious disease or even a mild sensitivity, living gluten-free provides health benefits. People who follow gluten-free diets feel better simply because they eat fewer fast and processed foods. Lean proteins, fresh fruits, and vegetables can be enjoyed in abundance, and that is a good thing. Gluten-free products are becoming easier to find in major supermarkets, health-food stores, and even Trader Joe’s. Remember: Gluten-free does not mean sugar-free or fat-free, so read labels carefully!

(Sources: www.celiac.com, www.glutenfree.com, USA Today)

Readers: Any random thoughts today that you can weave together like a wannabe Seinfeld episode?

They Aren't All Pool Boys You Know

NaBloPoMo Day Eight:
They Aren't All Pool Boys You Know

Today's post is up over at San Diego Blog Bitches.

Click on over and meet my law-school chum, Kirk. You'll totally lurve him. And he's hawt, even if he isn't black.

My Boyfriend and My President are Black

NaBloPoMo Day Seven:
My Boyfriend and My President are Black

A good friend of mine called the morning after the election and said something like, “Why can’t we transcend discussion of race? Why do we have to keep talking about Obama as the first black President?”

Because. I like it. So I’m not going to transcend the topic of race. Not today. Not this week. And maybe not even next week. (Actually, I plan to celebrate this moment in history for the rest of my life.)

I want to talk about my black President. And he’s mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Not like that. He’s Michelle’s husband. He’s my President. Yours too. Our black President. My black President talked openly about race before he was my black President. (He was probably outted by someone for being black and had to do it. Heh.) I want to talk about him. Well, really that he's black.

Right now I want to celebrate the feeling of hope, the anticipation of change, and the dawning of a new day in history. I want to talk about my black President today because this election marked the first moment in history that we can stop talking about the first black President and finally start having one.

Yay.

And? Besides? Can you imagine a world without black?

Although it would not be fun without black, let's imagine it anyway! Heh.

Jack Black would be just Jack, possibly finding himself with Jill, or in-the-box, or nimble, or quick, or jumping over the candlestick.

Black Friday would just be Friday, and the holiday-shopping season would have no place to start.

Black Sabbath would be just Sabbath, and Ozzy Osbourne would become a day of the week for rest and worship.

The Black Panthers would be just the Panthers, a television-series high-school football team -- no street cred in that.

BlackBerry would be just Berry, which actually might be a better name for a wireless handheld device, so maybe that’s one place we could lose black and be okay.

Decker would be lonely in the tool shed.

And, I think we can all agree, that my boyfriend would not be as beautiful if he were white.



Tell me Readers, what would your world be without black?

I Had a Nightmare

NaBloPoMo Day Six:
I Had a Nightmare

You thought this was going to be about politics, huh?

Or maybe religion?

Nope.

It's about the other one.

You know what I mean.

(My mother-in-law and my children should avert their eyes now.)

I had a nightmare. In my dream I found out that Tom had “visited” a hooker. You dream-interpreting bloggers may feel free to go to town with this one. I think I dreamed it because we’ve been having lots of hawt "green beans" these days, and I had even written a post about having lots of hawt green beans when you’re married, which I may or may not eventually post here depending upon how desperate to meet the daily NaBloPoMo daily post quota gutsy I'm feeling at the time. Tom, perhaps attempting to create a diversion, told me that he thinks I dreamed he went to a hooker because of a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit rerun we watched the day before. Uh huh. So. Whatever my dream may or may not have meant, when I awoke I was all emotional and told Tom that my dream felt real.

Cheri [whiny]: “I’m all sad and mad at you.”

Tom [lovingly]: I’m sorry you’re sad, but you can’t be mad at me for something I didn’t do.”

Cheri [whiny]: Well, the dream felt real, so I’m sad and mad.

Tom [tenderly]: I love you.

Cheri [still whiny]: “Tom, tell me you’ve never had sex with a hooker. Please.”

Tom [smiling and feigning an Arkansas accent]: “I never had sexual relations with a hooker.”

Cheri: “Crap.”



Readers: When was the last time you had green beans a nightmare that felt real?

Dear Tim Russert

NaBloPoMo Day Five:
Dear Tim Russert

I Want a Cotton Pickin' Gay Parade

NaBloPoMo Day Four:
I Want a Cotton Pickin' Gay Parade

In yesterday's post I asked if anyone overheard or said anything funny or ironic before the election. Here you have it, straight from the comment section:

From Katy (who was at a street corner holding a "NO on Prop 8" sign):

Joey: "Doesn't my sign look great? I used puffy paint."

Matt: "I didn't use puffy paint on mine. I wanted to use glitter, but he wouldn't let me."

From San Diego Momma:

My 60-year-old dad, who remarried a 65-year-old woman ten years ago, said, "People should only get married if they can procreate."

From Helen E.M. Wright:

Yesterday, someone said to my husband, "Yeah, Palin's hot! That's why I'm voting for her. Plus if the 'other guy' gets in he'll have us real Americans pickin' cotton."

From yesterday's Blog This Mom! post:

Woman holding a “Yes on 8” sign: “I really hope that if we lose those gays and lesbians don’t rub it in our faces by celebrating in the streets with one of those parades.”

So . . .
if my vote is counted, all I can say is that I'm hoping for a cotton pickin' gay parade.

Down on the Corner

NaBloPoMo Day Three:
Down on the Corner

Overheard on the street corner this morning:

Tom [to no one in particular]: “How does Proposition 8 mean freedom of religion?”

Man holding “Yes on 8” sign [steps forward]: I’d like to explain it to you. The Catholic Church is no longer free to operate its adoption services because Massachusetts required it to place children with gay and lesbian couples.”*

Tom: Publicly funded adoption services, but aren’t you asking for a law to be passed for everyone that is based upon your particular religious beliefs?

Man: “Well, that’s true.”

________________________________

Woman holding a “Yes on 8” sign: “You people keep stealing our signs.”

Mike: “Do you mean me? I don’t steal signs. You realize that No on 8 signs are being stolen too, don’t you?”

Woman [looks skeptical]: “You people have stolen three signs from me.”

________________________________

Man holding a “Yes on 8” sign: “It is illegal for you to stand on the median.”

Woman holding "NO on 8" sign: “It is? A sheriff just drove by and didn’t say anything.”

Man [pulls out cell phone]: “Hello, I’m calling to report a protester standing on the median. [Pauses and listens.] I'm calling because it isn’t safe for her to stand there.”

________________________________

Woman holding a “Yes on 8” sign: “I really hope that if we lose those gays and lesbians don’t rub it in our faces by celebrating in the streets with one of those parades.”

Cherin Brockovich and Michael Luther Queen
say, "Vote NO on 8."

Readers: Did you overhear or say anything funny or ironic today, this glorious and thankfully last day before the election?

___________________
*Here is a link to an article de-bunking this and other myths.

One Toe Out of the Closet

NaBloPoMo Day Two:
One Toe Out of the Closet

Ever since I met Deb at San Diego Momma, I have felt the urge to come out of the closet.

Hold on.

Don’t go there.

Just because I wrote this, and love her, and her, and married her, does not mean I’m a closet lesbian. (And, even if I were a closet lesbian, no Jason, you can’t have Tom, you’re married and so is he.)

Deb at San Diego Momma is a self-admitted hypochondriac. (Except that I don't think she is, and I always try to help her diagnose what ails her.) Not that I haven’t always been one, it is just that Deb has made me feel free to admit it. So, out of the closet I come to admit that I too am a hypo . . .

Wait a minute.

[Thinking.]

Actually? I’m admitting nothing. If those years in law school taught me anything, it was never to make an admission against self-interest.

So let’s get one thing (besides me) straight: When I say that I am afflicted with some weird medical condition, I am afflicted.

Now that we have that out of the way, can someone please tell me what is wrong with my big toe?

Fig. 1 (unretouched photo):

Fig. 2 (afflicted toe compared to healthy toe):

Here is what I have come up with so far:

Symptoms: Sudden onset of pain and swelling and redness. The redness is spreading and the pain has grown worse. It all started on Wednesday with just hurting and complaining.

Solution: Google symptoms.

Tentative Google Diagnosis: Gout.

But? Gout is usually found in patients who are (1) old men, (2) with high blood pressure, and (3) who drink lots of alcohol. I am an (1) old woman, (2) with the blood pressure of a corpse, and (3) I drink lots of green tea. WTFrick?

So, I’m thinking that if it isn’t gout, it might be either necrotizing fasciitis or cellulitis, and, either way, I’m hosed.

Readers, what do you think?

Please take the poll:

1. Gout – Make retirement home reservations now.
2. Necrotizing faciitis – Order casket now.
3. Cellulitis – That’s what you get for voting NO on Prop 8.
4. Idiopathic sore toe – Shut up and get a pedicure.

Pumpkin Tales -- History and Blogging in the Making

NaBloPoMo Day One:
Pumpkin Tales -- History and Blogging in the Making

Poor Richard was a pseudonym of Benjamin Franklin, which he used for the purpose of publishing an almanac between the years 1732 to 1758. Colonial readers used almanacs for weather forecasts, household hints, puzzles, and other amusing features. Back in the day, almanacs were sort of like blogs.




"Harry Hippie" is a song written by Jim Ford in the ‘70s. The Hippie movement that began in the ‘60s was initially used to describe beatniks who had moved into San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district, but the movement expanded around the world. Hippies were known to create their own communities, like bloggers.




Napoleon Dynamite is a 2004 independent film that became something of a cult classic. Napoleon’s friend, Pedro, decides to run for class president. Against all odds and a popular girl, he wins. Although Napoleon Dynamite was not a big-studio release, “Vote for Pedro” T-shirts and quirky quotes from the film became commonplace. Similarly, although not everyone blogs, most recognize the cultural impact.




The Statue of Liberty was given by France to the United States in 1886. The statue stands on Liberty Island in New York Harbor, and welcomes visitors, immigrants, and travelers returning home. The blogging community welcomes visitors (readers), immigrants (new bloggers), and travelers returning home (NaBloPoMo participants who have come back for another month of daily posting).




Starting in 1969, the number of burgers served by you-know-who was displayed in billions. In 1993, the total reached 100 billion, and the signs were changed to display "over 99 billion" permanently. 133 million blogs have been indexed by Technorati since 2002. In the burgers versus bloggers race? Burgers are in the lead, but they got a pretty big head start.

__________________

Readers, did you see or carve a clever pumpkin? Did you find it on someone's blog or put a picture on yours? Put a link in the comments so we can all go take a look.

CREDITS: The pumpkins pictured above were on display at Laura's school yesterday, created by some very clever middle-school students.