1. This story on AOL states that America's favorite book is the Bible. The Reuters version of it is here.
2. Men like Lord of the Rings and women like Gone with the Wind, the story says.
3. It doesn't say if people actually read these books (including the Bible). All three of those books are not the easiest reading.
4. According to this old Washington Post article, only 45 percent of Americans read anything in 1999.
5. This up-to-date Reuters article says that one third of Americans read more than 10 books a year.
6. That means about 66 percent of Americans read less than 10 books a year.
7. This article says that women read more than men and they like mysteries, romances and religious books.
8. Here is a list of books banned somewhere by somebody in the United States. J. K. Rowling has four books on the list. Not everyone loves Harry Potter.
9. Wikipedia also has a banned book list, but it includes bannings in other countries as well as the U.S. It's a long list.
10. This website is a comprehensive look at censorship.
11. The ALA has a banned books week every year (but it is not this week). They have information about banned books at this site too.
12. I have read a number of the banned books listed on these websites. I also have enough sense to not read something that I find offensive. Personally I think if someone finds a book offensive they should just not read it, and if the person is a student (or a parent) then he or she should ask for a different book.
13. If so many people do not read, and if the top three books cited are books that can be difficult to read even for people who read a lot, then do you think these top three books - including the Bible - are really being read?
I am still not an official Thursday Thirteen participant, but you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. One day I will figure out how to play properly.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
A Question of Race
Race relations are much in the news these days, thanks to the presidential run of Barack Obama.
I grew up and have spent most of my life in the confines of a generally white area. My county is about 94 percent white. Most of the more rural communities surrounding the city are about the same, or less. The city is about two-thirds white.
My interactions with people of color (or black people, I honestly don't know what to call anyone these days) were few. My family was like most in those times - racist and bigoted. You know the kind - black folks eat watermelon and fried chicken and have lots of babies so they can draw welfare. It's an unfortunate attitude that I fear continues to this day.
I started school in 1968. Virginia as late as 1964 was struggling with race relations in public schools. According to this Wikipedia article, many counties tried to get around the federal laws by creating private schools and academies. Segregation existed then. I think it still does, covertly.
As it is with many things, my thoughts and feelings about race have been formed from my own experiences, some of which I am going to share.
My learning career began with kindergarten at East Salem, for at that time this is where we lived. Salem had only a year before become a city.
I think I was in a summer school type of situation for kindergarten, but I am not certain. In any event, I rode a bus from elementary school to my grandmother's house every day.
One day the bus driver said she had to pick up kids at the vocational school across the street. Normally the bus was filled with white students under the age of 12 or so.
The students she picked up were black male teenagers. I do not know if these were the first black persons I had seen up close, but these fellows scared all of us.
They snarled and got down in our faces, hissed at us and left us petrified. They took our notebooks from our hands and tossed them in the aisle. They were loud and boisterous and went out of their way to make us scream. Young girls, myself included, sat frozen in terror, holding hands, tears streaming down our faces. I can still hear the bus driver yelling, "Ya'll sit down back there, stop scaring them kids," as she continued along the route.
Stop after stop, little boys and girls fled the bus in terror and ran sobbing into their mother's arms. I did the same; I remember fleeing as quickly as my little legs would carry me, running the half-block to my grandmother's front porch. I flung myself into her bosom and cried as I told her what had happened.
I remember my uncle, a teenager himself, cursing because these youth had terrorized me. Had he been there, he proclaimed, he'd have stopped it.
Doubtless the phone at the school rang a lot the next morning and the principal and other officials received angry visits from parents, although I do not recall what happened in my own family.
Nothing like that ever occurred again in the time I remained at that school. By the second grade I was in a rural county in a new school system, with different incidents about to take place in my education on race.
Over the years I have thought of this incident often. I have had nightmares about it. But generally I recall it as an incident involving young teenagers who were having fun at the expense of a bunch of little kids. I do not to see it as an incident of race, mind you, of black youth scaring white youth, even though the truth of it is they were black and the rest of us were white.
I see it as young teenagers taking advantage of a bunch of little kids. But I feel sure that in five-year-old wisdom, at that time I was as scared of these young men because they were black as I was because they were working hard to scare us.
Thankfully this episode, while creating a lasting impression, did not make me fearful of either black people or teenagers.
Next up: Part II (it's the entry below this one).
I grew up and have spent most of my life in the confines of a generally white area. My county is about 94 percent white. Most of the more rural communities surrounding the city are about the same, or less. The city is about two-thirds white.
My interactions with people of color (or black people, I honestly don't know what to call anyone these days) were few. My family was like most in those times - racist and bigoted. You know the kind - black folks eat watermelon and fried chicken and have lots of babies so they can draw welfare. It's an unfortunate attitude that I fear continues to this day.
I started school in 1968. Virginia as late as 1964 was struggling with race relations in public schools. According to this Wikipedia article, many counties tried to get around the federal laws by creating private schools and academies. Segregation existed then. I think it still does, covertly.
As it is with many things, my thoughts and feelings about race have been formed from my own experiences, some of which I am going to share.
My learning career began with kindergarten at East Salem, for at that time this is where we lived. Salem had only a year before become a city.
I think I was in a summer school type of situation for kindergarten, but I am not certain. In any event, I rode a bus from elementary school to my grandmother's house every day.
One day the bus driver said she had to pick up kids at the vocational school across the street. Normally the bus was filled with white students under the age of 12 or so.
The students she picked up were black male teenagers. I do not know if these were the first black persons I had seen up close, but these fellows scared all of us.
They snarled and got down in our faces, hissed at us and left us petrified. They took our notebooks from our hands and tossed them in the aisle. They were loud and boisterous and went out of their way to make us scream. Young girls, myself included, sat frozen in terror, holding hands, tears streaming down our faces. I can still hear the bus driver yelling, "Ya'll sit down back there, stop scaring them kids," as she continued along the route.
Stop after stop, little boys and girls fled the bus in terror and ran sobbing into their mother's arms. I did the same; I remember fleeing as quickly as my little legs would carry me, running the half-block to my grandmother's front porch. I flung myself into her bosom and cried as I told her what had happened.
I remember my uncle, a teenager himself, cursing because these youth had terrorized me. Had he been there, he proclaimed, he'd have stopped it.
Doubtless the phone at the school rang a lot the next morning and the principal and other officials received angry visits from parents, although I do not recall what happened in my own family.
Nothing like that ever occurred again in the time I remained at that school. By the second grade I was in a rural county in a new school system, with different incidents about to take place in my education on race.
Over the years I have thought of this incident often. I have had nightmares about it. But generally I recall it as an incident involving young teenagers who were having fun at the expense of a bunch of little kids. I do not to see it as an incident of race, mind you, of black youth scaring white youth, even though the truth of it is they were black and the rest of us were white.
I see it as young teenagers taking advantage of a bunch of little kids. But I feel sure that in five-year-old wisdom, at that time I was as scared of these young men because they were black as I was because they were working hard to scare us.
Thankfully this episode, while creating a lasting impression, did not make me fearful of either black people or teenagers.
Next up: Part II (it's the entry below this one).
A Question of Race, Part 2
Part 1 is here.
Prejudice in the late 1960s and early 1970s manifested itself in many ways. I remember hearing bad jokes, sick stories, and caricatures that turned my stomach.
Somehow I rejected many of these attitudes, even though they were dominate. Many people I knew had no problem with attitudes about the "colored" folks. My grandmother up until she died last year made off-the-cuff remarks about her caretakers, as in, "she's a really nice colored girl, them folks do good at changing the sheets." She did not mean harm; it was way she was raised.
Attitudes are difficult to change.
In 1971 I was in the third grade at my rural elementary school.
One day I was asked if there were any black teachers at my school.
"No," I said, and returned to whatever I was doing, probably reading a book.
My third grade teacher was Mrs. Fairfax. She was a wonderful lady and I loved her with all the adoration a nine-year-old girl could muster for her teacher. She expected and received the best from me. I was her best student but she did not have favorites. She simply acknowledged that I made the top grades and moved on, but at the same time I still felt special.
She was unique that way.
She was also black. I had forgotten!
A similar event happened when I was 17. I had my driver's license and I wanted guitar lessons. I found a teacher a one of the city's music shops at one of the malls.
He was a wonderful teacher, very patient and very much ready to help me improve my performance and technique.
I took lessons from him for about a year. One day someone who had met him approached me and asked me why I had never mentioned the fact that my guitar teacher was a black man.
"It never occurred to me that it was a problem," I said.
I guess the moral of these musings is that upbringing and environment can be overcome. I like to think that I am open minded and maybe a little less prejudiced than some.
However, I am sure that I have prejudice and bigotries because I do not believe that people can be free of such things. I think everyone has them.
Prejudice and bigotries manifest themselves in many ways. I guarantee there are a number of white men (and women) watching the Democratic primaries in horror. It must be the stuff of their nightmares as they watch a woman and a black man duke it out for the presidential nomination.
I remember when Doug Wilder was nominated governor of Virginia. Several people I knew thought this would be the end of life as we knew it for this state. But that didn't happen. Wilder was a pretty good governor as governors go.
I feel sure that if Barack Obama ends up as president, life will continue on. If Hillary Clinton ends up as president, life will continue on. I suppose it will even continue on if John McCain ends up as president. How it continues on is another question entirely, but it is not a question that I think is answered by pointing at race and gender.
Maybe one day those traits won't matter. Maybe we'll all be able to be see only people, you and you and me and all of the rest, as just folks. Just human beings trying to get along.
**Editors note**
Upon reflection, I changed several of the above paragraphs of this entry to eliminate some things that I thought may embarrass someone else and to clarify a few points at the end. The meaning is still the same, I think.
**End Editors note**
Prejudice in the late 1960s and early 1970s manifested itself in many ways. I remember hearing bad jokes, sick stories, and caricatures that turned my stomach.
Somehow I rejected many of these attitudes, even though they were dominate. Many people I knew had no problem with attitudes about the "colored" folks. My grandmother up until she died last year made off-the-cuff remarks about her caretakers, as in, "she's a really nice colored girl, them folks do good at changing the sheets." She did not mean harm; it was way she was raised.
Attitudes are difficult to change.
In 1971 I was in the third grade at my rural elementary school.
One day I was asked if there were any black teachers at my school.
"No," I said, and returned to whatever I was doing, probably reading a book.
My third grade teacher was Mrs. Fairfax. She was a wonderful lady and I loved her with all the adoration a nine-year-old girl could muster for her teacher. She expected and received the best from me. I was her best student but she did not have favorites. She simply acknowledged that I made the top grades and moved on, but at the same time I still felt special.
She was unique that way.
She was also black. I had forgotten!
A similar event happened when I was 17. I had my driver's license and I wanted guitar lessons. I found a teacher a one of the city's music shops at one of the malls.
He was a wonderful teacher, very patient and very much ready to help me improve my performance and technique.
I took lessons from him for about a year. One day someone who had met him approached me and asked me why I had never mentioned the fact that my guitar teacher was a black man.
"It never occurred to me that it was a problem," I said.
I guess the moral of these musings is that upbringing and environment can be overcome. I like to think that I am open minded and maybe a little less prejudiced than some.
However, I am sure that I have prejudice and bigotries because I do not believe that people can be free of such things. I think everyone has them.
Prejudice and bigotries manifest themselves in many ways. I guarantee there are a number of white men (and women) watching the Democratic primaries in horror. It must be the stuff of their nightmares as they watch a woman and a black man duke it out for the presidential nomination.
I remember when Doug Wilder was nominated governor of Virginia. Several people I knew thought this would be the end of life as we knew it for this state. But that didn't happen. Wilder was a pretty good governor as governors go.
I feel sure that if Barack Obama ends up as president, life will continue on. If Hillary Clinton ends up as president, life will continue on. I suppose it will even continue on if John McCain ends up as president. How it continues on is another question entirely, but it is not a question that I think is answered by pointing at race and gender.
Maybe one day those traits won't matter. Maybe we'll all be able to be see only people, you and you and me and all of the rest, as just folks. Just human beings trying to get along.
**Editors note**
Upon reflection, I changed several of the above paragraphs of this entry to eliminate some things that I thought may embarrass someone else and to clarify a few points at the end. The meaning is still the same, I think.
**End Editors note**
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Books: The Peacock Emporium
The Peacock Emporium
By JoJo Moyes
Copyright 2004
435 pages
This book took me longer to read than most, partly because I've been sick and I tend not to read much when I'm ill, but also because this thing left me scratching my head a lot and I put it down and picked it back up several times.
If you suffer through the first 70 pages, you'll find the story. The initial pages have their place but the author would have been better served to have started the book at "Part Two" and added those other pages as flashbacks or something.
The book would have benefited highly from a good editor; there were enough typos or punctuation problems for me to comment on it. I am generally forgiving but if I am looking as much for misplaced or lacking commas as I am the content, there's a problem.
The author writes very long sentences that left me breathless, not to mention searching for the subject noun. Again, a little editing would have made this more readable.
That's what wrong with the book. What's right is the character of Suzanne, once you finally get to her. She's the meat of this big sandwich and a very complex young woman she is. She is unhappy and trying to find herself. Her journey is intriguing and I liked that part of the story when I wasn't being aggravated by the rest of the book.
This is from the book jacket:
If the book had stuck to that, I'd have given it at least 3.5 stars.
As it stands, though, I can just barely give it 2 stars.
By JoJo Moyes
Copyright 2004
435 pages
This book took me longer to read than most, partly because I've been sick and I tend not to read much when I'm ill, but also because this thing left me scratching my head a lot and I put it down and picked it back up several times.
If you suffer through the first 70 pages, you'll find the story. The initial pages have their place but the author would have been better served to have started the book at "Part Two" and added those other pages as flashbacks or something.
The book would have benefited highly from a good editor; there were enough typos or punctuation problems for me to comment on it. I am generally forgiving but if I am looking as much for misplaced or lacking commas as I am the content, there's a problem.
The author writes very long sentences that left me breathless, not to mention searching for the subject noun. Again, a little editing would have made this more readable.
That's what wrong with the book. What's right is the character of Suzanne, once you finally get to her. She's the meat of this big sandwich and a very complex young woman she is. She is unhappy and trying to find herself. Her journey is intriguing and I liked that part of the story when I wasn't being aggravated by the rest of the book.
This is from the book jacket:
Thirty-five years on, Suzanna Peacock finds refuge from her mother's shameful legacy in her shop, the Peacock Emporium. Within its magical walls she discovers not just friendship, and an escape from her troubled marriage, but the first real passion of her life.
If the book had stuck to that, I'd have given it at least 3.5 stars.
As it stands, though, I can just barely give it 2 stars.
The Internet and Society
A friend and I were having an email discussion about the Internet and how, unless you're very lucky, you end up having to deal with nameless and faceless souls who just want to cause harm.
The Internet has been likened to the wild west, a lawless place where people can say and do what they like. If they want to flame you, they do, if they want to call you names, they do, if they want to make you look ridiculous, they do.
Civility can be found but it doesn't seem mainstream. I feel fortunate to have run across some very nice people online, but I stay away from newsgroups and from discussion sites where the comments get unruly. I see commentaries at the ends of articles where people are just horrible with their language, insulting and vulgar. I don't need to see more to know what is out there.
Unfortunately, the media has found the Internet a good place to do their lazy work. Instead of standing on street corners to find out what people think, they check a newsgroup from the safety of their desk. Instead of digging through books for old data, they use whatever they dredge up online and that's all you get. It may be a time-saver but I don't know that it actually adds much to the conversation.
I do not deal well with confrontation, and when I get flamed, I just leave. It's not worth the angst and frankly the opinions of those kinds of mean people, who 90 percent of the time don't know what they're talking about anyway, aren't worth the time.
Anyway, I thought my friend had some interesting insight into this line of thinking about the Internet, and I wanted to share it. I've reworked it a little:
What do you think? Has society reached its pinnacle? Is the Internet a symptom of the downward spiral? Has the world gone mad?
The Internet has been likened to the wild west, a lawless place where people can say and do what they like. If they want to flame you, they do, if they want to call you names, they do, if they want to make you look ridiculous, they do.
Civility can be found but it doesn't seem mainstream. I feel fortunate to have run across some very nice people online, but I stay away from newsgroups and from discussion sites where the comments get unruly. I see commentaries at the ends of articles where people are just horrible with their language, insulting and vulgar. I don't need to see more to know what is out there.
Unfortunately, the media has found the Internet a good place to do their lazy work. Instead of standing on street corners to find out what people think, they check a newsgroup from the safety of their desk. Instead of digging through books for old data, they use whatever they dredge up online and that's all you get. It may be a time-saver but I don't know that it actually adds much to the conversation.
I do not deal well with confrontation, and when I get flamed, I just leave. It's not worth the angst and frankly the opinions of those kinds of mean people, who 90 percent of the time don't know what they're talking about anyway, aren't worth the time.
Anyway, I thought my friend had some interesting insight into this line of thinking about the Internet, and I wanted to share it. I've reworked it a little:
Abusing the Internet comes about when kids do their homework on line. Politicians and journalists skim everything from what is
already out there. There's nothing original about it.
It's really very sad and frustrating. It indicates a decaying society.
Our culture crested sometime in the1960s, with the civil rights movement and the various radical movements and the real consolidation of scientific understandings of our universe etc.
But we can't live like that. Not as a species. Most people are scared and crave simplistic, emotional, immediate surroundings. The
womb. The cave. So all this dead-weight is pulling back on us, is pulling us in. Religion is rising again, with people preferring the
certainties of dogma to the challenges of rational thought. Even scientists have decided, after 50 years of scanning the universe for signs of life (and we know now that radio waves, which we are scanning for, decay within a few light years actually) that in fact we are unique, that the universe is
engineered so that in just one place in all its immensity, life shall be possible, and we shall be its summit. Just one step to declaring God did it all, after all - the superstitious easy answer spreads.
And while people soak up new technology, it is for just one thing - to hive themselves off into warm, dark, noisy little cyber-caves where all they do is chant empty mantras together or engage in vicious hate-fests against one
another or whatever.
The creativity has gone. We aren't looking out any longer - we're just looking inwards, at ourselves, all the time. And pretty soon
there will be terrible food and energy crises and the whole infrastructure we depend
on will decay as well.
What do you think? Has society reached its pinnacle? Is the Internet a symptom of the downward spiral? Has the world gone mad?
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. My husband says he never dreams. I don't believe him, because he sometimes mutters in his sleep.
2. However, not once has he woke up and said, "I dreamed last night that...." Not in 24 years of sleeping together has he ever told me a dream. I think that is sad.
3. I dream every night. In color.
4. Tuesday night I dreamed the federal government hauled me off from the library. I thought it was because I was topless.
5. They took me to a room where my husband had also been "disappeared" to. At least we were together.
6. A man who looked a lot like the bearded Al Gore kept grilling us to tell the truth, but he never said about what.
7. Then he took my pillow and cut in half. Maggots fell out of the middle of it.
8. "You are part of the cult!" the man screamed.
9. As a child I had a persistent dream of a black-hooded man who chased me through the garden. I hid behind the scarecrow. He always found me.
10. My grandmother dreamed that Jesus came to her and took her wedding ring from her finger. "You won't be needing this anymore," he told her. My grandfather died three days later.
11. When I was very small, I would wake in the middle of the night with the certainty that a woman sat on the end of my bed. My mother always said I was dreaming when she came in after I screamed.
12. Those particular screams and dreams stopped when we moved to another house.
13. I have always been pretty sure that woman wasn't a dream. She was a ghost.
I am not an official Thursday Thirteen participant, but I understand you can learn more about it here. This is my 46th Thursday Thirteen, so I suppose I should someday figure out how to play properly.
2. However, not once has he woke up and said, "I dreamed last night that...." Not in 24 years of sleeping together has he ever told me a dream. I think that is sad.
3. I dream every night. In color.
4. Tuesday night I dreamed the federal government hauled me off from the library. I thought it was because I was topless.
5. They took me to a room where my husband had also been "disappeared" to. At least we were together.
6. A man who looked a lot like the bearded Al Gore kept grilling us to tell the truth, but he never said about what.
7. Then he took my pillow and cut in half. Maggots fell out of the middle of it.
8. "You are part of the cult!" the man screamed.
9. As a child I had a persistent dream of a black-hooded man who chased me through the garden. I hid behind the scarecrow. He always found me.
10. My grandmother dreamed that Jesus came to her and took her wedding ring from her finger. "You won't be needing this anymore," he told her. My grandfather died three days later.
11. When I was very small, I would wake in the middle of the night with the certainty that a woman sat on the end of my bed. My mother always said I was dreaming when she came in after I screamed.
12. Those particular screams and dreams stopped when we moved to another house.
13. I have always been pretty sure that woman wasn't a dream. She was a ghost.
I am not an official Thursday Thirteen participant, but I understand you can learn more about it here. This is my 46th Thursday Thirteen, so I suppose I should someday figure out how to play properly.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Newspapers in a Death Grip
The latest edition of the New Yorker offers an intriguing article, "Out of Print" by Eric Alterman, about the end of newspapers.
The initial paragraphs are an interesting history of newspapers in the U.S. Being a Virginian, I always thought this state had the first newspaper, the Virginia Gazette, but apparently Massachusetts beat the us to it by about 34 years.
The article in The New Yorker gives the Huffington Post credit for taking information digital, although this has been occurring in varying stages for a long time.
The article points out that without traditional media, there would be nothing for websites like HuffPo and similar sites to sound off about. This is the most important point of the entire article.
The author states it thusly:
According to this very long story, HuffPo has created a community; hence, the hits from unique users. That means popularity and advertising revenue.
Everybody has something to say, it seems, and everyone wants the opportunity to say it.
Never mind that for the most part the opinions rattled off are worthless. Occasionally there is a gem among the inane, but it's infrequent at best. Essentially everyone is talking at once and no one is listening.
I have a naive view of newspapers in that I believe in the Fourth Estate (interestingly, I could not find a good definition online for what this means).
To me the Fourth Estate means an organization that watches out for the Greater Good. It sides with no one and nothing except Truth. It doesn't decry torture on one hand and okay it on the other simply because the government says water boarding is legal, for example.
I believe newspapers should hold views of the common man. If newspapers are political, they should only be so in a push for equality and in defense of the common man. If the views of the common man are completely opposite, as it seems these days, then maybe it's time for newspapers to give up this charade of neutrality and become a blue paper or a red paper and move on.
Newspapers have gotten away from Truth, however one defines that. They are now only about advertising dollars. That comes first. The news is secondary, something to fill the pages.
I have watched with something akin to horror as publishers have made decisions that have ultimately ruined their product. They've cut news staff, changed layouts and focus, and generally created the situation that exists now. In essence, newspaper owners have destroyed their own reason for being.
I agree entirely with this statement:
By cutting staff, publishers have mutilated the sense of community that HuffPo professes to have found and taken advantage of. How can a community feel that the newspaper is a part of it if there is no presence?
If reporters do not attend events, from pancake breakfasts to government meetings, the relevancy of the newspaper ends. The community at large does not know the journalists and reporters and has no connection. They have no sense of ownership and participation in the news and thus no feeling that their needs and desires are reflected in the pages.
It is the knowledge of communities, whether that community is as small as a neighborhood or as large as a state - or these United States - that is missing. It takes a village to write a newspaper, frankly. One or two people can't do it all.
They miss far too much.
I am of the opinion that the Internet is not killing newspapers. Newspapers survived television.
Their demise began in the 1980s. Was it a result of deregulation, with the news now in in the hands of a few - a few whose motive is profit, not Truth?
This is not a problem of revenue or advertising. It is a political decision to make newspapers irrelevant. This is because newspaper stories, unlike the soundbites of TV, actually have depth. TV says such and such happened - a good, well-researched newspaper story tells you why it happened. TV does not do that particularly well.
When I read a newspaper, it is because I want to know the whys of an event. Or why a person is who he or she is. Only a well-written story can give me that information in a concise, if sometimes lengthy, method of communication. It would take hours of news footage to tell the same story.
The people in power - whoever that may be - do not want the whys of a story to be known and well understood.
This is why stories about the countdown to the battle of Iraq, for example, seldom touched on the past (which could have indicted the nation for its role in aiding and abetting the sovereign nation we were conquering and which never questioned the government rhetoric). This was a political decision in the newsroom. It had little to do with advertising.
I believe print edition of newspapers have a place. If ultimately they do not, then an electronic version of a newspaper, one in which journalists are paid to report real news and features and to be a part of the community, is a necessity.
Whether that online newspaper becomes a place of news or a place of inane chatter is in part up to the public and very much in the hands of the publisher.
Without good, dedicated staff and support of a publisher who wants to put out a good product that is again the voice of the common man, newspapers will indeed fail.
And then all we'll have left are a million opinions, and not an ounce of Truth.
The initial paragraphs are an interesting history of newspapers in the U.S. Being a Virginian, I always thought this state had the first newspaper, the Virginia Gazette, but apparently Massachusetts beat the us to it by about 34 years.
The article in The New Yorker gives the Huffington Post credit for taking information digital, although this has been occurring in varying stages for a long time.
The article points out that without traditional media, there would be nothing for websites like HuffPo and similar sites to sound off about. This is the most important point of the entire article.
The author states it thusly:
... Huffington fails to address the parasitical relationship that virtually all Internet news sites and blog commentators enjoy with newspapers. (emphasis mine)
According to this very long story, HuffPo has created a community; hence, the hits from unique users. That means popularity and advertising revenue.
Everybody has something to say, it seems, and everyone wants the opportunity to say it.
Never mind that for the most part the opinions rattled off are worthless. Occasionally there is a gem among the inane, but it's infrequent at best. Essentially everyone is talking at once and no one is listening.
I have a naive view of newspapers in that I believe in the Fourth Estate (interestingly, I could not find a good definition online for what this means).
To me the Fourth Estate means an organization that watches out for the Greater Good. It sides with no one and nothing except Truth. It doesn't decry torture on one hand and okay it on the other simply because the government says water boarding is legal, for example.
I believe newspapers should hold views of the common man. If newspapers are political, they should only be so in a push for equality and in defense of the common man. If the views of the common man are completely opposite, as it seems these days, then maybe it's time for newspapers to give up this charade of neutrality and become a blue paper or a red paper and move on.
Newspapers have gotten away from Truth, however one defines that. They are now only about advertising dollars. That comes first. The news is secondary, something to fill the pages.
I have watched with something akin to horror as publishers have made decisions that have ultimately ruined their product. They've cut news staff, changed layouts and focus, and generally created the situation that exists now. In essence, newspaper owners have destroyed their own reason for being.
I agree entirely with this statement:
The columnist Molly Ivins complained, shortly before her death, that the newspaper companies’ solution to their problem was to make “our product smaller and less helpful and less interesting.” That may help explain why the dwindling number of Americans who buy and read a daily paper are spending less time with it; the average is down to less than fifteen hours a month.
By cutting staff, publishers have mutilated the sense of community that HuffPo professes to have found and taken advantage of. How can a community feel that the newspaper is a part of it if there is no presence?
If reporters do not attend events, from pancake breakfasts to government meetings, the relevancy of the newspaper ends. The community at large does not know the journalists and reporters and has no connection. They have no sense of ownership and participation in the news and thus no feeling that their needs and desires are reflected in the pages.
It is the knowledge of communities, whether that community is as small as a neighborhood or as large as a state - or these United States - that is missing. It takes a village to write a newspaper, frankly. One or two people can't do it all.
They miss far too much.
I am of the opinion that the Internet is not killing newspapers. Newspapers survived television.
Their demise began in the 1980s. Was it a result of deregulation, with the news now in in the hands of a few - a few whose motive is profit, not Truth?
This is not a problem of revenue or advertising. It is a political decision to make newspapers irrelevant. This is because newspaper stories, unlike the soundbites of TV, actually have depth. TV says such and such happened - a good, well-researched newspaper story tells you why it happened. TV does not do that particularly well.
When I read a newspaper, it is because I want to know the whys of an event. Or why a person is who he or she is. Only a well-written story can give me that information in a concise, if sometimes lengthy, method of communication. It would take hours of news footage to tell the same story.
The people in power - whoever that may be - do not want the whys of a story to be known and well understood.
This is why stories about the countdown to the battle of Iraq, for example, seldom touched on the past (which could have indicted the nation for its role in aiding and abetting the sovereign nation we were conquering and which never questioned the government rhetoric). This was a political decision in the newsroom. It had little to do with advertising.
I believe print edition of newspapers have a place. If ultimately they do not, then an electronic version of a newspaper, one in which journalists are paid to report real news and features and to be a part of the community, is a necessity.
Whether that online newspaper becomes a place of news or a place of inane chatter is in part up to the public and very much in the hands of the publisher.
Without good, dedicated staff and support of a publisher who wants to put out a good product that is again the voice of the common man, newspapers will indeed fail.
And then all we'll have left are a million opinions, and not an ounce of Truth.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Farewell and Amen
Yesterday I spent quite a bit of time updating my links. I finally was able to reach my widgets in my Blogger layout.
I knew that some of my links were bad, because I had visited a couple of blogs and found the owners had either made them private or deleted them.
It always makes me sad when a relationship in which I've invested some time ends. Blogs in particular create an intimate relationship between reader and writer. The person is not exactly a friend, but neither is he or she an unknown entity.
A couple of these blogs I had read for several years, and I will keenly feel their absence.
Why do people, words, books, etc. come into our lives? Does the universe (or God) say, "You can learn from this person." Or perhaps this person can learn from you? And when the learning is over, the person vanishes? Is that how it works?
I have been through what seems like a very large number of relationships. If I were to recount them one by one, you'd think me a very difficult person indeed if I couldn't keep all of these people in my life. But I suspect many people have the same tale.
Many of these folks were coworkers. Why is it that when someone changes jobs, the friendship ends? I used to work in the legal field and even if I stayed in the same career but went to a different office, the old coworkers soon stopped calling or responding to my calls. Sometimes it happened within a matter of days, not weeks. Once it even happened within the same firm, and just because I moved down the hall!
Suddenly that bond isn't there anymore. Nobody does anything wrong, but Time steps in and Change takes over. And just like that, relationships end.
I have some relationships that have lasted quite a long time. My husband has stuck with me for going on 25 years - 26 if you count the year we dated. He should get a medal!
I am in touch with few friends from school, I'm sad to say, but there are one or two whom I see infrequently. Some I even consider good friends, even if all we do is exchange Christmas cards. I consider myself fortunate to still do that.
A former coworker, L., has been my friend for 25 years. There are long periods of time where we don't see each other or speak much, but then, like magic, we're having lunch and it is as if we still worked in the same office.
My closest girlfriend, B., has been listening to me whine for almost 10 years now. Ours is definitely an adult relationship, based on the persons we are now, not who we were so long ago. I kind of like that lack of history.
I even have longevity in online relationships. I have corresponded with C.J. for close to 15 years now. We met on AOL and have stayed in touch all this time. She is like a distant younger sister. My other friend, I., has been a near-daily pen pal for seven years. And I've been on a list with the same bunch of women for going on nigh seven years, too. And there are others I've know and still hear from occasionally that I've been writing to since 1995.
I also have worked off and on with one of my editors for about 23 years, and nearly 10 with another.*
I think those are very long relationships indeed and I treasure them. I wish I could keep all my friends close by, and never have them walk out of my life.
But alas, they turn to "private" and all I can do is watch them go.
*Added later
I knew that some of my links were bad, because I had visited a couple of blogs and found the owners had either made them private or deleted them.
It always makes me sad when a relationship in which I've invested some time ends. Blogs in particular create an intimate relationship between reader and writer. The person is not exactly a friend, but neither is he or she an unknown entity.
A couple of these blogs I had read for several years, and I will keenly feel their absence.
Why do people, words, books, etc. come into our lives? Does the universe (or God) say, "You can learn from this person." Or perhaps this person can learn from you? And when the learning is over, the person vanishes? Is that how it works?
I have been through what seems like a very large number of relationships. If I were to recount them one by one, you'd think me a very difficult person indeed if I couldn't keep all of these people in my life. But I suspect many people have the same tale.
Many of these folks were coworkers. Why is it that when someone changes jobs, the friendship ends? I used to work in the legal field and even if I stayed in the same career but went to a different office, the old coworkers soon stopped calling or responding to my calls. Sometimes it happened within a matter of days, not weeks. Once it even happened within the same firm, and just because I moved down the hall!
Suddenly that bond isn't there anymore. Nobody does anything wrong, but Time steps in and Change takes over. And just like that, relationships end.
I have some relationships that have lasted quite a long time. My husband has stuck with me for going on 25 years - 26 if you count the year we dated. He should get a medal!
I am in touch with few friends from school, I'm sad to say, but there are one or two whom I see infrequently. Some I even consider good friends, even if all we do is exchange Christmas cards. I consider myself fortunate to still do that.
A former coworker, L., has been my friend for 25 years. There are long periods of time where we don't see each other or speak much, but then, like magic, we're having lunch and it is as if we still worked in the same office.
My closest girlfriend, B., has been listening to me whine for almost 10 years now. Ours is definitely an adult relationship, based on the persons we are now, not who we were so long ago. I kind of like that lack of history.
I even have longevity in online relationships. I have corresponded with C.J. for close to 15 years now. We met on AOL and have stayed in touch all this time. She is like a distant younger sister. My other friend, I., has been a near-daily pen pal for seven years. And I've been on a list with the same bunch of women for going on nigh seven years, too. And there are others I've know and still hear from occasionally that I've been writing to since 1995.
I also have worked off and on with one of my editors for about 23 years, and nearly 10 with another.*
I think those are very long relationships indeed and I treasure them. I wish I could keep all my friends close by, and never have them walk out of my life.
But alas, they turn to "private" and all I can do is watch them go.
*Added later
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Books: The Memory Keeper's Daughter
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
By Kim Edwards
Copyright 2005
401 pages
Lifetime will have a movie made from this book on April 12.
Dr. Henry in 1964 must deliver his own children, thanks to a snowstorm. One of the twins has Downs syndrome. He hands the imperfect child to his nurse and tells her to take it to an institutional home. He does not tell his wife the child lives.
The nurse chooses to keep the child and raise her herself. She moves away.
The book follows the lives of these two families. Dr. Henry's family is forever marred by his decision and his secret, which he takes to the grave with him.
The nurse's life is enriched beyond her wildest dreams.
In the end, the two families meet. The books ends with a great promise of hope.
This my book club's pick for March. Thanks to my bronchial ailment, I missed the meeting last Tuesday, much to my dismay. I am sure the discussion was great.
I enjoyed this work, although it was difficult and sad in places. Dr. Henry chose to play God and it turned out to be a mantle he could not wear. His decision had many consequences.
If I remember the movie is on, I will watch it, but I am not very good about keeping up with TV.
4 stars
By Kim Edwards
Copyright 2005
401 pages
Lifetime will have a movie made from this book on April 12.
Dr. Henry in 1964 must deliver his own children, thanks to a snowstorm. One of the twins has Downs syndrome. He hands the imperfect child to his nurse and tells her to take it to an institutional home. He does not tell his wife the child lives.
The nurse chooses to keep the child and raise her herself. She moves away.
The book follows the lives of these two families. Dr. Henry's family is forever marred by his decision and his secret, which he takes to the grave with him.
The nurse's life is enriched beyond her wildest dreams.
In the end, the two families meet. The books ends with a great promise of hope.
This my book club's pick for March. Thanks to my bronchial ailment, I missed the meeting last Tuesday, much to my dismay. I am sure the discussion was great.
I enjoyed this work, although it was difficult and sad in places. Dr. Henry chose to play God and it turned out to be a mantle he could not wear. His decision had many consequences.
If I remember the movie is on, I will watch it, but I am not very good about keeping up with TV.
4 stars
Friday, March 28, 2008
For Writers
This website is pitting various writing blogs against one another in a basketball style seed. Check it out if only to find the links to some good blogs about writing and freelancing.
Swayze and my mom
My heart ached when I read the news a few weeks ago that actor Patrick Swayze of Dirty Dancing fame had pancreatic cancer.
This was not because I am an ardent fan (although I like that movie), but because pancreatic cancer is the disease that eight years ago killed my mother.
My mother loved Dirty Dancing. She loved to dance and she loved music – what better movie, eh? Once we were shopping together, and she asked me to go wait for her in a chair in the corner while she tried on clothes. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!” I huffed, giving Swayze’s line. Mom burst out laughing, as did I.
Cancer in any form is not pretty, but pancreatic cancer is a particularly nasty bugger.
Each year about 30,000 Americans are given a pancreatic cancer diagnosis. Most of these people will be dead within the year. Pancreatic cancer is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in this country.
In Spring 1999, my mother returned from Paris. It was her first trip abroad. She was pale and wan and complaining of stomach problems. She had been in a foreign country. We thought it was the water.
When June came around, my mother attended a small party at my home. She complained of her stomach hurting still. I remember watching her standing by the table, her fist in her gut.
I asked her, of course, if she had been to the doctor. She had. Several times.
A few weeks later, Mom told me she still wasn’t feeling well. I insisted she go back to the doctor. She called me from his office and told me she was being admitted to the hospital that Friday.
She had jaundice.
The following Monday, doctors wheeled my mother off for exploratory surgery. Something was blocking her bile duct. My aunt, who is a nurse, waited with me.
Mom returned to the room, still unconscious. The doctor took us aside. “Pancreatic cancer,” he said.
That was it. No statistics, no hope, no offer of help.
My aunt knew right away that this was a death knell. She explained the diagnosis and statistics.
I was in shock.
My mother’s first words upon awakening were, “Is it cancer?” I burst into tears and fled from the room, leaving my aunt to tell her.
It was the hardest day of my life up to that time.
The choices open were radiation and chemotherapy and little hope. The most radical procedure was a surgery called a Whipple, which entailed removal of the pancreas and surrounding organs, including part of the stomach. My mother chose this operation and opted to have it performed at the University of Virginia.
The surgery prolonged her life. She actually lived just a little beyond a year of the diagnosis. But it was a difficult time, because the surgery left her weak. It also damaged her stomach and she ended up with tube feeding for the rest of her short life.
About this time of year in 2000, I slipped away from work to visit my mother, as I frequently did. Most days I walked in and the house was still as a tomb. She said television bothered her and the music she loved had become noise that she no longer cared to hear. But on this day I walked in to find the radio on. My mother was in the back part of the house. She didn’t know I was there.
“Now I’ve had the time of my life, and I’ve searched through every open door…,” she sang, her alto chiming in on this Dirty Dancing song.
I was grateful she was having a good day. And I was saddened because by this time I knew that the cancer had spread and chemo and radiation wasn’t working. She wasn’t going to be with us much longer.
She died in August at the age of 56. That was the last song I heard her sing.
Give generously when cancer foundations come calling. You just never know where – or who – this disease will strike next.
**This was originally printed on March 26, 2008, in The Fincastle Herald under my column/byline. It didn't have the links.**
This was not because I am an ardent fan (although I like that movie), but because pancreatic cancer is the disease that eight years ago killed my mother.
My mother loved Dirty Dancing. She loved to dance and she loved music – what better movie, eh? Once we were shopping together, and she asked me to go wait for her in a chair in the corner while she tried on clothes. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!” I huffed, giving Swayze’s line. Mom burst out laughing, as did I.
Cancer in any form is not pretty, but pancreatic cancer is a particularly nasty bugger.
Each year about 30,000 Americans are given a pancreatic cancer diagnosis. Most of these people will be dead within the year. Pancreatic cancer is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in this country.
In Spring 1999, my mother returned from Paris. It was her first trip abroad. She was pale and wan and complaining of stomach problems. She had been in a foreign country. We thought it was the water.
When June came around, my mother attended a small party at my home. She complained of her stomach hurting still. I remember watching her standing by the table, her fist in her gut.
I asked her, of course, if she had been to the doctor. She had. Several times.
A few weeks later, Mom told me she still wasn’t feeling well. I insisted she go back to the doctor. She called me from his office and told me she was being admitted to the hospital that Friday.
She had jaundice.
The following Monday, doctors wheeled my mother off for exploratory surgery. Something was blocking her bile duct. My aunt, who is a nurse, waited with me.
Mom returned to the room, still unconscious. The doctor took us aside. “Pancreatic cancer,” he said.
That was it. No statistics, no hope, no offer of help.
My aunt knew right away that this was a death knell. She explained the diagnosis and statistics.
I was in shock.
My mother’s first words upon awakening were, “Is it cancer?” I burst into tears and fled from the room, leaving my aunt to tell her.
It was the hardest day of my life up to that time.
The choices open were radiation and chemotherapy and little hope. The most radical procedure was a surgery called a Whipple, which entailed removal of the pancreas and surrounding organs, including part of the stomach. My mother chose this operation and opted to have it performed at the University of Virginia.
The surgery prolonged her life. She actually lived just a little beyond a year of the diagnosis. But it was a difficult time, because the surgery left her weak. It also damaged her stomach and she ended up with tube feeding for the rest of her short life.
About this time of year in 2000, I slipped away from work to visit my mother, as I frequently did. Most days I walked in and the house was still as a tomb. She said television bothered her and the music she loved had become noise that she no longer cared to hear. But on this day I walked in to find the radio on. My mother was in the back part of the house. She didn’t know I was there.
“Now I’ve had the time of my life, and I’ve searched through every open door…,” she sang, her alto chiming in on this Dirty Dancing song.
I was grateful she was having a good day. And I was saddened because by this time I knew that the cancer had spread and chemo and radiation wasn’t working. She wasn’t going to be with us much longer.
She died in August at the age of 56. That was the last song I heard her sing.
Give generously when cancer foundations come calling. You just never know where – or who – this disease will strike next.
**This was originally printed on March 26, 2008, in The Fincastle Herald under my column/byline. It didn't have the links.**
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
Sleeping
1. Sleeping is something we take for granted if we do it and miss violently if we're not doing it.
2. I tend to start out sleeping on my back.
3. Then I turn over onto my side.
4. I prefer to sleep with a body pillow when I side-sleep. I toss a leg over the pillow.
5. Up until this week, I slept on a 7" wedge.
6. I started sleeping on this in 1998 after I experienced esophagus problems that warranted a look-see with a scope. The doctor told me to raise the head of my bed 4 inches. We did, and we both slide down and woke crumpled at the foot of the bed every morning.
7. I figure doctors never take their own advice. We lowered the bed to 2 inches and I started sleeping on a wedge.
8. I stopped sleeping on the wedge from about 2003 to 2005 because I was having back problems. Then in 2006 I developed vertigo and the only thing that helped was *not* laying down. So I went back to sleeping on the wedge.
9. About 5 months ago I hit my head on a shelf, and I developed neck problems.
10. I changed my pillows.
11. The little round pillow helped, but my neck problems continued.
12. I don't really care to visit my chiropractor again because I get mixed results from that care. The acupuncturist has helped my neck a lot, though.
13. Now I am trying to sleep without the wedge to see if (a) I stay on level ground and don't get dizzy and (b) it helps my neck and back.
**The dog is stuffed. I bought her in 2001 after my puppy of 17 years passed away because she looks like Ginger.**
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Blogger Problems - Still
Does anyone have a clue as to why I can't access my widgets in layout? It is weird. It's Blogger, not my computer, because I can't access it from my laptop either.
When I go to layout, the scroll bar won't move. So I can't scroll down to reach my widgets to change them. Which means I can't add links.
A few days ago I was looking at my blog (the page you're seeing now) and I noticed these little tool-like things on the sidebar. I clicked on them and the widgets opened up for editing. I had access! Yay. So I quickly made a couple of changes that I'd been unable to make.
But now those little tool things aren't there anymore and I don't know why they came up in the first place. And I still can't access my widgets in layout!
Blogger is strange sometimes.
When I go to layout, the scroll bar won't move. So I can't scroll down to reach my widgets to change them. Which means I can't add links.
A few days ago I was looking at my blog (the page you're seeing now) and I noticed these little tool-like things on the sidebar. I clicked on them and the widgets opened up for editing. I had access! Yay. So I quickly made a couple of changes that I'd been unable to make.
But now those little tool things aren't there anymore and I don't know why they came up in the first place. And I still can't access my widgets in layout!
Blogger is strange sometimes.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Happy Easter
The roses are full of leaves! Soon they will be blooming.
The heralds of Spring! Beautiful daffodils.
Favorite forsynthia! Golden blooms.
The redbird says, wetcho!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
When the Lights Go Out
This morning around 10:15 a.m., I sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast and reading the paper.
I had already spent time on the computer, just playing. It was time to do housework and try to make up for all the time I'd been ill.
As I read, the words on the paper started disappearing. I realized I had a hole in my vision.
I have problems with flashers and floaters; I thought perhaps this was some new version of this problem.
The hole was egg-shaped and the edges of it were wavy. Things looked quite odd. I shut one eye and then the other.
The hole was there no matter what.
This was scary.
I went to the computer and typed in "hole in vision" and ... realized I couldn't see to read anything. Things started going black all around the hole.
By the time I picked up the phone and called my husband, I couldn't see the phone to dial. Most of my vision, except for the upper right corner of space, was gone.
This kind of dark is much different than nighttime. It was a darkness unlike anything I have ever experienced.
My husband contacted the doctor's office here in my county, and then he raced home and took me in.
By this time, it was 11:25 a.m., and my vision was clearing up. I could see. It was a relief, let me tell you.
The doctor told me I had an ocular migraine. I have migraines but they have diminished greatly in recent years. I haven't had a bad migraine in quite a while. I had some vision symptoms with previous migraines - spots before my eyes, light sensitivity, that kind of thing. But I'd never lost my sight.
Apparently they've morphed into this new thing, this ocular migraine. It may be tied in to this terrible chest cold I've had for two weeks, too. Perhaps my system is simply that much out of balance.
We returned home and I went to bed. A nap helped tremendously.
Going blind has always been a major fear of mine. I have a hard time imagining not being able to read or take photos or see my husband's wonderful loving face. Sight is something taken for granted.
I won't be taking it for granted for a long time, I suspect.
I had already spent time on the computer, just playing. It was time to do housework and try to make up for all the time I'd been ill.
As I read, the words on the paper started disappearing. I realized I had a hole in my vision.
I have problems with flashers and floaters; I thought perhaps this was some new version of this problem.
The hole was egg-shaped and the edges of it were wavy. Things looked quite odd. I shut one eye and then the other.
The hole was there no matter what.
This was scary.
I went to the computer and typed in "hole in vision" and ... realized I couldn't see to read anything. Things started going black all around the hole.
By the time I picked up the phone and called my husband, I couldn't see the phone to dial. Most of my vision, except for the upper right corner of space, was gone.
This kind of dark is much different than nighttime. It was a darkness unlike anything I have ever experienced.
My husband contacted the doctor's office here in my county, and then he raced home and took me in.
By this time, it was 11:25 a.m., and my vision was clearing up. I could see. It was a relief, let me tell you.
The doctor told me I had an ocular migraine. I have migraines but they have diminished greatly in recent years. I haven't had a bad migraine in quite a while. I had some vision symptoms with previous migraines - spots before my eyes, light sensitivity, that kind of thing. But I'd never lost my sight.
Apparently they've morphed into this new thing, this ocular migraine. It may be tied in to this terrible chest cold I've had for two weeks, too. Perhaps my system is simply that much out of balance.
We returned home and I went to bed. A nap helped tremendously.
Going blind has always been a major fear of mine. I have a hard time imagining not being able to read or take photos or see my husband's wonderful loving face. Sight is something taken for granted.
I won't be taking it for granted for a long time, I suspect.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Cupping
Wednesday I visited my acupuncturist in the hopes that she could speed this chest congestion on out of my system. As of tomorrow, I will have been sick for two weeks.
Not only did she use needles, she did a technique called cupping.
Here is a video of it being performed. Not on me, of course.
Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow had this done and showed off her cupping marks at some awards ceremony or something.
Cupping is, essentially, the use of glass jars or cups to draw blood to the surface. This is supposed to free up stuck chi and cure whatever is ailing you. In my case, my acupuncturist used heat within the cups to create a vacuum.
Then she applied the cups.
As a result, I have large bruises across my back at my shoulders. These are pictures of my back that I took last night.
This is a healing technique that has been around since the birth of Christ (or earlier). However, it is one of those old-fashioned things that makes people's eyebrows raise in this country, where all western medical practitioners do is hand people a little poison pill and tell them it will make them well.
We like our illnesses to be sanitized and not messy. None of that icky blood-letting or spitting or whatever for us.
Did it help? That's debatable. I am not much better two days later, although I am coughing up more stuff. I think that was part of the goal. If so, then it has helped.
One thing she did help immediately was my neck. I was suffering from a terribly stiff neck, the result, I think, of coughing so much that I threw out a vertebra. That is incredibly better.
She also sent me home with some very nasty tasting herbs which I drinking three times a day as prescribed. And she told me to rest (I'm not very good at resting.)
Yesterday I felt better than I had in days. So I didn't rest; I worked all day. First I worked on my bookkeeping and brought my personal and business books current and then I worked on articles for about five hours. It was pretty much an eight-hour day.
I don't think I will do that again today; I obviously overdid it.
Not only did she use needles, she did a technique called cupping.
Here is a video of it being performed. Not on me, of course.
Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow had this done and showed off her cupping marks at some awards ceremony or something.
Cupping is, essentially, the use of glass jars or cups to draw blood to the surface. This is supposed to free up stuck chi and cure whatever is ailing you. In my case, my acupuncturist used heat within the cups to create a vacuum.
Then she applied the cups.
As a result, I have large bruises across my back at my shoulders. These are pictures of my back that I took last night.
This is a healing technique that has been around since the birth of Christ (or earlier). However, it is one of those old-fashioned things that makes people's eyebrows raise in this country, where all western medical practitioners do is hand people a little poison pill and tell them it will make them well.
We like our illnesses to be sanitized and not messy. None of that icky blood-letting or spitting or whatever for us.
Did it help? That's debatable. I am not much better two days later, although I am coughing up more stuff. I think that was part of the goal. If so, then it has helped.
One thing she did help immediately was my neck. I was suffering from a terribly stiff neck, the result, I think, of coughing so much that I threw out a vertebra. That is incredibly better.
She also sent me home with some very nasty tasting herbs which I drinking three times a day as prescribed. And she told me to rest (I'm not very good at resting.)
Yesterday I felt better than I had in days. So I didn't rest; I worked all day. First I worked on my bookkeeping and brought my personal and business books current and then I worked on articles for about five hours. It was pretty much an eight-hour day.
I don't think I will do that again today; I obviously overdid it.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
Thirteen good things about being sick:
1. Sleeping. A lot.
2. Watching TV.
3. Laying around in PJs.
4. Never putting on shoes.
5. Sucking on lemon drops.
6. Reading.
7. Not worrying (too much) about work.
8. Losing three pounds without even trying.
9. Clean sheets and washed blankets nearly every day.
10. Get well wishes from friends.
11. Vivid dreams.
12. Thoughts of what you'll do when you feel better.
13. Actually feeling better.
1. Sleeping. A lot.
2. Watching TV.
3. Laying around in PJs.
4. Never putting on shoes.
5. Sucking on lemon drops.
6. Reading.
7. Not worrying (too much) about work.
8. Losing three pounds without even trying.
9. Clean sheets and washed blankets nearly every day.
10. Get well wishes from friends.
11. Vivid dreams.
12. Thoughts of what you'll do when you feel better.
13. Actually feeling better.
Monday, March 17, 2008
John Adams
Last night husband and I watched the first two parts of the HBO special on John Adams.
Adams was the second president of the United States and one of the first members of the Continental Congresses, which approved the Declaration of Independence and began the United States.
The show is well done and we're looking forward to watching the remaining segments. What a relief to have some decent television to watch for a change.
My husband was quite caught up in the show. During one scene early on, Adams was lecturing to a crowd in a church.
"That looks just like that church we saw in Williamsburg," husband said.
"They filmed a lot of this in Williamsburg," I replied, having read that online somewhere previously.
After that, he watched even more intently, searching for buildings and structures he remembered from our two trips to Colonial Williamsburg. He delighted in pointing out the buildings to me.
When the show ended, husband was wound up. "Look at what all they went through," he said, referring to scenes of smallpox. "Look at how little they had. We're a bunch of softies now, aren't we."
I agreed. Indeed, we are quite pampered and toil seems to be beneath us, each and every one.
"We're also getting stupider," my husband declared. He noted how learned Adams and his compatriots were. They knew lots of stuff. Philosophy and religion and the law.
"People today just know what's on at the movies," husband said. "They don't know anything real or important."
It took a long time for him to wind down and go to bed.
The series obviously did its job for him.
Adams was the second president of the United States and one of the first members of the Continental Congresses, which approved the Declaration of Independence and began the United States.
The show is well done and we're looking forward to watching the remaining segments. What a relief to have some decent television to watch for a change.
My husband was quite caught up in the show. During one scene early on, Adams was lecturing to a crowd in a church.
"That looks just like that church we saw in Williamsburg," husband said.
"They filmed a lot of this in Williamsburg," I replied, having read that online somewhere previously.
After that, he watched even more intently, searching for buildings and structures he remembered from our two trips to Colonial Williamsburg. He delighted in pointing out the buildings to me.
When the show ended, husband was wound up. "Look at what all they went through," he said, referring to scenes of smallpox. "Look at how little they had. We're a bunch of softies now, aren't we."
I agreed. Indeed, we are quite pampered and toil seems to be beneath us, each and every one.
"We're also getting stupider," my husband declared. He noted how learned Adams and his compatriots were. They knew lots of stuff. Philosophy and religion and the law.
"People today just know what's on at the movies," husband said. "They don't know anything real or important."
It took a long time for him to wind down and go to bed.
The series obviously did its job for him.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Last Week in Review
Thanks to all my readers and friends who have wished me good health during this last week as I suffered with flu or bronchitis or something.
If I had been well, last night I would have attended the Virginia Press Association Awards, where I would have received two third places for my work with the local paper. I am sorry to have missed the celebration.
I am on the mend, but today will be another quiet day of healing.
I spent most of the recent week in bed, feeling too poorly even to read, thanks to a constant fever. Mostly I watched reruns of Little House on the Prairie. And slept.
If I had been well, last night I would have attended the Virginia Press Association Awards, where I would have received two third places for my work with the local paper. I am sorry to have missed the celebration.
I am on the mend, but today will be another quiet day of healing.
I spent most of the recent week in bed, feeling too poorly even to read, thanks to a constant fever. Mostly I watched reruns of Little House on the Prairie. And slept.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Crud
I am sorry to report that I have some kind of nasty bronchial thing and a fever.
Blogging will resume at its normal frequency when I'm better...
Blogging will resume at its normal frequency when I'm better...
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Self Improvement
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
by Stephen R. Covey
Copyright 1989
AudioBook read by the author
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff ... and It's All Small Stuff
By Richard Carlson, Ph.d.
Copyright ???
AudioBook read by the author
Of these two books, I liked the second one the best. The first one is very business-oriented, very "get ahead" and "man the torpedoes" - or so it seems on first listen. Some of the ideas are good - create win-win situations, for instance, and listen first and talk second. It is very action oriented.
The second book, on the other hand, is more spiritual, more centered on just being instead of doing. I liked listening to it so well I wouldn't mind owning a copy to have to listen to whenever I like. It's more about lowering your stress levels, seeking spirituality, that sort of thing.
7 Habits - 3 stars
Small Stuff - 4 stars
by Stephen R. Covey
Copyright 1989
AudioBook read by the author
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff ... and It's All Small Stuff
By Richard Carlson, Ph.d.
Copyright ???
AudioBook read by the author
Of these two books, I liked the second one the best. The first one is very business-oriented, very "get ahead" and "man the torpedoes" - or so it seems on first listen. Some of the ideas are good - create win-win situations, for instance, and listen first and talk second. It is very action oriented.
The second book, on the other hand, is more spiritual, more centered on just being instead of doing. I liked listening to it so well I wouldn't mind owning a copy to have to listen to whenever I like. It's more about lowering your stress levels, seeking spirituality, that sort of thing.
7 Habits - 3 stars
Small Stuff - 4 stars
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
I have learned that the Hardwick-Day Comparative Alumnae Research Survey, conducted in October, has released important findings about women's colleges.
Most importantly, women educated at single-sex institutions report greater success and accomplishments.
The survey was composed of 2,000 alumnae (Classes of 1970-1997) of single-sex and co-ed public and private colleges and universities.
I attended a local private women's college: Hollins College, now Hollins University. I consider it the best thing I ever did for myself.
Here are 13 great things about women's universities. I took the good news straight from the Hollins website and added my own comments on some:
1. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other groups to say they benefited very much from good academic facilities and equipment. I love the campus at Hollins. It has old buildings and while they needed upgrading a bit (for ADA compliance, mostly, which I think has since happened), I found them welcoming.
2. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say they benefited very much from a high quality, teaching-oriented faculty. I loved my professors at Hollins. Many were published writers. All were professional and interested in their students.
3. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say their experience often included student presentations in class. I remember a lot of reading things aloud, class discussions, and great activity. Is that what they're talking about?
4. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say their experience often included classes that include the perspectives of women and minorities. Of course being in a women's college it include women's perspectives. At least I hope it did. Minorities maybe not so much. I remember a lot of white girls only in most of my classes.
5. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other graduates to say they benefited very much from an emphasis on personal values and ethics. I learned to be my own person at Hollins. I learned that I have value. It was the greatest lesson I could have learned.
6. Women’s colleges’ alumnae were more likely than all other graduates to be involved in campus publications or student government. At Hollins I wrote for the student newspaper even though I wasn't on campus much. I was a married adult student and I think the fact that someone like that was able to be involved speaks volumes.
7. Women’s colleges’ alumnae were more likely than any other group to complete a graduate degree. I have worked toward my graduate degree but haven't completed it. I do have more education than anyone in my family, though.
8. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to develop the ability to learn new skills. Because Hollins was *such* an ego boost for me, I would have to say this is true. It gave me the courage to try art, among other things.
9. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other liberal arts colleges and the public universities for helping students have a sense of purpose in life. I think this was true of Hollins as well. Again, it fostered such a strong sense of self for me. It made me a much better person.
10. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness than all other colleges and universities for helping students develop self-confidence and initiative. See above on all the wonderful self-esteem issues that Hollins helped me with.
11. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to write and speak effectively. Hollins most definitely helped with this.
12. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other liberal arts colleges and the public universities for helping students develop moral principles that can guide actions. Hollins had an honor code in place long before many other places did. I thought it was a good thing.
13. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to relate to people of different backgrounds.
There is more beyond 13 -
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other private colleges and public universities for helping students learn to think analytically.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to work as part of a team.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to be prepared for their first job and for career change or advancement.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to be a leader and have a leadership role with their college or university.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to appreciate the fine arts.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to be politically or socially aware.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to place problems in social and historical perspective.
Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other graduates to believe it is extremely important to have the authority to make decisions.
To view the complete survey results, visit the Women’s College Coalition website, www.womenscolleges.org.
Most importantly, women educated at single-sex institutions report greater success and accomplishments.
The survey was composed of 2,000 alumnae (Classes of 1970-1997) of single-sex and co-ed public and private colleges and universities.
I attended a local private women's college: Hollins College, now Hollins University. I consider it the best thing I ever did for myself.
Here are 13 great things about women's universities. I took the good news straight from the Hollins website and added my own comments on some:
1. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other groups to say they benefited very much from good academic facilities and equipment. I love the campus at Hollins. It has old buildings and while they needed upgrading a bit (for ADA compliance, mostly, which I think has since happened), I found them welcoming.
2. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say they benefited very much from a high quality, teaching-oriented faculty. I loved my professors at Hollins. Many were published writers. All were professional and interested in their students.
3. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say their experience often included student presentations in class. I remember a lot of reading things aloud, class discussions, and great activity. Is that what they're talking about?
4. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other alumnae to say their experience often included classes that include the perspectives of women and minorities. Of course being in a women's college it include women's perspectives. At least I hope it did. Minorities maybe not so much. I remember a lot of white girls only in most of my classes.
5. Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other graduates to say they benefited very much from an emphasis on personal values and ethics. I learned to be my own person at Hollins. I learned that I have value. It was the greatest lesson I could have learned.
6. Women’s colleges’ alumnae were more likely than all other graduates to be involved in campus publications or student government. At Hollins I wrote for the student newspaper even though I wasn't on campus much. I was a married adult student and I think the fact that someone like that was able to be involved speaks volumes.
7. Women’s colleges’ alumnae were more likely than any other group to complete a graduate degree. I have worked toward my graduate degree but haven't completed it. I do have more education than anyone in my family, though.
8. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to develop the ability to learn new skills. Because Hollins was *such* an ego boost for me, I would have to say this is true. It gave me the courage to try art, among other things.
9. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other liberal arts colleges and the public universities for helping students have a sense of purpose in life. I think this was true of Hollins as well. Again, it fostered such a strong sense of self for me. It made me a much better person.
10. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness than all other colleges and universities for helping students develop self-confidence and initiative. See above on all the wonderful self-esteem issues that Hollins helped me with.
11. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to write and speak effectively. Hollins most definitely helped with this.
12. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other liberal arts colleges and the public universities for helping students develop moral principles that can guide actions. Hollins had an honor code in place long before many other places did. I thought it was a good thing.
13. Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to relate to people of different backgrounds.
There is more beyond 13 -
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than other private colleges and public universities for helping students learn to think analytically.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to work as part of a team.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to be prepared for their first job and for career change or advancement.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to be a leader and have a leadership role with their college or university.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to appreciate the fine arts.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students learn to be politically or socially aware.
Women’s colleges receive higher effectiveness ratings than all other colleges and universities for helping students to place problems in social and historical perspective.
Women’s colleges’ alumnae are more likely than all other graduates to believe it is extremely important to have the authority to make decisions.
To view the complete survey results, visit the Women’s College Coalition website, www.womenscolleges.org.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
A Good Doctor's Office ...
apparently is hard to find.
Today I had an appointment for a follow-up and lab work. In spite of my anathema toward prescription drugs, I do presently take two medications - thyroid, prescribed for me 15 years ago and apparently something you can never stop taking (although I want to try it and see what happens) and an asthma/allergy drug.
The thyroid medicine requires annual blood work, although I have no clue why. My prescription ran out with the last refill and so I dutifully called about two weeks ago and made an appointment. This even though I really dislike going when I know it's flu season.
Today I rearranged my schedule and fasted as I was instructed to do. I don't think you must fast for the thyroid test but I have high cholesterol and the doctor likes to check that all the time. The result is I am "talked to" about (a) having high cholesterol and refusing to take some drug for it and (b) being overweight. You get used to it (the talking to, I mean).
I arrived a bit early, quite chipper (and hungry). Before I could even sign my name to the check-in sheet, a stern-looking soul asked who I was. I cheerily gave my name and date of birth and waited.
And waited.
"Am I not in the system?" I asked, feeling a bit more anxious now.
"You have no appointment today," the woman said.
"Yes I do. I made it two weeks ago."
"Your appointment is for 6/5."
I stood there a moment. June? "No, it's today, 3/5, March 5, not June. My prescriptions run out in March, not June," I replied.
"Well, it says June," she said.
I threw up my hands. I could not help but recall that only two months ago we had to cancel appointments for my husband that he never made that were somehow in their system.
The woman then ushered me around the corner, where another lady looked me up on her computer and muttered something about new software. She then went to another desk down the hall and spoke to someone I couldn't see.
I heard my name. The unseen person went off. "I can't do any more today! I have six people right now, I can't handle this any more, I just can't do this!" the woman sobbed. She really was hysterical.
I don't think it was my doctor but I can't be sure. Which is, frankly, a bit scary to consider. Whoever was having that bad a day should have been at home.
After a few moments of additional conversation I heard the words "get her lab work" and "see what prescriptions she needs."
So that is what happened. A nurse took my blood and eventually someone handed me a prescription for another month for the thyroid medication. It was signed by my doctor, who I did hear say something like "I am really frazzled," as she scribbled on the paper, because I was standing just down the hall watching.
This was only 9:20 a.m. Very early to be frazzled.
Hence, my uneasiness about the unknown person who was having histrionics behind the desk earlier.
Of course, I had planned to see the doctor to ask about that chest pain I have been having, as well as seeing how one goes about stopping medication they have been on for 15 years. That all went out the window.
I really think I would just as soon never see a doctor again. Maybe I would do just as well....
Today I had an appointment for a follow-up and lab work. In spite of my anathema toward prescription drugs, I do presently take two medications - thyroid, prescribed for me 15 years ago and apparently something you can never stop taking (although I want to try it and see what happens) and an asthma/allergy drug.
The thyroid medicine requires annual blood work, although I have no clue why. My prescription ran out with the last refill and so I dutifully called about two weeks ago and made an appointment. This even though I really dislike going when I know it's flu season.
Today I rearranged my schedule and fasted as I was instructed to do. I don't think you must fast for the thyroid test but I have high cholesterol and the doctor likes to check that all the time. The result is I am "talked to" about (a) having high cholesterol and refusing to take some drug for it and (b) being overweight. You get used to it (the talking to, I mean).
I arrived a bit early, quite chipper (and hungry). Before I could even sign my name to the check-in sheet, a stern-looking soul asked who I was. I cheerily gave my name and date of birth and waited.
And waited.
"Am I not in the system?" I asked, feeling a bit more anxious now.
"You have no appointment today," the woman said.
"Yes I do. I made it two weeks ago."
"Your appointment is for 6/5."
I stood there a moment. June? "No, it's today, 3/5, March 5, not June. My prescriptions run out in March, not June," I replied.
"Well, it says June," she said.
I threw up my hands. I could not help but recall that only two months ago we had to cancel appointments for my husband that he never made that were somehow in their system.
The woman then ushered me around the corner, where another lady looked me up on her computer and muttered something about new software. She then went to another desk down the hall and spoke to someone I couldn't see.
I heard my name. The unseen person went off. "I can't do any more today! I have six people right now, I can't handle this any more, I just can't do this!" the woman sobbed. She really was hysterical.
I don't think it was my doctor but I can't be sure. Which is, frankly, a bit scary to consider. Whoever was having that bad a day should have been at home.
After a few moments of additional conversation I heard the words "get her lab work" and "see what prescriptions she needs."
So that is what happened. A nurse took my blood and eventually someone handed me a prescription for another month for the thyroid medication. It was signed by my doctor, who I did hear say something like "I am really frazzled," as she scribbled on the paper, because I was standing just down the hall watching.
This was only 9:20 a.m. Very early to be frazzled.
Hence, my uneasiness about the unknown person who was having histrionics behind the desk earlier.
Of course, I had planned to see the doctor to ask about that chest pain I have been having, as well as seeing how one goes about stopping medication they have been on for 15 years. That all went out the window.
I really think I would just as soon never see a doctor again. Maybe I would do just as well....
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Mary Queen of Scots
Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots
by Alexandre Dumas
Copyright 1995 (?)
Read by Julie Christie
Abridged
6 hours
I have long been fascinated by Mary, Queen of Scots. Mostly this was because when I was about three years old, I allegedly told my mother that I was born in Scotland and was present at the beheading of the queen. My Baptist-raised mother feared I was reincarnated and forbade me to ever speak of it again. I haven't the slightest recall of this but my mother mentioned it to me several times when I was older. Of course she did not write anything down so I must rely only her memory, which was marred by her puzzlement as to how her baby girl could speak of such things.
In any event, the tragedy of this queen has always struck a chord. Lovely and chilling, Mary Stuart was foiled in love as well as in rule. She could not chose a husband wisely to save her life - and ultimately, it certainly did not.
As told by Dumas, Mary's biggest mistake was trusting that Elizabeth I, her cousin, would harbor her safely. Instead she imprisoned her for nearly 20 years and when she finally could she had the unfortunate woman beheaded.
If only she'd gone to France instead of England, the entire course of history might have changed.
I enjoyed listening to this. Dumas obviously took literary license in the tale, creating scenes and dialogue. It was quite entertaining and I greatly admired Mary for her demeanor as portrayed in this book. Even at the end, as she was led to the executioner, she was a stately presence. Would that we all would meet our demise with such grace.
4 stars
by Alexandre Dumas
Copyright 1995 (?)
Read by Julie Christie
Abridged
6 hours
I have long been fascinated by Mary, Queen of Scots. Mostly this was because when I was about three years old, I allegedly told my mother that I was born in Scotland and was present at the beheading of the queen. My Baptist-raised mother feared I was reincarnated and forbade me to ever speak of it again. I haven't the slightest recall of this but my mother mentioned it to me several times when I was older. Of course she did not write anything down so I must rely only her memory, which was marred by her puzzlement as to how her baby girl could speak of such things.
In any event, the tragedy of this queen has always struck a chord. Lovely and chilling, Mary Stuart was foiled in love as well as in rule. She could not chose a husband wisely to save her life - and ultimately, it certainly did not.
As told by Dumas, Mary's biggest mistake was trusting that Elizabeth I, her cousin, would harbor her safely. Instead she imprisoned her for nearly 20 years and when she finally could she had the unfortunate woman beheaded.
If only she'd gone to France instead of England, the entire course of history might have changed.
I enjoyed listening to this. Dumas obviously took literary license in the tale, creating scenes and dialogue. It was quite entertaining and I greatly admired Mary for her demeanor as portrayed in this book. Even at the end, as she was led to the executioner, she was a stately presence. Would that we all would meet our demise with such grace.
4 stars
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Eat, Pray, Love
My book club read this book for the month of February.
We all liked it.
It is the story of a woman's spiritual journey as she heals from a bad divorce and, following that, a failed love affair. She is about 30.
She follows a guru and goes to India. First she goes to Italy where she eats a lot of good food. She is nurturing her physical self. Then it's off to India where she stays in an ashram for four months, learning to meditate and reach her higher self.
Finally she goes to Bali where she falls in love with an ex-pat Brazilian.
Our book club talks generally stray far from the book, and last Tuesday night's meeting was no exception. Our conversation ranged from taking care of mother-in-laws to taking care of ourselves. it is a great book club.
One interesting concept in this book was the idea that every place and every person has a single word that belong to them. In the book, the Vatican was given a word: Power. Other places had words too: sex, money, avarice. The author took a long time finding her word, which, since I gave my book away at the end of the book club meeting I unfortunately can't recall.
I have spent some time trying to come up with my own one word and so far have failed. Several of us made an effort with our neighboring city while we talking - the two that came forth and seemed to stick were "shallow" and "stupid" - apparently we don't have much of an opinion of city leaders at the moment. We attemped our small town and came up with obstinate.
I can easily put a single word on my husband: SOLID. I think that word describes him in all his character.
I think seeking spirtual satisfaction is necessary for peace. I don't think it is done well in the U.S. - it takes time. That's time away from job, from family, from material goods, from the consumer culture. As a nation we frown own that - if you're off praying, after all, you're not contributing to the economy.
I am as guilty of this as the rest - but it is something I hope to rectify. Beginning, maybe, tonight.
Eat, Pray, Love
by Elizabeth Gilbert
about 350 pages
4.5 stars
We all liked it.
It is the story of a woman's spiritual journey as she heals from a bad divorce and, following that, a failed love affair. She is about 30.
She follows a guru and goes to India. First she goes to Italy where she eats a lot of good food. She is nurturing her physical self. Then it's off to India where she stays in an ashram for four months, learning to meditate and reach her higher self.
Finally she goes to Bali where she falls in love with an ex-pat Brazilian.
Our book club talks generally stray far from the book, and last Tuesday night's meeting was no exception. Our conversation ranged from taking care of mother-in-laws to taking care of ourselves. it is a great book club.
One interesting concept in this book was the idea that every place and every person has a single word that belong to them. In the book, the Vatican was given a word: Power. Other places had words too: sex, money, avarice. The author took a long time finding her word, which, since I gave my book away at the end of the book club meeting I unfortunately can't recall.
I have spent some time trying to come up with my own one word and so far have failed. Several of us made an effort with our neighboring city while we talking - the two that came forth and seemed to stick were "shallow" and "stupid" - apparently we don't have much of an opinion of city leaders at the moment. We attemped our small town and came up with obstinate.
I can easily put a single word on my husband: SOLID. I think that word describes him in all his character.
I think seeking spirtual satisfaction is necessary for peace. I don't think it is done well in the U.S. - it takes time. That's time away from job, from family, from material goods, from the consumer culture. As a nation we frown own that - if you're off praying, after all, you're not contributing to the economy.
I am as guilty of this as the rest - but it is something I hope to rectify. Beginning, maybe, tonight.
Eat, Pray, Love
by Elizabeth Gilbert
about 350 pages
4.5 stars
Saturday, March 01, 2008
The Roasting Pan
This morning I ventured to the store and decided chicken would be the meat of the day.
After scanning the selections carefully, I came home with an "organic" bird for which I paid a bit more for the assurance that it was sans drugs and steroids.
This afternoon I prepped the chicken for roasting. As I worked, I couldn't help but think that I was repeating the work of every generation of woman who came before me. Preparing the meat, making ready for the meal.
The differences between me and those many-great grandmothers was methodology - I was using an electric oven, and I didn't have to kill the chicken and pluck its feathers. I suspect they had a harder job.
My imagination went wild with me for a time as I envisioned my caveman grandmother, grunting and struggling to hack at the bird with a knife made from bone. I daresay she did not take the time to remove the fat, if there was indeed any fat on a bird back then. Maybe she simply wrung the bird's neck and cooked it with the head on and didn't need a knife.
The feathers would have been kept for use as something else - a pillow, a headdress, a duster, something. They would not have gone to waste, I am sure.
I created more waste simply getting the wrapping off my chicken than my caveman grandmother ever thought about, I think.
Down through the ages, from caveman to Tudor England to the New World, women have roasted chicken. I think too it was not an everyday meal. The birds would have been precious commodities, valued for laying eggs that provide food every day.
I think about when I watch Survivor on CBS and the winning team gets chickens. Invariably instead of keeping the birds around and eating the eggs every day, the chickens last about two days and are eaten. Usually the rooster goes first and then the chickens are a disappointment in the egg-laying department. Every good country girl knows chickens lay eggs better when there's a rooster around.
I think this is a great metaphor for the impatience of U.S. society. We want our chicken now, gosh darn it, and we haven't the patience to wait for the eggs! So what if we starve tomorrow, today we live like kings!
I think that is pretty much the attitude we have toward sustainability issues - use it up now and worry about tomorrow whenever it gets here. It is not very far-sighted and indeed is very short-sited. How much stronger would those survivor contestants be toward the end if they'd been eating eggs every day? I imagine they would be much better off if they had patience.
I am not sure how I went from roasting chickens to saving the planet, but there you go. Everything's connected somehow.
After scanning the selections carefully, I came home with an "organic" bird for which I paid a bit more for the assurance that it was sans drugs and steroids.
This afternoon I prepped the chicken for roasting. As I worked, I couldn't help but think that I was repeating the work of every generation of woman who came before me. Preparing the meat, making ready for the meal.
The differences between me and those many-great grandmothers was methodology - I was using an electric oven, and I didn't have to kill the chicken and pluck its feathers. I suspect they had a harder job.
My imagination went wild with me for a time as I envisioned my caveman grandmother, grunting and struggling to hack at the bird with a knife made from bone. I daresay she did not take the time to remove the fat, if there was indeed any fat on a bird back then. Maybe she simply wrung the bird's neck and cooked it with the head on and didn't need a knife.
The feathers would have been kept for use as something else - a pillow, a headdress, a duster, something. They would not have gone to waste, I am sure.
I created more waste simply getting the wrapping off my chicken than my caveman grandmother ever thought about, I think.
Down through the ages, from caveman to Tudor England to the New World, women have roasted chicken. I think too it was not an everyday meal. The birds would have been precious commodities, valued for laying eggs that provide food every day.
I think about when I watch Survivor on CBS and the winning team gets chickens. Invariably instead of keeping the birds around and eating the eggs every day, the chickens last about two days and are eaten. Usually the rooster goes first and then the chickens are a disappointment in the egg-laying department. Every good country girl knows chickens lay eggs better when there's a rooster around.
I think this is a great metaphor for the impatience of U.S. society. We want our chicken now, gosh darn it, and we haven't the patience to wait for the eggs! So what if we starve tomorrow, today we live like kings!
I think that is pretty much the attitude we have toward sustainability issues - use it up now and worry about tomorrow whenever it gets here. It is not very far-sighted and indeed is very short-sited. How much stronger would those survivor contestants be toward the end if they'd been eating eggs every day? I imagine they would be much better off if they had patience.
I am not sure how I went from roasting chickens to saving the planet, but there you go. Everything's connected somehow.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
Thirteen great things about being a woman:
1. I can bring home the bacon. And work harder to make less. About 70 cents on the dollar less, actually.
2. I can fry it up in a pan.
3. I can never ever let you forget you're a man.*
4. I can give birth to children.***
5. I can sing alto and soprano. And country and western and pop and opera... heck, I can sing pretty much anything I want to. I can even play the guitar.
6. I can cry if I want to.** And not worry too much about the consequences (unless your name is Hillary).
7. I look good in a skirt. Those kilts are so not in fashion.
8. I have that maternal instinct thing going on.
9. I am soft and don't need to apologize for it.
10. I have brains. And lots of them.
11. I look good in men's clothes. Men don't look so hot in feminine garb.
12. I can take one look at you and read you like a book just by taking in the way you dress and the way you carry yourself.
13. I live longer.
* From an Enjoli perfume commercial in the 1970s, I think.
** From a song in the 1950s or 1960s.
*** I can't personally have children, having had a hysterectomy, but this is an all-inclusive list and not just about me.
1. I can bring home the bacon. And work harder to make less. About 70 cents on the dollar less, actually.
2. I can fry it up in a pan.
3. I can never ever let you forget you're a man.*
4. I can give birth to children.***
5. I can sing alto and soprano. And country and western and pop and opera... heck, I can sing pretty much anything I want to. I can even play the guitar.
6. I can cry if I want to.** And not worry too much about the consequences (unless your name is Hillary).
7. I look good in a skirt. Those kilts are so not in fashion.
8. I have that maternal instinct thing going on.
9. I am soft and don't need to apologize for it.
10. I have brains. And lots of them.
11. I look good in men's clothes. Men don't look so hot in feminine garb.
12. I can take one look at you and read you like a book just by taking in the way you dress and the way you carry yourself.
13. I live longer.
* From an Enjoli perfume commercial in the 1970s, I think.
** From a song in the 1950s or 1960s.
*** I can't personally have children, having had a hysterectomy, but this is an all-inclusive list and not just about me.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Hypochondria
I have lately been experiencing weird sensations about the chest. I am pretty sure this is because I have pulled a chest muscle lifting weights. My acupuncturist has hypothesized that it could be, at least in part, from a problem I have had with my back for several weeks (a slipping rib or disk). A pinched nerve kind of thing, she suggested, because my arm feels a lot like I've bumped my elbow.
But because of the location of the pain, and because the commercials on TV are always advocating various illnesses in the pharmaceutical industry's efforts to sell more drugs, I immediately think I am having a heart attack when it hurts.
This makes me very nervous which makes my heart race, which makes me even more nervous.
I know I am stressed because I have been working hard. I have written 62 articles since January 1; this is the 56th day of the year. That is more than one article a day, or at least 1,000 words a day every day, including weekends.
That's difficult to sustain without some kind of burnout.
So I think I'm in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of thing. I was exercising to relieve the stress of working too much; the boo-boo from exercising is adding to the stress.
I am 90 percent sure the pain isn't my heart; it's the other 10 percent of me that I am unable to convince.
It is no wonder many people race to the doctor when any little thing goes wrong. We are told to do this with every bottle of aspirin, with every bottle of vitamins, with every exercise video. Do nothing without your doctor's OK. As if this person with the MD is some god who can ordain how we live our life, a being who knows better than ourselves what our body can and cannot do or withstand.
My mother hauled me to the doctor for every little thing. I am not so sure she wasn't one of those mothers who create hysteria and illnesses in their children in order to see the doctor for whatever reason, because I certainly spent a lot of time in the doctor's office. I was given every new drug to come along, or so it seemed.
My body was filled with antibiotics and steroids before the age of 10. I had terrible allergies and problems with my left knee that required cortisone shots. Prednisone was the drug for my poison oak and poison ivy. Keflex was the antibiotic of choice for me for a long time; Benedryl was a constant friend.
I once made for my acupuncturist a list of drugs I could remember having taken at some point in my life. There were 44 different drugs on it. I did not take them all at once, mind you, but at some point all of these poisons (and that is what they are, I now know), were put in my system.
I continued the pattern of doctor visits well until my 30s. It took me that long to realize I was in charge of my body and my health care. I was 40 before I really took control. By that time the damage was tremendous.
Now I try desperately *not* to go to the doctor unless I really must. Doctors scare me with their pill-pushing, invasive X-rays, low-fat diets that don't take my food allergies into consideration, inconsistencies, and their inability to deal with wellness instead of illness.
My husband, who is seldom sick, does not understand my change of mind about the health care system. He blames it on my mother's death, the problems we had with her care, the fact that nothing they did saved her but instead made things worse as terminal cancer slowly ate away at her.
Perhaps that has something to do with it. But I prefer to think I am smarter, more savvy, more interested in being well than in being sick. Less sucked into the system.
I have been healthier in the last three years than at any time in my life. Is it because I see the doctor less? Eat better? Exercise? See an acupuncturist? All of the above?
When I watch TV and the ads come on for various drugs - Ask your Doctor about Liptor, Prilosec, Prevacid, the purple pill, the one for bladder control and the other for restless leg syndrome - I cringe at the list of side effects. May cause bleeding, ulcers, black tongue, dry eyes, confusion, dizziness, irritability, swelling in the hands, and death. Among other things.
And we're supposed to go ask our doctors about this?
There will come a time as I age that I will be on more drugs. I will have no choice but to enter the system again, against my will, while they prop me up with drugs for whatever is ailing me at that time. They will feed me poorly prepared processed food which will slowly kill me, along with the poisonous drugs.
All in the name of saving me, amen.
Until then, I hope I can stand firm against my own fears, against the desires of the very sick health care system that is ruining the citizens of this wonderful country, and against the concerns of my husband who wants me to see a doctor because he's worried.
It is a very hard thing to do.
But because of the location of the pain, and because the commercials on TV are always advocating various illnesses in the pharmaceutical industry's efforts to sell more drugs, I immediately think I am having a heart attack when it hurts.
This makes me very nervous which makes my heart race, which makes me even more nervous.
I know I am stressed because I have been working hard. I have written 62 articles since January 1; this is the 56th day of the year. That is more than one article a day, or at least 1,000 words a day every day, including weekends.
That's difficult to sustain without some kind of burnout.
So I think I'm in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of thing. I was exercising to relieve the stress of working too much; the boo-boo from exercising is adding to the stress.
I am 90 percent sure the pain isn't my heart; it's the other 10 percent of me that I am unable to convince.
It is no wonder many people race to the doctor when any little thing goes wrong. We are told to do this with every bottle of aspirin, with every bottle of vitamins, with every exercise video. Do nothing without your doctor's OK. As if this person with the MD is some god who can ordain how we live our life, a being who knows better than ourselves what our body can and cannot do or withstand.
My mother hauled me to the doctor for every little thing. I am not so sure she wasn't one of those mothers who create hysteria and illnesses in their children in order to see the doctor for whatever reason, because I certainly spent a lot of time in the doctor's office. I was given every new drug to come along, or so it seemed.
My body was filled with antibiotics and steroids before the age of 10. I had terrible allergies and problems with my left knee that required cortisone shots. Prednisone was the drug for my poison oak and poison ivy. Keflex was the antibiotic of choice for me for a long time; Benedryl was a constant friend.
I once made for my acupuncturist a list of drugs I could remember having taken at some point in my life. There were 44 different drugs on it. I did not take them all at once, mind you, but at some point all of these poisons (and that is what they are, I now know), were put in my system.
I continued the pattern of doctor visits well until my 30s. It took me that long to realize I was in charge of my body and my health care. I was 40 before I really took control. By that time the damage was tremendous.
Now I try desperately *not* to go to the doctor unless I really must. Doctors scare me with their pill-pushing, invasive X-rays, low-fat diets that don't take my food allergies into consideration, inconsistencies, and their inability to deal with wellness instead of illness.
My husband, who is seldom sick, does not understand my change of mind about the health care system. He blames it on my mother's death, the problems we had with her care, the fact that nothing they did saved her but instead made things worse as terminal cancer slowly ate away at her.
Perhaps that has something to do with it. But I prefer to think I am smarter, more savvy, more interested in being well than in being sick. Less sucked into the system.
I have been healthier in the last three years than at any time in my life. Is it because I see the doctor less? Eat better? Exercise? See an acupuncturist? All of the above?
When I watch TV and the ads come on for various drugs - Ask your Doctor about Liptor, Prilosec, Prevacid, the purple pill, the one for bladder control and the other for restless leg syndrome - I cringe at the list of side effects. May cause bleeding, ulcers, black tongue, dry eyes, confusion, dizziness, irritability, swelling in the hands, and death. Among other things.
And we're supposed to go ask our doctors about this?
There will come a time as I age that I will be on more drugs. I will have no choice but to enter the system again, against my will, while they prop me up with drugs for whatever is ailing me at that time. They will feed me poorly prepared processed food which will slowly kill me, along with the poisonous drugs.
All in the name of saving me, amen.
Until then, I hope I can stand firm against my own fears, against the desires of the very sick health care system that is ruining the citizens of this wonderful country, and against the concerns of my husband who wants me to see a doctor because he's worried.
It is a very hard thing to do.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
No Smoking Restaurants
The other day my husband and I set out to have dinner. We could not come up with too many restaurants locally that are entirely smoke-free.
We ended up at K&W Cafeteria for our Valentine's celebration, because I was not in the mood to inhale second hand smoke and we couldn't think of another completely smoke free restaurant in the Hershberger area.
Many restaurants have a smoking section, but let's face it. Those don't work. The smoke wafts over and you smell like you're the one inhaling tar and nicotine regardless of how far away you sit.
I looked for a list of smoke free restaurants in the area on the Internet but could not find one.
So I am making my own list. Please contribute if you know for sure a restaurant is smoke free.
Most that I know about are close to home. I am pretty clueless about restaurants in Roanoke. I do not eat out a lot; smoking sections are the reason why.
Smoke Free
Three Little Pigs (Daleville)
Country Cookin' (Daleville)
Bellacino's (Daleville)
IHOP (Roanoke)
K&W Cafeteria (Roanoke)
Pizza Hut (Daleville)
Harbor Inn Seafood (Roanoke)*
Famous Anthony's (all locations, I think)*
Pizza Hut (Hershberger Road)*
Pete's Deli (Town Squre Blvd)*
Jersey Lilly's (Rt 460, I think is non-smoking)*
Smoking section
Cracker Barrel (Troutville)
Shoney's (Troutville)
O'Charley's (Roanoke)
Shaker's (Roanoke)
Coach & Four (Roanoke)
Shang-Hi (Salem)
Logan's @ Valley View*
Texas Steakhouse @ Valley View*
Everything else?
Others? Recommendations?
* Added after original post*
We ended up at K&W Cafeteria for our Valentine's celebration, because I was not in the mood to inhale second hand smoke and we couldn't think of another completely smoke free restaurant in the Hershberger area.
Many restaurants have a smoking section, but let's face it. Those don't work. The smoke wafts over and you smell like you're the one inhaling tar and nicotine regardless of how far away you sit.
I looked for a list of smoke free restaurants in the area on the Internet but could not find one.
So I am making my own list. Please contribute if you know for sure a restaurant is smoke free.
Most that I know about are close to home. I am pretty clueless about restaurants in Roanoke. I do not eat out a lot; smoking sections are the reason why.
Smoke Free
Three Little Pigs (Daleville)
Country Cookin' (Daleville)
Bellacino's (Daleville)
IHOP (Roanoke)
K&W Cafeteria (Roanoke)
Pizza Hut (Daleville)
Harbor Inn Seafood (Roanoke)*
Famous Anthony's (all locations, I think)*
Pizza Hut (Hershberger Road)*
Pete's Deli (Town Squre Blvd)*
Jersey Lilly's (Rt 460, I think is non-smoking)*
Smoking section
Cracker Barrel (Troutville)
Shoney's (Troutville)
O'Charley's (Roanoke)
Shaker's (Roanoke)
Coach & Four (Roanoke)
Shang-Hi (Salem)
Logan's @ Valley View*
Texas Steakhouse @ Valley View*
Everything else?
Others? Recommendations?
* Added after original post*
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Administrative
I am having problems with Blogger. I lost my spell check for several weeks. That was frustrating.
Upon its return, I find I am having problems accessing the page elements/layout.
When I finally did get it to work briefly this morning, I managed to add Jen's Bike Blog, House on Glade Hill and Going Crunchy to my links listings. And then it stopped being cooperative again.
At any rate, if you'd like to exchange blog links, just let me know and I will be glad to add you to my readers list, once the thing is working properly again.
Upon its return, I find I am having problems accessing the page elements/layout.
When I finally did get it to work briefly this morning, I managed to add Jen's Bike Blog, House on Glade Hill and Going Crunchy to my links listings. And then it stopped being cooperative again.
At any rate, if you'd like to exchange blog links, just let me know and I will be glad to add you to my readers list, once the thing is working properly again.
Books: The Hornet's Next
The Hornet's Next
By Jimmy Carter (yes, the president)
Copyright 2003
Read by Edward Herrmann
Abridged
This historical fiction was a surprise. When I picked it up at the library, my first thought was "how bad is THIS going to be."
I enjoyed listening to it. The reader did a good job. And while the book was short on character and long on events and read a lot like a history book, it was an entertaining account of the American Revolution as it took place in Georgia and the Carolinas.
The book follows characters from both sides; neither are treated with kid gloves or favoritism.
I understand some of the characters are based on Carter's ancestors.
3 stars
By Jimmy Carter (yes, the president)
Copyright 2003
Read by Edward Herrmann
Abridged
This historical fiction was a surprise. When I picked it up at the library, my first thought was "how bad is THIS going to be."
I enjoyed listening to it. The reader did a good job. And while the book was short on character and long on events and read a lot like a history book, it was an entertaining account of the American Revolution as it took place in Georgia and the Carolinas.
The book follows characters from both sides; neither are treated with kid gloves or favoritism.
I understand some of the characters are based on Carter's ancestors.
3 stars
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thanks, June
June over at Spatter last week gave my blog an excellence award, for which I am very thankful.
I am just now acknowledging it because I have been incredibly busy with work. I managed a few blog entries lately because of time constraints, but my mind was full of things I wanted to write.
Finally, I began making a list of potential blog entries, because I couldn't find the time to write the entries.
Today was the first day I've had a chance to visit my blog friends and try to catch up. I missed my near-daily visits to see some of you!
Anyway, I will pass on this honor to Jeff, Ms. E., Kitty at AROO and Becky at Peevish Pen. There are others I read who are worthy; June already tagged many of the blogs I take peeks at and I like to spread the love.
Primary Opinions
Last week when I went to vote in Virginia's primary elections, I could not help but wonder what my mother would have thought of Hillary Clinton's run for the presidency.
While I see it as a historic and momentous time in the history of women, a history that shows how little women matter (even today) simply because of the lack of women in the annals of time, I think my mother would see something else.
My mother was not a "wimmin's libber" and was disdainful of those who fought to progress the status of women. This in spite of the fact that my mother left home every day at 7:15 a.m. and returned around 6 p.m.
She worked for a Salem manufacturing company. She took her first and only job when she was 16.
She was a file clerk.
Mom was one of two women who worked in the company for a long time; the other was an executive secretary. She started out part time. She was working there on the day I was born.
I am not sure when she went full time, but I think it was before I started school. At some point they hired a third woman to work in the office.
Over the years my mother complained bitterly about her job, about the lack of respect that she had from the men in the office, about the lack of respect she had from my father, about her inability to move upward or even out of the place she found herself.
When I was teenager I remember her talking about an opening for a purchaser. She said she could do the job with her eyes shut. I asked her if she had applied for it. "I'm there. They should know to ask me," she snapped.
It was no surprise to me when my mother died at the age of 56, after having been retired for six years, that the information her estate received on an insurance policy still listed her job title as "file clerk." She never once asserted herself in the 34 years she worked there.
But it may be, also, that she couldn't, working as she did in a world where men ruled and women were belittled. I prefer to think she fought hard for promotions, for upward movement, for equality, even though I am pretty sure she didn't.
I tried to remember what my mother may have said when Geraldine Ferraro ran for the office of vice president when Walter Mondale ran against Reagan in 1984. I remember being thrilled by the idea; in my head I hear my mother snarling expletives at the very idea that a woman might aspire to the second-highest office in the land. I might be imagining that, though.
When I was in my early 20s, I did not understand the women's liberation movement. I did not comprehend how bad it is for women, what a glass ceiling was, why it mattered. I had not thought it through.
I am older now. Now I know that woman are routinely discriminated against, routinely put down, routinely belittled and beaten and treated like animals or small children who don't know any better.
The misogyny that has been in the media during Clinton's run for office has been the stuff of horror. It reads like the 1920s, not the year 2008. Hillary sheds a tear and its national news, debated ad nauseum as if crying is some kind of national horror. (Click here to read the February 5 blog entry of my friend Chris on this topic. Also go read AROO for more on the same vein.)
The national horror is the way the media is treating this campaign. The national horror is the lack of debate and the lack of acknowledgement of the true status of women in this country. The national horror is the way women accept, as if it is their due, their second-rate status in a land that is supposed to be leading the way for freedom for all.
My mother, alas, would probably not agree.
While I see it as a historic and momentous time in the history of women, a history that shows how little women matter (even today) simply because of the lack of women in the annals of time, I think my mother would see something else.
My mother was not a "wimmin's libber" and was disdainful of those who fought to progress the status of women. This in spite of the fact that my mother left home every day at 7:15 a.m. and returned around 6 p.m.
She worked for a Salem manufacturing company. She took her first and only job when she was 16.
She was a file clerk.
Mom was one of two women who worked in the company for a long time; the other was an executive secretary. She started out part time. She was working there on the day I was born.
I am not sure when she went full time, but I think it was before I started school. At some point they hired a third woman to work in the office.
Over the years my mother complained bitterly about her job, about the lack of respect that she had from the men in the office, about the lack of respect she had from my father, about her inability to move upward or even out of the place she found herself.
When I was teenager I remember her talking about an opening for a purchaser. She said she could do the job with her eyes shut. I asked her if she had applied for it. "I'm there. They should know to ask me," she snapped.
It was no surprise to me when my mother died at the age of 56, after having been retired for six years, that the information her estate received on an insurance policy still listed her job title as "file clerk." She never once asserted herself in the 34 years she worked there.
But it may be, also, that she couldn't, working as she did in a world where men ruled and women were belittled. I prefer to think she fought hard for promotions, for upward movement, for equality, even though I am pretty sure she didn't.
I tried to remember what my mother may have said when Geraldine Ferraro ran for the office of vice president when Walter Mondale ran against Reagan in 1984. I remember being thrilled by the idea; in my head I hear my mother snarling expletives at the very idea that a woman might aspire to the second-highest office in the land. I might be imagining that, though.
When I was in my early 20s, I did not understand the women's liberation movement. I did not comprehend how bad it is for women, what a glass ceiling was, why it mattered. I had not thought it through.
I am older now. Now I know that woman are routinely discriminated against, routinely put down, routinely belittled and beaten and treated like animals or small children who don't know any better.
The misogyny that has been in the media during Clinton's run for office has been the stuff of horror. It reads like the 1920s, not the year 2008. Hillary sheds a tear and its national news, debated ad nauseum as if crying is some kind of national horror. (Click here to read the February 5 blog entry of my friend Chris on this topic. Also go read AROO for more on the same vein.)
The national horror is the way the media is treating this campaign. The national horror is the lack of debate and the lack of acknowledgement of the true status of women in this country. The national horror is the way women accept, as if it is their due, their second-rate status in a land that is supposed to be leading the way for freedom for all.
My mother, alas, would probably not agree.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Total Eclipse of the Moon
Last night was a total eclipse of the moon. I understand there will not be another until 2010.
I thought with the cloud cover that all would be lost, but just after the event began, things began looking up.
I put my Nikon D40 on a tripod and then, not knowing exactly what I was doing (moon pictures have always eluded me), I snapped a few pictures, changed the settings, snapped again.
I didn't get shots that were worthy of hanging on the wall, but I had a good time.
After the shadow was about halfway across the moon's face, the clouds rolled back in and I saw no more of the eclipse.
This morning I saw the moon sitting fat on the horizon, so I grabbed my camera, which was still on the tripod, and hustled out to the front porch in my nightgown and robe.
P.S. There are some really nice shots of the eclipse and the moon at CastleRuins, a new blog I found today from June's blog, Spatter.
I thought with the cloud cover that all would be lost, but just after the event began, things began looking up.
I put my Nikon D40 on a tripod and then, not knowing exactly what I was doing (moon pictures have always eluded me), I snapped a few pictures, changed the settings, snapped again.
I didn't get shots that were worthy of hanging on the wall, but I had a good time.
After the shadow was about halfway across the moon's face, the clouds rolled back in and I saw no more of the eclipse.
This morning I saw the moon sitting fat on the horizon, so I grabbed my camera, which was still on the tripod, and hustled out to the front porch in my nightgown and robe.
P.S. There are some really nice shots of the eclipse and the moon at CastleRuins, a new blog I found today from June's blog, Spatter.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Guitar Guy
Sunday we visited my sister-in-law and checked on the nephew. He had surgery in January and we've been keeping tabs on him.
E. turned 17 at the end of last month. He is 6' 4" tall, weighs 175 pounds, and wears size 16 shoes. He plays sports and his surgery cost him the baseball season this year. He is a high school junior.
He is also a very polite young man who says, "Yes ma'am" to me and always has. He is courteous and holds open doors and kisses me hello and goodbye.
I relate to him and his younger brother via video games, moreso than anyone else in the family, because I have always been the only one with any computer knowledge. I also am the only adult who plays video games with any regularity. I have been playing video games since the days of "Pong" but that is another blog entry.
Sunday E. showed off his new Guitar Hero III, complete with the guitar-shaped control. His mother said he'd been playing a lot - I watched as he blazed through an Aerosmith song with relative ease. He was equally good using the normal controller, too. It was rather amazing to watch because this young man has fingers that are as long as my entire hand.
He would have been some pianoist.
But he has never had an interest in music, only sports.
He showed me how to use the guitar controller and set me to "playing" on "Slow Ride" and the "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." In just two songs I went from hitting about 60 percent of the notes to 92 percent; a few hours and I'd have been decent at the game I suppose.
"I wonder which is harder, this or playing a real guitar," E commented as he watched me.
"A real guitar," I replied, without even thinking about it. I began playing the guitar when I was 11. I spent hours practicing on it, playing until my fingers ached. Sometimes they even bled.
"I wish there were more songs, this is sort of limited," E later said, after I'd played my two songs and handed him back the controller.
"If you put the time into learning to play a real guitar instead of this game, you'd be unlimited. There is no end to music when you are the one making it, not dependent on someone else to do it," I replied.
He just looked at me funny. And then this good boy, who is being invited by Princeton and Yale to submit college applications, smiled indulgently at the crazy aunt and went back to his video game.
E. turned 17 at the end of last month. He is 6' 4" tall, weighs 175 pounds, and wears size 16 shoes. He plays sports and his surgery cost him the baseball season this year. He is a high school junior.
He is also a very polite young man who says, "Yes ma'am" to me and always has. He is courteous and holds open doors and kisses me hello and goodbye.
I relate to him and his younger brother via video games, moreso than anyone else in the family, because I have always been the only one with any computer knowledge. I also am the only adult who plays video games with any regularity. I have been playing video games since the days of "Pong" but that is another blog entry.
Sunday E. showed off his new Guitar Hero III, complete with the guitar-shaped control. His mother said he'd been playing a lot - I watched as he blazed through an Aerosmith song with relative ease. He was equally good using the normal controller, too. It was rather amazing to watch because this young man has fingers that are as long as my entire hand.
He would have been some pianoist.
But he has never had an interest in music, only sports.
He showed me how to use the guitar controller and set me to "playing" on "Slow Ride" and the "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." In just two songs I went from hitting about 60 percent of the notes to 92 percent; a few hours and I'd have been decent at the game I suppose.
"I wonder which is harder, this or playing a real guitar," E commented as he watched me.
"A real guitar," I replied, without even thinking about it. I began playing the guitar when I was 11. I spent hours practicing on it, playing until my fingers ached. Sometimes they even bled.
"I wish there were more songs, this is sort of limited," E later said, after I'd played my two songs and handed him back the controller.
"If you put the time into learning to play a real guitar instead of this game, you'd be unlimited. There is no end to music when you are the one making it, not dependent on someone else to do it," I replied.
He just looked at me funny. And then this good boy, who is being invited by Princeton and Yale to submit college applications, smiled indulgently at the crazy aunt and went back to his video game.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
For the Locals
Here's something to do in March: go to the Green Valley Book Fair.
These are remainder books, and many of them. The book fair is north of Staunton. Be prepared to spend the day. And your money.
Since you're up that way, drive a little further north to the Dayton Farmer's Market. This is an Amish market full of lots of goodies - sitty around stuff, candy, fresh meats, all kinds of things. Definitely worth checking out while you're there.
If you're coming from Roanoke, either on the way up or on the way back, check out The Cheese Shop in Stuarts Draft (some of these goodies are available at the Dayton Farmer's Market, too). I go here to buy some of the best cinnamon you've ever tasted, along with other spices. The prices are unbeatable.
I plan to make this trip in either March or May. Enjoy!
These are remainder books, and many of them. The book fair is north of Staunton. Be prepared to spend the day. And your money.
Since you're up that way, drive a little further north to the Dayton Farmer's Market. This is an Amish market full of lots of goodies - sitty around stuff, candy, fresh meats, all kinds of things. Definitely worth checking out while you're there.
If you're coming from Roanoke, either on the way up or on the way back, check out The Cheese Shop in Stuarts Draft (some of these goodies are available at the Dayton Farmer's Market, too). I go here to buy some of the best cinnamon you've ever tasted, along with other spices. The prices are unbeatable.
I plan to make this trip in either March or May. Enjoy!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
TV: Celine Dion
Last night I went to bed with a book and the TV on for background noise, like I generally do when my husband is working.
CBS had a special - Celine Dion. I like her music but own none of her work.
From the first song, the book soon lay forgotten beside me. I had no idea Celine Dion was such a compelling performer. I was impressed.
What I liked about it was she was so personable and comfortable on the stage. It was like watching an old friend. I really enjoyed her song with Will. I. Am; I thought that was exceptional, and her rendition of the Beatle's "Something" with Joe Walsh was extraordinary.
The hour went by very quickly. We need more shows like this, and less reality TV.
CBS had a special - Celine Dion. I like her music but own none of her work.
From the first song, the book soon lay forgotten beside me. I had no idea Celine Dion was such a compelling performer. I was impressed.
What I liked about it was she was so personable and comfortable on the stage. It was like watching an old friend. I really enjoyed her song with Will. I. Am; I thought that was exceptional, and her rendition of the Beatle's "Something" with Joe Walsh was extraordinary.
The hour went by very quickly. We need more shows like this, and less reality TV.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine's 13
I could do 13 reasons why I love my husband, but I have several entries about why I love him. Today I thought I'd celebrate my friends.
So, 13 reasons why I love my friends (not necessarily in order of importance)...
1. They enrich my life. They do this by making me think, my making me love, by making me care.
2. They make me laugh. Laughter is really the best way to spend an hour, I have to say. I love making my friends laugh, too. What can be better than bringing a little fun into someone's heart?
3. They hear me out. When you've got a problem or a worry, then it's friends to the rescue. Your husband can only listen to it so much, after all.
4. Who else would I eat lunch with?
5. They give me their honest opinions. Thankfully, if I am messing up big time, they care enough to tell me. When my friends say, "You'd better stop and think about that," I try to heed that as the warning it is.
6. They give good advice. From what doctor to see to what I should do about a specific incident, I can count on hearing good words from my friends.
7. They will sit with me when I cry. My friends will not leave me to drown in my own tears. Thankfully I don't have to ask them to pull me from the waters very often.
8. They make me feel needed. I am always happy to help out if a friend needs a hand. Usually I just listen or sit with them if they cry (which again does not happen very often). I think it is very necessary for someone to feel needed in a relationship, to feel like they're giving back. I mean, isn't that point?
9. They give good hugs. There are few things as warming as the hug of a good friend. Hugs are about the best things ever.
10. They are patient with me. I know I have whined about the same thing a thousand times. And every time they listen.
11. My friends don't need explanations. If I do something really stupid, they simply accept it for what it is, and we move on.
12. My friends honor me by letting me be their friend and granting me time in their lives. Their time for me is indeed a most valuable gift.
13. Here are some quotes about friendship:
Friendship make prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), On Friendship, 44 B.C.
A true friend is the greatest of all blessings, and that which we take the least care of all to acquire.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)
Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success.
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), The Soul of Man under Socialism (1881)
The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910), Pudd'nhead Wilson
The only thing that lasts longer than a friend's love is the stupidity that keeps us from knowing any better.
Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 09-07-06
Consult your friend on all things, especially on those which respect yourself. His counsel may then be useful where your own self-love might impair your judgment.
Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)
So, 13 reasons why I love my friends (not necessarily in order of importance)...
1. They enrich my life. They do this by making me think, my making me love, by making me care.
2. They make me laugh. Laughter is really the best way to spend an hour, I have to say. I love making my friends laugh, too. What can be better than bringing a little fun into someone's heart?
3. They hear me out. When you've got a problem or a worry, then it's friends to the rescue. Your husband can only listen to it so much, after all.
4. Who else would I eat lunch with?
5. They give me their honest opinions. Thankfully, if I am messing up big time, they care enough to tell me. When my friends say, "You'd better stop and think about that," I try to heed that as the warning it is.
6. They give good advice. From what doctor to see to what I should do about a specific incident, I can count on hearing good words from my friends.
7. They will sit with me when I cry. My friends will not leave me to drown in my own tears. Thankfully I don't have to ask them to pull me from the waters very often.
8. They make me feel needed. I am always happy to help out if a friend needs a hand. Usually I just listen or sit with them if they cry (which again does not happen very often). I think it is very necessary for someone to feel needed in a relationship, to feel like they're giving back. I mean, isn't that point?
9. They give good hugs. There are few things as warming as the hug of a good friend. Hugs are about the best things ever.
10. They are patient with me. I know I have whined about the same thing a thousand times. And every time they listen.
11. My friends don't need explanations. If I do something really stupid, they simply accept it for what it is, and we move on.
12. My friends honor me by letting me be their friend and granting me time in their lives. Their time for me is indeed a most valuable gift.
13. Here are some quotes about friendship:
Friendship make prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), On Friendship, 44 B.C.
A true friend is the greatest of all blessings, and that which we take the least care of all to acquire.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)
Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success.
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), The Soul of Man under Socialism (1881)
The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910), Pudd'nhead Wilson
The only thing that lasts longer than a friend's love is the stupidity that keeps us from knowing any better.
Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 09-07-06
Consult your friend on all things, especially on those which respect yourself. His counsel may then be useful where your own self-love might impair your judgment.
Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)
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