Hurricane Katrina/George W. Bush

"Is there any problem in the world that is not Mr. Bush's fault, or have we reverted to a belief in a sort of witchcraft where we credit a mortal man with the ability to create terrifying storms and every other kind of ill wind?" -- Ben Stein

Dinner and a Movie

Don and I went to Joe's apartment for dinner -- tilapa, tortellini and homemade ice-cream -- and a movie -- Brazil. The three of us are starting to hang around together a little bit more, which is quite interesting. I was so in love with Joe a couple years ago, if you'll recall. Still am, a little, from afar. At one point in the evening, while the two of them were in the kitchen, I looked over from the couch and thought, "There are the two men that I love." Then Joe came into the front room and we smiled at each other, very sweetly. Back at home, Don said I looked so pretty that evening and said, "I wonder if Joe thinks I'm lucky."

"You are lucky," I said.

Yes, it is nice to be all together. I certainly hope that no one suggests a menage a trois. Yes, I still wish I had Joe in my arms, but I also think sex is sacred. I wouldn't want to go that far.

Death is My Lover

Death is my lover. He wants me deeply, intensely. He loves the way I move, the way I gesture when I speak, the way I tilt my head. He can't wait to get me alone.

He comes to me at night. He whispers love words in my ear and my mind goes swirling away into dark emptiness, a pale mist dissipating in the boundless unending abyss.

Death touches me as I lie in bed, so tenderly and so gently that I can hardly feel it. But my body turns to hard dry clay and bit-by-bit in flakes and shards I crumble away.

He sits beside me in the garden. The sun is black, the roses withered, the insects tiny buzzing skeletons. Eternity weighs upon me then. It is so heavy I can't move, so loud I cannot hear.

My husband doesn't know I have another lover, one who is faithful and infinitely patient. Death waits for the day that I love him back, for the day when, in his arms, I forget all the other things I've loved.

I want to kill myself sometimes

Sometimes I just end it all, because I don't think there are any answers to life's difficult questions.

Why are we here? Why is there death? Why does life hurt so much? I'd rather die now than wait for the incredible pain that will happen when my husband passes away. It's coming. It's coming. I'll sit by his grave one day and I'll weep.

Unless I make him sit by mine.

And honestly, I would never do that, not on purpose. (She laughs at the irony.) So I'll just sit here, enjoying the sunshine, waiting, and watching, and knowing that heartbreak is on its way.

He went to Paris lookin' for answers
To questions that bothered him so
He was impressive, young and aggressive
Savin' the world on his own

But the warm summer breezes
The French wines and cheeses
Put his ambition at bay
The summers and winters
Scattered like splinters
And four or five years slipped away

Then he went to England, played the piano
And married an actress named Kim
They had a fine life, she was a good wife
And bore him a young son named Jim

And all of the answers and all of the questions
Locked in his attic one day
'Cause he liked the quiet clean country livin'
And twenty more years slipped away

Well the war took his baby, the bombs killed his lady
And left him with only one eye
His body was battered, his whole world was shattered
And all he could do was just cry

While the tears were a-fallin' he was recallin'
Answers he never found
So he hopped on a freighter, skidded the ocean
And left England without a sound

Now he lives in the islands, fishes the pilin's
And drinks his Green Label each day
Writing his memoirs, losin' his hearin'
But he don't care what most people say

Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he'll smile and he'll say
'Jimmy, some of it's magic, some of it's tragic
But I had a good life all the way'

And he went to Paris lookin' for answers
To questions that bothered him so.
by Jimmy Buffet

Is Dumbledore Alive?

Probably not. The phoenix sang a song of mourning, remember, and Dumbledore's picture now hangs in his own office.

Hard Edges

I spent a bit of time with my cousin's wife. She's pretty, kinda, and blonde, and isn't afraid to speak her mind. She has hard edges, though, and being with her made me more aware of the kind of person I want to be. I want to have soft edges and a firm core. I want to be a sweet, gentle person who won't be swayed from what I think is right or from the path that I have chosen.

The Program is Working!

I was all discouraged yesterday because my butt looks just as big as ever, even though I'm jogging more and working out at the gym too. I figured I might as well find out what the bad news really was, so I pulled out the tape measure and wrapped it around the ol' hips. But guess what? I'm an inch slimmer than last month. It's working! In spite of my inconsistencies in diet and exercise, it really is working!

I'm jealous

I'm jealous because K is a better photographer than I am. I'm jealous because his work has come to the notice of our head of photography, who is going to get him some freelance work. I'm jealous because K can handle it and I can't. I'm too nervous, too scared of people, too socially anxious to be in the spotlight. Could I ever handle the work, even if I got it? Probably not.

This is funny

I watch a lot of TV.
I drink a lot of coffee, too.
But you know what's really addictive?
Heroin.

The Tao Has No Pity

The Tao has no pity. The Tao has no face. The Tao does not hold out comforting arms. It cannot be contacted and cannot be used. It is silent and unreachable.

When one observes the actions of any of this world's gods, one sees the Tao. One sees a god with no pity and no face, a god not moved by entreaties, a god who behaves as though he is not there.

Does God exist? It doesn't matter.

A day with Joe

I just spent an hour with Joe. He changed my headlight for me. Don's been so grumpy; I didn't want to ask him to do it. I got to see Joe's shop and we chatted for a while afterward, too. It's always nice to see him. He looked a little thin and pale. I didn't get a chance to ask him how he was doing physically. Our conversation ran this way and that but didn't go there.

Was I powerful enough? Was I bitchy enough? Did I monopolize the conversation enough? No, not enough, but I did some. So our time together was a moderate success. I don't figure I'll see him again for a long time. I'll hope, of course, as I always do, but my hopes will be dashed, as they always are. Though you know, it's not that big a deal. It's not like we're right for each other. We aren't. He's into kinky sex and drugs; I'm not. Sure, he's funny and enjoyable to be around, but I need someone who's going to listen to me talk. I don't talk that much so I don't think it's too much to ask. Just a little, thank you, with a few questions here and there to show you care.

So we're not right for each other. I still want to be friends, and I'm not going to sit around waiting for him to call. That will never happen. I'm going to take matters into my own hands and invite him over, him and his little girl, to see our bunny and meet my little nieces.

I want someone I can talk to and tease with like I do with Professor Rogers.

Later: What a wonderful, lucky day! An old wish of mine was granted -- I got to go driving with Joe.

He called in the evening to ask a favor of my husband. Joe had dropped off a customer's car and needed a ride back to his shop. My husband wasn't in so I did the favor instead. I picked him up at his apartment (and got to see his new kitten) then drove him to his shop, 30 minutes away. We chatted amicably the whole way. We talked and teased. It's a beautiful drive and it was a beautiful evening.

I've always wanted to go on a car trip with Joe. And now a wish of mine was granted.

She's gone, and I've no idea where

I just did a stupid stupid thing. I'm a very bad mother. I let Rhiannon go visit a friend. An online friend. Who bought her a plane ticket to come see him. I don't know one thing about him. I don't know his address, or his phone number, or his chat name, or his email address. I haven't got one single bit of info to help me find him, except that he is a college student, his name is Will Ogden and he lives in Pennsylvania.

That's is. That's all I know.

I don't know where Rhiannon is.

I let Rhiannon have full control of this trip. I didn't meddle in any way. I let her be a grown-up. Now I'm paying the price through worry. I forgot that a real grownup doesn't make loved ones worry. She said she'd call but she has not. Yesterday I called the Will Ogdens in the Philadelphia area, to no avail. Tomorrow I call all the Ogdens in Pennsylvania.

Back from camping. We went for one night only as Rhiannon needs to get ready for her trip to Pennsylvania tomorrow. What a traveler she's become! And what a great time we had with the SCA. Weather was good, up till Sunday afternoon when we left. Our garb was great. We knitted. We met people. We stargazed. We watched the archery and the heavy fighting. I learned to juggle. We had a blast.

We became better friends with the Wardens and made plans to form an encampment with them at Talons of Fury in September. We'll have our own roaring campfire and entertain one another with medieval games, stories and songs. Our camp will be a thing of beauty, ringed with tiny lanterns and with a pavilion in the center. Maybe I'll make a new dress for the occasion. I've got tons of cloth to use up, after all.

Back at home, Rhiannon made herself a new pair of pajama pants. I helped. We had a ton of fun, laughing and giggling about all kinds of silly things. We have a new saying to laugh at -- "I'm stumped!"

Going Camping with the SCA

I'm going camping tomorrow, going camping with Rhiannon and the SCA. The event: Crossroads up at the Pawnee National Grasslands in the Kingdom of the Outlands. Tomorrow night will find me in a long flowing dress and a warm wool cloak, sitting around a campfire and listening to songs of love and glory. Huzzah! I'm very excited.

Stem Cell Debate

You're telling me that the miracle of embryonic stem-cell research must have federal funding to emerge? You're telling me that the souless, greedy, capitalist drug company lords are not willing to invest the money necessary to unleash what--if we're to believe most Dems and the ESC lobby-- could be the greatest medical advancement of all time (and consequently, the greatest money-making medical advancement of all time)? They're just passing on that?

Actually, those soulless, greedy, capitalist drug company lords hold the patents for this research. Since destructive embryo research resulted in dismal failure, the only way they can regain their investments is to be born-again as soulless and greedy socialists. They are using the BIO lobby to edge their way closer to Momma Sow's teat.

reprinted from http://www.townhall.com/clog/archive/050522.html#041944P

How to Overcome Shyness - Lesson Two: Thinking of Others

You got this way by thinking a certain way, but it's just not working for you. Are you willing to completely change the way you think? Turns out that popular people, extroverted people, think about other people. Really. You're going to try that too.

Your assignment: You're going to spend some time just thinking about someone you know. Choose someone. Now, set a timer or keep your eye on the clock, and think about them. What do you know about this person? Do you know where he/she is from? Is he/she married? Kids? What do they do for a living or for fun? And what do they think about all of it.

That's it. That's the assignment. Do it every day, choosing someone else to think about. You are practicing a hugely important skill, something that is vitally necessary if you are going to overcome your shyness. You are learning to think about other people.

How to Overcome Shyness - Lesson One: Being Happy

Do all your needs have to be met before you can be happy? What if only some of your needs are met, can you be happy then?

Yes, you can. You can be perfectly and completely happy when only some of your needs are met.

Your first assignment is to think of the things that make you happy, most especially, the things you can do WHILE ALONE.
Here's what makes me happy: Being in a library and thinking of how I'm surrounded by the thoughts of the human race. Being outdoors. Working in the garden. Playing with my dog. Watching my cat play with my dog. Watching my gerbils. Sitting in the sunshine. Taking walks at night. Taking pictures. Drawing. Writing in my journal. Iceskating.

Next time you do something on your list, I want you to do it wholeheartedly. I want you to feel the happiness within your body. You are not ever to think, 'This would be so much better if I were doing it with someone else.' Allow yourself to be happy alone.

When I Die

When I die, I want to be buried in the earth unembalmed. I don't want to be filled with preservatives or placed in a thick casket or entombed in a concrete vault. I want my flesh to touch the earth; my body to be cleaned by the bacteria and bugs; my bones to be stripped and purified.

My death comes, maybe slowly, maybe quick. Mortality weighs upon me, almost suffocating. It makes the present moment seem brighter -- the sun on the grass, the rustling leaves, the wind, the brightness of the street. I see these things from my office window. Inside are my office mates who one day will be bones too. This moment is precious beyond anything anyone can imagine. This moment stretches behind and ahead into eternity, and is itself eternity.

One day the thing that is me will be gone; only bones left. Same with Don. Same with Rhiannon, and Kendall, and Michaela. Their uniqueness gone. The expression of the universe that I loved, gone. The little bit given me, gone.

What remains? For people, only love matters. In the greater scheme, only the earth remains. Only the earth, and the sky, and the wind.

Freakonomics: What Makes a Perfect Parent?

An interesting book, for sure, but this chapter doesn't prove what it sets out to prove. What makes a perfect parent? Apparently it's your kid's test scores. Hmmm. Not whether he's a joy to have around? Gets a long well with his siblings? Does the dishes when you ask? How about if he's really good at what he loves, would that count? What if he works to make the world a better place? Well, no, not according to the author. That kind of stuff can't be tested. All that matters is test scores.

So right off the bat, the guy's judging parenthood by one of the less important factors in a person's life.

He starts the chapter by saying that apparently, parenting doesn't have much to do with how a person turns out. He goes on to say that going to a good school doesn't make much difference, either. A few pages on he talks about how kids do better in good schools than in bad ones, and he finishes the chapter by talking about how parenting makes a difference in the long run.

So what makes a perfect parent? I can't say. I don't think Mr. Levitt can say, either. I'm not sure I know what the guy believes, or even what the numbers show. Apparently the numbers can prove just about anything.

A lovely weekend

What a fantastic weekend! It was one wonderful thing after another.

Friday night: went out to eat with Rhiannon, then to a coffee shop where we ate chocolate, sipped lattes and talked about the meaning of life. I love that!

Saturday: I watched Finding Neverland, a wonderful movie about the man who wrote Peter Pan. I chatted with my chat group. I had a really neat revelation about accepting our limitations and circumstances. What if you were locked in solitary confinement for the rest of your life? What if your cell were pitch black? It would be utterly horrible! And yet, you still can choose how you'll react. Even in utter darkness, lonely and alone, there is an element of happiness to be found. Even then. So why do I complain about my spacious well-lit peopled cell? Because I want it to be even more spacious, well-lit and peopled, that's why. And thus I make myself unhappy.

Sunday: While walking the dog, I came across a bumblebee that needed help so I saved it. A bit further down the path I almost stepped on a rattlesnake. It coiled and hissed at me, showing its fangs. Pretty scary; pretty cool. Later, I had an excellent meditation on immanent and transcendent divinity. Also realized as I did The Work on my fear of others, that my fear wants to protect me from rejection, and when I learn to handle rejection (which I plan to do by rejecting it) then my fear will be able to sit back and relax. Also sat in the sun and soaked it in. God is Light. Is light God? Rhiannon gave me chocolate, Michaela gave me a card she painted, and Kendall wished me Happy Mother's Day.