It’s Women’s History Month here in the U.S. of A.

I wonder if there are any people of color who are equally irked by African-American History month?  I mean, I understand the motivation behind having these once a year months to focus on here-to-for underserved populations in our midst.  But …

But there is something about the idea of having  the dominant population “allow” a month for women’s history or african-american history or whatever history that is vaguely unsettling.  Because if the culturally dominant population is still in a position to allow this, then they are also in a position to take it back.  Which means … they still hold all the power.  I would very much like those scales to be more in balance in terms of race and gender one day so that ML King, Jr.’s dream will really come true for all of us.

So … for me, it’s HerStory month.  This isn’t about HisStory.  We get to hear HisStory pretty frequently.  So here in the Ravine I’m going to be telling some stories about women this month.  Women in the long ago and maybe some women in the near and dear.

For starters take a look at a couple of things that lead up to this month:

Our women in the Olympics -

There were Lindsey Vonn and Julia Mancuso  – alpine events.

Hannah Teeter and Kelly Clark – halfpipe (snowboard)

Hannah Kearney and Shannon Bahrke – moguls

Meryl Davis (with Charlie White) – ice dancing

Lana Gehring, Alyson Dudek, Allison Baver and Katherine Reutter – short track speed skating

Erin Pac and Elana Meyers – bobsled

21 Valiant women on the US Women’s Hockey Team

Katherine Reutter – short track speed skating

and these were only the medal winners.  We sent dozens of other female athletes, trainers and moms to the Games.  They all have a story to tell.  Of sacrifice and love and joy and pain and passion and fierce dedication.  Stories that are not unlike ours.

So I will back throughout the month with more stories, ideas and maybe even a book review or two.  Stay tuned.

The week before this past Christmas it became very apparent that I needed to visit the dentist … NOW.  I could not even think because one of my molars hurt so bad.  It was very terrible.  It had been hurting for a few days, but this particular morning nothing would help.  So I called the dentist who I had not visited in [cough] several years [cough] and began a saga which did not end until yesterday; five visits, two root canals, two crowns, one huge abscess and three rounds of antibiotic later.  Oh, plus a new mouth guard to wear at night because I clench.  I have clenched so much and for so long that I cracked those two molars and worn most of my teeth down to nubs.  This two month journey with the dentist has revealed quite a bit about my high maintenance self to me.

I’ve learned quite a bit about my dentist too.  The practice has undergone some changes in the years since I last visited.  And this dentist is new.  He is very gentle and calm and patient.  A real gem of a dentist.  When he asks questions, he really listens to my answers.  As a plus, he likes hockey, so we talk pucks sometimes.  So it was at this last visit that we ended up talking about the Olympics and hockey and who was playing for which team.  And curling.  And how English speakers mis-pronounce foreign names.  When he told me a bit of the story of his family’s immigration from Korea.  That his father had been in 7th grade during the Korean War.  His grandfather and great-grandfather had been politicians during the war and had been “taken.”  They were never heard from again; the family hopes they had an uneventful death.  His grandmother was left with six children to shepherd as far from the border/war zone as she could get.  The youngest died on her back during the journey.  His father and his uncle were separated from the main group at some point, but reunited later.  It all sounded very harrowing.  As war always is.

I asked him if his grandmother and great-uncle were still alive, but they have passed on.  But his father and  uncle remember.  I told him that we here in the States need to hear these stories.  It’s important for us to know that the Korean War didn’t look like M*A*S*H and it wasn’t about our involvement.  The United States has been involving ourselves in the wars of other nations for the past 60 years.  Sometimes we have had the sanction of the United Nations (Korea) other times we have not.  But the thing we’ve never done is seek out the stories of those who are directly affected.  Did it help?  What is needful?  What is needed now?

My dentist went on to say that his father has returned to China where it borders with North Korea on a mission with his church.  His report of poverty among the people was tragic.  In order to eat, they strip bark from trees and there are unsubstantiated reports of cannibalism.  Now … in the 21st century in a country pursuing nuclear weapons.  Which borders on a country that has nuclear weapons.

It is, I think, entirely possible that we could disarm the entire world if we just fed people good food and gave them fresh water to drink.

Four years ago I re-discovered an old acquaintance.  I’m having fun now watching again.

Four years ago I was in the middle of the darkest caves and curling was the only time of day I could breath freely.  Something about the commentary, the rhythm, the pace all combined to give me peace and comfort.

It’s been a long and winding road.  But I can finally say that the fall is over.  I might even be out of the caves and in the sunshine on most days.

Life is good.

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What does love mean?”    The answers they got were broader  and deeper than anyone could have imagined See what you think:
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‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her  toenails anymore.  So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got  arthritis too. That’s love.’ – Rebecca- age 8
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‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.. You  just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ – Billy – age 4
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‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne  and they go out and smell each other.’ – Karl – age 5
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‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French  fries without making them give you any of theirs.’ – Chrissy – age 6
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‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ – Terri – age 4
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‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip  before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.’ – Danny – age 7
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‘Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of  kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.     Mommy and  Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss’ – Emily – age 8
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‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.’ – Bobby – age 7
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‘If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,’ – Nikka – age 6
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‘Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.’ – Noelle – age 7
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‘Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still  friends even after they know each other so well.’ – Tommy – age 6
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‘During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked  at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.  He  was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.’ – Cindy – age 8
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‘My mommy loves me more than anybody  You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.’ – Clare – age 6
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‘Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.’ – Elaine-age 5
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‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.’ – Chris – age 7
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‘Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.’ – Mary Ann – age 4
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‘I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.’ – Lauren – age 4
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‘When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.’  – Karen – age 7
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‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross.’ – Mark – age 6
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‘You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.’ – Jessica – age 8
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The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.  Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.  When his Mother asked what he had said to th e neighbor, the little boy said,                       ‘Nothing, I just helped him cry’

In the spirit of coming to Jesus as little children, take a shot at it in the comments – what is love to you?   Where do you see the concept we call love manifest in action in your life?  Or … which one of these was special to you and why?

Happy Valentine’s Day!

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost

It has become quite fashionable to write posts these days waving good-by to the emerging conversation, drawing a line in the sand and staking a claim to a new path into a new future.  I don’t quite know what to do with that.  I struggle with it.

On one hand I see these posts as asking valid questions and see the people writing them as having legitimate concerns with the direction that the conversation is headed and how things are currently going.  I have to say … I am in agreement with Sarah at Emerging Mummy who is uncomfortable with how commodified the conversation is becoming; more and more blog posts and comments seem to be platforms for someone to hawk their books, conferences, magazines, etc., etc.  But thankfully, no bobblehead dolls … yet.   I am really looking forward to Jeremy Bouma’s series that he has introduced here – Goodbye Emergent – Why I’m Taking the Theology of the Emerging Church To Task.  He’s asking some key questions about stands that leaders in the conversation have taken on original sin, whether or not the Gospel is important, how we view the Cross and the heresy of Pelagius.  You’ll have to read Jeremy’s post to see how he’s framed the questions and what (exactly) has grabbed people’s goats along the way.  I see it as an introduction, a broad brush and we’ll see the details in the weeks to come.  I’m sure I’m not going to agree with everything that Jeremy writes … that’s alright.  I’ve become accustomed to not agreeing 100% with anyone, not even my dearly beloved husband.  The only one who agrees with me all the time is my dog and his brain is the size of an orange (with a miniscule frontal lobe) … think about that for a while.

Mainly, I think we’ll disagree over Pelagius.  I tend to think that P-man got a lot right.  I think he’s often taken out of context and forced into the Greco-Roman context of Augustine where he makes very little sense.  We forget that, indeed, the fight between the two started over something quite small … the date that Easter would be celebrated.  And it escalated until Augustine finally won the battle to get Pelagius declared a heretic.  Augustine was a recovering alcoholic and Pelagius was a party boy, some even say a glutton.  They were diametrical opposites in every way.  That they came to (theological) blows is no surprise.  What if we return Pelagius to his homeland of 5th century Ireland and read him in that context?  I’ve never done this, but my guess is that his “heresy” might not be so glaring.  He was converting/pastoring Druids and Celts … not Romans, Egyptians and Greeks and that might be an entirely different thing.

So, on the other hand, I remember when I wandered all wobbly on to this road about 4 or 5 years ago.  I’d just started blogging.  I’d read a few books (Blue Like Jazz among them) and was asking a lot of questions.  A LOT!  I was going to a small church where some questions were encouraged and I started looking around the internet to see if there were more women like me.  I’d found some men bloggers, but I wanted to find women.  And in my search, I started to find more people who were asking some of the same questions I was asking.  I found women too.  Women like Julie Clawson, Makeesha Fisher, Linda (the blogger formerly known as Grace), Molly Aley and Christy Lambertson (both no longer blog).  The list of women grew and grew and so did the men.  Sometimes it kind of felt like the Old West in ways both good and bad out there.  But the wonderful thing was anyone could participate.  It was like my grampy’s old saying, “If you can read, you can do anything.”  If you could read and write, you could participate.  There were (and are) defined tiers of participation.  There are definite leaders who’s blogs get a bazillion hits a day (and some people can dismiss that, but … well … fine.  The rest of us know you’re being silly).  I’m about the 7th tier down … maybe further (in case you were wondering) and I like it that way.

Over the last year or so things have begun to change.  For a variety of reasons, some personal and some not, I don’t feel so comfortable in the greater conversation anymore.  I don’t know quite what has changed.  In some ways, yes, the conversation has changed.  I felt (at the time and continue to feel) that creating an organization around Emergent Village was a terrible idea.  I know it created efficiencies and abilities that were not available without the umbrella of an institutional organization.  However, that’s just exactly the problem.  Once an institution is created, then somehow that institution needs to be fed and maintained.  Someone needs to guard the gate.  Others need to dust the furniture.  Still others need to buy food and prepare meals.  And don’t even talk about the laundry!  Gradually, when all those people are doing all that work together to feed and maintain that institution a couple of things happen.  One is that they get to know one another and usually become friends.  Another is that they start get a sense of ownership in that institution; pride in what they’re doing and how well they’re doing it.  All of these are really good things for the most part and I’m glad for the folks who are involved in Emergent Village that they have that place.  But (you knew that was coming) there is a flip side to all of that chummy joy.  Eventually, other people come along who want to come into that institution, but they have muddy shoes and dusty pants and they leave their drink glasses on the table without using a coaster.  In short, they do not have the same respect, love and care for the institution that those who feed and maintain it do and pretty much, these outsiders are not very thoughtful of the help either.  Even when the newcomers stumble in and are appreciative, there is no possible way for them to appreciate the help (oldtimers) nearly to the degree which they deserve.  This is mostly because those on the outside really have no possible way of knowing what is going on on the inside.  It’s just the way institutions roll.

So, we’ve come to a place where there are a goodly number of people who are comfortable with the way things are (or are headed) in the emerging conversation.  But there are also a goodly number of people who (for a variety of reasons) are no longer comfortable with it.  Me, I feel like Robert Frost standing at the two roads diverging in the woods.  Do we really have to choose?

Because honestly, the response to the questions and concerns of the people who are no longer comfortable has not been entirely welcoming.  And I know (believe me, I know) how it feels to be under constant attack from the heresy hunters.  There have been one or two here that love to drop by and call names, engage in straw man silliness and all kinds of hurtful evil in the name of Truth.  I understand the frustration of hearing the questions all the time (I have two teenagers) … but.  But.  I’m just not sure that choosing camps, engaging in hyperbole, and generally dumping the frustration of a thousand other blogs onto friends and fellow conversants who are now choosing a road less traveled is the wisest, or indeed the most Jesus-y, choice we can make right now.

So I’m wondering what will happen now.  Will emerging devolve into Augustians and Pelagians?  Will the institution that is Emergent Village become more important to protect and preserve than the individual people that are under it’s umbrella?   Will a “conversation” begun based on the tenet that it must be acceptable to question the faith of one’s elders, be able to survive the questioning of those who are now part of it?

The LightFamily’s favorite magazine is National Geographic.  We all like it and read it/browse it for different reasons.  LightBoy loves the articles about space and the ocean.  LightGirl and LightHusband love the photography and the articles about far away places.  Me, I love the articles about different cultures and people.  So we all get something from this treasure each month.  They get stored in a basket in our “reading room.”  Does your home have a “reading room?”  You know the one … with a “special” white “throne”.  Yeah … that one.

So this morning I wandered into the “reading” room and found an article in the December 2009 issue of NatGeo (as it is sometimes called these days) about one of the last hunter-gatherer societies to survive in these modern times.  There are only about 6,000 people in this tribe which makes it’s home in northern Tanzania in Africa.  And an expanding population is now encroaching upon it’s formerly uninhabitable territory.  The days of being just hunter-gatherers are probably numbered, but the article is quite good.  The author lived amongst the people with a particular camp for two weeks and does a remarkable job of giving a fly on the wall view of their life (including a baboon hunt with only his pocket knife).

I recommend this article to you if you like learning about other people groups and other cultures. It really is fascinating and the author writes it quite well.  But I was struck by his description of the way in which the Hadza live.  Specifically, by their lack of worry.  This is mentioned several times in the article, but strikingly here:

Dirt roads are now carved into the edges of the Hadza bush. A paved road is within a four-day walk. From many high points there is decent cell phone reception. Most Hadza, including Onwas, have learned to speak some Swahili, in order to communicate with other groups. I was asked by a few of the younger Hadza hunters if I could give them a gun, to make it easier to harvest game. Onwas himself, though he’s scarcely ventured beyond the periphery of the bush, senses that profound changes are coming. This does not appear to bother him. Onwas, as he repeatedly told me, doesn’t worry about the future. He doesn’t worry about anything. No Hadza I met, in fact, seemed prone to worry. It was a mind-set that astounded me, for the Hadza, to my way of thinking, have very legitimate worries. Will I eat tomorrow? Will something eat me tomorrow? Yet they live a remarkably present-tense existence.

This may be one reason farming has never appealed to the Hadza—growing crops requires planning; seeds are sown now for plants that won’t be edible for months. Domestic animals must be fed and protected long before they’re ready to butcher. To a Hadza, this makes no sense. Why grow food or rear animals when it’s being done for you, naturally, in the bush? When they want berries, they walk to a berry shrub. When they desire baobab fruit, they visit a baobab tree. Honey waits for them in wild hives. And they keep their meat in the biggest storehouse in the world—their land. All that’s required is a bit of stalking and a well-shot arrow. (emphasis added)

And I remembered Jesus’ words to us in Luke 12:

²²Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. ²³Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. ²⁴Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! ²⁵Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? ²⁶Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?

²⁷“Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ²⁸If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! ²⁹And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. ³⁰For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. ³¹But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

³²“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. ³³Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. ³⁴For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

So was Jesus recommending that we turn back the clock even then (the year ~30 CE) to become hunter-gatherers?  I don’t think so.  It may seem somewhat idyllic to us now, because we did not take stock of the unintended consequences of our modern conveniences.  But turning back to what was is impossible, first of all.  But maybe there are lessons to be learned?

So the next words from Jesus after telling us not to worry, are … but you need to worry.  That it’s a tension to be managed.  A balancing act … that going over the edge either one way or the other is not good and not what He wants from any of us.  He wants us to be watching, yet reclining, relaxed and worry-free.

³⁵“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, ³⁶like men waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. ³⁷It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. I tell you the truth, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them. ³⁸It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the second or third watch of the night. ³⁹But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. ⁴⁰You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”

⁴¹Peter asked, “Lord, are you telling this parable to us, or to everyone?”

⁴²The Lord answered, “Who then is the faithful and wise manager, whom the master puts in charge of his servants to give them their food allowance at the proper time? ⁴³It will be good for that servant whom the master finds doing so when he returns. ⁴⁴I tell you the truth, he will put him in charge of all his possessions. ⁴⁵But suppose the servant says to himself, ‘My master is taking a long time in coming,’ and he then begins to beat the menservants and maidservants and to eat and drink and get drunk. ⁴⁶The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the unbelievers.

⁴⁷“That servant who knows his master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what his master wants will be beaten with many blows. ⁴⁸But the one who does not know and does things deserving punishment will be beaten with few blows. From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

The Hadza

They grow no food, raise no livestock, and live without rules or calendars. They are living a hunter-gatherer existence that is little changed from 10,000 years ago. What do
they know that we’ve forgotten?

The Hadza tend to be gregarious people, and Onwas readily agreed. He said I’d be the first foreigner ever to live in his camp. He promised to send his son to a particular tree at the edge of the bush to meet me when I was scheduled to arrive, in three weeks.

Sure enough, three weeks later, when my interpreter and I arrived by Land Rover in the bush, there was Onwas’s son Ngaola waiting for us. Apparently, Onwas had noted the stages of the moon, and when he felt enough time had passed, he sent his son to the tree. I asked Ngaola if he’d waited a long time for me. “No,” he said. “Only a few days.”

Hmmm … So, I wonder what do they know that we seem to have forgotten?

One of my most fun memories growing up was of watching my father line up with his siblings to have their photo taken.  They’d line up by age, which in their family meant that the group was bookended by women, turn to either the right or left and have a profile photo taken.  It was fondly known in my family as “The Naylor Nose photo.”  My father and his four siblings were all endowed with fairly regal, even aquiline, noses.  Some more resplendent than others.  They were proud of this bit of their heritage from their own dad.  Though I don’t remember that my grandfather’s nose was anything in particular.   It was simply a way that the next generation had of reminding themselves of who they were.

That generation is aging now.  The eldest among them turned 90 August 6, 2009.  And as of last August they will no longer all be together on this earthly plane anymore.  My oldest uncle passed away after a long battle with emphysema.  He was 87 and retired from a career as a pilot in the Air Force among other things.  He flew in WWII, the Korean War and Vietnam.  When he got out, he built seawalls in Florida.  He took my brothers on a two month long camping trip across country to Alaska one summer.   And he taught my children how to do “smooth five” so they could give a high five to the elderly without breaking an arm or spraining a wrist.

My aunts and uncles are members of the “Greatest Generation,” my parents are members of the Silent Generation, my cousins are Boomers, my brothers & I and my cousins children are all Gen X-ers.  My children are Millenials and I’m not sure what generation my cousins’ grandchildren belong to; maybe it doesn’t have a name yet.  We are a microcosm of trendy generations.

Photo by Derek Redmond and Paul Campbell, licensed under GNU Free Documentation License

The above photo is very familiar to me.  Though it may not be to you.  I was 8 during the summer of 1969 and becoming more aware of the world around me.  I lived in Vermont.  I had friends who were old enough to know alot about Woodstock and if they didn’t go, they had posters of the event in their bedrooms.  I have cousins who may or may not have gone, but certainly lived close enough to have considered the journey.  It was, rather famously, the Summer of Love.  Or was it?

There’s a lot mythology that’s grown up around that famous summer in the forty years and several months since.  The gathering was peaceful (and generally it was) about the rain, etc.  But what I remember most about it was the ruin.  I remember seeing these photos and (being a child on a farm/in farm country) wondering how that mess would ever get cleaned up.  It turned out that it never did.

The young people who came in droves to that farm in Woodstock, NY for several magical days in August of 1969 left as quickly and as miraculously as they’d arrived.  Coming empty handed, they left empty handed.  And the fields were covered in trash and mud and clothes and shoes and excrement and waste.  The once working farm was in ruins, never to be worked again.

I wonder though.  Looking back it seems as if that one weekend was a snapshot of world that was to come.  There was chaos.  There loud music.  There were some drugs.  There were people getting along.  There were people coming and going.  There were increasing security concerns.  It was the first concert where a promoter decided to try and repeat it.  Above all though, the generation who staged it, held it, attended it in droves and then left that field and town in ruins showed the world their care-less attitude about … really everything but themselves.  The so-called “Me” generation of the 70’s and excesses of the 80’s should have come as no surprise to anyone after seeing what these people did as young adults at Woodstock.

We really should not be surprised that now in their late 50’s and early 60’s they are very concerned about health care and retirement income for themselves … but they’re damn sure not going to give a rip about the rest of us or how we’re going to either get it or pay for it four generations into the future.  You can rest assured of one thing though … someone else will come along and clean up their mess.  Someone else always has.  I know … because I’ve been trailing this selfish generation with a shovel and a broom my whole life.

I signed up some time ago to receive the e-mail posting of the Washington Post’s opinion page.  So every weekday morning I get an e-mail with a tickler about that day’s opinion pieces.  I don’t always read them, but sometimes …

This morning I read through them and saw this:

I need (but have no desire) to read the piece.  Some years ago I could tolerate Krauthammer and sometimes even agreed with him.  I don’t know if it’s age or what, but he has gotten more and more regressive as time has gone on.  Maybe it’s the confluence of our culture and his age.  But he gets more and more shrill as time goes on.  But the question posed struck me.  The Krauthammer of years passed would have gone to the mat for our and others civil rights.  He would have been protective of the U.S. reputation abroad.  He might even have stood firm on the idea that the Geneva Convention has protections worth caring about.

So … here’s my answer to that question.  We are and should be more worried about the Miranda rights of any perpetrator, because … once the gloves are off, it is difficult to put them back on again.  Who is to say how the definition of “terrorist” might change over the years?  At this point, we seem to have a clear idea that a terrorist is someone “other” … a person who does not belong to our culture.  But what happens when the government decides that anyone speaking out against a sitting president is a “terrorist” or might have terrorist affiliations?  I know that sounds silly and well, we have the First Amendment.  Or do we?  If Miranda rights do not apply to everyone within our borders, including “terrorists” … then they can be suspended for us too.  It really is an all or nothing deal … if those rights do not apply to everyone, then they can at some point be suspended for anyone.

What happens when they come for you?  Don’t you want to have those protections?  I know I do.  The Miranda rights do force our justice system to work harder in order to successfully prosecute a case against an offender and we find people who are innocent sitting on death row.  It is not infallible so the ordinary citizen (including suspected terrorists) needs to have as many protections against the almost overwhelming power of the state as they possibly can.

Wow … it’s been two months since the last post.  If you’ve come around lately you’ll see a new look here.  I’ve been doing some housekeeping, and finally upgraded my WordPress from 2.3 to 2.9 … a task that’s been on my list since August.  Of 2008!

So I’m working on this space.  It’s not finished yet, but it’s good enough for now.

Some things that have happened in the last two months that are noteworthy -

Our beloved Sam died very unexpectedly one late October afternoon.  He’d had some gum surgery about 10 days prior and the wound did not seem to be healing quite right.  When I took him to the vet at about 3 that afternoon, he was lethargic and his abdomen was distended.  The vet ran a test or two, took some x-rays, and came back with a diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma (also often called the silent killer).  The only thing our vet had difficulty determining was the size of the tumor and how much it had invaded Sam’s system.  He could only accurately make that determination with surgery.  So, after a very emotional and troubled two hours, Sam went into surgery.  BlazingEwe and her three LambChildren were with all four of us.  The vet came out within 20 minutes (teary-eyed and barely able to speak) and told us the devastating news; Sam would not survive the surgery.

We are still recovering from that.

For Thanksgiving LightHusband’s parents came to visit for about 8 days.  We were very busy during that time and it ended with LightGirl excelling as her team’s goalie at a nearby tournament.  Two days later she was sick and couldn’t eat.  She had severe stomach pain, nausea, dizziness.  We began the process of attempting to discover what the source was.  Ultrasounds, endoscopy, C/T scans all came back normal and/or unremarkable.  Nothing was wrong … physically.  So we’ve made some lifestyle changes and that seems to help.  She finally went back to the rink after a month long absence right after Christmas.  It was a hard pull, but I think we’re on the upswing.

In the midst of LightGirl’s mysterious illness, LightBoy had H1N1 flu.  And there was one day when LightHusband thought he was getting ill as well.  I threatened to run away and that seemed to cure whatever ailed him.  LightBoy is still coughing, but is back to his normal, slightly ornery self.

Christmas was the usual blur and New Year’s hit like a train.  LightGirl turned sixteen this January 1.  So we had to have a party.  A largish party that was amazingly fun and there were lots of young folks there with their sparkly faces and snappy wit. 

So … Happy 2010 to all and I’ll end with this prayer:
May there always be work for your hands to do.
May your purse always hold a coin or two.
May the sun always shine upon your window pane.
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near to you and
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.