sufferage

This is what democracy looks like.
Dozens of classic yellow post-it notes tracking votes or maybe pledges. A woman with a baby on her back ticks names off a sign in sheet. She writes, scratches, counts and writes again. One sticky on top another, lining the ones, tens, hundreds columns. She counts in her head, on her fingers. It's Obama 4:1 and the baby doesn't cry.

But what about experience? And all that was swept under the rug? It's the health care plan. Remember the economic boom, budget surplus? Who can beat McCain?We're ready for change. The end of the war. Pro choice. Tell me why.

My neighbors talk. Argue. Implore. I look for the 6 who held who held our precinct for last election cycle. Are they glad to have our company? Do they puzzle why we left them, alone, to determine the second WBush challenger? Do they fault us, blame themselves?

There'd be more conversation. Maybe answers and surely tears. But the elementary school is filled. Beyond capacity. In violation of fire codes. The line outside circles the block. We're running out of sign in sheets. There aren't enough chairs. The babies will grow tired and the sticky won't hold my vote to the clip board forever. We've exceeded the space allocated our democracy. After pledging the flag, naming a candidate, and possibly making a donation to the party, we are welcome to leave.

I drag my feet. It's a flawed system of broken pencils and too few volunteers. A charming, near hypnotic chaos with errors more personal, more public, more likely to be corrected, than those of the machines,.

(I suppose lack of timeliness is just one of the issues preventing my successful career in journalism. Happy Valentine's Day!)

tip-toeing towards rats

A man in a dark wool trench coat and starched sky dress shirt hooked a leash to the cocker spaniel's coller. Past the outdoor doggie gym, away from the noise of 15th Avenue. No cell phone, no cigarette, just a young man in patent shoes walking a dog who looks and jumps and calls like Tawney. She's been neutered and it will be another week before she is cleared to fetch or climb through tires. The man's (cashmere?) checkered scarf compliments the dog's golden hair and both blow in the wind. All the dogs need walking, twice a day.

An older woman, close cropped silver hair highlighting her diamond studs, sits on the floor. Wrapped in a small pen, legs tucked at a not uncomfortable 45 degree angle, the socializer sits an inch or two away from the litter box. Jeffery Eugenides Middlesex lies open, upside down, across her thigh. She picks it up a half dozen times, likely rereading the same two paragraphs for an hour. A red-eyed, white rabbit sniffs, retreats, sniffs and paws his the bald spots along his back.

We came for the rats. The Rat Pack boys and girls keep separate apartments, a dwarf hamster centered between them. The girls, slightly smaller, nose over one another to reach us. Aslin's in, pinky finger from each hand offered for exploration. I follow with one shy knuckle, Ukiah eventually joins us. The trio of boys, interested initially, move on to climbing the walls before we've fulfilled our visiting need. Ukiah and I watch the little guy, the one with only 3 feet and half a tail while Aslin returns to the girls. Maybe we'll need two cages too.



We left the shelter with our adoption application and volunteer information. I'm not quite ready for pet rodents, and have some concerns about Cutie's relationship with our potential new pets, but am keeping the words of a stranger in mind.

"Don't worry about it too much," he looked me in the eye, and I think would have held the bus door open for us if it weren't automatic. Charmed and confused, I watched him climb the stairs and settle on the back seat of the 2. From the sidewalk, I gave a muted wave and rushed to join the kids in a 4-block fight with the wind. We bought mini-doughnuts to share with our new group, a treat to mark the end of the library scavenger hunt. I didn't worry about transfats or sugar and am trying not too be concerned with the lack of parental excitement over our group offering.

I hate ABC

It wasn't too much of a surprise when they didn't cover the Women's World Cup. But they didn't even pretend, didn't list games on their schedule and then opt to air ignorant blowhard Fred Thompson instead. But this morning, they made changes to their scheduling line-up, pushing the MLS championship to ESPN 2.

Who knew my disgust with corporate media could reach new heights?

fortunate

Before we ordered vegan Mongolian beef, before I dumped a cup of tea, before we noticed that our table cloth had doubled as a napkin for earlier patrons, the women across the room cracked their fortune cookies.

"You will soon follow your heart's desire." The dark-haired woman crumpled her fate, pronouncing it "lame."

Four pots of tea later, Aslin arrived at the same fortune, finding it lame only for its lack of originality. She's inherited my tendency to collect the conversations of others and looks to the empty table where an hour earlier, her would-be destiny was discarded.

Fortune cookie superstition has us debating the proper procedure for the reading of fortunes. Split the cookie, eat half, read, finish cookie. No, read the fortune before eating any cookie. NO, don't even look at the fortune before finishing the cookie.

Ukiah- "You will meet someone famous."
Brad- "You will enjoy good health and financial independence."
Nora- "You will welcome many people with your smile."
Aslin- following you heart's desire? not lame.

I pocket the forecasts for an art project I would have finished years ago, except that I occassionally misplace my fortune reservoir and have to start over.


In the past month, we've been blessed by visits with butterflies. (A word of caution for the birds, the Heliconiidae of the long wing family, is brightly colored to warn you of their terrible, bitter taste.) Thanks to craigslist, we've got two new-used exercise balls ideal for video game seating. Plus, as a pirate and newspaper zombie/samurai/guy the kids picked up a ton'o candy trick-or-treating.




With the homeschool group, they helped NorthWest Harvest package a literal ton of chocolate and learned this bit of Seattle candy trivia-
FR edrick
A nd
N elson
G ift
O f
S weetness



And let's not forget the marvel that is pumpkin beer. Thanks to the brewers at Elysian for hosting us, and letting us take the empty pumpkin keg for pumpkin-cauliflower soup.

been there, done that, would do it all again

This incomplete list of trip favorites use to live in the side bar. She graciously moved to a post knowing that no matter how painful, it's time for the Owlhouse to move forward.

Cape Disappointment- Long Beach Peninsula, WA

Saturday Market- Eugene, OR

Crater Lake, Oregon

Barack Obama, 2008

Cowboy Poets- Elko, NV

Gilgal Sculpture Garden- SLC, Utah

Lazy Lizard- Moab, Utah

Mesa Verde, Colorado

Carver Brewing- Durango, CO

Taos Pueblo, NM

Georgia O'Keeffe Museum- Santa Fe, NM

White Sands, NM

Chiricahua Mts, AZ

Bisbee- Bisbee, AZ

Desert Museum - Tucson, AZ

Sonora Co-housing - Tucson, AZ

Sam's Family Spa -Desert Hot Springs, CA

Ghetty Museum - Los Angles, CA

Camp Ocean Pines - Cambria, CA

Pipestone Vineyards - Paso Robles, CA

Sacramento Valley School - Sacramento, CA

Guemes Island - Washington

Lake Okanagan - Kelowna, British Columbia

Lake Louise - Banff, British Columbia

Kaslo- Kaslo, British Columbia

Kamloops Farmer's Market - Kamloops, British Columbia

Touchstone Farm - Mayerthorpe, Alberta

Gaetz Lake Sanctuary- Red Deer, Alberta

Local Currancy - Calgary, Alberta

Tyrrell Dinosaur Museum - Drumheller (Badlands), Alberta

Glacier National Park - Montana

Coeur d'Alene Library - Idaho

Grand Coulee Dam -Coulee, WA

Real World

At what point is it acceptable to swear in public? To/at your children's doctor?

A couple of guys joined us at the back of the bus last week. Not entirely sober at 10am but friendly. "Look at the little man," the one on the aisle gestured to Ukiah. And they looked at Ukiah, apparently charmed by his "training to be a little man" posture. "Hey, you gonna be a lawyer?" Ukiah shook is head, politely. "No, really. What you gonna be? Cause if you a lawyer you ain't never gonna lose a case. I feel sorry for that district attorney, cause if you just smile, it's all over. You got a good smile, little man. How many cavities you got?"

Aslin pretended to sleep as Ukiah graciously nodded, smiled, met a high-five and turned to me for reassurance. "No cavities."

"See that?" the aisle man asked his window friend. "See, you got somebody who loves you. You know that? I want you to know..." Window man was unsuccessful in getting his friend to shut up or leave the nice kid alone. Aisle man continued, "Your mamma take a baseball bat to the back of the head for you." He smiled at me, approval of my parenting. "I'm not trying to be graphic, but she'd move right in at get hit for you... I'm just trying to tell you how much love you got...You guys all right..."

The unlikely family-support workers left the bus a few blocks before us.

More highlights from our recent weeks in the real world-

• A cross city walk from Belltown to Seattle Center, to Pike Place, to the International District, to a different bus to Ranier, where we walked to collect the truck from the shop.
• Meeting Rasta the rooster
• Cat sitting Suri
• Evaluating diversity in gaming and the Army's presence at PAX
• Pickin berries, apples, flowers and feeding goats
• Suffering through the "worst game of capture the flag ever"
• Turning down a dream job
  
• Helping Grandma move furniture, boxes and files
• Reserving a dozen manga titles at the library
• Cooking pizza, stuffed peppers and plum sauce
• A bike ride to the dog park
• Mowing the neighbor's yard
• Hosting a veteran of the 1st Gulf War, learning of his recently discovered uranium bone-poisoning
• Inventorying the My Little Pony and Magic card collections
  
• And a bad encounter with the doctor
  

This whole resumption of normal has proven challenging, especially as we opted not to return to our routines. Brad's making bloody ducks and severed limbs. My new job comes with Sounders tickets but with out a classroom. We're experiencing a prolonged/delayed broken heart in Clearwater's move out of town. I miss preschool and we all miss the staff discount on groceries. In two weeks Dawn and Kalin will move next door. And we've already eaten more than half our winter supply of blueberries.


Adding to the challenge and self-doubt of putting our lives back together, "well child" check-ups that included the question, "how long are you going to protect them from the real world?" Height, weight, blood pressure, spine check and "That's not a judgment, I respect home and alternative schooling, but why don't you just put them out there?"

I've been wondering what shape our lil' blog might take as we resume a settled life, not especially anxious to join the masses of family stories already floating around. In part because writing with our names attached, means censoring to protect the subjects and/or audience. And partly because with out the built-in drama of the trip of lifetime, what could there possibly be to say? Then I remembered that scenes from the real, day-to-day lives of ordinary people make some of my favorite stories.

So, I confirmed with the doctor that I did feel judged, not at all supported. I listed a half dozen of the kids' real world engagements and kindly told him, "don't fucking push me on this." My eloquent response would have sounded a little something like "I can talk educational philosophy and developmental psychology for hours, probably weeks and surely the rest of my life. You've only got about 5 minutes, so listen to the kids' lungs, answer their questions and offer me some resources, if you'd like." I think he heard my message even in its abbreviated form.

For the record, Ukiah's 5'3, Aslin 5'1.75. Both appear healthy despite my unwillingness to allow them to participate in the real world. Maybe because I'd take a bat to the head for either of them. I'm not trying to be graphic.

communication

It's routine. "Double-tall americano, please." Barista follow-up questions can go one of two ways- room for cream? or so, coffee with hot water? The kids at Cowboy Joe know their way around the espresso machine. A local art show, photos of rodeo highlights and downfalls, cattle in the basin complete the western feel. Hang your jacket on the horseshoe rack, the patio out back is glowing warm before 9am.




Along Idaho St., the visitor center at Sherman's Station was closed. The windows of the school were cloudy, but we could see through a crack in the creamery door. I called it the livery, but Aslin wondered why a farm would have a library. Down the road at the NE Nevada Museum, also closed, outdoor exhibits gave clear definitions of stage coaches and mud coaches. An original Pony Express cabin was brought to the property a decade ago. The job announcement stated clearly that "young, skinny, wiry" riders, preferably orphans, could earn $25/week if they'd risk their lives daily as riders on the path from Missouri to California.

At the park, a church group held a bingo fundraiser. We rushed the old-school swing-set. Long chains suspended from a steel frame, primary colors chipping away. A toddler in church clothes ran through the puddle surrounding the merry-go-round. "Mom....mom..." Aslin didn't finish, didn't need to. The flop and cry said it all. Getting tricky on the swings, she somehow flipped forward only to land backward- thankfully clearing the cement buffer that would never meet today's playground codes.

A flyered telephone pole told us of the event. We decided Oregon could wait, and stuck around another day to hear what Barack Obama had to say to the rural communities. Aslin found her breath and we rested before heading to the convention center.


Aslin- "I like. I'm never gonna wash my hand again because he shook it. He said about health care that everyone should have it. He said something about the war not really solving anything. People mostly, I think they really like him and appreciate and admire the way he thinks and makes decisions. He's good at doing speechs and answering questions- seems kind, I was listening and I know that he he is. Well, in my opinion. I like him."




Ukiah- "It seems like he went out of his way to go to a relatively small town- seems like most people would skip that I guess. But it seems important to visit different parts of the country.

He said we spent 200 something million a day in Iraq, but we could use that money on different things- like special education and health care. Somebody asked how he's going to improve medicare. He said that it doesn't make any sense for people who make a billion, or even a million dollars to pay half as much tax as everybody else. There is money for health care and we should work more on disease prevention.

He said that thing about Volvo driving, latte drinking liberals. Something about mining, I don't remember. I thought he totally did not look 35, he looked younger- or maybe it's just because George Bush looks like he's 200. He seemed really smart, supported a lot of things I would support. I think another funny thing he said is that sometimes he thinks people are here because he's so wonderful- but his wife reminds him that not it. They care about the issues.

We had to wait 70 minutes, but it was worth it. I thought the people in front of me were obnoxious- the woman had a big hair-do and was taking a lot of pictures."


The local democrats had their work cut out for them. Overhearing the network of volunteers and rural liberals, the turn out was much larger than expected. Which is encouraging. The audience heard soundbites on all the key domestic issues. Meaningful soundbites. An understanding of immigration and interest to continue learning about water rights and mining. "If Canada were paying $100/hr, we'd be headed to that border." "I haven't signed onto the ___ mining bill, but the law dates to 1872, it probably needs some updates."

Senator Obama wants to bring "common sense and fact" to the White House, to be rid of ideology. He noted that individual citizens don't have federal lobbyists and that the in No Child Left Behind, the "money's been left behind." It was a town hall style meeting, and Obama was comfortable talking to the people. The conversation centered on domestic issues- education, health care, environment, jobs, with the Senator sounding interested and competent on all fronts.

I'd have preferred if he'd closed with his acknowledgement that "change takes time." That as president, he "can't suddenly make everybody's life better, automatically." That we have a mutual responsibility to each other and that we have to overcome our cynicism. "I'll be a president who believes in the constitution." But no. The final words were along the lines that "no president can guarantee that there won't be a need for war." I'm reminding myself of his emphatic belief that "this war should not have been authorized, should not have been waged." Trying to comfort myself with my belief in his 90 minutes of advocacy for early childhood education, wind power, labor unions, national health care, civil liberties and diplomacy. The Senator knows we have to talk and listen to one another, communicate. "In democracy, we have to compromise." I know he's right, I'm just tired, disgusted with what now passes as compromise.

Cottonwood

It could be that salt-licks are too expensive. Or the neighbors just don’t care about the moose. Maybe they do care, or would, but no one’s found time to visit the family cabin in ages. Maybe no one ever planed to visit the tax-shelter, err, cabin. Maybe once the construction currently carving up the mountain results in the planned 12-lot subdivision- retired doctors embracing their mountain-man side will build houses and bring more salt licks into Big Cottonwood Canyon. In the meantime, Avis and Jim seem to have the only yard serving the moose population.

Our new friends know a little something about hospitality. For 25 years, they ran the Silver Fork Lodge, 11 miles into the canyon, a short trip from Brighton or Solitude. Hospitality is a good cup of coffee served with a slice of homemade pie, not serving as the public restroom for anyone too timid for the outhouses in the mountain’s parks. There was no sewer in those days. And given extra precautions called for in the watershed, septic was especially complicated.

The lodge is in different hands these days. It’s added a back deck, full liquor license and along with the ski resorts, A & J and the rest of the neighbors, an elaborate sewer system.



Behind the lodge a quarter mile, we can hear the creek from A & J’s living room window, teasing. Not calling to be played in. This is Salt Lake City’s water. They own it all. Don’t even think of harvesting your own rainwater. No lawns allowed. Dogs by special permit. It's a hikers paradise, with aspen groves brightening the trail even as rain clouds threaten. Or, you can fish Lake Solitude. But do not put your hands in the water. No body parts. And don’t tell the lone Forest Service employee that you didn’t see the signs. He’s suppose to be part of a team, but with approximately half our tax dollars now going to the war on Iraq and other military spending, there’s no money for managing our federal lands and resources. So lend the country a hand. Stop your littering and carry a map you can read. Resist the photo-op and do not set your toddler on the back of a moose. We don’t have the money to pay for the public’s lack of common sense- let alone to invest in outdoor-education. We'll leave that to the non-profits.

The salt-lick sits by a wheelbarrow. Part of the construction effort, a puzzle without benefit of precisely cut pieces. Canyon development has spit up a slew of rocks, plenty to finish the patio. Eventually. Come spring, late spring after the winter’s 10-12 feet of snow melts, the geranium and tea rose will return. And the moose will be back for their mineral supplements.

We left the Mickey Mouse shaped mine dump, Tin Tin books and summer-apple sauce. We are trying to put thoughts of wintering in a snowy area out of mind. We’re on the home stretch, by way of Nevada.

the best part of waking up

is the sound of rain filtering through the deck floor and splashing to the patio outside my window. Real rain. Not the warm drops that evaporate as soon as the sun considers dismissing the clouds. Real rain. Enough to wash the scent of heat from the asphalt and form pools in the joints where tree branches meet their trunks. Two hours of real rain.

"Isn't it great?!" the rest of us nod in agreement with Ukaih, carry the camera to the neighbor's garden and feel a little home-sick.


It's been a double apricot season for us- Tucson in May and here in Orem a couple weeks ago. If we're lucky, we'll have peaches before our Saturday departure. Unless of course the city's chemical defense against the Japanese beetles has poisoned the fruit. Add to the list...

• Advising against vegetable gardening until 2010 because pesticide use has contaminated soil and ground water while endangering beneficial insects - crazy

• Horticulture and gardening programs for inmates and their communities- not crazy

$76 billion

is up for grabs in this year's Farm Bill.

That's 76 billion- with a "B"

So even if we grant Charles Schwab a half-million for his private duck-hunting club "rice farm" and pay Scottie Pippen and Ken Lay to manage their "conservation lands," there should be plenty left to invest in sustainable farming methods and operations.


As much as I'd like to write about the importance of impeaching our criminal vice president, this week I'm banging my head on the wall for a different cause.

This past year, we Owlhouse-ians picked green beans in the freezing rains, evil eyed carrot-eating deer, harvested thousands of pounds of potatoes, planted cucumber seeds to the second knuckle and sheltered berries from sun and storm. The farmers we worked with are land stewards, cultural historians, nutritionists, inventors, musicians, educators and healers. Not to mention they're responsible for some of the best food we've ever eaten. Chews Wise has a terrific post outlining the proposed investment in organic farming. You don't have to have goat-milking experience to recognize the importance of federal support for organic practices.


At Mulch Blog, The Environmental Working Group will keep you up to date. Organic Farming Research Foundation has everything else you need to know.

So sign the petition already.

10,886 to go

Ruidoso Downs, 5/28-6/4







At the intersection of playing in the mud and sustainable building, just off Hwy 70, lies the base of a compressed-earth-block shop. In India, Habitat for Humanity uses a manual press to form the bricks. Here, Luther's used a mechanized version, built by a conservitive father-son team and powered by a bio-diesel tractor, to form over 3,000 block so far. Brad and Luther set the first line of bricks, 114. When all is said and done, the truces will be hoisted onto the 11,000 brick structure.







Surprisingly, Aslin didn’t opt for a swim in the Rio Ruidoso. Luther and Amanda have a great little spot along the river. If the neighbor kids don’t chop any more willow, I’m predicting a hammock sanctuary by fall.




Lesson of the week- Basil germinates with a satisfying quickness. The pollinator blend from Seeds of Change may take a little longer. Ideally, the borage, millet and butterfly weed will ease the hummingbird’s nectar habit. Extra bonus if the seeds step into a cover crop role, defending young apple trees from horehound and the ever pesky thistle. Safe from deer and dogs, the radishes are raising themselves from the ground. A dense patch of baby cabbage makes a strong case against planting in strong New Mexico winds. Walls of water shield a tomato crop sure to encourage more of Luther’s hand made ravioli. There’s a good chance we’ll meet this garden again, in a few years when the asparagus has settled in.




It’s a little overcast. Nothing ominous like yesterday’s break from 80-degree weather that delivered hail to the fragile celery starts, but the blue sky is broken, shading sections of the hills on either side of us. So ends our week at Ruidoso Downs’ Blue Tube Farm and (recently fenced!) dog park. Or as we like to call it, our second Craig’s List Miracle.


Many thanks to Luther, Amanda and the animals for agreeing to host us months later than expected!

there are worse things

Like, say, peacekeepers profiting in gun trade.

Or, engaging in war on fraudulent intelligence, with no regard for history only to leave troops entirely unprepared.

And allowing non-organic hops in "organic" beer.

Then there's the carcinogenic soda industry and new evidence on the link between pesticides and Parkinson's disease.

So clearly, life complicated by our demanding little miss Buttercup, is on the low end of things that are wrong in the world. And while many are overwhelmed when confronted with the pain and injustice in the world, I am optimistic. Cynically optimistic, but hopeful none the less. I marvel at our accomplishment in spite of it all.

In a former life, Chris was a travel agent. With a few clicks, she found us $95 seats out of Phoenix. We passed. The cash cushion is wearing quite thin, but we'll press on. One way to Seattle out of Denver can't be that much more. With any luck, we'll be on the road tomorrow.

mid-thought news-roundup

Hugo Chavez has been accused of "using [Venezuela's] state oil company to funnel billions of dollars to his social projects."
"His." I could be generous and suppose that Wall Street Journal reporter, Jose de Cordoba meant Venezuelan social projects, rather than a health care system or farm established solely for use by the President. But this appears not to have been a verbal stumble for de Cordoba. In today's article, Farms are Latest Target in Venezuelan Upheaval, he goes on to state that land reform is possible because by 2005, Mr. Chavez "controlled the courts as well as congress..." The socialist reforms undertaken by the Chavez government make use of "rhetoric" that "smacks of the 1960's..." "Some Chavez initiatives recall disastrous past experiments with collective agriculture, such as... the Cuban revolution, which helped turn one of Latin America's richest lands into one of its poorest."

Venezuelan Coffee Farm

Millions of acres, 8.8, have been reclaimed for agricultural use by the poor. Less than half the distributed land was owned by the state. Micro-lending programs have been corrupted. Food production appears to be down. Too bad de Cordoba "reports" with such bias and ignorance of history politics and economics that his writings on the challenges of the nation's current revolutionary undertakings can not be taken with any confidence.

While the front page gives gallery space to the dangerous faults of returning land and trusting food production to the masses under a socialist system, today's WSJ page D-1 gives us a rosy version of the same story, under our very own capitalist system. For Sale: Condo w/ Chicken Coop, by Sara Schaefer Munoz shines light on a growing trend among housing developers. "Forget the golf course community," she tells us. The demand wasn't necessarily quick access to the gentleman's game. It was about living in a green community, where outdoor space and views are protected. Condos and new homes are being built around existing farms, or in conjunction with new agricultural developments.

So, a developer in southwest Florida constructs a 17,000 acre housing community surrounded by "73,000 acres including a nature preservation and a cattle farm" and the WSJ states that "for city folks, moving to a farm can require some adjustment." When the democratically elected leader of Venezuela offers a free 2-year farm voc-tech program for urban poor, the WSJ considers it a "hodgepodge of Marxism, 'ancestral' Venezuelan farming methods and Cuban fertilizing techniques."

Are we clear now? Spend between $200,000 and million on a home with access (hands on or off) to an organic farm in Florida, and you're part of a pioneering, eco-friendly revolution. Start a farming cooperative under the leadership of a Latin American president working to end decades of corporate pillage and massive absentee landownership, and you're destined for (continued) poverty if not starvation.

(The Wall St. Journal arrives at the house every morning courtesy of a plethora of airline miles not eligible for use on actual flights.)

---

We're planning to head out on Monday, so I'm working overtime to meet my news junkie need. Other stories making their way through my mind-

» The F-16 flare drop over south Jersey. Not only is the story of note, but the comments at this site have been fantastic.

» James Comey's testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee is notable as much for its content as for his candor and humility. Never, in a million years, would I have trusted John Ashcroft as the last line of defense for our constitution. Suppose history shows him as our last principled attorney general.

» US investors are finally just saying no to profiteering in war-torn Sudan. I'm overly optimistic in wishing that some of that pulled capitol would be directed, even "funneled" into social programs in the region.

» Christopher Hitchens is unapologetic in his lack of remorse for the recently deceased Jerry Falwell. This on the heels of Richard Dawkins' "...you're an atheist about all those Gods, some of us just take it one God further..." debate with Steven Colbert.

pre-emptive justification

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to spend $5 on a scone.
It means I'll talk with the nutty woman who denounces, from under her green, plastic-fringe palm, the evils of grains. All grain except that which her baked goods are made from.
It's not kamut or amaranth but some other near-forgotten grain with a lineage unbroken since the birth of the fertile crescent.
She'll offer me the energy bar, a fermented apricot square made from the recipe that sustained the Swedes through the coldest of winters.
"Washington," she'll say, and my attention will abandon the peppers roasting in the stall behind me; I'll focus on her eyes, wondering what kind of sunscreen she wears.

Pointing past the fountain, towards fields in the Cascade foothills, she'll chatter.
Fond words of the wold's only raw, vegan bakery where they roast the mystery grain.
And if I ask about the $7 biscotti, she'll tell of sorting gems and invite me to a drum circle. She got distracted, forgot the biscotti. She'll go get me one, she's happy to. It will take a half-hour, which would suggest the bakery is in Arizona, not Washington, but I can't be sure. She'll leave her stand at the market, if I want a hazelnut biscotti.

But I don't. Just a maple scone made of a grain I can't remember.

I have a soft spot for cut zinnias and potted herbs.
A scenario that finds me sitting sideways in the corner of the couch, accompanied by dark chocolate, a glass of wine and a good book tops my relaxation list.
I rarely pooh-pooh kind words on my parenting (witnessed by my extraordinary children) sealed in a card.
Fluffy or heart-felt, I won't shy away from acknowledgment of my role as a mother. Tomorrow, or any other day. From the bandwagon, I'll channel thanks and admiration to the mothers I know, recognition of their strength and beauty.

In the morning, I'll walk the market, eating half my scone, noticing the mothers. They'll help their children choose lettuce and pull the stroller a few inches back from the tomato table. One mother will carry a baguette for brunch with her son while another reminds her daughter to hold the eggs with two hands. I'll marvel at the heat of 10am, regret the lack of local fruit available and wink. Or think of winking. A code of solidarity with mothers.


Home with my half scone, I'll curl up with a cup of tea and the news. I'll read of Darfur after signing an e-petition against mandatory pasteurization of almonds. Honor killings, profiteering in public education. And war. Our war that has yet to solicit my health or assets, asking instead for my complacency.

Tomorrow morning, belly full, I'll think of Julia "Disarm, disarm. The sword of murder is not the balance of justice..." Ward Howe. Her faith in me. In all us mothers. I'll spend a moment on the absurdity of misunderstandings. The difference of confusion on the origins of a scone and falsified documents offered as justification for war.

Here

What
has happened
makes

the world.
Live
on the edge,

looking.

---- Robert Creely


In honor of Earth Day and National Poetry Month.

Also considered for today's post, Some Trees, Preparing for Occupation and The Sunlight on the Garden.

Never underestimate the power of a cookie

A call to action from Greenpeace.

"Last year alone, well over 1000 whales died for profit....In May of this year, the International Whaling Commission will meet on U.S. soil, to discuss the fate of the whales...What better way to sweeten up the Bush Administration than a weekend of Bake Sales to Save the Whales?"

That's right. A nationwide bakesale is scheduled for the weekend of April 28-29. From cookie cutters to a list of open kitchens, Greenpeace has organized all the tools you'll need to get involved. So, make your own or buy cookies here!


Thanks to worsted witch for bringing this to our attention.

*

kittens

Your cute animal fix of the day...


It seems as though Skinny Kitty, the resident stray, has been sticking around for a good reason. Her babies were discovered tucked away in the bottom drawer of a weathered dresser on the neighbor's back porch. The kittens, eyes still closed, seem healthy and comfortable, well tended by their "wild" teenage mother. Looking for a new pet?
Peta's words of wisdom.

Happy Cesar Chavez Day

At dinner tonight, raise a glass and toast a national hero and the farm workers he represents. Today marks the 80th anniversary of Cesar Chavez's birth. More than four decades ago, Chavez and his partners/followers formed the United Farm Workers in an effort to advance the rights of disenfranchised field workers. Using boycotts as legitimate means of advocating worker's rights, Chavez brought pressure to commercial farms notorious for exploiting workers. Efforts are underway to promote recognition of the Chavez legacy and further his vision through naming a national day of remembrance.

The Huffington Post has briefs on a lengthy string of web-articles.

4 years and counting

Round two of the Gulf War was announced 4-years ago to the day. The objectives stated continue to go unmet.

The fair citizens of this nation are protected the discomfort of viewing photos of our fallen soldiers. With a civilian death toll nearly 20x that of US servicemen/women, the citizens of Iraq are offered no insulation from such disconcerting images.

Read more at the Huffington Post, Moderate Voice, Raw Story, or any of the 2,000 other sites offering Iraq war news, history, analysis and plans for action.

When the Mayor of Salt Lake City is calling for impeachment, could it be the time has come?

Overkill

The Titan Missile Museum is free for children age six and under. Here, just south of downtown Tucson, kids can pick up a "Junior Missileer Program" to help them learn all about the Titan ll missile, "how it worked and why the United States needed it." Opting out of the tour, we directed ourselves through the single-room exhibit and attached gift shop. Inside the front door, a nostalgic miniature of the 9mega-ton sat quiet, unable to deliver the force of 9,000,000 tons of TNT up to 5,500 miles with in 30-minutes. In it's role as a gallery of graphs, charts and educational paragraphs, the mini-Titan exposes us to hazards of another type. In red white and blue, it proclaims the triumph of our cold war efforts, hailing the success of "peace through deterrence". "Overkill" (over production of weaponry) the replica assures, was "necessary to account for weapon failure," to "ensure 100% saturation."


Freeze-dried ice cream and uranium-symbol temporary tattoos line the gift shop counter. Impulse purchases. Shelved with original photographs of mushroom clouds over the Nevada Test Site, was a 1950 publication by the Office of Civil Defense.
"Six Survival Tips" made the centerfold of Survival Under Atomic Attack...

1. Get shielded - Ideally in a basement or subway
2. Drop flat on the ground - This puts you out of harms way as trees, walls... may be flying/falling through the air
3. Bury your face in your arms - Protect your face from burns and prevent blindness
4. Don't rush out after a bombing - Wait 1-hour for lingering radiation to die down
5. Don't take chances with food or water in open containers - Eat only canned foods, drink water sealed for protection
6. Don't start rumors

Memorize These

Wow. Talk about your road-side attraction.