Look Out!

We're Home, Toto!

Whew! Where have I been? I got "spun" into a cyclone that deposited pigtailed me and my little dog at the gates of the Sapphire City. Unfortunately, my house did not fall on any of the swirl of wicked beings mounted on burning crosses who continuously buzzed the fortress....

Unlike Dorothy’s sojourn in Oz, my entire experience inside the Sapphire City was more like a bad acid trip than a cozy morality play with a happy ending. There was a battle going on. The air was choked with barbed arrows, stink grenades, and mud bombs. It was hard to tell the good guys from the enemy. Most of the time, they looked and acted exactly alike. For a hot minute, I got caught up in the battle frenzy. I fashioned a few barbs and bombs of my own. I didn’t hit anybody. Didn’t even come close. Some of my poorly crafted ammunition actually turned 180’s in mid-flight and whizzed past my own ear as I frantically ducked and covered.

For five days, I was swept along in a war with no rules, no truth, no boundary lines; where none of the more virtuous aspects of fighting the good fight—camaraderie, valor, self-sacrifice, bravery—are ever called upon, and only the ugly spawns of war—hatred, cowardice, mindless violence, and greed—prevail and multiply. An endless war waged for no other purpose than to perfect and eternally intensify the battle. There’s no thought of an end, a truce, a compromise. It is the ultimate inferno of continuous struggle in a negative vacuum. Eventually, I looked down at a mud-covered rock that I had been about to fling and thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" Scrambled to the balloon and sailed right on out of there. Back to the black-and-white safety of "Coming to Terms." Well, green and…green, anyway.

If I ever go searching for my heart’s desire…if it isn’t here, well, I never really lost it to begin with…

Sign It, Please!

He might have strayed a little too close to the edge of the cliff this time.  Maybe we should just give him a little shove...

http://www.johnkerry.com/petition/rove.php 

Sign Senator Kerry's "Fire Karl Rove" petition.  It couldn't hurt....

What Happens When a Crip is Left Alone With a Computer and an Internet Connection...

If you are privy to my private journal, (and if you are not and would like to be, please email me and I’ll be happy to invite you in…) you know that I have been on the disabled list since last Monday. Setting up for last weekend’s event, I finally pushed my back over the edge. I think it was probably when husband and I lifted the freezer from out of the back of the pick-up, carried it about twenty yards, and set it down into place. I ended up on my ass in the sand. Didn’t know I had done dire damage to myself at the time. But the next morning (the day of the event, of course) my back let me know it was VERY unhappy with me. So now, I am suffering (and I do mean suffering) with what I would assume is an aggravated disc in my lower back. (No, I haven’t been to a doctor for a real diagnosis. Several issues, not the least of which is questionable health coverage, coupled with a healthy disrespect for the 21st century American medical community at large, prevent me from running to a doctor with every ache and pain…even when I perhaps should…)
Anyway, physical decrepitude has opened up a whole new world for me in the past week. First and foremost, I have had a LOT of time to spend wandering around in journal-land, both on AOL and beyond. "Beyond" has primarily consisted of The Blue Voice, where eight "lefties" from the AOL J ranks have graduated to the big, bad blogosphere-at-large, with the hope of attracting a wider audience for their prolific writings. I have been most drawn to Duane’s continuing commentary on the Karl Rove affair (actually, being the intellectually lazy sort that I am, I’ve been happy to let HIM do all the research….) And I have plunged myself into one of the longest "comment strings" on the blog…on a piece that Neil wrote in reaction to the London subway bombings. Two of our resident J-Land right-wingers, Armandt and RepublicanJen, took it upon themselves to try to instruct (and, in Armand’s case, verbally abuse) Neil on the error of his opinion. And who was I to let them do so unmolested?
All of this has opened my eyes once again to the things that people WILL believe. Jen is apparently convinced that Islam, as a religion, has a lock on the concept of violence, murder, and genocide in the name of God. Armand is absolutely certain that there is a demonstrable connection between Iraq and the 9/11 terrorist attacks, AND that we are obviously winning the "War on Terror," in Iraq and on all other fronts.
It occurred to me that perhaps that is the difference between the Left and the Right. The right is a faction of absolutes. Black or white. Right or wrong. No inconvenient gray areas. And there is no point—political, legal, or moral, for which they do not have THE answer. They are on point, on task, and will stick to their guns in the face of any and all argument.
As for those of us on the Left…the only moral certainty we espouse is that there is NO absolute moral certainty. We believe we are called upon to control the strong, provide for the weak, and protect the rights of every human being, even those whose views may be foreign or repugnant to us--a directive that flies in the face of the whole of human history. Our moral imperative is to walk that walk, despite everything that the world might throw at us. Against the winds of terrorism, xenophobia, political domination or war, we are to remain steadfast in our dedication to the birthright of all humanity. The Right perceives this as weakness. We understand it as the only path to the ultimate survival of the human race.
Whoops…got sidetracked onto that soapbox I keep hidden under my computer desk…
Anyway, I followed a web of links, and ended up at Armand’s blog on Blogspot. I can’t (won’t) comment on most of what I read there, because I am determined to take the high road and not go off on an insulting diatribe about how narrow-minded, high-handed, and just plain wrong most of the posts seemed to me. But I did come upon the following cartoon, and I just could not resist slipping in a comment…which I suspect will be deleted as soon as it is discovered…

Cartoon by Paul Nowak, CNS News
My Comment:
"That should read, "Iraq-9/11 Connection FABRICATED," and the big arrow should be pointing to something else that comes out of the back end of a chicken..."

AAAAaaaarrrrgggghhhh!

AOL's Welcome Screen Headline today:

Rove Was His Source

Reporter Protected Bush Aide

But Were Any Laws Broken?

And, according to the sub-sub-sub headline--

"No Indication Bush Aide Used Operative's Name or Knew Covert Status"

I just want to punch something. The idea of Karl Rove’s orange-jumpsuited butt being marched off to prison was SO appealing. It was the first bloom to appear on America’s political landscape in the past eight years that had me grinning ear-to-ear just to imagine it. I was literally slobbering to see Rove get his just desserts for all the lives he has touched and destroyed with his particular brand of slimy, back-street, get-them-before-they-get-you political clout.

Even so, I knew it was too good to be true. I have to say, Duane over at the Blue Voice had already deflated my balloon and prepared me for the worst. I properly chastised him for this; but sadly, I knew he was probably correct.

So, a crime was committed—a covert CIA agent was outed in the national press—but no laws were broken. A CIA operative’s career was ruined, her diplomat husband was maligned and discredited, and the Bush Administration Juggernaut steamrolled right over the incident.

After two years, with America safely floundering in the quagmire into which Bush was determined to drive us, it’s apparently too late to get anywhere with undeniable proof of the administration’s lies, double-dealings, and tantrums of petty revenge as it rushed us to war in Iraq. The Congress, the press, and the American people swallowed the lies hook, line, and sinker. And, unfortunately, a majority of us are still too proud to admit that we were hoodwinked by a deceitful administration that shamelessly exploited the 9/11 tragedy to advance a predetermined agenda to get a foothold in the Middle Eastern oil market.

If Karl Rove goes to jail, I’m prepared to throw a victory party of epic proportions. Realistically, chances are slim to none that he will be charged with any kind of misdeed, much less do time. But I have to tell you, when I saw that smug face peering at me from the AOL Welcome Screen this morning, I almost put my fist through my monitor…

The Confluence

I know…I sort of left you all hanging about the "Confluence." Did you think I forgot?

As you all may or may not know, last Friday, I awoke at the crack of dawn (or at least it seemed like it to my self-indulgent, self-employed self…) to make the two-hour drive to a place I’d never officially visited (though I’d blown through numerous times on my way to somewhere else) to meet a person I knew but had never actually met. Miss Robbie had flown north for a quick vacation in Seattle. So close, and yet, so far away… Since it would mean one of us wasting three and a half hours drive time, for her to come to me or me to go to her, we chose what we thought would be closest to the halfway point for both of us. Spang! Olympia, Washington it was!

The day started out iffy… I was determined to leave the house by 8 am. The alarm went off at 6:30, but I was already out of bed. Shower, dress, and do the general "zookeeper" routine. Breakfast? Nah…we are meeting at Starbuck’s, and going on to a Farmers’ Market. Plenty of sustenance to be had later.

Hmmmm! A little ahead of schedule. Okay…I have time to sit down and pay some bills and get some other "business" out of the way. Check the email and read a few journals… Ooops! May have spent a little TOO much time on that stuff. Shut down the computer…out in the car by 8:00. Damn! Forgot the directions. Back into the house, reboot the ‘puter, print out directions. Back in the car by 8:05. Atomic batteries to power, turbines to speed… Get to the end of the block (about 500 feet)…crap! Forgot the camera! Hang a quick u-ie, and back into the house again to retrieve said device. Finally on the road for real at 8:15. Okay…looking at likely tardiness. Not exactly a situation with which I am unfamiliar…

Halfway to my destination, it occurs to me that I should probably call Robbie and tell her that I am going to be late. At which time I also realize that her cel number is securely saved on my hard drive…and I have forgotten to print it out, write it down, or make it in any way available to myself as I am cruising up the interstate. Duh!

I begin stressing out at about milepost 39. (Rendezvous point is at Exit 105.) ‘Round about milepost 95, Robbie calls me. "Ummm…I’m not sure exactly where I am, but I think I’m going to be late…" Saved! Now, I have Robbie’s number in my phone’s memory. AND I wasn’t the first one to have to make the "I’m-gonna-be-late" call. On top of THAT, between Washington’s 70 mph speed limit, and the total absence of traffic, it looks like I might actually end up being on time. Life is good!

With the help of those great "Mapquest" directions, I pull up in front of the rendezvous point with time to spare (maybe one or two minutes.) Hmmm…on-street parking. I find a parking place about a half-block down from the appointed Starbuck’s, and attempt to parallel park. Now, in my defense, I am driving my husband’s car, which he insisted I take, because it gets twice the gas mileage of any other vehicle we own. However, I don’t drive it often…in fact, do not LIKE to drive it, because it is a five-speed….which, at my age, and having driven cars with automatic transmissions for 95% of the thirty-plus years I’ve been driving, is a challenge for which I have little patience at this point… I proceed to make a TOTAL ass of myself trying to parallel park this car...forward, reverse, forward, reverse…twist the wheel 180 degrees this way and then 180 degrees the other… and still end up four feet from the curb. After an eternity of this (probably about a minute and a half) I abandon the spot in favor of one a half-block down that I can pull into without the whole parallel parking challenge. What fun would life be without the stupid, memorable, FUNNY things we do when we think we are being all efficient and serious?

Fifteen minutes, one latte and a marionberry muffin later, Robbie and I finally connect. And what can I say about the experience? That I was a little nervous, but felt like I was meeting someone I already knew? Her appearance did not shock or surprise me. She looked very close to what I had imagined. Aided somewhat, I suppose, by pictures she had posted in her journal…but not completely. She just looked like…Robbie.

We walked, we talked, we partook a little of the gastronomic offerings of the Olympia Farmers’ market. We explored the Olympia waterfront, which I had not even known existed. We had fun doing pictures and acting like tourists. We thoroughly enjoyed the little Fourth of July Dixieland Jazz entertainment they offered at the market, and the food, and the jewelry and crafts. We talked our way to the top of a little observation tower on the waterfront, and back to a coffee shop across the street from the market, where we spotted Clyde and his owner, all set to ferry us around the waterfront district.

Four hours. Four hours is just about what we had. It didn’t seem like enough. I SO wanted to stay longer, to talk more, to explore our similarities and our differences. Young urban professional meets middle-aged hippie small business owner. L.A. urbanite meets Pacific Northwest refugee. Apartment dweller meets suburban gardener extra-ordinaire. Our differences dissolved in our similarities. Writers. Journallers. Women who feel deeply, and who share those feelings in the nurturing, challenging environment of on-line journals.

I am privileged to know Robbie. Even more blessed to have met her face-to-face. Still, I wish we had had more time…

Seaside Fourth

 

I "ooohed" at Kat's, "aaahhhed" at Robin's, and I knew I had to post my own:

Seaside, OR, is the ultimate pyrotechnic experience on the Fourth of July.

Walking down the beach with the dog on the evening of July 3rd, we kept passing men, grown men, with shovels, real shovels, waist-deep in pits they were digging in the sand.  We couldn't for the life of us figure out what was up with that...theorized that there must be some kind of professional sand-castle building contest happening on the Fourth.  Then we noticed that the pit-diggers were supplied with barbecue grills, cots, sleeping bags, ice chests...all the trappings of an overnight camp.  I thought...okay, you dig yourself a hole and sleep on the beach the night before the Big Day because.....??  Interesting tradition...

After our event on Monday, we went down for a walk on "The Prom," to experience the mob scene that is Seaside on a holiday.  The beach was pock-marked with these giant pits peopled with entire families; which were already--at 6 pm in full, broad daylight--spouting barrage after barrage of whistling, booming, crackling, smoking rockets.  Turning east through town, we strolled to Safeway to secure our dinner (a rotisserie chicken and corn on the cob) then walked back to the trailer to eat.  All the while accompanied by the constant din of fireworks--on the beach, over the river, in the streets...EVERYWHERE.

It was starting to get dark when we finished dinner, and I decided to take my camera and walk the few blocks down to the beach to see if I could get some decent shots.  I could not believe my eyes when I crested the little hill and beheld the scene on the waterfront.  Every bunker was spouting fireworks. Up and down the beach, as far as you could see (which was not all that far, because the pungent pall of gunpowder smoke clung to the sky like the stubbornest marine fog) dozens of private pyrotechnics shows were booming, sizzling, and screaming.  And these were not the paltry legal  fireworks that they sell at the roadside stands.  I have no idea where these folks were getting these rockets, and it boggles the mind to imagine how much they must have spent on them.  But there were parties of private citizens out there putting on better shows than the "official" 4th of July programs of most small towns across the country. 

I took my camera (and the already over 100 shots I had taken) back to the trailer to retrieve the husband.  "You have got to see this.  I've never seen anything like this in my entire life."  So we grabbed our little camp stools, staked out a place on the sand, and just sat, dumbfounded, for the next hour-plus, fearing to look too long in one direction lest we missed something spectacular going on the other way.  The noise and the smoke were unbelievable.  Some guy not thirty yards from us was setting off rockets that exploded literally right over our heads.  BIG ones.  I was scared spitless and completely captivated at the same time.

There WAS an official "Seaside 4th of July" display, set to simulcast music (which was not very good); the revellers politely interrupted their private shows to allow the community display center stage, then started up again without missing a beat as soon as the city had popped its last official  rocket.  They were going strong again as we made our way back to the trailer, and they partied on explosively for at least an hour after we went to bed.

The thought crossed my mind to go down to the beach this morning and take pictures of the aftermath.  I had visions of a scene that resembled the wake of some gigantic military invasion (minus the bodies.)  But we had an important date with post-holiday traffic for which we simply could not be late...

Please...Not ANOTHER War...!

I just know you all are waiting with baited breath for me to weigh in about the Sandra Day O’Connor resignation…

The accepted liberal viewpoint is that we need to be completely up in arms, now that Mr. Bush is finally going to get his opportunity to appoint a Supreme Court Justice. Oh my God, it’s going to ruin the balance of power on the Court, throw us kicking and screaming into the sanctimonious hands of the religious right, reverse decisions on everything from Roe vs. Wade to capital punishment to affirmative action, and the country is going to go to hell in a handbasket.

Doesn’t that just make you tired? It does me. I’m at an age where I am learning that things are rarely as bad (or as good) as the hype would have one believe. What I see unfolding here is an interesting combination of media feeding frenzy, reactionary convulsions, and dire predictions of gloom and doom. All designed, basically, to jerk the chains of the American people.

Let’s try to look at this situation objectively (if there IS such a concept in 21st century American politics…) What is the best case scenario? That Mr. Bush will have an epiphany about the solemn duties and responsibilities of his office, and about the legacy he might leave our nation, and put forth an appropriately experienced nominee that even the Democrats could stomach, after a certain amount of requisite grumbling and belching? Okay…that is a little far-fetched. But, who knows? Since he seems to believe he has an inside track with the Almighty, maybe God will bid him to aim toward the high road and show some respect for the Court and the Constitution that mandated it, and name someone who might actually be fit for the job. It seems that, up ‘til now, his habit of choosing obviously unfit nominees for prominent promotions has been his way of showing contempt for certain institutions---for instance, the United Nations. We hope that he harbors no such disdain for the Supreme Court. As he cautions the Congress (read, "Democrats") to follow "a dignified process of confirmation… characterized by fair treatment, a fair hearing and a fair vote," can we hope that he has enough respect for the dignity and fairness of the process to put forth a nominee who is really worthy of serving on the highest court in the land? One that might unite rather than further divide the factions in our government (Oh, please, Mr. Uniter-Not-Divider?)

And what is the worst-case scenario? That our President will remain true to form and nominate a completely objectionable, unqualified and overtly controversial candidate for the position? What a surprise that would be! In that case, the surprise, the magnanimous gesture, the triumphant coup d’etat, would be for the opposition to handle whatever nominee Mr. Bush pitches, with grace, respect, and aplomb. Yes, Senate Democrats, go ahead and voice your objections to whatever candidate the President advances. You may even give him/her a sound rebuke or two. But do so forcefully, decisively, and quickly. Then bow to the majority and get on with seeing to the issues that really matter to the American people. The health care/insurance/prescription drug crisis. The hideous budget deficit. Environmental issues and global warming. How to fix the mess we have made in Iraq.

I don’t want to call the O’Connor retirement a tempest in a teacup. It is surely more like a possible Hurricane Andrew or Magnitude 5 tornado. But disasters are best handled with calm, well-mapped contingency plans. We have a pretty good idea of where the President might go with this nomination. The trick is not to react by going off on a tangent of panic and hype. Even though the media undoubtedly promise to be--in fact, already are--standing by with tanker trucks full of gasoline to pour onto the fire (After A Brief Shock, Advocates on All Sides Quickly Mobilize—New York Times, 7/02/05), would someone (please, God) bring a voice of maturity and reason to this potential quagmire/bonfire? Would that reasonable voice not serve the American people infinitely better than a war on yet another (futile) front?

Picture!

This is the only one I can post without getting permission. (I wonder how many comments I'll get asking why I took a picture of an empty bench and half-dead ferns in a concrete planter... J )

Pacific Northwest Confluence

Well, here I am…wide awake at a quarter past midnight. The joys of fluctuating hormones have completely screwed up my sleep patterns. When I finally DO crawl into bed, I wake up every 90 minutes or so awash in the perspiration of a virulent hot flash. My most restful sleep usually comes after my 4:00 am hot flash, which sometimes lasts until 6:00 am… I cover my head with a pillow to block out that pesky solstice plus a week early morning sun, and finally stop sweating long enough to drift off. Then, suddenly I jerk myself awake, struggle to see the clock, and see that it is nearing 9:00 am. I stumble out of bed, still groggy, feeling like I have slept half the day away.

It’s times like these that I’m grateful that I’m "semi-retired." I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to haul myself out of bed at 6 am to get ready for work after four hours or less of actual sleep, night after night.

On this particular night, I really SHOULD be dragging my butt to bed, because I actually have to set the alarm for a relatively early rising in the morning. I must be showered, dressed, and out of the house by 8:00 Friday morning…so that I can point my car in a northerly direction toward Olympia, WA. Where I have scheduled my THIRD face-to-face meeting with an AOL journal friend. I have previously met Marcy (punky5678) and Lisa (cw2smom). Tomorrow, I am slated to meet the much younger and much more successful (than me) Robbie (krobbie67)—that life-in-the-fast-lane denizen of the City of Angels, who has escaped northward for a little R & R. She is vacationing in Seattle, and I live in far northern Oregon, so we thought surely there must be a halfway point at which we could meet. We spun the dial, drew the maps, and decided upon Olympia.

Now, the only thing I know about Olympia is that it is the capitol of Washington, and that for 8 years, I drove through it about once a month on my way from Oregon to Seattle for managers’ meetings for the company I worked for. Robbie did some research, and found that Olympia holds a big-time farmers’ market during the summer months; which, coincidentally, is also having a jazz festival tomorrow. What could be more fun?

I’m looking forward to a couple hours of fresh northwest produce, crafts, jazz…and, most importantly, Robbie. Of course, I’ll have my camera…so I promise pictures of this "mini-confluence." ¡Hasta luego!