Life and Death

So, we have this lovely pond/flood retention area not too far from our place.  It's an amazing spot, attracts herons, ducks, geese, birds of prey, is full of "spring peepers" and bull frogs, and even has its own fox.

Oh, did.  Hang on, let me start again.

We HAD this lovely pond/flood retention area not too far from our place, read above.  About a month ago, authorities came in and bulldozed/backhoed/shredded to bits this pond, tearing out all the vegetation and hollowing out deep pools with strips of land between them.  And then went in the hundreds of perforated "pipes," a couple of inches in diameter and three or so feet tall.  And then hundreds of little plants (that I'm assuming are inside those pipes now), along with "scare geese."  You know, like scarecrows, except these are tin FOXES meant to keep the birds away.  It works.  These black, tin foxes keep this area absolutely free of birds.

The irony, of course, is that they destroyed the habitat needed by the real fox so they could put in fake ones.

I also find myself wondering how our peepers and bullfrogs will fare.  I'm not sure these pictures truly capture the scope of the devastation here--everything is gone.  Maybe something better will sprout in its place, but right now I'm feeling like they leveled something lovely and replaced it with a pale imitation complete with tin wildlife.

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I came across some bit from a rather popular celebrity the other day.  I've had precious little use for the woman or her words since she spewed a wave of anti-Palestinian invective years back.  Using a thousands-year-old religious tome to draw modern political boundaries is, in all ways, ridiculous, regardless of the tome. Laughable. To (rightfully) decry the horrors visited upon your own people while visiting horror upon those whose lands you illegally occupy?  Hypocritical and sickening.  To support the destruction of homes, the theft of land, the occupation and oppression of a people while calling those who dare fight back "terrorists?"

Evil.

To then proclaim yourself a champion of girls?  A hero dedicated to empowering young women?  A spokesperson for organizations seeking to address such issues as education, clean water, sanitation, health, livelihood, and agricultural/food security?  Through a system of "empowering" youth?

Are you kidding me?  Been to Gaza lately?  Taken a look at the merciless clearing and "settling" of Palestinian lands, in blatant violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention?  Considered the money raked in by Israeli companies who flout international law by exiling native peoples and then exploiting that stolen land for profit?  Ever put yourself in the shoes of the Palestinians, who have seen their homeland stolen, their homes bulldozed, their families torn apart, their groves and orchards uprooted in favor of illegal settlements (don't let anyone tell you that the Israelis "made the desert bloom."  Contemporary reports and photographic evidence show that Palestine was "blooming" just fine before occupation)?  When those children eat fish sullied by sewage spewed into the water by a treatment plant bombed by Israel's military (a plant that can't be repaired or rebuilt because Israel won't allow the materials needed to be imported), do you champion THEM?  When Gazans are told they cannot farm the land, and are shot for attempting to do so, where is your concern over issues of food security?  When yet another West Bank neighborhood is leveled to make way for yet another illegal Israeli settlement, do you step up and publicly decry the attack?  When Palestinians die at checkpoints because sadistic soldiers won't let them through for medical care, where is your activism?  When Israelis sneak into Palestinian villages in the night and drop off trailers, knowing they can then claim the land under those trailers due to apartheid laws (yes, APARTHEID--look it up, it's not about skin color) that crush one race and glorify the other, where is your charity, your indignation, your humanity?

When a native population is exiled, driven from their homes, and barred from returning, while another people, with no ties to the land, is granted "right of return" to a land they've never BEEN, where is your OUTRAGE?

Where is your support for the power of Palestinian girls?

Maybe, someday, this woman put an ounce of unfettered thought into the whole "stealing something, then spraying violent indignation at anyone who calls us on it" way of being.  Maybe, just maybe, she'll jump off the bandwagon and see just how ridiculous it is to think that theft, genocide, murder, oppression, apartheid, and exile can be excused by a thousands-year-old mythology book that proclaims one group "God's Chosen" over all others.  It's garbage when Muslims justify violence with the Q'uran, it's puke when Christians justify hatred and prejudice with the Bible, and it's no different when Jews justify "Zionism" and apartheid with their holy writ. It's MYTHOLOGY, kids.  It's the 21st Century, can we stop killing people over ODIN?

And before anyone pulls out the "anti-Semitism" card, don't.  Judaism isn't the problem (any more than any other religion being used to justify dominance over another).  Jews aren't the problem. Judaism is a religion like any other, and Jews are people like any other.  It's the Israeli government, the Israeli military, illegal settlers, and the world's tacit support for an apartheid occupation.  Saying that those who disagree with Israel's policies are "anti-Semites" is like calling those who opposed South Africa's apartheid "anti-white."

Or "terrorists."

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Here, let's lighten the mood, huh?



I love that, which surprises me.  Often, it's not so amusing when people "mess up" a beloved piece of art (and this is one of my favorites).  But I love this, find it light-hearted and funny.  In case you're curious, here's the real deal:



The composer's name was pronounced, they say, "Pax-uh-bell."  Who knew?

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Spent last Sunday exploring and photographing a couple of old cemeteries.  It was wonderful, amazing, and the history associated with them was fascinating.  Hey, this is Virginia--you can't get away from the history.  We went to one cemetery, where we found the grave of a young man who died at Louisa, Virginia in August of 1862.  A little checking found that he probably died during one of Lysander Cutler's raids on the railroads.  We learned all about Lysander Cutler last year at the Second Manassas anniversary re-enactments at Brawner's Farm.  I also found the will of of a woman buried there--she died in 1855, and, in her will, freed all her slaves.

The second cemetery wasn't in nearly the good shape the first was, sadly.  Yes, the first also had headstones down (not a surprise, when you have headstones as old as 1777), but the second had a pile of broken and damaged stones just laying in a neglected heap at the back of the church, and areas completely overgrown by wild blackberry, honeysuckle, and poison ivy.  It was sad to see.  Today, we're going to another graveyard to take more pictures.  See, once I have the pictures, I go to work cleaning them up in Photoshop, then uploading them to Find-a-Grave and other historical sites.  No, I don't get paid for it, but it feels important--these stones are deteriorating at a devastating rate, and if they aren't catalogued, they'll be lost forever.

First Cemetery

Second Cemetery

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One last thing before I sign off--a new batch of funny Utah names!  Remember, none of these are made up--at least not by me!  These are honest-to-goodness names real, live people have been saddled with.  I included "Jereece" to show that it's not all old folks with "Mormon" names--Utah has some fancy, kinda new, kinda wow bad names, too!

• Verald
• 
  
• Veraldine
• 
  
• Zenda
• 
  
• Thello
• 
  
• Jereece Shintyl
• 
  
• Virl Effie
• 
  
• Adair (that's a woman)
• 
  
• Borman
• 
  
• Vanetia
• 
  
• Doan

Trapped in Coach with a Nazi

So, I think this whole "class reunion/looking up dead people/preparing memorials for them thing is getting to me.  I dreamed my boy dead yesterday.  Not the first time I've done that (about the fourth, I think), but this was was particularly rough because I couldn't make it stop.  I'm on my knees, touching the glass over his face (horrid, cheap glass-topped coffin), and willing the dream to stop, but it won't.  Waiting for that rising sensation that tells me, "Oh, okay, this is a dream, and I'm waking up now."  It didn't come.  Not for a long time.  Not until I had come to the devastating realization that it wasn't a dream.  I wasn't crying when I woke up, but boy, I sure was after I awoke.  My boy came in, hugged me, and I had the sinking feeling THAT was the dream, you know?  That he really was dead, and I was dreaming he wasn't.  I cried a lot, and it left a shadow on the rest of my day.

Today, I didn't kill anyone in my dream, but I did dream reunion.  The whole time.  When I'm drifting, I dream Photoshop and Excel because of all the memorials and spreadsheet work I've been doing, but once asleep, I dreamed miserable "hammering out the details" stuff.  Bill showing off his fancy 10 inch Galaxy tab, and me feeling like I was expected to explain why I've only got a wi-fi iPad 3 (I won it in a contest, if you're wondering).  That self-aggrandizing wanna-be actress, Wendy, was there playing bad wanna-be Irish folk songs to anyone she thought might be impressed while Melanie floated authoritatively about in a flowing mu-mu, declaring this and that.  Except she kept turning into the other Melanie--the poor, breathtakingly tall, kind, acne-scarred girl who had such a hellish time in school.  Trying to figure out how I was going to broach with Bill just what a crappy, scary, high-crime area he lived in, and how hosting a huge class reunion in his front yard was probably NOT a good idea.

I may be too absorbed in this.

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You  know, we watched an excellent six (?) part documentary on Auschwitz a couple of weeks ago.  Mostly for our boy's benefit, but I admit, I learned things I hadn't known, too.  It was very well done, and I really recommend it:

  

There was one part that I had a hard time explaining to my boy.  How one of the women interviewed, a camp survivor, could tear up and talk about how terrible it was to return to her family's home after the war and find it occupied by people who wouldn't let her in, who wouldn't give her back her home.  In effect, the Poles moved into these Jewish homes and, when the true owners came home (those few who did), they saw nothing wrong with saying, "No, go away, this is my home now."  Horrible, no?  Yet this woman, and so many like her, seem to completely miss the horrifying hypocrisy of descending upon Palestine, violently driving the Palestinians from their homes and out of the country or into camps, moving onto their farms, their orchards, their neighborhoods, and then condemning them for wanting their homes BACK.  Labeling them "terrorists" (a term Israelis once used to describe themselves in their attacks against British soldiers and Palestinians) for fighting back against occupation, exile, and murder.  My boy was angry--how can she not see?  How can they not see that the very thing they're (rightfully) decrying in this documentary (not being allowed back into their homes, being robbed of all they had) is what they have visited upon the Palestinians?

It was hard.  It was very hard, finding a way to explain that because, objectively, there is no excuse for it.  But we explored it together, and here's what we came up with:

Maybe, after being exposed to pain, terror, horror, and suffering to that extreme degree, you lose sight of the suffering of others.  Maybe it becomes nearly impossible to really empathize with others because you have been viciously tempered to focus on your own survival and the survival of those you consider your own. Maybe you come to view your group as more deserving of good because you've suffered such bad.  Maybe you become so focused upon the goals and hopes and dreams of your people that you completely lose sight of how achieving those things affects others.

Maybe you stop seeing the humanity in others because you were treated so very inhumanely yourself.

It was a good talk.  No, it doesn't make me any less determined in my defense of the Palestinians or my condemnation of Israeli apartheid, but it did bring me in from a different angle, and it was eye-opening.

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Speaking of Auschwitz, I was reminded of my flight home from Frankfurt back in 1995.  Unlike the heavenly flight TO Frankfurt, which left me sharing coach (smoking coach, even--I smoked a LOT back then) with only two other people, the flight home wasn't a red-eye, and it was PACKED.  Jammed in next to me?  A small German woman who spent hours explaining, excusing, and flat-out lying about the camps.  The extermination.  The "Final Solution."  How I had to understand how much better things were for the German people while this was going on.  How there was finally WORK for the Germans (yikes), how the Jews had brought so much of it on themselves (an argument always guaranteed to bring up my hackles, regardless of the victims' ethnicity), how the "holocaust" was nothing more than a Jewish media creation, and, finally, how, if we Americans really understood Gypsies/the Romany people, we'd know that anyplace with fewer Gypsies is a better place.  As for homosexuals?

She grimaced and made an ugly "Tchah!" noise.  

I was very lucky when I was a teen.  I had a friend whose mother was German.  Her name was Inga (Ingaborg), and her family had been Lutheran, though they converted to Mormonism when they fled Germany.  Yes, fled.  See, the German military started making noises about inducting boys, and Inga's family had no intention of becoming a part of what Hitler was doing.  When the questions about their ideology became pointed, they fled in the night.  They eventually wound up in Utah, where their family spent weekends traveling to Topaz, the site of a Japanese internment camp, to bring food, clothing, games, and blankets.  She said they lived in terror that, after fleeing Germany, they would wind up in an AMERICAN camp because of their German-ness.  Inga taught me a LOT about Germany, Naziism, war, and she was the first person to ever speak to me about Japanese internment camps.  No public school did that for me.  With that grounding, I was finally inspired to look at my Frankfurt to Camden row-mate and say, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm all done listening--you defend the indefensible, and worse, you paint victims as deserving.  You should almost certainly shut up now."

It's probably a good thing I don't speak German, because she responded energetically in her mother tongue.

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The dog's first training session is tonight.  Four months was all we could scrounge together for, and it's going to have to be enough.  He's already "trained" in that he does tricks, he comes when he's called, he stays when he's told, and he even "self disciplines."  You know, he growls at the TV, then jumps down and slinks off to his kennel without being told.  He's great with people (even with the house full of new folks we had last month, he was in heaven).  His problem?  He's not so good with other dogs.  He CAN be--if the circumstances are right, he's completely thrilled to run and play with new dogs.  But his greetings are inappropriate (a lot of tugging and whining, which degenerates to growling when he can't get in close to sniff), and other dogs interpret it as aggression.  So we're hoping to teach him how to better interact with other dogs.  Barring that, we're hoping to teach him to not respond at all.  Wish us luck!  Wish HIM luck!

Oh, and in case you're wondering, there will be NONE of that "Dog Whisperer" claptrap!  Our dog isn't a WOLF, we're not WOLVES, and that silly "alpha roll" crap is no way to treat a dog.  

Our Charlie is the Cairn in front.  That's Charley, the Corgi, behind.  One of Charlie's successful doggy encounters.

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And that's it!  Day two of mostly meatless.  Last night's stir-fry?  Bleh.  Bland.  And that's not because of the missing meat, that's because I was limited, sodium-wise, to two tablespoons of "less sodium" soy sauce.  So things were very plain. The rice mix was tasty (Wegmans whole grain five rice blend), and the peppers were good, but overall it just wasn't very satisfying.  It was filling, though.  Definitely that.  Tomorrow night, we're going to try the "Don't Have a Cow" imitation ground beef crumbles with tacos.  See, I can't do fake meat by itself because I like meat.  But in a taco, surrounded by salsa, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion?  I'm thinking it'll be just fine.

New Year's Eve

I always put an apostrophe in there--is that right?  I figure it's a possessive, you know?  Like "the eve that belongs to the new year?"  I dunno.  I think I think too much about things not necessarily requiring so much thought.

Noticing an online news trend of sorts--more and more news items are turning up in video form.  I don't like my news in small, 30 second videos.  Seems too much like fast food news, you know?  I'd rather read a more in depth piece, something with more meat and less on the "cute news reader" front. 

Considering returning our new cell phones and exchanging them for something else.  They're made by Motorola, and Motorola has some seriously troubling ties to the Israeli government and the IDF.  If we're against Israel's apartheid policies, if we support the BDS movement, then we shouldn't be buying from companies tangled up in that.  So it's looking like maybe we'll make the leap to Samsung or LG.   I know Samsung is made in South Korea, I'll have to look at LG's politics. 

Gets hard, voting with your wallet.  I haven't had a Stouffer's Macaroni and Cheese for years, and I'm sadder than sad about having to swear off Starbucks' Frappuccinos.  Well, not sadder than sad, but a bit put out.  I get over that by thinking about how much more put out I would be if someone bulldozed my house, shot up my little brother for getting too close to a wall meant to imprison my people, and tore up my olive groves to keep food off my family's table while denying my mother access to medical care and refusing to allow repair to the bombed remains of our sewage treatment facilities which continuously pump sewage into our fishing waters.  Puts it in perspective, makes going without flavored coffee a little easier. 

Did better on the blood sugar last night.  134 at two hours post-prandial is still a little higher than I'd like, but it kicks ass over 191. 

Tonight is the big, last hurrah, food-stupidity-wise.  I have really gone to new lows in the space between Christmas and New Year's, but that's okay--I went into it knowing I was going to.  Tomorrow it's back on.  And I feel like it's something I can do. 

My fancy hairspray came--Sebastian Zero Gravity.  It's a fantastic hairspray, great hold but brushable.  Sadly, the can was broken--the sprayer snapped off (not just come loose).  Amazon refunded the cash, but now I have a full can of spray I can't use.  I'm such a miser, I'm trying to figure out how to magically make that sprayer work. 

Speaking of fabulous products, notice the little "My Reviews" link up top?  That's a link to things I write, and it would make me happy if you took a look every now and then.

Watched the end of Walking Dead Season 2 last night.  A few surprises, but mostly not.  The dead folks I expected to die, though how one died was a surprise (or how one re-died, I should say), and a couple survived I expected dead.  My theory on who is what and why bore out, though not enough detail (yet).  Wish they could crank the gore down just a whit.

Sore throat two days running.  Not really bad, but not liking it.

Went to Costco earlier.  Turns out the cell phones would have been drastically cheaper there.  Oops.  Now we know.  Turns out returning the phones wouldn't ding Motorola--our carrier would just resell as pre-owned.  Next phones, we'll do better.

And that's that.  Popeyes and a burger for New Years dinner.  I hope everyone has a great New Years, and for goodness' sake, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE.  Seriously, don't be that sloppy loser.  Call AAA (1-800-400-4222) and see if they can help in your area.  No, you don't have to be a member.  If not?  Sleep where you are, drive in the morning when you're sober.

Fiscal Cliff, Indian Rape Victims, Saudi Clerics, and Mold

So here we are.  New Year's Eve eve.  The GOP house has refused to come to work until today.  Because I don't matter to them.

Really, that's what it is.  They don't give two squirts about me. 

My family stands to lose around six to seven hundred dollars a month if those idjits don't get their collective act together.  That is a devastating hit.  Like a "can't recover from that" hit.  But they're so busy politicking for their rich friends and their "corporation people" (because corporations are, after all, people, remember?) that they'll let me and mine sink rather than make those rich folks pay a bigger percentage than I do. 

Yes, that does make me hate them.  Being held hostage by bought politicians inspires that in me.

Found an amazing, astounding house in Alexandria.  If we were bought politicians or "corporation people," we could afford it without blinking.  But we're not, so it will never be anything more than a silly dream.  But it's lovely.  Here it is.   It would put hubby so close to work!  Hey, what's 3.8 million between friends, right?  Now all I need is a friend who feels the same way!

Terribly windy out, and very cold.  We're trying to save some money on the heat bill, but it's all I can do to resist cranking that furnace up.  I am ice cold, and that wind is working its way in through those windows and doors, doubled and insulated though they are.  It's just that strong a wind.

Woke up crying last night.  Can't remember the dream, though.  Had later dreams about swimming in this awful, dark pond with my ex-husband and a bunch of other Arabs.  The women had the most amazing bathing suits, but I was just in jeans and a t-shirt.  Hmm. 

Speaking of Arabs, did you hear the one about the Saudi clerics threatening to pray for awful illnesses and such if the government doesn't stop its attempt to allow women more rights?  Ew.  Just ew.  Talk about cheapening your faith and turning it into a bad joke.  I have no problem with Arabs (was married to an Arab for almost nine years), and I have no problem with Islam (or at least no more problem with it than with any other religion), but I have a problem with oppressive fanaticism regardless of the faith that spawns it. 

And speaking of oppressive fanaticism, how about those new Israeli housing settlements in Palestine?  Nice, huh?  No, no attempt to cause another blow up there, I'm sure.  They're the GOOD guys, remember?  Because, as we all know, the good guys take land, exile natives, and institute apartheid policies, and all the while they enjoy our support because--well, because they're the GOOD guys!  Duh!  Pretty sure the Bible telling us so helps with that. 

And last, but certainly not least, can India maybe, finally decide that women are worth lifting up, worth saving?  Because I gotta tell you, for a country that tries to forward itself as some sort of enlightened, technically advanced place, it sure does treat its women like dirt.  Think it might be that whole oppressive religion thing?  Maybe?  Just a little bit?  Hey, India?  Grow the heck up.

Wow.  That turned into a bit of a rant.  Wasn't intended.  I'm cold, and I want to go to Costco then go back to sleep. 

And here's some really crappy paneling with a story: 

Okay, first off, this is NOT how the room in question looks now.  But this is how it looked way back when.  See, my dad decided to create a bedroom for my sister down in our mostly unfinished basement.  Instead of painted walls, he found some truly awful paneling (which, I admit, I thought was purely beautiful when I was SEVEN) of the wallpaper veneer variety, and coupled it with the most atrocious, gawdawful bright red shag carpet.  Not just any shag carpet, this stuff came in 18 inch squares with adhesive backing.  Which he promptly stuck to the very nice clay tile floor already in place.  It was mind-numbingly awful.  Over the years, the basement flooded--not deep, devastating floods, but rather an inch here, two inches there.  Enough to really soak the stick-on shag and the wallpaper-over-pressboard paneling. Over the years, the stick-on-shag took on a horrendous smell, and the paneling began to disintegrate slowly from the bottom up.

Mold.

Yes, the fancy black stuff you hear about so much in the news.  Slowly eating its way through the paneling until the bottom six inches or so was just gone in some spots.  The carpet was so horrifying we tried to pull it up (38 years after it went in!), but years of damp and mold left it coming up in tiny, half-inch chunks with the adhesive doing what adhesive does--adhering.  Persistence only caused small shards of the original clay tile to come up, still stuck to the shag.  We wound up having to use a pavement scraper to take it all up, clay tile and all.  We wouldn't have bothered, but the MUSHROOMS growing up out of my Mom's basement floor in that room was just more than we could bear. 

I think this experience is what has given me such an aversion to bad paneling.  I don't hate ALL paneling.  Heck, I love a good example of Judge's paneling or other wainscoting.   But the cheap, comes in sheets, pre-fab, and especially wallpaper-veneered varieties?  I can smell the mold and see the ugly--they're indelibly stamped in my poor head. 

Not our mold, just a representative of the species.