Step Off and Shut Up

Dr. George Tiller went to his church (Reformation Lutheran Church) this morning with his wife. As she got ready to sing with the rest of the choir, he began his duties as an usher. It was, by all appearances, a beautiful summer morning in America's heartland, and was a scene repeated probably in hundreds of churches this last morning in May. Except Dr. Tiller was killed while being an usher in his church, where presumably he and all the other congregants were getting ready to worship God and his son Jesus Christ.
Why? Was this some crazed Islamic terrorist? A Jewish terrorist? Now, I hate to speculate, but....I will anyway. No, this terrorist was a white male who had listened just once too often to the hate-filled diatribes of Randall Terry, founder of Operation Rescue (I would provide a link to this website, but for some reason it's just not available at the moment....hmmm). Mr. Terry, when not riling up his minions, provided updates to "Tiller Watch"--a part of the official Operation Rescue website. Since I can't access this part of the website at the moment (hmmm...), I will just have to speculate some more. I would imagine that "Tiller Watch" wasn't an innocuous little blog, with cutesy information such as what Dr. Tiller ate last Friday night at the church supper. No, I would fairly confidently guess that "Tiller Watch" was a dangerous part of a dangerous website--just as dangerous as those websites that can be linked to other terrorist organizations. I do not use the word "terrorist" flippantly. One definition of terrorist is "one who would cause fear and submission by frightening people". By this definition, Randall Terry is a terrorist leader, and this unnamed gunman is a terrorist. Their targets? Women and those who provide health care to women.
Dr. George Tiller provided health care to women. He died because he provided health care to women.
My heart goes out to the family and friends of this brave doctor, who was senselessly killed in the middle of America in his "mainstream protestant" church by a home-grown terrorist. The blood of Dr. Tiller is on the hands of members of Operation Rescue just as surely as it is on the terrorist who pulled the trigger. This was a hate crime, and Randall Terry is directly responsible. He knows it in his heart; why else would his website be closed tonight?
Randall Terry should do the rest of humanity a favor, and shut up.
What did Dr. Tiller do that was so horrible as to cause him to be wounded in another terrorist attack in 1993, and targeted today? Well, and again I'm speculating, it's probably because he provided the very rare procedure called "late term abortion". Basically, he very occasionally provided medical care to a woman who needed an abortion in the last trimester of a pregnancy. These abortions are done for no other reason than to save the life of the woman--in most cases, the fetus is already dead, or will die shortly after birth. They are not done for "convenience" or any other cockamamie reason you might have read. Without the abortion, the woman will die. Randall Terry, when faced with the choice "abortion or die".....oh wait--he will never have to face that choice. Randall Terry needs to shut up.
Which brings me to part two of this blog--the part where I explain "step off".
In the past few years (probably since I turned 40), I've found myself more "radical" in some of my beliefs. In my early years, I guess I was much more willing to see the shades of gray between the black and white. Now, on certain issues, I know there is no gray. I chalk it up to life experience.
One issue is abortion. This is my position: men need to "step off". This is not your issue, and never will be. Find something else, but the issue of abortion needs to be decided by women and women only. Why? Men cannot die in childbirth. When they can, they have every right to have a voice in the discussion. Until then, they need to step off.
You see, a few years ago, a friend of mine died after giving birth. Yes, in the 21st century, in a local hospital, a healthy 23 year old died of complications from childbirth. I miss her every day--she had such potential, had so much to give to this world. She made all of us laugh; she was smart and gifted, and she died from something no male ever will. Sorry guys, but this is our discussion, because it's about our lives.
Truly, the only role for men in this issue is to support --make sure abortions remain always safe, legal, and available. Because I've got news for you--no matter what legislation men pass, no matter how many doctors men kill, women will still find a way to have an abortion if they need one. Don't believe me? Go ask your mothers and grandmothers--they will tell you about the desperate sisters, aunts, friends they helped--helped to find "medicine", sympathetic "back alley" doctors, or emergency care when the coat hanger perforated the uterus.
Today I mourn for my friend, and I mourn for a doctor who cared about women. It makes me angry to know he was killed by a terrorist who was influenced by the hate speech of a man who had no right to voice an opinion, but did it anyway.
Rest in Peace, Dr. George Tiller.

So I Built a Fire Pit

After the wretchedly long winter, when we were housebound for days at a time, I woke up one day to discover spring had sprung. I had a serious case of spring fever--it was too cold to plant flowers, but warm enough to do something to the backyard. The question was, "What?" I threw Karen, Linda, and myself into the car one Saturday, and we went to all (yes, really) the hardware stores in town, trying to decide what would cure my fever. We looked at, and tried out, many sets of yard furniture. At Menard's, we almost talked a sales guy into getting us some drinks to have on their fake patio. We looked at statues (I am a big fan of yard art, but Karen is not, so we have to "negotiate" each new piece), fountains, ponds, but nothing really caught my eye (ok--one thing did--a small fountain, and it's now out by the back step):


You have to agree, it's not too over-the-top. But I still wasn't satisfied. I consulted with Peter, who suggested a hot tub. I thought about a giant sandbox, but Linda said that would just attract giant cats...and their poo. I thought about another flower bed, but wasn't too taken with that idea. We thought about a gazebo, but that was a bit pricey. So I went out and looked at what we already had, and thought about what could be added. A hammock would be nice, but I have a birthday coming up and didn't want to take away a gift idea. Then I noticed our little "fire oven"--it was nice, but not a lot of people could sit around it. If I removed the bowl, and built a fire pit to go with it....what a great idea! First I Googled "fire pit construction", and got thousands of step-by-step instructions--it was hard to figure out which instruction would be the best. Then I had the idea of going to YouTube, to see if there was an instruction film there (you have to understand that I'm a visual person--I need to see it done....multiple times). Yay! There was--more than one!!! But this one was the best--made it look easy, and the background music was oh so soothing. I watched it over and over, took notes, took a deep breath, and dragged Karen to Menard's. She wandered through the flowers, and I headed to the rock section. I bought 51 stones, 3 bags of grey slate (not enough), and 3 bags of sand, along with concrete mix, adhesive tubes, and tools (a woman and her tools....). Karen picked out plants. Lots of colorful flowers. It took me 3 trips to haul all the stones in the trunk of my Saturn--we don't live far from Menard's, so it wasn't a hardship. Plus the guys were all really nice, and helped me load the stones, although by the third trip, all but one of the guys was "at lunch".
Each stone weighed 26 lbs., and moving them all into the back yard was a job in itself. I thought that would probably be the hardest part of the building project--shleping stones.


Oh yeah, and bags of concrete, and sand, and stone.....it gave me a feeling of power...or something like that...to move those stones into the back yard. But we did it. And, unfortunately, it was NOT the hardest part of the job. The hardest part was digging the sod out of the inside of the ring, because underneath that sod were many, many tree roots. Now, I love trees as much as the next Democrat, but this was ridiculous! Why did those trees need all those roots? And why were they out in the middle of the yard? Much too late, a friend of mine said that tree roots go out as far as the canopy of the tree does. Had I known.....and now you know, so you will have no worries when you construct your fire pit!


Anyway, I felt sort of guilty when I fought nature and won, but I was too tired to do a celebratory dance. I was really pissed off too--10 years ago, I could have built that damn fire pit in one day, and now I just couldn't physically do it all. I hate growing old. It sucks. But I was determined (ie, there was no way on earth I was going to fail) to put at least the first layer of stone in the ground on Day 1.



I mixed the concrete, and let's just say I am better at mixing ingredients in the kitchen--there's just no real reason to say, "Add water, but not too much" on a bag--that's not an instruction, that's a way to frustrate the weekend builder! It finally looked good, got poured, and this is what the pit looked like after day 1:






Karen was busy too--she planted every single annual that is in our back yard this year:






But, we must confess, she had help.





Kiki.


And Charlie.











The three of them did a great job!







Day 2 was very easy, except for the adhesive--the YouTube guys said to use only a little. I did, and the final layer is loose. Oh well, it's still safe and usable. I only had one minor scrape--did you know it hurts like the dickens when you pinch your hand between two 26 lb. stones? I do now!


Layer Two.


Work injury.








Almost finished.








Inspector came to view my work.










Thanks to the help of my favorite firefighter, I finally got a good fire going, and the fire pit was officially "christened".


My spring fever has broken, and my summer itches haven't been too bad--the perennials have been beautiful this year.




For the first time, we have iris' by the mailbox:






Clematis by the clothesline.







And new yard art!

Weathering the Storm (Response to NOM Gathering Storm)

Just a reminder to teach love, not fear.

Dirty Hands

No, not the political kind. Real dirty hands.


I love to get my hands dirty, so I guess it follows that I like to see other people with dirty hands. However, Karen is an anomaly. She doesn't like to get her hands dirty, and yet I'm still wildly attracted to her. Hey, if nothing else, it proves I'm flexible. But I digress.....

In my part-time job, I proctor various exams at the local community college. Recently, I spent some time with people who were taking tests for automotive certification. Every night I was there, I found myself in awe of the people who came in to take the tests. Truly.
I have two brothers who are auto mechanics, so maybe I just have a weakness for the people who do this work, but I don't think that entirely explains it. These people come in, after a full day of work, grease still under their fingernails, and they sit down and take tests. Tests on car engines, transmissions, heavy truck systems, school bus repair--you get the idea. I can't imagine these tests are easy; they are meant to ensure the people who maintain and repair our vehicles know what they're doing.
In my opinion, people who can fix things are the most important people on the planet. As we come to rely on machinery for more and more, so we come to depend on those people who can fix those machines. People who can actually look at something and know what's wrong, or can trouble-shoot (ie, fiddle with it), and can then figure out how to repair it.
My grandfather was a carpenter--a cabinet maker, to be exact. He could take pieces of wood, and make the most beautiful, study, working cupboards--they were built to last, and they did. He also built a house that he and my grandma lived in until their deaths. I'll bet there has been little, structurally, that has failed in the 60 years this house has stood. My sister and I will remember it as the safe, solid foundation of our childhoods.
A few years ago, during my School Board days, I was asked to speak to a group of high school students who were being honored for their achievements in "technical fields"--home building, drafting, home ec, auto repair, etc. In my brief remarks, I tried to impress upon them how important the work they might choose to do would be so important to our society. As I said that night, architects can dream the most awesome buildings, palaces, and cathedrals, but without someone with the expertise and knowledge to build them, they remain just dreams.
In these days of bank failures and Ponzi schemes and politicians playing games, it's good to know that we can still rely on those who build the buildings that withstand earthquakes and the automobiles which safely get us from one place to the next. You know, those people who take a shower after they come home from work.

Say it ain't so, Anna Quindlen

In her column in Newsweek this week, Anna Quindlen announced her retirement. As a matter of fact, this was her last column. And, as always, it was thought-provokingly eloquent. And very wrong--in my opinion.
Let me preface this with a disclosure--Anna Quindlen is one of my favorite columnists and authors. I own most of her books--to get her collections of writings, I combed used bookstore shelves (this was in the days before Amazon and E-Bay).
Anna began her career as a journalist at the New York Times, and began writing an OpEd column for them in 1981. In 1994, she quit her job to spend more time with her family, and to write novels. She's produced 4 novels, 2 childrens books, and a couple of non-fiction books. Much to my delight, she did eventually get back into the "OpEd business"--nine years ago, when she started writing a bi-weekly column for Newsweek.
In her final column, Quindlen writes that, after 40 years of "word work", she feels "America's opinionators are too white and too gray. They do not reflect our diversity of ethnicity and race, gender and generation." This may be true--there do seem to be a lot of old white guys expounding on this and that.
Quindlen further states that, at a time when "throughout the country there seems to be an understanding that this is and ought to be a time of reinvention, in the economy, in education, in the office," that, as her eldest son points out, "You guys just won't go." He is referring to a family friend (a Baby Boomer) who is having trouble coming to terms with impending retirement. This seems to be a problem with many of us Baby Boomers--we seem to be in a state of denial over retirement.
Anna says that it's time to go, time to turn the keyboards and all other work tools over to the younger generation--particularly in the field of journalism: "It's particularly glaring when this generational stall happens in the news business, which constantly remakes itself in the image and likeness of the world." She has seen the newest "best and brightest", and thinks she can safely hand over the reigns now.
But she's wrong. Each generation is enriched by the historical perspective of generations gone before it. If nothing else, elder generations remind the young that they are not alone, that they are not the only ones in history to feel they way they do. There's a comfort in not having to reinvent a response to a situation. Indeed, without the voice of experience, younger generations might not understand the importance, the "why" behind the actions taken in history. For instance, they may question the need for safe and legal abortions if someone isn't there to remind them what happens in a back alley "clinic" or when desperation leads to a coat hanger. Indeed, when my mother's generation is gone, there will be nobody to tell the eye-witness accounts of the days of pre-Roe v Wade.
A business can remake itself in the image and likeness of the world, but there are still gray heads out there, and much experience to be brought into any discussion.
I realize there is a fine line between being nostalgic for the olden days, being against change, and remembering why exactly we felt a need for...oh...the ERA. Baby boomers will tell you that discussions, protests, and questioning the system are reasons why we aren't still discussing why women can be more than teachers and nurses, and why we're a bit further in our discussions of affordable day care and equal pay than we were 30 years ago.
Say it ain't so, Anna. This new generation--the "Obama Generation"--will find history dry and easily ignored if it's left with history books and paper memos from the past. This generation is the verbal and visual generation, and will much more appreciate timely words and interesting stories told by Boomers like you. For, after 40 years of "word work", you've still got it. Still got the wit and eloquence to inspire, instruct, and inform. In a good way, you still reflect the gender, generation, race and ethnicity that deserves a voice among the "opinionators".
I will leave you with words from Anna:

In April, 1990, writing about a recent decision by the Catholic Church to spend $5 million in a campaign against the right of women to have abortions, Quindlen said this, "I do not believe the bishops understand the abortion issue, and not only for the obvious reason that they will never be pregnant or have a wife or daughter who is. It reminds me of all those years when our mothers came to them in the confessional and quietly pleaded: Five children in seven years, Father. Isn't it enough? Isn't there something that can be done? No one does that anymore. We already know the answers. Abstinence, abstinence, abstinence. This is how they lost us in the pews. They refused to look at our lives. The same is true today. They do not listen....A multimillion-dollar payout to public relations and polling firms....tells those women convinced they are the best guardians of their own bodies that the Church believes they are shallow enough to be swayed by practiced paid persuasion, as though they were buying soap powder. It suggests that the bishops no longer see us as souls, but as votes. And in a country where people dine from Dumpsters, it is a monumental waste of money."

T-Mobile Sing-along

This is a wonderful moment in the life of the British.

Update

I still think this country is in good hands: