The DemiGoddesses and I tried to walk over to the bridge after the Twins game on Friday night, but were met with police tape for blocks and blocks. The closest we could get was well upriver, below the Guthrie Theater, and all we could see from that vantage point above the locks was the very north end of the wreckage. The top of that slab that sticks straight up was illuminated by the floodlights, a glimpse of twisted green girders that was enough to me cry.
I can't understand why there hasn't been a place designated for us to go, a place where we can see what happened to our city. All of us who live here have had our sense of place violently altered. Even the people who weren't directly impacted need to grieve. The Stone Arch Bridge has opened, at least, but the police tape still blocks off a huge radius around the site.
I didn't know until it was happening that our fine president was scheduled visit Minneapolis on Sunday morning. I wish I were a person who could simply accept without question another person’s attempt at kindness, but W's statements from the site just made me angry. I wanted to march down there and tell him to go back to Washington DC, because we are not interested in his brand of bad-grammar, staged-sympathy bullsh*t here. He said he was speaking "on behalf of the American people," but I'm pretty sure the American people can speak for themselves, thanks.
For example, there was this, a letter that arrived, along with a big box packed full of Moon Pies, pork rinds and other goodies, in the Minneapolis Star Tribune newsroom. It seems to me a much more genuine gesture, a gift from strangers in one part of the country to strangers in another part of the country, who suddenly find they have something in common:
“To Star Tribune Journalists:
A few days after the Virginia Tech shootings, a large box arrived in our newsroom. Inside was a note and lots of stress-relieving junk food like you'll find in this box. The note was from Joe Haight, managing editor of The Oklahoman of Oklahoma City. Joe wrote that similar boxes arrived in his newsroom after the McVeigh bombings. He recalled what that gesture meant to his staff, which had been worn down to a nub covering the catastrophic community event.
We were so moved that we vowed to pass it on when we next sensed a newsroom could use a little pick-me-up. So please consider this a journalistic chain letter of sorts, one that you'll pass on when the next bulletin breaks in a newsroom somewhere in America.
Enjoy the snacks. Sorry we couldn't send beer (company policy, ya know). And most of all, take care of yourselves.
The Roanoke Times Newsroom”
Showing posts with label Can't We All Just Get Along?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Can't We All Just Get Along?. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Friday, December 01, 2006
World AIDS Day
I’m wearing red today, and so is DemiGoddess the Elder. When she reminded me this morning that today is World Aids Day, and informed me that she and all her friends had made plans to wear red to school, I was already wearing a red sweater simply by coincidence. I was simultaneously proud and embarassed to have been educated by Ms. Elder's clearly superior social conscience. But I think my red sweater still counts.
The magnitude of this epidemic seems overwhelming, but there are lots of ways we all can take action to help alleviate some of the suffering caused by HIV/AIDS in the world. Below are a few links to some of my personal favorite non-profits that already working to make a difference:
Mother Bear Project
Make a bear. Make a donation. Or, for the holidays, sponsor a bear for $10 in someone else’s name, and receive a thank-you letter that you can present to that person as a gift. The website also has knitting kits for sale for $15, which make great gifts—the kit includes yarn, handmade needles, a pattern, a tag, and a brochure about the Mother Bear Project. One knitter gave them to her whole family, even the fellas, last year, and wrote a great story about what happened afterwards, which is posted on the website here.
Open Arms
Open Arms delivers meals to people living with HIV/AIDS, both locally in Minneapolis/St. Paul and in South Africa. Their website includes volunteer opportunities, information on the World AIDS Day Beaded Artwork sale that is happening in downtown Minneapolis tomorrow, and links to make donations. They help distribute Mother Bear Project bears in South Africa.
Arm in Arm in Africa
This is another Minnesota-based group that works to alleviate suffering, improve conditions and create opportunities for changing the cycle of poverty and disease in South Africa. They also partner with the Mother Bear Project in distributing bears to HIV/AIDS impacted children.
World Camps
World Camps provide fun and educational camp experiences for HIV/AIDS affected children in developing nations. They distribute Mother Bear Project bears to the children in these camps, and the thank-you notes I received a few months ago were from kids who had received my bears there.
“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.”
--Robert F. Kennedy
The magnitude of this epidemic seems overwhelming, but there are lots of ways we all can take action to help alleviate some of the suffering caused by HIV/AIDS in the world. Below are a few links to some of my personal favorite non-profits that already working to make a difference:
Mother Bear Project
Make a bear. Make a donation. Or, for the holidays, sponsor a bear for $10 in someone else’s name, and receive a thank-you letter that you can present to that person as a gift. The website also has knitting kits for sale for $15, which make great gifts—the kit includes yarn, handmade needles, a pattern, a tag, and a brochure about the Mother Bear Project. One knitter gave them to her whole family, even the fellas, last year, and wrote a great story about what happened afterwards, which is posted on the website here.
Open Arms
Open Arms delivers meals to people living with HIV/AIDS, both locally in Minneapolis/St. Paul and in South Africa. Their website includes volunteer opportunities, information on the World AIDS Day Beaded Artwork sale that is happening in downtown Minneapolis tomorrow, and links to make donations. They help distribute Mother Bear Project bears in South Africa.
Arm in Arm in Africa
This is another Minnesota-based group that works to alleviate suffering, improve conditions and create opportunities for changing the cycle of poverty and disease in South Africa. They also partner with the Mother Bear Project in distributing bears to HIV/AIDS impacted children.
World Camps
World Camps provide fun and educational camp experiences for HIV/AIDS affected children in developing nations. They distribute Mother Bear Project bears to the children in these camps, and the thank-you notes I received a few months ago were from kids who had received my bears there.
“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.”
--Robert F. Kennedy
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
9/11
This morning over breakfast, DemiGoddess the Younger announced that I must take her to Target tonight, to purchase some special pencils that she is required to bring to 8th grade art class tomorrow.
But tonight I have a class of my own that I have to attend, and my mind had already been whirring with plans for coming home over my lunch hour to put something in the crock pot for the Demis to have for dinner. An hour out of bed, I was already feeling pinched for time.
I told her there would be no Target trip tonight, and I reminded her that I had told her last night about my class. She said I knew she needed the pencils. I said that if I had known she needed them by tomorrow, I would have bought them over the weekend. She pouted. I got defensive. Things deteriorated from there.
As she left for the bus, I told her I’d go to an art supply store over my lunch hour today to buy her pencils. But my tone made it clear that I resented having to rearrange my day on her behalf. And the kiss goodbye that I gave her as she went out the door was an insincere peck on the cheek.
Later, in the car on the way to work, NPR reminded me what day today is.
I wish I had given her a real hug.
But tonight I have a class of my own that I have to attend, and my mind had already been whirring with plans for coming home over my lunch hour to put something in the crock pot for the Demis to have for dinner. An hour out of bed, I was already feeling pinched for time.
I told her there would be no Target trip tonight, and I reminded her that I had told her last night about my class. She said I knew she needed the pencils. I said that if I had known she needed them by tomorrow, I would have bought them over the weekend. She pouted. I got defensive. Things deteriorated from there.
As she left for the bus, I told her I’d go to an art supply store over my lunch hour today to buy her pencils. But my tone made it clear that I resented having to rearrange my day on her behalf. And the kiss goodbye that I gave her as she went out the door was an insincere peck on the cheek.
Later, in the car on the way to work, NPR reminded me what day today is.
I wish I had given her a real hug.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Rock On, Sisters
A few weeks ago I was on the couch watching the Twins play the Red Sox in one of their first televised spring training games when there was a knock on my front door. I assumed, since baseball was on, that My Ho had dropped by unannounced to watch the game with me, because that is the sort of thing he sometimes does, usually bearing ice cream or buffalo wings (as I have mentioned previously, he is the best boyfriend ever). But that night when I opened the door, to my bitter disappointment, it was not My Ho at all. Two women with clipboards were on my doorstep.
Crap, I thought, they're selling something. And now I’ve gone and answered the door and rendered useless my usual passive/aggressive ignore-the-knocking-until-they-go-away approach. I had left myself with no choice but to resort to Plan B: Thinly Disguised Rudeness.
I mustered up my “are you REALLY going to try and sell me something when baseball is on?” face, and opened my mouth to implement Plan B. But before I could make a sound, the clipboard woman with crayon red-dyed hair said, “Hi, we’re here from Pro Choice Minnesota.”
(Cue the scratching record needle sound clip.)
“Oh my God,” I said. “Where do I sign?”
They tried to give me the pitch anyway, about South Dakota and Mississippi and Missouri, about how women's health and rights are being jeapordized all over the country, and I said, “I know! It’s terrifying! GIVE ME THE CLIPBOARD!”
As I added my name and address to the list of signatures they’d already collected, they told me they were going door to door trying to raise support and funds. On behalf of my daughters, my sisters, my niece and myself, I thanked them sincerely.
And then I went and got my checkbook.
There aren’t many good reasons to interrupt me when baseball is on (my children will testify to that). But that was a good one.
Crap, I thought, they're selling something. And now I’ve gone and answered the door and rendered useless my usual passive/aggressive ignore-the-knocking-until-they-go-away approach. I had left myself with no choice but to resort to Plan B: Thinly Disguised Rudeness.
I mustered up my “are you REALLY going to try and sell me something when baseball is on?” face, and opened my mouth to implement Plan B. But before I could make a sound, the clipboard woman with crayon red-dyed hair said, “Hi, we’re here from Pro Choice Minnesota.”
(Cue the scratching record needle sound clip.)
“Oh my God,” I said. “Where do I sign?”
They tried to give me the pitch anyway, about South Dakota and Mississippi and Missouri, about how women's health and rights are being jeapordized all over the country, and I said, “I know! It’s terrifying! GIVE ME THE CLIPBOARD!”
As I added my name and address to the list of signatures they’d already collected, they told me they were going door to door trying to raise support and funds. On behalf of my daughters, my sisters, my niece and myself, I thanked them sincerely.
And then I went and got my checkbook.
There aren’t many good reasons to interrupt me when baseball is on (my children will testify to that). But that was a good one.
Monday, March 20, 2006
A Great Harvest Indeed
Last Sunday, the exceptionally good people at Great Harvest Baking Company donated their facility and the ingredients for baking bread (and cookies and cinnamon rolls and muffins), and Mother Bear Project volunteers baked, worked the registers and cleaned up, and every dollar of the day’s sales went to the Mother Bear Project.
The DemiGoddesses and I had tried to volunteer to help with baking or selling, but after seeing us in action at the Pride Festival last summer, and again at the Just Giving fair in December, Amy, the Mother Bear Project founder, insisted that the girls and I once again staff the bear sponsorship table. So the three of us spent most of the day explaining to people over armloads of baked goods that the bears piled on the table were not for sale, they were for children in Africa who’ve been impacted by AIDS, and we were looking for sponsors to help us get the bears to the children. Sometimes we held the people’s bread for them as they carefully chose a bear and then wrote their name on the tag.An article in the community paper and announcements at area church services helped bring an astonishing number of people into the bakery during the course of the day. One of Amy’s sisters donned a big furry bear costume, complete with a signature Mother Bear Project red heart and tag, to draw in even more traffic from outside. When she got tired of it, DemiGoddess the Elder eagerly volunteered to take over the bear suit for awhile. Demi the Younger and Amy’s own daughter, carrying signs, followed my dancing bear Demigoddess outside, and I couldn’t help but giggle watching the three of them boogie around and wave at passing cars from the curb in front of the bakery.
As usual, my involvement with this group has left me feeling all glowy and swoony over how kind and giving people can be. One of the day’s highlights was a woman who donated $10 to sponsor a bear at our table, and then left with her bread purchases, only to return a short while later. She came to me and said, “When I got in my car, I started to cry, and I knew I had to come back.” Then she handed me a check for $200. I nearly started crying, too.
According to an e-mail I received from Amy this morning, between the bread sales, the bear sponsoring, and the knitting kits and patterns we sold, the event brought in $8,500. I’d call that an overwhelming success.
The only fly in the ointment came after our day at the bakery was done, when the Demis and My Ho and I were at my parents’ house for our family’s traditional St. Patrick’s Day Irish dinner. The corned beef, cabbage and boiled potatoes were delicious, as always (thanks, mom), but when the basket of soda bread came around, the Demis cringed away from the sight of it.
“No bread,” they cried. “NO MORE BREAD!”
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Narrowed and Degraded
I had made up my mind not to watch or listen to any of Tuesday’s State of the Union address. My disgust with this administration has grown to the point where the mere sound of the president’s voice fills me with such rage that I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed to be capable of so much resentment. And I’m even more ashamed that my response to intolerance is intolerance. Which is why, in the end, I tuned in.
Confucius said, “It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very easy to get.”
I believe that’s true. Hating is easy. It’s easy to decide that people who don’t see the world the way you do are cowardly, unpatriotic, ignorant, and immoral. Especially when those people imply the very same thing about people like you, and they do it on live national television, moments after vowing to “act in a spirit of good will and respect for one another.”
It’s easy feel righteously indignant. It’s easy to be dismissive and angry.
But I also believe what Coretta Scott King said, that hate injures the hater more than it injures the hated. Buddha said it too, that holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else, because ultimately, you are the only one who gets burned.
I do believe that love is the only solution to hate, and that tolerance is the only correct response to intolerance. Dropping that coal is the only way for us to save ourselves. It’s right thing to do, and that’s exactly why it’s so damn difficult.
I wish I had the fortitude to be like Booker T. Washington, and permit no president to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.
But as of right now, I still don’t have it.
Confucius said, “It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very easy to get.”
I believe that’s true. Hating is easy. It’s easy to decide that people who don’t see the world the way you do are cowardly, unpatriotic, ignorant, and immoral. Especially when those people imply the very same thing about people like you, and they do it on live national television, moments after vowing to “act in a spirit of good will and respect for one another.”
It’s easy feel righteously indignant. It’s easy to be dismissive and angry.
But I also believe what Coretta Scott King said, that hate injures the hater more than it injures the hated. Buddha said it too, that holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else, because ultimately, you are the only one who gets burned.
I do believe that love is the only solution to hate, and that tolerance is the only correct response to intolerance. Dropping that coal is the only way for us to save ourselves. It’s right thing to do, and that’s exactly why it’s so damn difficult.
I wish I had the fortitude to be like Booker T. Washington, and permit no president to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.
But as of right now, I still don’t have it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Tissues? Check.
I volunteered to work at a charity “toy store” tomorrow. It’s one of those places where people donate new, unwrapped toys, and families who can’t buy Christmas gifts for their kids can come and choose a few for them so they’ll have something under the tree on Christmas morning.
I volunteered to help out because I donate toys to these kinds of organizations every year, but I don’t know anything about what happens to the Barbies and Scrabble games and modeling clay craft sets after I drop them into the collection bins. Throughout my own financial disasters, I endured a variety of humiliations, but they all paled in comparison to the thought of disappointing my kids. I guess I thought that if I could help make things even a little bit easier for some other family, then my own hard times could be good for something more than making me obsessive-compulsive about checking my online bank balance and writing down every cent I spend.
So this morning I met with some of the other people who will be volunteering tomorrow. None of us have ever done this "toy store" thing before. We each received a team T-shirt and a list of instructions on how to take families through the process. It all sounded pretty straightforward, although even with the instructions, it’s hard to know what to expect until I get there.
Toward the end of the meeting, one of the other volunteers said a friend of hers works for the organization we’ll be helping. Her friend told her that during this distribution of toys, the parents tend to get particularly emotional, because they feel bad that they have to accept charity toys for their kids. “So bring tissues,” I said, finishing her thought for her. She nodded.
I’m a weeper myself, which means that if I see tears, I am powerless to stop my own. If somebody near me cries, I cry. If I see somebody on TV cry, I cry. Sad books, extra-sweet greeting cards, whatever. From Bambi’s mom to “Million Dollar Baby,” it’s truly a wonder that I haven’t died of dehydration. My grandma was notorious for being incapable of saying grace before dinner without weeping halfway through. It seems that I inherited her eye-faucet connection.
And I’ve been to enough Al-Anon meetings to know about the tissues. Sometimes people hurt in deep places, and sometimes, words only make it worse. There is simple, powerful comfort in having another person silently hand you a tissue when you can’t stop the tears from coming. And there is simple, powerful comfort in having one to give.
Luckily, I never leave the house without a supply handy.
I volunteered to help out because I donate toys to these kinds of organizations every year, but I don’t know anything about what happens to the Barbies and Scrabble games and modeling clay craft sets after I drop them into the collection bins. Throughout my own financial disasters, I endured a variety of humiliations, but they all paled in comparison to the thought of disappointing my kids. I guess I thought that if I could help make things even a little bit easier for some other family, then my own hard times could be good for something more than making me obsessive-compulsive about checking my online bank balance and writing down every cent I spend.
So this morning I met with some of the other people who will be volunteering tomorrow. None of us have ever done this "toy store" thing before. We each received a team T-shirt and a list of instructions on how to take families through the process. It all sounded pretty straightforward, although even with the instructions, it’s hard to know what to expect until I get there.
Toward the end of the meeting, one of the other volunteers said a friend of hers works for the organization we’ll be helping. Her friend told her that during this distribution of toys, the parents tend to get particularly emotional, because they feel bad that they have to accept charity toys for their kids. “So bring tissues,” I said, finishing her thought for her. She nodded.
I’m a weeper myself, which means that if I see tears, I am powerless to stop my own. If somebody near me cries, I cry. If I see somebody on TV cry, I cry. Sad books, extra-sweet greeting cards, whatever. From Bambi’s mom to “Million Dollar Baby,” it’s truly a wonder that I haven’t died of dehydration. My grandma was notorious for being incapable of saying grace before dinner without weeping halfway through. It seems that I inherited her eye-faucet connection.
And I’ve been to enough Al-Anon meetings to know about the tissues. Sometimes people hurt in deep places, and sometimes, words only make it worse. There is simple, powerful comfort in having another person silently hand you a tissue when you can’t stop the tears from coming. And there is simple, powerful comfort in having one to give.
Luckily, I never leave the house without a supply handy.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Blogging Katrina
A firsthand account from a paramedic blogger who just returned from New Orleans.
Be sure to check out her photos, too.
Thanks to Odious Woman for posting this link.
Be sure to check out her photos, too.
Thanks to Odious Woman for posting this link.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Cleansing Breaths on a Stick
I’m a little more calm now, although not anywhere near anything I’d call, you know, peaceful. The good news is, my first profanity-filled political rant also earned me my very first troll, which is a genuine milestone. I’m a real blogger now! He even used the *F* word! I couldn't be more proud.
My Labor Day weekend was busy enough that I didn’t have a lot of time to watch TV coverage, which, I think, is a good thing. We shopped, we went to the Minneapolis Farmers’ Market, we attended family gatherings. And yesterday the Demigoddesses and I spent 8.5 hours at the Great Minnesota Get-Together, during our annual trip to the state fair.
As per tradition, our day took us first to the fish pond at the DNR building, and then through the various animal barns, where we were privileged to hear a rooster crowing competition and I actually paid 50 cents to milk a dairy goat. (I really did.) The pig barn always smells the worst of them all, hands down, but it also boasts the biggest boar at the fair—this year’s winner weighed in at 1,060 pounds—and piglets. Who can resist piglets?
Then we took My Ho to the Agriculture Building for his first ever viewing of crop art. Several works had a surprisingly political slant this year. I had no idea there were so many lefties with a lot of time on their hands in rural Minnesota.
I haven’t seen anything so memorable since the year someone did an interpretation of "The Scream" in seeds. To this day I wonder what inspired that one. Must’ve been a looong winter on the farm.
We rode the chairlift over Machinery Hill and took a tour of a model mobile home, which the Demis decided was much nicer inside than our house, and truly, it was. We collected information on alpaca farming, and with no prompting from me whatsoever, each Demigoddess purchased her very own political button at the DFL booth (such wonderful blue children). My Ho was a remarkably good sport as we visited the L’Oreal tent, and he waited most patiently as the girls and I tried on a variety of new hair colors. We saw fine art and creative arts, and we picked up free pine tree seedlings from the Education Building. They always have the best free crap in the Education Building.
We ate cheese curds, Sweet Martha’s Cookies, and Tom Thumb doughnuts. We ate frozen apple cider, honey ice cream with sunflower seeds, and Fudge Puppies (the delightful chocolate-dipped Belgian waffles on a stick with whipped cream and sprinkles that are my personal favorite state fair delicacy). It really wasn’t as bad as it sounds, because we divided nearly everything four ways, although things got progressively weirder as the day wore on. We ate spaghetti and meatballs on a stick. We ate cheeseburger wontons. Believe it or not, the most appalling item on the day’s menu was not the Reuben on a stick (don’t ask). It was—brace yourself—a deep-fried Twinkie.
It doesn’t taste much different from a regular Twinkie. Go figure.
My very favorite state fair moment came at the end of the day, as we were waiting in line for the River Rapids ride, our traditional last stop before boarding the shuttle bus back to the car. A sign posted at the start advised various individuals not to ride the River Rapids, including pregnant women and people with high blood pressure, motion sickness, or heart, back, or neck problems. Demigoddess the Younger observed aloud, “Head Injury Barbie wouldn’t be able to go on this ride.” I guess it’s a good thing she stayed home.
So it was definitely a state fair to remember, and, aside from a tiny bit of guilt at all the gluttony, I hardly thought about natural disasters or how angry I am at the federal government at all.
But then this morning I was back online, and I read something that made me remember a little. At the risk of this becoming a political blog, I have to post a bit of it, because it makes me want to lay a big fat wet kiss right on Keith Olbermann:
“No one is suggesting that mayors or governors in the afflicted areas, nor the federal government, should be able to stop hurricanes. Lord knows, no one is suggesting that we should ever prioritize levee improvement for a below-sea-level city, ahead of $454 million worth of trophy bridges for the politicians of Alaska.
But, nationally, these are leaders who won re-election last year largely by portraying their opponents as incapable of keeping the country safe. These are leaders who regularly pressure the news media in this country to report the reopening of a school or a power station in Iraq, and defies its citizens not to stand up and cheer. Yet they couldn't even keep one school or power station from being devastated by infrastructure collapse in New Orleans — even though the government had heard all the ‘chatter’ from the scientists and city planners and hurricane centers and some group whose purposes the government couldn't quite discern... a group called The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
And most chillingly of all, this is the Law and Order and Terror government. It promised protection — or at least amelioration — against all threats: conventional, radiological, or biological.
It has just proved that it cannot save its citizens from a biological weapon called standing water.
Mr. Bush has now twice insisted that, ‘we are not satisfied’ with the response to the manifold tragedies along the Gulf Coast. I wonder which ‘we’ he thinks he's speaking for on this point. Perhaps it's the administration, although we still don't know where some of them are. Anybody seen the Vice President lately? The man whose message this time last year was, 'I'll Protect You, The Other Guy Will Let You Die'?
I don't know which 'we' Mr. Bush meant.
…All that was needed was just a quick "I'm not satisfied with my government's response." Instead of hiding behind phrases like ‘no one could have foreseen,’ had he only remembered Winston Churchill's quote from the 1930's. ‘The responsibility,’ of government, Churchill told the British Parliament ‘for the public safety is absolute and requires no mandate. It is in fact, the prime object for which governments come into existence.’
In forgetting that, the current administration did not merely damage itself — it damaged our confidence in our ability to rely on whoever is in the White House.”
My Labor Day weekend was busy enough that I didn’t have a lot of time to watch TV coverage, which, I think, is a good thing. We shopped, we went to the Minneapolis Farmers’ Market, we attended family gatherings. And yesterday the Demigoddesses and I spent 8.5 hours at the Great Minnesota Get-Together, during our annual trip to the state fair.
As per tradition, our day took us first to the fish pond at the DNR building, and then through the various animal barns, where we were privileged to hear a rooster crowing competition and I actually paid 50 cents to milk a dairy goat. (I really did.) The pig barn always smells the worst of them all, hands down, but it also boasts the biggest boar at the fair—this year’s winner weighed in at 1,060 pounds—and piglets. Who can resist piglets?
Then we took My Ho to the Agriculture Building for his first ever viewing of crop art. Several works had a surprisingly political slant this year. I had no idea there were so many lefties with a lot of time on their hands in rural Minnesota.
I haven’t seen anything so memorable since the year someone did an interpretation of "The Scream" in seeds. To this day I wonder what inspired that one. Must’ve been a looong winter on the farm.
We rode the chairlift over Machinery Hill and took a tour of a model mobile home, which the Demis decided was much nicer inside than our house, and truly, it was. We collected information on alpaca farming, and with no prompting from me whatsoever, each Demigoddess purchased her very own political button at the DFL booth (such wonderful blue children). My Ho was a remarkably good sport as we visited the L’Oreal tent, and he waited most patiently as the girls and I tried on a variety of new hair colors. We saw fine art and creative arts, and we picked up free pine tree seedlings from the Education Building. They always have the best free crap in the Education Building.
We ate cheese curds, Sweet Martha’s Cookies, and Tom Thumb doughnuts. We ate frozen apple cider, honey ice cream with sunflower seeds, and Fudge Puppies (the delightful chocolate-dipped Belgian waffles on a stick with whipped cream and sprinkles that are my personal favorite state fair delicacy). It really wasn’t as bad as it sounds, because we divided nearly everything four ways, although things got progressively weirder as the day wore on. We ate spaghetti and meatballs on a stick. We ate cheeseburger wontons. Believe it or not, the most appalling item on the day’s menu was not the Reuben on a stick (don’t ask). It was—brace yourself—a deep-fried Twinkie.
It doesn’t taste much different from a regular Twinkie. Go figure.
My very favorite state fair moment came at the end of the day, as we were waiting in line for the River Rapids ride, our traditional last stop before boarding the shuttle bus back to the car. A sign posted at the start advised various individuals not to ride the River Rapids, including pregnant women and people with high blood pressure, motion sickness, or heart, back, or neck problems. Demigoddess the Younger observed aloud, “Head Injury Barbie wouldn’t be able to go on this ride.” I guess it’s a good thing she stayed home.
So it was definitely a state fair to remember, and, aside from a tiny bit of guilt at all the gluttony, I hardly thought about natural disasters or how angry I am at the federal government at all.
But then this morning I was back online, and I read something that made me remember a little. At the risk of this becoming a political blog, I have to post a bit of it, because it makes me want to lay a big fat wet kiss right on Keith Olbermann:
“No one is suggesting that mayors or governors in the afflicted areas, nor the federal government, should be able to stop hurricanes. Lord knows, no one is suggesting that we should ever prioritize levee improvement for a below-sea-level city, ahead of $454 million worth of trophy bridges for the politicians of Alaska.
But, nationally, these are leaders who won re-election last year largely by portraying their opponents as incapable of keeping the country safe. These are leaders who regularly pressure the news media in this country to report the reopening of a school or a power station in Iraq, and defies its citizens not to stand up and cheer. Yet they couldn't even keep one school or power station from being devastated by infrastructure collapse in New Orleans — even though the government had heard all the ‘chatter’ from the scientists and city planners and hurricane centers and some group whose purposes the government couldn't quite discern... a group called The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
And most chillingly of all, this is the Law and Order and Terror government. It promised protection — or at least amelioration — against all threats: conventional, radiological, or biological.
It has just proved that it cannot save its citizens from a biological weapon called standing water.
Mr. Bush has now twice insisted that, ‘we are not satisfied’ with the response to the manifold tragedies along the Gulf Coast. I wonder which ‘we’ he thinks he's speaking for on this point. Perhaps it's the administration, although we still don't know where some of them are. Anybody seen the Vice President lately? The man whose message this time last year was, 'I'll Protect You, The Other Guy Will Let You Die'?
I don't know which 'we' Mr. Bush meant.
…All that was needed was just a quick "I'm not satisfied with my government's response." Instead of hiding behind phrases like ‘no one could have foreseen,’ had he only remembered Winston Churchill's quote from the 1930's. ‘The responsibility,’ of government, Churchill told the British Parliament ‘for the public safety is absolute and requires no mandate. It is in fact, the prime object for which governments come into existence.’
In forgetting that, the current administration did not merely damage itself — it damaged our confidence in our ability to rely on whoever is in the White House.”
Friday, September 02, 2005
Thank God...
Not Acceptable
BUSH TERMS RELIEF EFFORTS 'NOT ACCEPTABLE'
Associated Press
September 2, 2005 KAT0903.BUSH
WASHINGTON — President Bush, facing blistering criticism for his administration's response to Hurricane Katrina, said Friday "the results are not acceptable.''
No fucking shit, Sherlock.
Up until last night, I intentionally did not watch any coverage of the Katrina aftermath, not out of denial, but out of self-preservation. I knew it would simultaneously break my heart and whip me into a rage of epic proportions. Last night’s "Prime Time" special on NBC proved me right.
There have been many occasions on which I have wanted to choke the Texas accent out of our fine president with my bare hands, but every one of them pales in comparison to this.
Because this:
is what happens when you cut infrastructure funding.
This:
is what happens when a disaster strikes while the NATIONAL guard has been sent half a world away to fucking IRAQ.
This:
is what happens when you allow corporate greed to destroy the environment’s natural protections.
And this:
Is what happens when you try to run the country while on vacation in goddam Texas.
People are really and truly dying of dehydration on the streets of 21st-century America. What exactly is it going to take for this administration to get its head out of its collective ass?
Associated Press
September 2, 2005 KAT0903.BUSH
WASHINGTON — President Bush, facing blistering criticism for his administration's response to Hurricane Katrina, said Friday "the results are not acceptable.''
No fucking shit, Sherlock.
Up until last night, I intentionally did not watch any coverage of the Katrina aftermath, not out of denial, but out of self-preservation. I knew it would simultaneously break my heart and whip me into a rage of epic proportions. Last night’s "Prime Time" special on NBC proved me right.
There have been many occasions on which I have wanted to choke the Texas accent out of our fine president with my bare hands, but every one of them pales in comparison to this.
Because this:
is what happens when you cut infrastructure funding.
This:
is what happens when a disaster strikes while the NATIONAL guard has been sent half a world away to fucking IRAQ.
This:
is what happens when you allow corporate greed to destroy the environment’s natural protections.
And this:
Is what happens when you try to run the country while on vacation in goddam Texas.
People are really and truly dying of dehydration on the streets of 21st-century America. What exactly is it going to take for this administration to get its head out of its collective ass?
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Farewell to Mr Badger
It appears that Mr. Badger’s year-long battle with cancer ended yesterday. My heartfelt condolences go out to Mrs. Badger and her son. I can only imagine the depths of their grief.
The American healthcare system has left Mrs. Badger without her husband, lover, and best friend. It has left her 12-year-old son without his dad. It has also left them both with an enormous debt load from medical bills.
Donations to the Badger Fund made it possible for the family to afford hospice care, which allowed Mr. Badger to spend his last days at home with his family. Contributions to the fund will continue to be gratefully accepted.
Academic Coach has also volunteered to forward sympathy cards to the Badgers.
The American healthcare system has left Mrs. Badger without her husband, lover, and best friend. It has left her 12-year-old son without his dad. It has also left them both with an enormous debt load from medical bills.
Donations to the Badger Fund made it possible for the family to afford hospice care, which allowed Mr. Badger to spend his last days at home with his family. Contributions to the fund will continue to be gratefully accepted.
Academic Coach has also volunteered to forward sympathy cards to the Badgers.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Badger Update
Last week I found this and was moved to make a contribution.
Dr. Academic has kindly posted an update.
I have seen firsthand what cancer can do to a family, and I know what it’s like to try and take care of kids when you don’t know where the grocery money is going to come from. The Badgers have been in my heart ever since I read their story.
I’ll continue posting links to the updates.
Dr. Academic has kindly posted an update.
I have seen firsthand what cancer can do to a family, and I know what it’s like to try and take care of kids when you don’t know where the grocery money is going to come from. The Badgers have been in my heart ever since I read their story.
I’ll continue posting links to the updates.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
Crayola Bombs
"Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination."
~Robert Fulghum
Here are some of my Crayola Bombs, in the form of bears for the Mother Bear Project:
Do something nice for somebody this weekend. Do something kind for somebody you don't know, who doesn't know you. It doesn't have to be a big thing. Just do something.
"One little person, giving all of her time to peace, makes news. Many people, giving some of their time, can make history."
~Peace Pilgrim
~Robert Fulghum
Here are some of my Crayola Bombs, in the form of bears for the Mother Bear Project:
Do something nice for somebody this weekend. Do something kind for somebody you don't know, who doesn't know you. It doesn't have to be a big thing. Just do something.
"One little person, giving all of her time to peace, makes news. Many people, giving some of their time, can make history."
~Peace Pilgrim
Friday, July 08, 2005
Please.
I received this e-mail just now from a cousin who lives just outside of London. I sent her a note this morning to confirm that she and her family are all right, which, thankfully, they are.
“Lovely to hear from you. Yes it is so sad. What a wicked waste of life.
I feel so badly for those with loved ones missing and just not knowing whether they are in hospital or dead.
The atmosphere is very subdued but sadly, even at school there were racial comments made today about arabs that I haven't heard before.
I feel so badly for the muslim community who now feel ill at ease. It's awful but then so are the daily bombings in Iraq.
When will we ever learn?
The area where it all happened is the area where I lived as a student for 1 year so the images were very vivid for me. Russell Square tube station is one of those accessed by an ancient elevator because it is so deep underground and that is where bodies still have to be recovered.
Every now and then I just whell up with emotion.”
Personally, I woke up at 4:00 a.m. our time yesterday morning, which is very unusual for me. I turned on the T.V., thinking I'd find something boring to watch for a little while, and that's when I saw what happened. Needless to say, I didn't ever get back to sleep. There are no words.
The hardest part of all is resisting the powerful temptation to hate them right back.
Please. Please.
Resist.
“Lovely to hear from you. Yes it is so sad. What a wicked waste of life.
I feel so badly for those with loved ones missing and just not knowing whether they are in hospital or dead.
The atmosphere is very subdued but sadly, even at school there were racial comments made today about arabs that I haven't heard before.
I feel so badly for the muslim community who now feel ill at ease. It's awful but then so are the daily bombings in Iraq.
When will we ever learn?
The area where it all happened is the area where I lived as a student for 1 year so the images were very vivid for me. Russell Square tube station is one of those accessed by an ancient elevator because it is so deep underground and that is where bodies still have to be recovered.
Every now and then I just whell up with emotion.”
Personally, I woke up at 4:00 a.m. our time yesterday morning, which is very unusual for me. I turned on the T.V., thinking I'd find something boring to watch for a little while, and that's when I saw what happened. Needless to say, I didn't ever get back to sleep. There are no words.
The hardest part of all is resisting the powerful temptation to hate them right back.
Please. Please.
Resist.
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