It was just a couple of months ago that I was in my church's pulpet giving a sermon on harmony and discord.  Well, this glutton for punishment will be back in the big chair this Sunday to deliver her yet-to-be-written sermon entitled "Blaming the Victim."

 

I owe my inspiration for this topic to Jaysey and her several posts on personal responsibility.  She questioned the extent to which take responsibility for our actions and whether we live in a society that is too comforatable with "passing the buck."  Right now I think that my take will be to look at the problem from the focus of blame.  It seems that we blame some people too much while we let some parties get off way too easy.

 

We blame the poor for not improving themselves, while we absolve the rich from contributing to society.  We blame people for not voting, while election after election proves that vote totals are fraudulently manipulated.  We blame people for eating too much or for running up their credit cards but we absolve from blame those who make fortunes selling and advertizing unsavory foods and easy credit.  The powerless are scorned for having no power, while the powerful consolidate their power in the name of the "free market."

 

I believe that the term "personal responsibility" is meaningless.  Carried to its extreme, "PR" gives a morally bankrupt world where we are responsible only for our actions as they pertain to ourselves.  Don't eat too much, earn money, don't gamble, don't spill hot coffee on ourselves.  Where are the proscriptions against fouling our environment, using too much energy, refusing to support those in need, refusing to pay our fair share of taxes, and giving in to outrageous consumption?

 

I usually avoid Bible readings in my sermons, but for this one I must read the parable of the Good Samaratan.  Jesus praised the Samaritan for going to the aid of the injured person on the roadside.  He didn't condemn the injured person for his weakness.  

 

Please...any comments would be appreciated.  This is still a work in progress. 

   

It's early Saturday morning and the sun is entering my windows at odd angles.  My north living room wall and its artwork, which haven't seen direct sunlight for six months, are enjoying their day in the sun.  Places and items that are rarely illuminated look so different under direct sunlight.  Usually it's the dirt I notice first. but after awhile I see textures and grains and notice the real color of the thing.  And sometimes I have the delightful experience of noticing something as if it's the first time.

 

How I wish I could apply that perception to the people in my life.  Every day I look at my husband, my daughters, the girls in my office, as if I know them.  They are puzzles that were solved long ago that I have since boxed up and put in storage.  I'm no longer curious about them.  I've got them catigorized, pidgenholed, and figured out.  After all, it would be constant work and possibly unsettling to keep an open and curious mind about those who I know so well.

 

The only problem is this is so unfair and unrealistic, to my friends, my family, and to myself.  It 's also self serving and lazy.  I owe it to my friends to allow for and to notice the changes in them.  My children are changing constantly and to place Ashley in the "she's creative, but always needs to be pushed" ghetto may create a self fulfilling prophesy.  I don't want to be surprised or threatened if my husband comes home and tells me he wants to take up flying, or running, or politics. 

 

I've been married to the Mike for 20 years and I so want to believe that I've figured him out, and to behave towards him as if I've figured him out.  But the truth is I know, really know, very little of what is essentially him.  There are days when that psychological sunlight hits both of us at just the right angle, refracting just another bit of truth for me.  On a good day I notice that truth and accept it.  On a bad day I ignore that inconsistant truth as contrary to my preconceptions of Mike.  How unfair.  How small and close minded of me.  I hope that in the future I will be prepared to accept these small gifts of knowledge about my friends and about myself.    

 

 

I just read a quote by Jessica Savich, anchorwoman, who said, "It's a fact of modern life that it takes women longer to get ready than men."  I wonder...Is that a sexist comment?  If it is, is the comment so banal and benign that it's not worth commenting on?  Even if I have nothing else to write about today?

 

It seems that any comment which singles out a certain gender is technically sexist, ie, "It's a fact of life that men are taller than women," or, "It's a fact of life that women get periods."  But those comments make no judgments.  They truly do state just facts.  We get a little closer to sexism when the comment becomes, "It's a fact of life that men make firefighters than women because they're taller," or, "It's a fact of life that women get irritable and emotional around the time of their periods."  I'm still stating "facts," but I'm not quite as comfortable with the truth of these "facts."  The statements are mostly fact, but there's a dollup of value judgment in each.  Thus I can read the firefighter comment as, "Men are better because they're taller," and the period comment as "Women are weak because they get periods." 

 

We hear a lot of complaints from people who abhor political correctness.  They says it goes too far.  But the purpose of political correctness isn't to police statements like, "All women are lunatics."  Those statements are clearly offensive.  Political correctness is a useful tool for thinking about the real meaning of, "Women drivers are inattentive," or, "Illegal immigrants are taking jobs from Americans," or, "White men abuse their privleges of whiteness and maleness without even knowing it."  I'm not sure most people would find that third statement to be un-PC, but it singles out a group and makes a value judgment about it.  Seems un-PC to me.

 

I agree with Jessica Savich that it takes women much longer than men to get ready.  I easily take three times as long as my husband.  I envy how he can jump out of bed, shower, shave, dress, and be ready in 20 minutes.  And he doesn't know how lucky he is.  He doesn't have to pick out his outfit and shoes while considering whether he wore that skirt last week.  He doesn't have to sit on the side of the bed wrestling with three pairs of pantyhose until he finds a pair without a run.  And he doesn't have to deal with makeup, jewelry, or drying his hair (no hair, no problem--oops, that was un-PC of me) before searching all over for where he left his purse last night.  How I envy him.  

 

Even though I know I take longer to get ready than my man it does bother me to hear that stated as if it were a flaw.  I hate it when my husband reminds me about how I'm making us late or how much time I waste.  And I don't much like it in a quote that infers that all women are more vain than all men.  For that's what is really bothering me underneath the quote.  Jessica Savitch is really saying that because of our vanity, our weakness, we should be ceded additional primping time.  How un-PC.     

 

 

I am so ready for Daylight Savings time to be over.  I'm a morning person and I would much rather have my daylight saved for when I wake up.  Plus I'm looking forward to that extra hour of sleep when we fall back.  But I have to admit there is something magical about that rarely witnessed hour before sunrise.

 

The last two mornings I've received a 6 A.M. wakeup call from the appliance store.  On Tuesday they told me that they would be at my house between 7 and 8 to deliver the new drier.  Today they called to say that they would be at my house by eight to hook up the dryer.  There are few things scarier than the phone ringing in what seems like the middle of the night.  And 6 A.M. in Chicago is pitch black right now.  All the usual emergency calculations went through my mind as I dashed to the phone (kids home, check, parents back from Arizona, check).  When I heard the voice from Grant's Hardware, I was crestfallen.  Now I would have to stay awake to wait for these guys.

 

I put on my robe and slippers and padded downstairs in the dark.  I turned the heat up and the coffee on and went outside to get the newspapers.  There was a little reddish glow on the horizon, but otherwise it was black, cold, and still.  No bird sounds, just the whistle of a breeze through drying leaves.  It was spectacular!  I could almost feel the starshine.

 

I went through the house and turned on some lights, got my coffee, and sat down to wait.  I waited for the truck, and for the sunrise, and for 7:30 to come around so I could wake someone else up.  The house is so quiet and cold and dark at 6 A.M. in late October.  As I sat in the glow of my kitchen and read the paper, the caffein slowly reaching my brain, I thought of those still in dreamland.  My husband, whom the telephone didn't even awaken and Ashley and Mara for whom I momentarily felt so afraid.  All three warm and snug in their beds.  All three so precious to me.  So there I sat in the morning darkness, at my kitchen table, wrapped in a robe and a blanket, glowing.             

 

 

I read today that in a poll of five hundred something women most said that their ideal job would be television news anchor.  The second preference was actress.  The cynic in me wants to say, "What's the difference?", but that would be too easy and too cheap a shot.  No, the young, beautiful, thin, and well coiffed and well dressed news readers ALL made it on their talent, not on their looks.

 

Yes, I want to be an anchorwoman.  Or more accurately, I want to look, dress, and sound like an anchorwoman.  I want that deep, sultry voice that can coo, "Condeleeza Rice blasts North Korea, back after this."  I want a different hair style every day.  I want someone to do my makeup.  And I want every one critiquing my choice of necklace, earrings, and top and not paying attention to anything I say while they wonder what skirt and shoes I'm wearing.

 

As an anchorwoman I wouldn't have to go out to the highway overpass in the blizzard, wearing a shapeless down parka and sporting hat hair.  I wouldn't have to come at you live from the loser's grim and deserted hotel after the election.  I woundn't have to be the face on the special report on high heels and bunion surgery at sweeps time.  No way, as the anchorwoman I would be at the desk, in control, handling tricky segues like, "Let's get the word on the weather," and, "When Steve comes back, it's winter," or "The Tigers feasted on the Cardinals." 

 

I have never seen an "Anchorwoman Barbie."  That's because anchorwomen are Barbie.  That's why I and a myriad of other women want to be anchorwomen.  We want to be the Barbies of our youth.  We want the perfect hair, clothes, figure, and visage.  And we don't want to be supermodels or actresses--that's going too far.  Anchorwoman...she's in our homes every night, we know her, we're comfortable with her, our husbands think she's hot, and all she has to do is sit behind a desk and read.  Sounds like a dream to me.  Lots better than "Astronaut Barbie," she was so seventies.      

I was caught in Misfit's multiple tag.  Here goes...50 things that make me happy....

 

1.  Japanese Gardens

2.  Giant Elm trees

3.  Long family road trips, especially to the ocean

4.  The films of Preston Sturges

5.  Picnics

6.  Any winter activity...skating, downhill or cross country skiing, sledding, even shoveling

7.  My evening gin and tonic

8.  When my husband nibbles my ear

9.  My daughters' music

10.  A man's hands

11.  A long hot bath

12.  Great nails

13.  (are we there yet?)A great pair of black boots with a high heel and pointed toe.

14.  My black dress

15.  Singing soprano in the "Do it yourself Messiah"

16.  Dinner with my parents

17.  Shopping with my daughters

18.  Clean sheets on my bed

19.  Thai food

20.  The great loose exercized feeling AFTER my aerobics class

21.  A productive day at work

22.  An open and honest discussion with my daughters

23.  An evening out with my girlfriends

24.  Mahler's 1st Symphony

25.  Walking into the lovely art deco lobby of Chicago's Lyric Opera House

26.  Eggplant

27.  When the kids are at orchestra and my husband and I have the house to ourselves

28.  A spa day

29.  Trying a new recipe

30.  The perfect dinner party

31.  My book club

32.  Modern classical music

33.  News of a new book by Toni Morrison

34.  (can I be done yet?)Travel

35.  Writing anything, especially blog posts, although this one is getting a bit tedious

36.  The way a man's suit jacket hangs on his shoulders

37.  The boxes of Joseph Cornell

38.  Anselm Kiefer's paintings

39.  Walking in Chicago

40.  Any museum, anywhere

41.  Toronto, Canada

42.  Chinatowns.  They're right here yet so exotic

43.  Silk dresses

44.  A perfectly fitting bra

45.  A foot massage

46.  1950's style houses

47.  Old neighborhoods arranged in a grid pattern

48.  Chamber music

49.  Sitting on my front porch

50.  Sitting by a pool, in my bathing suit, pina colada and book at my side, sunning myself

 

Whew...I didn't think I could do it!

Today I'm a frontierswoman.  Or at least I feel like one.  My dryer died on Thursday and the family is demanding clean clothes.  The new machine won't be delivered until Tuesday, so this morning I hitched up my gingham dress, put out the laundry line, and hung a basketful of jeans and tops to dry in the forty degree air.  Our bras and panties are hanging in the basement.  I didn't think the neighbors needed to see our pink and black lacy things fluttering in the breeze.

 

It's been decades since I dried laundry outside.  What amazes me is how easy it is.  Fill up a basket, carry it out, hang everything up, take it down.  In the meantime get out of the nasty basement and breathe in some fresh air.  Sure, I can't dry anything outside after five o'clock, but am I any better off waiting until after five to do laundry?  What about work?  Theoretically I could wake up earlier and hang up a load to dry while I'm at work.  What about winter?  I guess I need that dryer after all.

 

This little exercize has lead me to reevaluate modern "converniences."  My drier gives me the freedom to wash whenever I wish.  Am I better off planning to do the laundry on a Saturday or Sunday morning or waiting until I can't find a bra to do a last minute load?  Am I better off running the dryer constantly while baskets of wet clothes queue up as my more efficient washer lags behind my dryer?  And what about the environment?  Old ways aren't always outmoded.

 

My Halloween resolution...when I do laundry during the day, and if it's dry outside, I will try to combine line drying with machine drying.  I hope this resolution survives longer than last year's New Years promise.   

 

 

 

  

 

 

I can't believe it's been almost two weeks since my last post.  I can't believe all that's happened in the last two weeks.  Culture, education, travel, fine dining.  Now it's time to rest.

 

Last week I began a forty hour course on mediation of matrimonial disputes.  The class met in Chicago from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. last Tuesday through Thursday and again this week on Tuesday and Wednesday.  I would take the 6:30 train to the city and return at 6:30 in the evening, exhausted.  Each class had a demanding schedule of lectures, discussion and role playing.  Sometimes I would be the mediator, listening for what was really going on behind the clients' bluster.  Other times I would be the suffering wife or the insufferable husband.  Every role was a challenge, especially the mediator's, where I had to listen so actively and intently.  I don't see how therapists do this eight hours a day.

 

I hope that I can begin a small mediation practice on the side and grow it into something I could do full time.  I enjoy my work as a paralegal, but I don't have much control over what goes on in the office.  It's my dream to be able to run my own business and mediation may be right for me.  The trickiest part about mediation is hat I have to remember that I have no stake in the outcome.  This is between the clients.  If they want to agree, they will, with my help.  If they don't want to agree, no amount of help will ever get them to an agreement. 

 

While in Chicago I even found time for fun.  On Friday my husband and I went to the theatre.  We saw a preview performance of "The Pirate Queen," the new play by the creators of "Les Miserables" and "Miss Saigon."  "The Pirate Queen" will be having its world premier in the next few weeks, so it was especially fun to see something that hasn't been seen by many people, much less reviewed.  The play will be opening on Broadway early next year.

 

On Tuesday Ashley took the train to Chicago and met me to go to the opera.  We saw "Iphegenia in Taurus" by the French composer Gluck at the Lyric Opera.  What a contrast to see an opera from 1799 and a world premier musical within days of each other.  The opera was fresh, lively, boldly staged, and well acted, played, and sung.  The star of the opera was Susan Graham who was magnetic in her performance as the priestess Iphegenia who was ordered to kill her own brother.  The set was simply three blank walls with a raised sacrificial altar in the center.  The only props were swords and chalk.  From this simple set came the most sumptuous singing and deeply emotional drama.  My fifteen year old, Ashley, said it all after the final curtain, "That was amazing!"     

 

I wish I could have said that about "The Pirate Queen."  The musical was accompanied by a fifteen person pit orchestra heavy on synthesizer. The voices were miked and amplified, and although the principals all had fine voices, their words didn't matter.  Only a few of the songs had any real impact.  The duet between Queen Elizabeth and the Pirate Queen was touching and beautifully sung.  Yes, the sets and costumes were gorgeous, but that couldn't make up for the real insubstantiability of the play.  At its heart there wasn't much there.  No ephiphanies, no redemption, just a strong Irish woman continuing to be strong for her lover and for her Ireland.  "Riverdance," meet "Wicked."         

 

       

It's a gorgeous October Saturday morning.  Work is behind me, the house is clean.  That means it muat be TAG DAY FOR ORCHESTRA.  Once a year orchestra parents get the opportunity to risk their lives dodging traffic at the busiest intersections in town.  Wearing our reflective vests, plastic buckets in hand, we offer motorists the opportunity to contribute to their community. 

 

It's surprising how much communication can take place in a matter of seconds.  I catch a driver's eye, she either looks or turns away,  if she reaches down, I walk up to her window offer a heartfelt "good morning" and accept her contribution while handing her a schedule of upcoming performances.  Sometimes the driver raves about how much band ment to them or how they are huge fans of music education.  It's all good.  We are out there raising the profile of the orchestra.  Even those who don't contribute see this.  And for six bits a driver can start the day feeling generous, feeling better about herself.

 

Our government tells us that taxes are bad.  It says that we should keep as much money for ourselves, to spend, to save, or to give away as we see fit.  The downside fo this is that we have a growing budget deficit and social services are being starved.  That's why private contributions to churches, the United Way, the Lions Club, and charities are so important.  If we value a just and fair society that helps the unfortunate we have to make that happen.  A well fed, well educated child is much more important to me than a new bracelet on my wrist.

 

I used to be one of those gloomy gals who left the window closed and looked away from the streetside bucket-holders.  Never again.  Now I appreciate that these people are sacrificing their time and energy for something that matters to them.  I always felt a little bit guilty when I refused to give.  Now I realize that for fifty cents or one dollar I can feel like a part of something larger than myself.  So if you're ever out there with a plastic bucket you can be assured that the blond in the Town and Country van will be digging in her purse as you approach. 

 

     

It's college application time.  Get out the FAFSA form, write the essays, and order the transcripts.  This is a family business and everybody's involved.

 

Mara's looking at six different colleges.  Six visits, six auditions, six lessons with professors, and lots of juggling of schedules by her parents.  And we just got the news from her teacher that Mara would benefit from a substantially upgraded violin sooner rather than later.  $$$$$$$$$  Oh where oh were is my bottle of gin?

 

We've been criticized.  Relatives have said, "It's so competitive, she'll never find a job."  And, "What's she going to do with a music major?"  I guess the same thing she would do with an english or sociology or anthropology major.  Try to get a job in the field, go to grad school, or (to her mother's delight) go to law school.  One way or another she will find her path.  Right now it leads through music school.  She has the passion, the interest, and the desire.  One should never veer off the path of passion, interest, and desire.  To do so is to shortchange oneself and deprive the world of one's talents.  The path may change, but any new path should not compromise passion, interest, and desire.  That is the route to true success. 

 

My passion is justice.  My interest is communication.  My desire is charismatic handsome attorneys in great suits (kidding).  My profession is as a paralegal.  I would hope that if my passion ever flags or my interest ever changes I will be open and flexible enough to change with them.  It's just that the desire that might hold me back ;-).    

I am an absolute sucker for disaster movies.  I love the special effects and the dread that this really could happen.  I love the way the gritty woman and her ex-husband/boyfriend overcome their differences and come together to save the day.  And I love the way the evil scientist/developer/businessman/politician whose shortsightedness caused countless deaths meets an especially grizzly end.

 

If it were only this way in real life.  On 9/11 millions of us watched a real life disaster unfold before our eyes.  Today the masterminds are still at large and apparently Condi and George aren't going to fill the role of heroic couple.  We watched New Orleans flood and a year later watched and read specials of the still dire conditions in that city.  No heroes there and no justice yet.  Now we're watching yet another disaster unfold.  Tom Foley's abuse of his position and the shameless coverup by the Republican leadership.

 

Every day people are arrested, sentenced, and branded sex criminals for the crime of possessing obscene photos of minors on their computers.  Our society clearly abhors the abuse of minors and is increasingly protective of our young.  So what do Representative Hastert and the Republican Congressional leadership do when they learn of an abusive situation in their midst?  Nothing!  Shame on you Mr. Hastert, shame on this "values party."  You put power above principle.  You feared the reaction from your conservative base if this got out.  You feared losing an election more than you cared about the harm to an underage page. 

 

If this were a disaster film the Republicans and Democrats would come together with a bipartisan plan to investigate this matter and prevent it happening again.  If this were a disaster film Mr. Hastert would lose his re-election bid and the Republicans would be voted out of power.  Don't hold your breath.  This isn't a movie, it's real life.  And as they say, "life aint fair."

 

 

How can it be Tuesday already?  This weekend just flew by.

 

On Thursday I spoke to the principal about my idea regarding teachers referring to the children by Mr. or Miss.  After she quizzed me on my reasons she said that the school board had raised a similar idea for teacher-to-teacher comments at formal meetings.  She said that she found the idea interesting and will pass it on to a comittee for further discussion.

 

Yesterday I was able to share yet another of my ideas.  I happened to be in my state senator's office building so I looked him up to float my idea regarding "divorce" for gay couples.  It's bothered me that there is no "clean" way to break up a gay union.  The couple is pretty much left to their own devices to sell the house, divide the property, and make sure that the mortgage payments are made during the process of separating.  Their problems are essentially the same as a divorcing couple.  My idea:  allow gay couples to enter into a partnership agreement that provides that if they do separate they may invoke the jurisdiction of the state court to oversee and adjudicate the separation pursuant to current divorce laws.  The proposed legislation would give the courts jurisdiction to handle a gay "divorce" if both parties to the partnership agree.

 

My senator was intrigued by the idea.  He's a Democrat after all, and all legislators are on the lookout for a good bill to put their name on.  My next step is to e-mail him my proposal and he will have his staff investigate whether it's feasible.

 

I've been discussing these ideas with my daughters as each one pops up.  Mara hates the teacher/student/Miss idea.  She likes the informality of her teachers calling her by her first name.  Both girls love the gay divorce idea, but they accused me of having an ulterior motive; to get more business for my law firm.  I told the girls that my next idea is to lobby the city council for dedicated bike lanes on certain streets.  Mara decided that didn't go far enough and I should demand that all new subdivisions have dedicated bike paths.  Finally, both girls love my idea of starting a mariachi program in our high school orchestra, even though both of them hate mariachi music.  Vivan los Mariachis!