No, you’re not a martyr to your faith.

People scream about the First Amendment a lot.

Usually they claim that their right to free speech is being violated, just because they are boycotted or face demands that they be fired or criticized for making offensive statements on the Internet or over the airwaves.

You are entitled to say what you want, but you are not entitled to the soapbox of your choice.

Recently, however, fundamentalist Christians have been screaming about their right to free expression of religion. Like free speech, their complaints show they really are, as my son would say “unclear on the concept.”

You are entitled to freely express your religion. You can pray where you want (although in some places you may be asked to pray quietly) and you can believe what you want. The government cannot announce that Presbyterianism is now a forbidden religion and round up all its adherents. Roman Catholics can speak out long and loud against abortion and same-sex marriage even though both are the law of the land.

What you are not entitled to do is take an oath to uphold the laws of your state and the laws and Constitution of the United States and refuse to uphold your duties. You cannot place your professed faith in “God’s will”* above others’ right to get married. You cannot, in your official capacity, refuse to allow people to to express their love and commitment in front of their family, friends, and yes, God.

You cannot deny others THEIR freedom of religion. 

It’s called the Establishment Clause, which many fundamentalists seem to forget about.

There is no “war on Christians.” There are, instead, some Christians acting like spoiled children because they cannot force their beliefs on other people.

You don’t like giving marriages licenses to gay people? Resign. You don’t like dispensing birth control or morning after pills to single women? Quit being a pharmacist.

Just because you believe certain things doesn’t mean that the rest of us have to.

*I cannot say about Kim Davis, but a lot of people proclaiming that they are oppressed because they are Christians really have no intention of following the most important teachings of Christ — or even of most of the Old Testament: taking care of the poor, and the immigrant, and the prisoner.

Posted in God faith and theology, Politics | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Whiny, navel-gazing post of the month.

I have been re-reading a bunch of my posts. I think I have a “voice,” but I also think the voice tends to be over-serious, humorless, and somewhat presumptuous. I know there are political blogs out there, and personal blogs out there, but I have never figured out which I want this to be. So I often end up writing about political issues in the context of my own life, such as my post on the schools  in Pinellas County and “To my Foremothers.” But then I write about purely personal matters, such as in “WWMD?” (I do write purely political posts occasionally, such as “Hope.”

Is it true that there personal is political? And vice versa?

There are so many blogs out there doing real journalism, or real opinion, or real… everything…. that this endeavor sometime seems silly. I’m doing this for myself, I say, and then I ask “if I’m doing it for myself why should I care how well I write, or more significantly whether people read it?”

If a tree falls in a forest does it make a sound?

In addition, I am having one of my crises where I can’t tell if I write well. (I know I definitely need an editor, but seems like overkill for a blog.) Or if my writing deteriorates  as I age.  I would hope it would get better given that theoretically I am amassing both writing experience and life wisdom, but I don’t know. I do know that my kids, being older, provide amusing blog fodder far less frequently.

Finally, I am currently unemployed, trying to find a temporary job that will hold me over until next year. Field work — even being a grunt — becomes addictive: the esprit d’ corps, the thrill of the hunt, ideological and societal zeal,  and having a concrete goal create a siren song hard to resist.  Even if, three weeks in, I ask myself, “Why do I do this, exactly?”

Oh, well. Time to stop sniffling and actually start writing something substantive.

Posted in Blogging, Writing | 1 Comment

“Being Poor,” ten years on.

Ten years ago today, in the aftermath of Katrina, John Scalzi wrote one of the most deeply profound pieces on poverty in America I have ever read.  I made my kids read it when they got old enough I thought they would understand it.

I have not experienced the grinding poverty that Scalzi writes of. But I have known people who get upset when we lose a few hours of work because that will make the difference between making the rent or not. People who work two or three jobs to get by.

I hold the political positions I do precisely because I know how fortunate I am, and because I know how so many people are caught in poverty even though they work hard. I find my work — as little as it is — to be meaningful because maybe, just maybe, I can help make a difference in some people’s lives.

Posted in Social Issues | Tagged | Leave a comment

Hope.

Ted Cruz and Chris Christie mocked Jimmy Carter the day after the former president announced he had cancer which had spread to his brain. This on top of Cruz making fun of Joe Biden earlier this year, three days after Biden’s son Beau had died.

Donald Trump continues rolling over his Republican opponents in the polls (although both Ben Carson and Carly Florina seem to be gaining on him). (A very conservative relative of mine dislikes Trump immensely; an outsider, like those to whom he appeals, she is appalled by his demeanor and his nastiness. “He’s not presidential — can you imagine what he might say to other nations? And he’s so mean!” She likes Ben Carson.) He seems to be giving the “base” the strongman they apparently want: complete with the death penalty for supposed traitors, revocation of birthright citizenship, and a huge wall along the Mexican border. While I disapprove of him thoroughly, in large part for his dismantling of the public service unions in Wisconsin and his extreme anti-choice views, Scott Walker at least has the consistency to suggest that we should build a wall along the Canadian border as well. Silly Scott, don’t you realize it’s all about the brown-skinned people?

The website Twitchy (created by that paragon of reasoned debate, Michelle Malkin) targets liberal and pro-choice writers (usually women or people of color) for harassment: slurs on Twitter that stop just short of Twitter’s TOS*, nasty emails, calls to employers. Twitter is a particularly unpleasant medium for this, since it is easier to swamp someone with abuse than by using email.

All this among so many other signs of not just partisanship but viciousness. Sigh. Even recognizing that this will not be the nastiest election in U.S. history (Google election of 1828) only mitigates dread of the looming conflict a little.

But there is hope.

Both Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders have stated that they are not running against each other personally but on the issues. When asked if Joe Biden should enter the race, Clinton did not attack Biden, but simply said that it was his decision to make.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Sanders continues to draw large crowds. While I do not want him as President because I think he would have a difficult time governing**, that so many people are this passionate about a man who comes across as decent and honorable makes me smile.

The sinister “gefilte fish” memo in Clinton’s emails is about just that: gefilte fish.

The Sunday after Jimmy Carter announced his cancer, and after Cruz and Christie made fun of him, a thousand people showed up at Carter’s church in Plains, Georgia, to hear him teach Sunday School. People lined up before daybreak to get a seat in the church, and came from all over the country. (Carter asked where people where from: when one woman answered “D.C.,” he replied, chuckling “That’s nice — I used to live there.”) As Rachel Maddow said, politics may be nasty, but people are generally good.

But my favorite sign of hope comes courtesy of the news media and Project Veritas, the good folks (that’s sarcasm, people) behind the “gotcha” Planned Parenthood videos. This time they took aim at Clinton’s campaign. They surreptitiously videotaped a low-level worker at a Clinton event (probably a volunteer) being badgered into giving a t-shirt to a Canadian who claimed to support Hillary. The worker repeatedly said that she could not give the t-shirt to the Canadian woman; when the woman offered “what if I give the money to this lady? She’s an American” the worker gave in and let the American could get the t-shirt in exchange for a donation. In a press conference, part of which was shown on the Maddow show, Project Veritas offered this as evidence that the Clinton campaign was illegally taking donations from Canadians.

For once, the press wasn’t biting. “All of this over a t-shirt?” asked one reporter. “Is this a joke?” asked another, “‘because it feels like a prank.” The third reporter asked who the Canadian woman was, at which point the head of Project Veritas stated that they didn’t know. (If you believe that, I have some land about fifty miles west of Miami I want to talk to you about.) The Project Veritas guy was defensive, saying “You should see the whole video!” The press, probably knowing full well that this organization always leads with the most outrageous thing they’ve got, didn’t seem particularly interested.

See? Hope.

*Twitter does not have all that good a track record of enforcing its TOS anyway.

**I have always been a huge Bernie Sanders fan, but in the current atmosphere in Washington I do not think he would be able to get anything done. If voting in support of Obama, who is tarred as a “socialist” by a lot of Republicans, presents difficulties for Republican (and some Democratic) Congressman, voting in support of Sanders, who has for most of his political career identified as an actual socialist, might be political suicide. In particular, the fight over the Supreme Court justices would be nasty.

Posted in Politics | Tagged | Leave a comment

Goodbye, Tree.

Mimosas are not only drinks.

Mimosas are trees with delicate fern-like leaves and fluffy pink flowers. My elementary school had a huge mimosa in front, with a low trunk that encouraged climbing, at least after hours when there was no staff looking. During the time that my family was  undergoing the worst period that I can remember (the very worst times having been when my sister died, when I was two), I would go to the elementary school and climb the mimosa and feel safe. I was in middle school by that time, but the gate to the elementary school wasn’t locked until nightfall.

That mimosa was my friend and my protector.

I had a lot of other trees in my childhood — the jacaranda down the street, the huge norfolk pine in my front lawn that had been a “live Christmas tree” that my sister had bought when it was three feet tall, the Australian pines down near the beach with the little cones that hurt more than Legos if you stepped on them with bare feet, and the omnipresent palm trees of various species — but I remember mimosas, along with crepe myrtle and live oak, with fondness. Crepe myrtles may be prettier when they bloom, and live oaks have more interesting bark, but mimosas are just … special.

When the Rocket Scientist and I bought our house many years ago, one of the things that I loved was the large mimosa standing sentinel at the top of the driveway, just at the entrance to the walkway.  It provided shade in the summer, and a feeling of emotional safety always.

The mimosa has died. It was looking peaked last season, and I made a mental note to get it professionally pruned, but I didn’t. It was looking worse this spring, so in late July we called in an arborist who told us the awful news that due to some damage below the soil line that had happened when we had foundation work done fifteen years ago, as well as a hole in the top of the tree that was invisible from human eye-level, water had gotten inside the trunk and rotted it out. It was only a matter of time. We planned to have it out at the end of August.

Well, we are having it out at the very end of August. Last week the tree started leaning more and more until it was clearly a danger to the house and the cars. So today a crew is coming to our house and taking my mimosa down. I don’t know what we’ll plant in its stead; it feels a little premature talking about that, like we had lost a pet and were talking about a replacement right after burying it. We could, but it seems kind of callous. On the other hand, it would be good to get something in the ground before the rainy season so it can take advantage of all that water.

I feel very sad right now; I’ll miss my mimosa.

Posted in My life and times | Tagged , | 2 Comments

My cat needs a playlist.

We live close by our vet, and it doesn’t take long to drive there, so I had never really noticed this phenomenon until now.

I was taking the lovely Penwiper (Connie Willis fans may recognize the name) to the vet to get her stitches removed. In spite of our efforts, she manages to be an outdoor cat. She even took to guile to be able to escape; she would stand pressed against the wall in the foyer so she was not visible, and when we responded to her meowing and opened the door to let her in, she would bolt out. She knows when I am coming up the walk, and knows I am slower getting in than other people, so she can dash between my legs. I invariably yell “Stupid Cat!” after her, but in reality she is a very smart cat.

For a very long time she was queen of the neighborhood. Once out, she would head off on her rounds — across the street and half a block down to the park and the school, which she owned. We assumed that she was able to stay out by eating rodents (lots of fruit trees in the area, and she was a fierce killer of vermin*), but we found out that she had been mooching off other families, who thought she was a stray (although she was chipped, we could never keep a collar on her). She loves us (she always comes back in a few hours), but she loves her freedom, too.

This changed a few months ago, when a large gray tom started strutting through our yard. Oscar, as we call him, is so annoying that the normally placid Pandora** clawed her way through a window screen to try and get at him. Penwiper, who had been the victor in several cat fights in our backyard (at least she was the victor, she didn’t seem any worse for wear afterwards***), has met her match.

In the past few months, on two occasions Penwiper has come home with scratches on her side that required stitches. (On the good side, she stays in a lot more now; on the bad side, she seems kind of depressed.) The most recent case was three weeks ago, and today I took her to the vet to get her stitches out.

We have a new soft cat carrier that allows you to put your hand in soothe your cat, which I was doing. (Our hard cat carrier is hated by both cats, and they let us know it.) Instead of meowing piteously the entire drive to and from the vet’s, she was only meowing some of the time. During “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something she sounded as pathetic as could be. As soon as “At This Moment” by Billy Vera and the Beaters came on, she stopped. When that turned into “Goodbye, Earl” by the Dixie Chicks, she started vocalizing again, sounding almost angry. One verse in, I forwarded to “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran, and she almost started purring.

Okay, so Deep Blue Something and Dixie Chicks out, Billy Vera and Ed Sheeran in. Got it.

I need to figure what other songs are on my cat’s greatest hits.

*She has left rats, mice, and half a snake on our doorstep. I’d say she loves us, and I know she does, but she may also be boasting. Once while outside, she came up to the screen door with a mouse. She waited until she had Pandora’s attention, and then ostentatiously killed and ate the poor thing.

**Pandora has her own quirks: she ignores everyone until Railfan comes through the door from work or school, at which point she throws herself at him, meowing as though she had been left stranded in the wilderness and he was her rescuer. She keeps this up until he picks her up, at which point she lets him stroke her a couple of times before trying to scratch him. It’s a weird relationship those two have.

***Lest you think that we are negligent for not stopping these fights, they usually take place around 2 a.m., and are exceedingly brief. Penwiper may undoubtedly be getting into fights elsewhere, but from the little bits we’ve seen, she holds her own, and then some. Pandora tried to jump her from behind once, and Penwiper turned around and smacked Pandora in the face. (Usually the cats get along well, mostly by ignoring each other.)

Posted in Music | Tagged | 2 Comments

F*** you, too, Brownie.

[Warning: as can be guessed by the title, this post contains strong language.]

Ten years ago, I was telling my friends that people in the Gulf Coast were using “the C-word”: Camille. Growing up in Florida, the refrain you always heard was “That was some hurricane, all right, but it wasn’t like Camille.” For the first time I could remember, people were looking at a storm and wondering if maybe, just maybe, this one would be “like Camille.”

Now, of course, people say “yeah, that was a storm, but it was nowhere near to Katrina.” But Katrina, by the time it hit, was only a strong Category 3 — not a 4 like Andrew, let alone a 5 like Camille. Katrina was a man-made disaster as much, or more, than a natural one.

The entire story of the political and policy missteps which culminated in a clusterfuck of monumental proportions goes back decades before Katrina started to form over the warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean. But the Bush Administration’s abject failure to behave with competency or compassion in the wake of the storm resulted in the deaths of hundreds of people and the destruction of the lives of many thousands more.

The man at the center of the fiasco, FEMA director, Michael Brown, has a piece in Politico Magazine, explaining his side of the story. According to him, he was the victim of a vicious press and idiotic superiors, and the only mistakes he made were matters of media relations and spin control. He does have some valid points: FEMA needs to be independent of the sort of political meddling Brown claims resulted in support being pulled from New Orleans and sent to Mississippi because Trent Lott threw a temper tantrum. And yes, a lot of blame rests very squarely with New Orleans municipal and Louisiana state governments. But even in his defense of himself comes across as whiny and obtuse.

Brown sprinkles sad images (e.g.young mothers in the Superdome in squalid conditions) merely to say how these things had nothing to do with him. Nowhere in the entire piece does Brown in any significant way express any dismay at the toll that all of that incompetence by the government took; there is a detached “mistakes were made (and not by me)” air about the entire piece. And then there is this…

The American public needs to learn not to rely on the government to save them when a crisis hits. The larger the disaster, the less likely the government will be capable of helping any given individual. We simply do not have the manpower to help everyone. Firefighters and rescue workers would all agree the true first responders are individual citizens who take care of themselves.

This astounding viewpoint  is…

…a fuck you to every poor person living within 100 miles of the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlantic Ocean.

…a fuck you to every poor person living in Tornado Alley.

…a fuck you to every poor person living in the flood plains of the Mississippi, Missouri, or Ohio rivers.

…a fuck you to every poor person who lives in any part of the country subject to horrific blizzards or ice storms.

This statement is a huge upraised middle finger to every person in America who lacks the means to get themselves out of the way of disaster, and insurance to help themselves recover from it.

“Individual citizens who can take care of themselves” would not include people who  have no transportation to evacuate when no other means of evacuation have been made available, or who have no place that they can evacuate to.  “Individual citizens who can take care of themselves” would not cover people with disabilities that lack resources to help themselves keep safe. “Individual citizens who can take care of themselves” would not be poor people left homeless by a hurricane or tornado or flood.

Stating, as Brown does, that the federal government should step in only “in those disasters that are beyond the capacity of state and local governments to handle” neatly begs the question of why the Bush Administration in general and he in particular did such a horrible job in dealing with a hurricane.  And Brown’s statement  “the federal government must not become a first responder” since “the more state and local governments become dependent upon federal dollars, the weaker and more dependent upon the federal government they will become” only makes sense if you belong to a party who, in Grover Nordquist’s words, wants to shrink federal government so small it can be drowned in a bathtub. It totally ignores the issue of what the federal government should do in cases where the local or state governments are too corrupt or incompetent to take care of all of their citizens fairly and adequately. You only have to look at how school resources are divvied up in some places in America to get some idea about how disaster resources might be.

But I suppose if you belong to a party who believes government is a bad thing, or have the wealth or connections that mean you can take care of yourself even if  left all on your lonesome, then I guess you can make statements like “the American public needs to learn not to rely on them to save them when a crisis hits” in all sincerity, even if it does make you look like a bastard. Either that, or a fool. Or both.

The rest of us understand that the government cannot save all of us, but we damn well expect them to try.

Posted in Justice, Politics | Tagged | Leave a comment

To my foremothers

The right of the citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex. The Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, adopted August 26, 1920.

You beautiful, strong women: Elizabeth Stanton and Lucretia Mott, Susan B. Anthony and Alice Paul, the brave women who suffered torture in the Occaquan workhouse, Carrie Chapman Catt, Emily Blackwell and Alice Stone Blackwell, Julia Ward Howe and Lucy Burns…

Belva Lockwood.

Victoria Woodhull.

Sojourner Truth.

This daughter recognizes how much I owe you. I want you to know that I do what I can not only to vote, but to persuade, cajole, and when necessary, yell * to get people to understand how much exercising that right that you women fought so valiantly for really matters.

I become exasperated with all those who refuse to vote, but I recoil from women who deliberately do so; it feels as though they are spitting on your graves.

Once again, with all my heart, thank you.

*I only yell at my family, generally.
Posted in Justice, Politics | Tagged | Leave a comment

This birthright citizenship, who needs it anyway?

A recurring motif of the race for the Republican presidential nomination has been that immigration needs to be curbed, and that birthright citizenship — citizenship obtained by birth on American soil — should be ended. (Carly Fiorna, to her credit, argues that while something needs to be done about illegal immigration, ending birthright citizenship would be a long and arduous process.) Other than undermining of Fourteenth Amendment, why should any of us care?

Two words: Dominican Republic.

Unlike the United States, the Dominican Republic does not have birthright citizenship. A child born in the country are only citizens if one of their parents are. Children born to parents who are in the Dominican Republic without proper papers — many of whom are refugees from Haiti — are considered as being “in transit.” In many cases, those parents had been refused legal status by the Dominican government. Furthermore, the government has made this policy retroactive to 1929; in a country where birth certificates are difficult to come by, individuals have had to show generations of Dominican residency.

Earlier this year, the Dominican government began a mass deportation of people who lacked the proof of Dominican ancestry. Haiti refused to accept the deportees, leaving them stranded at the border. In particular, people born in the Dominican Republic whose parents did  not have papers faced statelessness.

This roundup effort was mainly aimed at people who were poor, or who appeared to have Haitian ancestry. Hundreds of people have been forced from their homes and are stranded at the Haitian border, belonging to neither one country nor the other. It’s a humanitarian crisis.

Do we want that here?

If a child is not a citizen at birth, what about the children of people here on visas?  Is it only the children of undocumented that are fair game to be stripped of their citizenship?

Is it proactive? Retroactive? If retroactive, how far back do we go?

The bureaucracy would be horrendous. In order to get a Social Security Number, instead of one birth certificate a person would have to present two, or maybe three. This would apply not only to young people but anyone who needed to get replacement cards. For some people in this country, coming up with even one birth certificate would be difficult. My birth certificate, for example, is in New Orleans, and God knows whether those records survived Katrina. One reason I keep my passport up to date is that it can fill in for a birth certificate if need be.  Getting my mother’s would be a royal pain, but I think it could be done. If she had been born at home, as some people were in that era, she might not even have a birth certificate.

Any change in requirements to prove citizenship would run into the same problems that face Voter I.D. laws: there are a lot of people, especially old people, especially poor people, who do not have access to their birth certificates, if they ever had them. Ending birthright citizenship would create one more club that racist or classist state and local governments can use to hit not only undocumented immigrants but anyone of foreign descent.

Call me cynical, but I am pretty sure that the student from Ireland who decided to stay after his visa expired and who is therefore in the country illegally would be less likely to be asked to show his papers than a native-born Mexican-American.  And there will be cases of citizens — people born in America, sometimes with no ties to Mexico or other countries — being deported. In fact, it’s already happened.

We cannot end birthright citizenship. Those who claim otherwise, who somehow think this will solve the immigration problems this country faces, who don’t seem to see how this could hurt a lot of even second- and third-generation Americans (or worse, do not care), do not possess the intellect and integrity to be president.

Posted in Politics, Social Issues | Tagged | Leave a comment

Look what I made!

I am what I like to call a “process knitter.” My inability to keep track of intricate patterns means that I end up knitting things that are straight and pretty boring. In addition, I have not knitted anything since The Not-So-Little Drummer boy was a sophomore in high school, which was eight years ago.

So, for some unfathomable reason, I started knitting about ten days ago. And here is what I made:

Scarf (1)

Yes, it’s a relatively obnoxious sea green. I have no idea why I had this yarn in my stash. It is long enough (about 4.5 feet) to be a real scarf.

Ta-da!

Posted in Who I am | Tagged | Leave a comment

We’ll miss you, “Comrade.”

As writers from Chaucer to Shakespeare to George Orwell and beyond can attest, words change meaning with sad regularity. Usually they change gradually over the years, but sometimes the new meaning explodes out of nowhere. And sometimes those changes come about because a word is hijacked by a political or social movement.

Before being coopted by the Communists, specifically the Soviets, “comrade” was a very useful concept. It held the middle ground between “friend” and “acquaintance,” or more importantly between “friend” and “coworkers.”

I work on political campaigns, which are by their nature time-limited and intense; you get to know your coworkers over time, especially those with whom you have worked several campaigns. Maybe not their histories, but their personalities, their tics, the way they respond to pressure (or not, although people who can’t stand the heat usually rapidly leave the kitchen).

For the most part, I like my coworkers. (There are very rare exceptions, I will admit.) But  I don’t count all of them as my friends. We may rub each other the wrong way, or just be too different. I still respect them, and because of the nature of the work, really consider them more than simply coworkers.

They are my comrades. We fight the good fight together, and do often under-appreciated work that can make a difference between a candidate’s success and failure. But I could never call them that, because Communists appropriated the word to refer party members. (This is especially true because I work for an organization that has a progressive bent.)

It’s a shame.  “Comrade” is such a great word. It’s too bad it’s been lost.

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Oh, well.

I saw John Scalzi in conversation with Tad Williams tonight.

Scalzi was funny, and charming, and gave one of the better explanations of the Puppies phenomenon I’ve heard or read (namely, jealously, but it’s a lot more than that) and ended the formal part of the evening by playing “Creep” on a ukulele. Good times, as the Not-So-Little-Drummer Boy would say.

I could not go to the signing table, since I did not buy a copy of Scalzi’s latest book, The End of All Things. The Rocket Scientist has the e-book, and we are honestly trying to avoid duplication of media, since we are absolutely out of book space.*

Before the event, Scalzi was standing next to my friend Angela, who was working the event. I walked right by, made eye contact… and froze.

Remember the scene in A Christmas Story where Santa asks what Ralphie wants, and Ralph is so intimidated he agrees to Santa’s suggestion that he wants a football? And then Ralphie claws his way back up the slide and says “No! No! No! I want an OfficialRed RyderCarbine-ActionTwo-Hundred-ShotRangeModelAirRifle!”

Yeah. Like that.

I might have clawed my way back (or, in this case, walked a few feet) and said what I was thinking:

“Mr. Scalzi I have been reading your blog, like, forever and I made my younger kids read both “Being Poor” and “Lowest Possible Setting” and I think your piece about the day after 9/11 maybe the most eloquent thing on the subject except for Jon Stewart’s and my friend Angela made me read Redshirts and now it’s my favorite science fiction novel except for some books by Connie Willis because, you know, Connie Willis and I can’t come see you at the signing table because we already have the e-book of End Of All Things (my husband says he’s almost finished and it’s really good but it’s hard to sign an e-book) and no book space whatsoever and so is there anyway in the world that you can sign my copy of Redshirts and maybe can I get a picture with you please please please?????

Instead I gave a glassy-eyed smile and a high-pitched “Hi!” to both Scalzi and my friend, and then slouched off to my seat and began to knit furiously.**

Sigh.

Sometimes, being terribly shy really sucks.***

*This is 100% true, yet did not prevent me buying a copy of Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home. I also wanted to buy the third part of Hilary Mantel ‘s Thomas Cromwell trilogy, but she hasn’t finished writing it yet. Rats.

**Something very similar happened years ago when I met Steve Jobs, when the only thing I could think to say was to ask about his assistant, who I had been corresponding with. I don’t do well around famous people.

***Yes, I am incredibly  shy. I don’t feel shy online, and sometimes in person I can put on my “I am lawyer, hear me roar!” persona and become absolutely fearless, but mostly I’m just shy.

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise), Feminism, Who I am | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Over fifty years after the fact, Pinellas County rejects Brown v. Board of Education.

Today, education is perhaps the most important function of state and local governments….it is a principal instrument in awakening the child to cultural values, in preparing him for later professional training, and in helping him to adjust normally to his environment. In these days, it is doubtful that any child may reasonably be expected to succeed in life if he is denied the opportunity of an education. Such an opportunity, where the state has undertaken to provide it, is a right which must be made available to all on equal terms. . . .

To separate them [children in grade and high schools] from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely to ever be undone. . . .

We conclude that in the field of public education the doctrine of “separate but equal” has no place. Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal.

Chief Justice Earl Warren, majority opinion in Brown v. Board of Education.

The Pinellas County, Florida School Board has turned the clock back sixty years.

A recent exhaustive investigative report by the Tampa Bay Times (one of the best papers in the country) revealed how the board reinstated de facto segregation in five South St. Petersburg schools, ignored the severe problems that arose (including breathtaking rates of teacher turnover), and turned average to good schools to the worst in the state.

The article details the saga in horrific detail. The explanation for the segregation lies in the demographic makeup of St. Petersburg. St. Pete’s neighborhoods are predominantly either white or black, with South St. Pete being mostly black (with the exception of the areas right along the water — waterfront property is waterfront property). It was no accident, either: a history of racist housing policies and white flight were responsible.

The school board, which for years had been under mandates to integrate the schools, made the catastrophic decision to end busing and other measures to insure that no school was more than 60% minority. The board decreed that children not enrolled in a magnet school had to go to their neighborhood school. They then failed to give the South St. Pete schools the help they needed. Among other problems, students with problems were concentrated in those five schools, rather than being spread in cities throughout the schools. The board also starved the schools of resources: in one case, they reduced the per child payment of state and local money to less than that of other schools in the district, making it up in federal funds that were intended to supplement, not replace, local and state money spent on poorly performing schools.

The attitude of the board infuriates and sickens me. One particularly oblivious member said “We only talk about it in black schools, but we resegregated white schools as well.” Yes they resegregated the white, more affluent schools in North St. Petersburg. If no one is talking about the effect of the resegregation on the white schools, its because from a pedagogical standpoint it hasn’t been a problem.

The school board blames the students and parents: they’re not doing enough to prepare their kids. It’s poverty. It’s single mother households. It’s not our fault. Except that the rates of poverty and single-family households are no worse that very many better performing schools. Studies showed that after kindergarten the children entering the five schools were as well prepared for elementary schools than other Florida schoolchildren — they dropped behind their peers starting in first grade.

I won’t go into more detail here; if I did, I would end up with a post of several thousand words. Please, read the article: it is both worthwhile and damning.

I grew up in South St. Pete, about a half mile from the bay. At that time my neighborhood was predominately white; minority kids in the schools I attended were often bused in. Over time the neighborhood demographics changed due to white flight. My mother stayed where she was.

The school I went to, Bay Vista, has been turned into a “fundamentals” magnet school. It gets five star ratings on the “Rate Your School” website. Compare this with the elementary school that a student who lives in my neighborhood but is not in a magnet school attends — those get an F from the state of Florida. My brother and his wife and son live in the house now, so this issue is of more import to me than simple nostalgia. My nephew (a.k.a., the cutest kid in the world) may end up in one of those schools, unless he can get into a magnet school or gets homeschooled. There are not enough spaces in magnet schools for those who can use them. It should not matter: students in other schools deserve an education, too.

I have occasionally been asked if Florida is part of the South, if they share in the racist heritage of the rest of the Confederacy. The answer, as shown by this article, is a sickening, resounding yes.

My heart breaks.

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You know you’re getting old when 1) your coworkers have to explain what a “Jager bomb”*  is and 2) when you get home your children lecture you about how dangerous it is mix alcohol and stimulants.

*Red Bull and Jagermeister. It’s not as bad as it sounds — it’s pretty decent, actually, certainly much better than Jagermeister alone. Unfortunately, since I really am trying to limit caffeine, and hadn’t had any in days, the Red Bull kept me awake way later than I wanted to be, even though I only had a half of one.

Posted in Kids in all their glory, My life and times | Tagged | Leave a comment

WWMD.

But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.  George Eliot, Middlemarch

I miss my Mom.

I know most people who have lost a parent feel this way, but that does not make the sadness less. It hits in the oddest moments, triggered by small things. Mother’s Day, the anniversary of her death*, was difficult, as expected. But the trip to Spain was harder.

So many times I caught myself thinking “Wow, I have to tell Mom about this.” And then I had to remember, I couldn’t tell Mom about this. When in Madrid, we stayed in a flat directly across from a shop that sold ornate mantillas. “Oooh, I have to get one for Mom for Christmas!” I thought, only to catch myself a second later. I nearly burst into tears.

I wish I could talk to her about how hard this year has been. She would listen, and know what to say to be comforting. That’s who she was.

Mom was a nurse, both by profession and inclination. I have never met anyone with a better bedside manner. She knew how to make people feel better, and she always treated even the most difficult patients with charity and the best care she could give. She was eventually driven from the profession not by the stresses of dealing with patients but by the increasing mountain of paperwork that medical providers had to deal with.

At her funeral, everyone said the same thing, in almost exactly the same words. “Your mom was the nicest person I ever met.” “Your mom was the kindest person I know.” “Your mom loved everyone.”

Sometimes, when faced with difficult people, I try to think “what would Mom do?” And invariably, the answer would be that Mom would treat them calmly and gracefully. I have told people that I can work with almost everyone. I once had someone one notice me being generous in a situation where most people would not be, and they observed that to be gracious is a gift. That’s a gift I owe to my mother.**

My mother never scaled mountains. She never wrote books. (A slow reader, she never read many either, until late in her life, when she started reading novel after novel, even if it took her a long time to get through them.) She never held public office. She never did anything of note at all, except for those who were blessed enough to have her in their lives.

*yes, I know, this year the anniversary of her death would be the day after Mother’s Day, but I will always think of her as dying on Mother’s Day

*Perhaps unfortunately, as I get older, being nice to difficult people gets harder.

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