Wingin' It

Tomorrow we're headed eastwards. LAX to Heathrow, then a drive to Stansted and on to Tours the following day. And we're staying in a stranger's house. And they're staying in ours. And tomorrow, at LAX, we're going to give him the keys to our car and the keys to our house and just say, 'Au revoir, Hervé.' And that's it. Trusting souls, aren't we. Back in a month. xoxo

If I'm disinclined to post words, I'll try and post pictures.

Quick Fixes

My two-year old granddaughter, Sophie, still uses a pacifier at times. She doesn't call it a pacifier. She calls it 'this' because when my daughter would be looking for whatever soother Baby Sophie needed she would ask, "Do you want this (holding a bottle), or this (holding a toy), or this (her blankie) or THIS (her pacifier). Sophie would point and say, "this." And Jane would give her the pacifier. To this day, when times are tough, she will ask for her 'this.'


And so today I am celebrating a significant birthday. I could get all serious on you and talk about how seven years ago I was bald and sick and wondered if I would celebrate another birthday and now, here I am, not bald and hopefully healthy. But I wouldn't do that. Because really, now besides wishing for continued good health, I find myself wishing for a more youthful appearance. I don't want to look young...just younger. But I'm cheap so easy low-cost fixes are the only option.

And this morning the answer arrived. Thanks, Pat. xoxo

$1,000,000,000

Well, the trial is over and I guess I'm glad I was an alternate. As an alternate I was allowed to spend six weeks in the Malibu courthouse but I wasn't allowed to vote or to sit in on the final deliberations by the jury. While I don't agree with the jury's final decision, I do understand that their jury instructions made it difficult to find differently. But I also wonder, deep in my heart and in spite of what people say to the contrary, if the plaintiff's attorneys didn't maybe turn a few stomachs when they threw out the number $1,000,000,000. One billion. It doesn't taste right, does it?

The decision will be appealed and I suspect Johnson & Johnson/McNeil Pharmaceuticals will settle some enormous sum (but not a billion) on the plaintiffs and that will be it...for a while anyway. There is bound to be another, equally heinous adverse reaction to ibuprofen.

Alternatively, We Could Play Pictionary

So, closing arguments were on Friday and yesterday I was given the stellar news, along with three other gals, that we are alternates. Those three other folks, the ones who fell asleep with some regularity during the trial, the one who never took one fucking note and the ones who hacked and generally didn't feel all that well for many days of the proceedings...those three are on the jury. So the past six weeks and the four legal pads (front and back) that I filled with notes are worthless and, most horrifically,I just have this deep-in-my-gut feeling that eight of those 12 jurors are going to find for the defendants...and in this instance that fills me with a feeling close to despair.

And while those other 12 jurors are in the deliberation room talking non-stop about the minutae of the last six weeks, the three alternates and I sit in the 'snack' room with an impromptu table crafted out of a trash can with a cunningly placed cupboard shelf perched on top...playing Pictionary, still instructed to say notonefuckingthing about the case.

Why Can't We All Just Get Along

So, I'm still a juror. We are now beginning week #4. A couple of days ago there was an official check in the mail...for me. It won't quite cover my daily lunches in Malibu, but it will help.

Thank you yet again, Huffington Post

McCain's wife, camera-perfect and as poised as you could ever imagine an ex-rodeo queen could be, has been given a pretty easy ride by the press and I have puzzled over that for a while. I was prepared to ignore her thieving and chemically altered history until she made that snide little comment that was a direct dig at Michelle Obama. You know, the one where she pretty much let it be known that as opposed to Michelle, she has always been proud to be an American. Yeah, that one...

And Stephen Elliott couldn't have put it better.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/stephen-elliott/as-long-as-were-talking-a_b_108

and back in the last century there was this article in Salon.com...

And she's not even safe from The Daily Telegraph...

Why Some Folks are Voting Republican

Come on Down

Sometimes, when I'm really sure about something, I forget to knock on my head (née Wood) and naively imagine results that couldn't be further from fact. Yesterday was one of those days.

Six weeks or so ago I received another jury summons and closer to the appointed day I called the Malibu Courthouse for instructions (and yes, I am well aware that jury duty in Malibu isn't the biggest hardship in the world). I was told to check in Monday at 8:30 AM and so I did...with another 125 or so people. We were called in before the judge and the attorneys, given the run-time of the trial and asked if that would present any financial hardship. If it would present financial hardship you were asked to stay in the courtroom and explain the circumstances. Those people, half of whom I'm sure were lying, were dismissed. The case was then explained in simple detail to the remaining 50 or so of us and we were given a 20-page questionnaire which we were asked to fill in (in detail), and return it to the jury coordinator after which we too were dismissed and instructed to return first thing on Thursday morning.

Thursday was even more chaotic and crowded than Monday had been and I got to talking to a few of the other potential jurors and found that some of them had initially been called on the previous Friday morning and some where from Tuesday and Wednesday's calling. We had been whittled down, from the initial hundreds, to a core group of about 60. Out of this core group, 24 of us were sat in front of the bar and the remainder in the gallery seats.

Each of us in the smaller group were questioned by lead attorneys for the plaintiffs and the defendants...in depth. I have never known jury selection to feel quite so much like one big audition. But then this is Malibu/L.A. and there are a lot of unemployed actors out there and maybe, just maybe, there's a producer or a director or a casting agent in the jury pool. Or maybe one of the attorneys has a cousin or a friend in the business and will say casually over dinner, "There's one potential jury who has, oh hell I don't know what it is, but s/he has it."

And slowly, one by one, the group was dismissed. This one owned stock in the defendants' company. That one couldn't be impartial and listen to both sides. This one taught the ethics of law and assured the attorneys that he was their worst nightmare...and so on. One woman stated that she already had found for the plaintiffs and that there's no way she would change her mind.

So yeah, I was picked, in spite of some compelling (I thought) reasons to dismiss me. But then I thought they'd excuse my new best friend on the jury, the judge's wife, too. This trial is slated to finish on July 18th. I have been assured by the judge that this trial WILL finish on the 18th and that I'm free to leave the country, as planned, on the 22nd.

Let's hope for an early settlement.

Preparing for "It"

When we moved to California, I routinely felt the ground move even when it was, in fact, quite still. I would turn to Roger and ask, "Did you feel that?" and he would give me that sideways questioning look which implied quite strongly that no, he hadn't felt that but that he was, in fact, a bit concerned for my sanity. I was also hyper-sensitive to the possibility of wildfires and would routinely ask him, "Do you smell smoke?" The same raised-eyebrow, incredulous look would be shared with me. Given my obvious discomfort with the wild and woolly ways of my new Canyon home, anyone with half a brain would assume that I would understand the utmost importance of being prepared for anything.

I routinely would run different disaster scenarios through my head (rumbling ground and ashy air) and would run into the bathrooms and turn on the taps, filling the tubs with water that might potentially save our lives. In these artfully staged skull cinemas of mine I would also call everyone on my speed dial, giving them an update of our situation and reminding them that we will meet at our pre-arranged (safe) location. I always had a plug-in phone at the ready in case the power went out and candles stored in dry and cool tuck-aways, complete with ever-dry, safety matches. Oh yeah, I was on top of things. My basement shelves were stocked with water, protein, cleaning/sanitizing supplies and backup medicines and our cars' gas tanks were kept topped up at all times, never allowed to dip below three-quarter's full. Artfully hidden in secret corners of my house were hundreds of dollars in singles. I had been told that when the power goes down, the ATM machines no longer work and gas pumps...well, they'll pump gas, but only if you prepay with cash. But in truth, aside from some gallon jugs of drinking water and a few cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew left over from the rare car camping trip, I have done nothing to make me or my loved ones safer should disaster strike.

But, change is afoot thanks to the gentle prodding of California Volunteers.

California Volunteers is the lead oversight agency for the California Citizens Corps Program which was created post 9/11 to coordinate and make more efficient volunteer activities State-wide so that responses to disasters can be efficient and well-coordinated. Within this hard-working group, a new campaign has been instituted to help families in communities across the State be better prepared for natural disasters by helping them customize their own personal Family Plans and familiarizing them with disaster prepared resources. Downloadable PDF files are available on the California Volunteers We Prepare website but one of the best links on this website is to the Ready Kids, a site for children, parents and teachers. It's great when parents are prepared, but school-age children can be enormously helpful and feel less frightened and more in control of scary situations when there is a disaster response plan in place and discussions have been had (and not just once) regularly about this plan. No one wants their children to be fearful of the unknown, and while talking about earthquakes may frighten them a bit, just knowing that there is a course of action to be taken in the event of such an occurrence goes a long way toward calming a fearful child.


In my Santa Monica Mountain home preparing for disasters most likely means earthquakes or fires and while we Topanga residents are fortunate to live in a community that actually has solid disaster action plans in place through T-CEP (Topanga Coalition for Emergency Preparedness) and that has provided every single household in the Canyon with a spiral-bound Topanga Disaster Survival Guide, the We Prepare campaign has spurred me on to concretely (not just in my dreams) prepare my family and home for potential disasters. See that backpack...that's going in my car. But everything in it is going to be duplicated a number of times over and will be kept in my house.







These are emergency supplies, but every family should have at least several days supply of food and water for themselves and their pets. This isn't the time to introduce your child to canned sardines or smoked oysters so stick with the familiars. If peanut butter is a favorite of your child, make sure you have enough. I've started my list of foods and am organizing a place to store them safely should they be needed. A friend of mine who has little storage space inside her home bought a couple of large Rubbermaid type containers. Tight locking lids keep the contents dry and safe from any curious animals and packed snugly within these boxes are a small camping tent (in case their home is severely damaged and they need to sleep outdoors), sleeping bags, flashlights, batteries, food, water, first aid kit, medicines and pet supplies. They reckon they have enough for themselves and their two dogs for five days. According to my friend, Susan, their previous lack of preparedness hit home pretty convincingly after the Northridge Quake. It was quickly apparent to them that they were ill-prepared for such events and they vowed to change. It's important for non-natives, such as myself, to talk to folks who have experienced earthquakes, about not only the event itself but the subsequent impact on their lives. What did they do for the first few days post-quake? What do you do when power is down over wide areas, especially today when most everything is reliant upon electricity? Believe me, everyone seems to like to talk about disasters and what they felt and what they did and what they'd do differently. You'll find no shortage of people happy to share and offer advice!

And after they'd told you about their experiences, you can share with them the California Volunteers and We Prepare website. We owe it to our families to be prepared. Organizing disaster plans and emergency supplies can be a daunting prospect, but this community program can truly make such a task feel so much more easily achievable and infinitely easier.

And one more thing, in a more local vein, Mayor Villaragosa has announced The Great Southern California ShakeOut on November 12-16, 2008. When it comes to earthquakes, the more resources near to hand, the better off you are. Stay safe everyone!

And finally, I know there are number of California moms who read my blog. There are loads of ways to get your community involved in earthquake preparedness and you can begin by just talking to your childrens' teachers and their friends' parents. Here's a note from Maria Shriver showing you just how easy it is.

As moms, the safety and security of our children is our top concern. That’s why it is so important that we make sure our families are prepared for disasters. By now, you’ve hopefully taken the first step toward becoming disaster ready by creating your own family disaster plan using the tools and templates found on this Web site.

Next, we’re asking you to motivate other moms to follow your lead by becoming disaster prepared, too. CaliforniaVolunteers created the "Moms Brigade," a group of influential mom advocates being recruited to help spread the word to other moms to get their families prepared for disasters. By joining the Moms Brigade today, you can help us make sure your friends and neighbors Get Ready!

Getting started is easy! Simply fill out the information below and click "submit." Once you’ve joined, you will receive a packet in the mail with the tools you need to help us empower other moms to follow your lead by becoming disaster ready.

Cerne Abbas

Google Earth is such a great tool. Earlier today I was plugging in a friend's address in Cerne Abbas, Dorset. Cerne Abbas is home to the Cerne Abbas Giant or 'Rude Man' or Man with the Big Willy...always a good place to take friends for UK photo ops if you're in the Dorchester area, but when I was wandering through the mapping site, I found this photo (credit below) of the very modest Homer visiting the Giant...doughnut or discus in hand.

by ajoaj

Um, Hello. I'll Just Make Myself Scarce for Awhile

I spent the night at my daughter's and just got home a few minutes ago. Her hubs is out o' town in Prague on a film shoot and she'd bought tickets a while back for The Police/Elvis Costello concert at The Hollywood Bowl. And while I know your amphitheaters are great, I'm telling you, this one is probably at least as good or better. It's hard to beat the location. So this afternoon when I got home, I watched the hummingbirds do their pissed off dance around my fountain and knew it was time to top up the water level. I was wearing my shoewear of choice this year...Croc's flipflops (you can run in these). Two years ago, when I had a similar sighting (as the one below), I was wearing Havaiana flipflops (not so easy to run). If these discoveries continue, I'm just going to wear my sturdy, red walking shoes at all times.

Wait, oh shit, don't move, let me go get my camera



Study of snake and broken wind chime pipe
Snake and hose.


I'm not really sure what to do when I see a snake, besides run away flapping my hands and screaming, "ohmygod, ohmygod." This time I wanted to take pictures first, then doing the flapping bit and then call the fire department. Part of me hates doing that but the other part, the grandmother part, knows you have to do it in case the snake is nesting or living in one's 'garden.' And the reason I hate doing that? Because this is what they do...or what they did...a year ago. Today's snake was a lot bigger than last years, though.

Below are copied and pasted bits from the previous snakeie posting.



Can you see it...look carefully, on the right. A rattler. And I almost stepped on it. Shit. It had obviously just crawled out from some chilly undergrowth and was searching for some warmth. Luckily, it was still a slow mover. I took the other stairs back up to the house and got Himself who was on the phone with his sister in Wales. I mouthed, "IT'S IMPORTANT! IT'S A RATTLER!" We both ran back down so I could show him what had almost killed me and we both determined that it should be moved, back up into the canyon, away from homes and humans and we did try to get him in big plastic rubbish bin but he rattled furiously and slithered away. Freaky fast and then he was under a rock. Himself kept an eye on him while I dialed 911. They put me on to the local Topanga Fire Department and they dispatched a pair of firefighters to, I presumed, move this rattler, perhaps to Topanga State Park.


But no, they didn't come to move it, they came to kill it. And I felt like shit because they killed a creature that has more claim to this land than I. Sure, I rationalize it. Little kids play here. Rattlers are beyond dangerous. But I still don't feel good about today.
Tomorrow we're going to buy this grabbing device that will allow us to capture, contain and move any future snakes that choose to visit.

And guess what...we still haven't bought the grabbing device thing.

Update: We think it was a Gopher Snake...which may be why it didn't rattle at me.

How Do You Say Brunch in French?

I suspect the French don't eat brunch, but today my French class (and spouses or boyfriends) are coming here for brunch. It's a joint affair, everyone wanted to bring something and while I like that idea, I can't remember what they said they'd bring. I know I'm making the eggy dishes and I did write it all down, somewhere between Que préferéez-vous, la cuisine francaise tradionelle ou la nouvelle cuisine and de quelle partie des Etats-Unis etes-vous a l'origine but can I flippin' find it? And the gal who was promising a fruit salad...did she change her mind and say she'd bring ginger scones and, if so, is she doing both?

Update: She brought both! And they were incroyably fabulous.

Olbermann To Bush: "This War Is Not About You...Shut The Hell Up!"

Keith Olbermann, yet again, says it so very well.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/05/14/olbermann-to-bush-this-wa_n_101831.html

Back from Portland

Man, when I take a break, I'm serious about it. April 28 was my last post and while I have thought countless times per day, "That would be a fun/sad/miserable/
fucking awful thing to write about," apparently nothing really made its way to my fingertips. Still, I am giving myself points for bloggity thoughts.

We had a substitute teacher today in my water aerobics class. Her name is Gina and she is kept buoyant by dint of the large and floatiness of her fake tits. She's nice enough, albeit a little on the dull side but I was doing well enough with all her crazy ways of keeping us busy, deeply sighing so only I could hear and wearing an unnaturally sunny half-smile. Gina is always bouncing around the club, happily drawing attention to her 22" waist and 40" perky globes and I rarely think anything aside from "oh there's Gina...she looks happy." Seriously. I see that many enhanced women when I wander into the Calabasas Gelson's every day that I rarely think "oh for chrissakes" anymore. As a matter of fact, the day we moved to Topanga (almost six years ago) I had to head down the hill for milk and stuff and I went into Gelson's since I knew where it was. Driving back home I was pretty astounded that I'd seen half the porn movie industry doing their grocery shopping at the same time. Amazing, I thought and drove faster so I could get up the hill and tell Roger about the excitement of it all. I had seen Boogie Nights and knew that the Valley was porn central, but I didn't realize it was located quite this far west. But I'd read it all wrong. These weren't the actors or the extras, these were just Calabasas moms doing their grocery shopping, pants slung precariously low with Juicy emblazoned across the ass and necklines way south of cleavage to enhance the allure of their jutting mammaries. Funny how you get used to things.

But yesterday we flew home from our four days in Portland which I do believe is the complete and total antithesis of Los Angeles and Gina, therefore, was almost a little shocking. We went there to help our friend, Lee, celebrate his 60th and to hang with Betsy who had just had her first chemotherapy a couple of days before we arrived and it was wonderful to be with them both in their new digs. Still, Portland is so very different from L.A.

Things I noticed in Portland:

• Tits that are low-slung, not blouses. So not only does the average gal in Portland seem to shun implants, she also shuns the humble bra.

• Socks on grown-ups when it's hot outside. Socks with skirts. Socks with shorts. Socks with sandals. Socks.
  

• Frizzy hair. It's a lot more humid up there.

• People who aren't that good looking but very hip in a resale shop/retro kinda way. You get used to the beauty in Los Angeles and it's almost shocking when you see normal looking people in such abundance.

• Lots of hip wine bars filled with lots of women. Even women with babies having a glass of wine with the baby nestled comfily in a sling. I particularly liked that approach to babies and life and nursing.

• Smiles. These people seriously smile a lot. And nice? I've never been around such overtly nice people. It made me a little uncomfortable at times but I was gradually getting used to it.
  

• People apologizing for nothing...you know, stuff like this woman not holding the bathroom door open for me when she went in a good 10' in front of me and didn't notice me until the door was closing when she hauled it open and said, seriously, 'ohmygodi'msorryididn'tsee you.' That kind of thing. I hate to sound all city-hard, but for a minute I thought maybe she was crazy. She wasn't. Just nice.
  

• A woman taking her cat, Salami, for a run down a busy street...without a leash. Salami knew how to hang tight with her owner (who was nice and had frizzy hair, wasn't wearing a bra and was wearing socks with her sort of dressy sandals).

• Fantastic restaurants all over the place. The choice was staggering. This is a seriously food and wine-driven town and the choices are pretty exciting. We had dinner on Thursday night at Le Pigeon (no french accent please) and aside from their throwing foie gras into stuff for what I believe to be the shock value (a peanut butter mini cookie laced with foie gras was hideous, in my opinion), the food was superb. Seriously good stuff.

• Ten minutes. That's how long it takes you to get anywhere in Portland. At least it seemed that way. Amazing.

• Urban Planning. It's pretty impressive when it works.

• Rhododendrons and azaleas and roses and dogwood trees...in abundance. So beautiful. And moss. They say it doesn't rain that much, but there's a lot of moss around which makes me believe that even if it doesn't rain all the time, it has to be damp and cloudy (a lot).
  

• Slow drivers. It's a good thing, I'm sure, but it sort of felt uncomfortable, like everyone was just a little weirded out by this newfangled four-wheeled invention. They are that used to good public transportation, walking and biking.
  

• Pedestrian's rights. A car will cheerfully stop for you and wait until you're safely on the other side of the road before proceeding even when you're not in a crosswalk. I tried not to make eye contact with drivers whenever I thought about crossing the street. I felt badly that they would screech to a stop just because I wanted to cross.

• Betsy and Lee. They could be anywhere and we'd go, but I'm sure glad they chose a city as cool as Portland.

If we hadn't lived in Newcastle-upon-Tyne for several years, Portland may have tempted me a bit more as a place where I'd consider living. But all that moss...for now I was happy to come home to the brilliant sunshine and insane temperatures (early heat wave), the heavenly scent of sage, lavender and rosemary that permeates the hillsides around my house and most of the things that make Southern California our home for now. The scene at Gelson's? That not so much.

Lulls in the Conversation

This is the only time I'll write about this here, but I've been quieter than normal mainly because I haven't known quite what to say. Betsy, who I love as much as it's possible to love a friend (in other words fiercely and with total acceptance) has been diagnosed with lung cancer. For the last two weeks I feel as though I've been pushing my way through a fog; brief and bright openings at times only to have it close in abruptly and without warning at other points in the day. Sleep was elusive for that first week. All I could think about was Betsy. They'd moved in February, far away from their Monte Nido home and many friends, pursuing adventures and lifestyle changes further north. And then. This. So while it's been tough for me and all who love Betsy (and there are many of us) I know from personal experience how other-worldly and difficult this has been for her.

But in the last few days, I have had this injection of confidence about Betsy's future. It's not just a positive feeling, it is something deep in my soul. I know she will be going through some very rough days, but I also have a very strong feeling that Betsy will be fine. It will not be easy, but she is going to be fine. Don't ask me how I know this, but I just do.

We're going up to see them in a couple of weeks and I can't wait.

Women in Art

Try and watch this Women in Art short video sent to me by my friend, Pat. It is exquisite and with Yo Yo Ma celloing in the background, a beautiful treat.

Les oiseaux en ma gorge

Um, did I tell you I was taking a weekly French class, a language in which I used to be fairly comfortable but in which I now sound like a Parisian toddler...sheesh, rereading that sentence should alert everyone to the fact that I also seem to have some trouble with English.

Anyway...here are some birds that were in my garden yesterday.

A Hooded Oriole on my Blooming Aloe.

And the Great Horned Owl that has taken up residence in my yard.

Springtime in the Canyon

The sage greens and greys and colors of the earth and stone are suspended in the spring when the winter rains have done their job. These Santa Monica Mountains are particularly beautiful when that happens.

Wild Lupine and Grass growing on a hillside that in just a couple of short months
will be dry and dusty

Pride of Madeira and a Christmas light

Calabasas Farmer's Market

Rununculus at the Farmer's Market

Farmer's Market Beets

Orange on Little Tree...one of the few not pecked to rot by the birds. A neighbor has an orange tree that he doesn't irrigate or fuss over that produces oranges by the hundreds and interests the birds not at all. We do everything the book tells us to do and the birds seem appreciative.

We are getting more orange blossomsthan last year and the air is thick and sweet.

Western Tiger Swallowtail

The Madagascar Jasmine giant pods burst

Aloe in full flower

And finally...what gets us all excited around here.
It's Coming our Way!
Rain

October, 2004

I thought I knew enough frustration and anger and disappointment and shame that surely, surely I was not alone. Roger and I talked about what we could do, how we could most help, where we could go and we decided we'd head back to Milwaukee, the city we'd moved from two years prior. That way we could see old friends by night and do what the young campaign staffers in Wisconsin told us to do by day. Democrats and Republicans campaign hard in Wisconsin and it's difficult to know which way elections will go, so according to all the pundits this state was up for grabs. And the final tally proved that to be true.

We were going to work on the Kerry/Edwards bring out the vote efforts for that week before the November election. I had voted for Edwards in the California primary, given small sums of money to his campaign and fervently believed in his message. His wife, Elizabeth, was also a powerful intellect and I knew she'd bring much to the office. I wanted him to be my president and enough of the rest of America felt the same that Kerry chose him to be his running mate. While he was one of the reasons I decided to get active in the election, the primary reason was my fervent opposition to the Bush/Cheney ticket.

I can't remember what the weather was like when we left Los Angeles in late October, but I'm assuming it was dry and hot and that we were desperate for summer to end. It ended abruptly four hours later when we arrived at General Billy Mitchell Field (or Mitchell Airport as it is now called). I remember beautiful autumnal colors, rain, dampness and sleet; in other words, typical late October/early November days along Lake Michigan. And I remember our optimism, not only for the Wisconsin elections, but for the country. We were going to get this one trick pony out of office and it was going to happen soon. (Here's where I shake my head in disbelief and say fuckfuckfuckfuck over and over again, still horrified that we've had to endure another four years of the dangerous ineptitude of the current administration.)

And so when I read about the excitement generated by Obama or Clinton, I feel a tickle of a sneer cross my face. Yeah, it's great that we Americans are excited about this election but why the hell weren't we jacked up enough about the election in 2004? Indifference by too many in the last election allowed another four years of the current administration to inflict their misery on too many. And now I read about the surge in popularity of McCain. All I can say is too many Americans seem to suffer from short term memory loss. Don't think, fellow Democrats, that we've got this election in the bag.

So?

ABC reporter, Martha Raddatz interviewed Cheney on the fifth anniversary of our invasion of Iraq. In part, this is how it played out:

CHENEY: On the security front, I think there's a general consensus that we've made major progress, that the surge has worked. That's been a major success. (Duplicitous sack of shit)

RADDATZ: Two-thirds of Americans say it's not worth fighting.

CHENEY: So? (smug, flip, murdering bastard)

RADDATZ: So? You don't care what the American people think?

CHENEY: No. (nasty, detestable fucker). I think you cannot be blown off course by the fluctuations in the public opinion polls.

In case there is any doubt, comments in red are mine.

And Michael Moore says..."I would like every American to see Cheney flip the virtual bird at them, the American people. Click here and pass it around. Then ask yourself why we haven't risen up and thrown him and his puppet out of the White House."

And if you want to read all of what MM has to say, click here.

Some of my stuff

Reading one of my favorite blogs today, I thought it would be interesting to wander around my house and take a good look at some of the very things that clutter my life in a good way: sugar bowls and vases, artwork and favorite bowls, all the things that make the layers of life a little more interesting. Things that have some memory attached to them.

Glancing over the top of my computer screen, two old prints from my Great-grandfather's brewery pub in Waterloo, Liverpool (England) immediately catch my eye. They're advertising prints, hand-colored and show some guys playing cards, one of them cheating. I have no idea what they're advertising and when I google the signatures, I come up empty, although one of them looks like the Pears soap signature. Not sure, though. They need reframing and are going to be hung in the basement when my husband gets his wine cellar up and running. Right now it’s just crates and odd bottles of wine, but we’re getting closer…walls have been finished, floor has been tiled, great lighting is in and soon the shelving will go up. And then we’ll hang the prints. As long as I can remember, these prints were in my parent’s home. Then, a good few years after my Dad died, my mother decided to sell her Washington, DC home and move back to England, permanently. We were still living in Wisconsin, so I made the 15-hour drive shortly before she jumped continents and brought these prints back north with me. Now they're in California and almost six years after moving here, they're still waiting to be hung. My great-grandfather succumbed to the solitary lure of the bottle and died young. These prints were in a closet in one of my great-aunt's homes until moving to D.C. in the 1950s.




And while I was training my camera on the prints above, I noticed the copper tub by the fireplace. This is used as a woodstore now but it originally saw use as a copper boiler (I think). After that it served as storage for recycling newspapers and bits of kindling for our dear friends (The Malones) who now live near Asheville, NC and no doubt wish they had it again. They gave it to us when they were moving to Florida and thought, I'm sure, that they'd never have use for any fireplace storage again.


And then there's this dear little (maybe 5" high) bud vase...one of a long-ago broken pair, this one just surviving, but irreparably damaged anyway. Still, I keep it because when I close my eyes I can see them sitting on my mother's dressing table in her bedroom. I always put one flower in this vase and a leaf from any random plant that just drapes over the edge, covering its imperfection.
And then that first autumn in Milwaukee when we drove down to Alpine Valley where there was some random Oktoberfest/antique's fair. Roger fell in love with the silver, filigree over cut glass vase. It was affordable because of a hairline crack and was originally part of the Ringling Bros. estate in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Or so we were told. I used to keep it polished when the formality of our old house demanded such a thing. Now I just bung it up on the shelf with other vases and polish it when the mood strikes. You can see that rarely happens. To its left is a 60s retro(ie) bud vase that my son gave me. To the right is Japanese teapot that I've used once, though its shape charms me. This picture tells me one thing. That shelf is a mess and needs a more artistic touch. Tomorrow...


And used everyday is my daughter's effort from a woodworking class she was forced to do at age 12. Emblazoned with her initials, but given to us as a present, it has been used faithfully for the last 25 years. I love this.



And then this portrait of an ancient Asian man, done by our son as a Christmas present to my husband six or seven years ago. It sits on our bookcase in the living room and is well loved.


And here's my Great Auntie Irene's sewing table. Intrically carved, the top is damaged in a way that looks intentional...almost saw cut. Its style is pretty much the antithesis of ours, but there is an alcove in our hallway into which this table fits quite perfectly.


And here's an art-deco sugar bowl given me by my long-dear friend in D.C., Kathy. It is used faithfully and reminds me daily of our friendship.



And there's so much more. But it's an interesting exercise. Looking, really looking at one's things and then taking the time to remember.

Great Horned Owl

Around 6:30 this evening I wandered outside, camera in hand. I wanted to get some pictures of our grass so I could ask the knowledgeable ladies at the Garden Center just what the hell is going on...it's green in spots, white in others and dead in others. Grass doesn't do well in our Canyon and while we don't have much, what we have we enjoy. Yes, I know it uses water and yes I feel guilty about that, but the rest of the 'garden' is pretty drought tolerant.

As I turned my camera on, there was a loud whooshing as something flew off the grass and towards a densely wooded area. It was close enough that I knew it was an owl, assumed it was a Great Horned and hoped it would stop and perch somewhere within range. The westering sun had sunk behind the ridge, but there was still enough light to capture these shots. They're not the greatest pix but the bird, well it is quite simply brilliant.

Easter '08

Though not a particularly (strike particularly) religious family, we're big fans of carols at Christmas and Evensong in random English cathedrals but that's pretty much where it ends. We seem to be disgustingly sanguine about the commercialization of Christian holidays, equally comfortable with Santa and elves and Easter bunnies and tooth fairies. We're not actively anti-religion in that we have no emotional investment in our lack of belief. We don't enter into arguments of faith with friends who are deeply religious or scoff and shake our heads in pitying wonderment when religion is discussed. It's just not a part of our lives. But may I say again that we very much embrace the rabbit who delivers high end chocolates and jelly beans and Peeps, ohmygod, the Peeps which I kindly eat for my grandchildren due to their seeming indifference. I use them as table decorations, thus allowing the sugary outer layer to crispen up a bit. It brings back memories of my own Easter basket peeps, sugar hardened and plastic Easter grass embedded deeply. Biting into a Peeps was sometimes a little like flossing if the grass got wedged uncomfortably high on the gum.

My husband's sister, who lives deep in the heart of Wales, is quite the opposite. One day when two clean-shaven, close-trimmed, white-shirted and tie-clad American Mormon boys tapped on her door with some good news, she listened and bought the package. Completely. Yeah, I know...we don't talk about it much. There passed a few years when she was deeply troubled by our lack of commitment to a religion and when the church no doubt told her we were ripe for the plucking, she dutifully airmailed us an awful lot of LDS literature. And then there was that year we were wintering in Pasadena so Roger could better recover from back surgery and not have to make the weekly commute from Milwaukee to L.A. for a project he was then working on. About a week after his surgery (and he was none too comfortable), two young women knocked on our door one evening with some good wishes and better news. Who wouldn't be excited by that? Mormons are notoriously pretty when young and exceptionally clean. But when they said, "We received a letter from your sister in Britain and she said you (my husband) had just had back surgery and we have come to pray with you and to invite you to explore the Wonderful World of Mormon with us," I did more than bristle. Now my husband is by nature far more polite than I am. He's also more inclined to talk to strangers. I'm more inclined to say, when I don't like the message, "You're going to have to fuck off now because this is starting to really rub me wrong." Whereas he may listen for 10 minutes and then enter into theological discussions with strangers (WHO KNOW OUR NAMES AND ADDRESSEs) even though he knows SFA about the LDS and Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. I haven't exactly studied the Mormon faith, but I've read a fair amount about it because, let's face it, it's fascinating stuff. I became interested in these folks when a behemoth LDS Temple was being built on the Beltway (495) in Washington, DC. Very Disneyesque and mysterious. I think I've mentioned before that a bridge crossing the freeway just before the Temple has RUN DOROTHY RUN emblazoned across it. Every six months or so it is cleaned off and then, within a week, mysteriously reappears.

So back to our lack of religion. As lazy parents, we decided to let our kids be introduced to the Holy Bible and mysterious rites of Christianity via their schools in England...Church of England and a convent school for my daughter taught by the La Sagesse teaching order of nuns. We figured that would give them an almost sufficient amount of confusion so they could almost sort out any Biblical cultural reference to a deficient degree. May I just state categorically that it worked. They half understand (like their parents) a lot of stuff and are mightily confused by the rest.

And so while we sat around the table yesterday, we listened to Charlotte as she tried to figure just what the hell this holiday was all about. None of us felt like getting into death or resurrection. So we listened to Lottie. She started with..."So, Easter is all about this guy Geebus..right?"




It's hard to get this Bunny to stop moving long enough to capture a still image.


These two bunnies, Charlotte and Charlie, were displaying some sugary behavior that lasted well into the night.

Sophie is ready to go to the beach...enough of Easter. The only candy she likes are lollipops. Jelly beans are yucky. By eating lots of sugar, the other kids are achieving near-Sophie status in the active stakes.

Charlie's still looking for eggs and it's pitch black outside.

The evening is winding down. We're desperate to get a picture of both girls sporting the ears. Sophie won't cooperate. Fortunately, we don't care at this point. That's my daughter, Jane..the grown up one.

For some reason, Lottie kept taking her basket apart and putting it together...this was the night before Easter. Easter Eve? She was prepping the basket for the bunny.
Even Baby Annie had to wear ears. Nobody gets off easily in this house. Impressively, with only two front bottom teeth, Annie also ate a jelly bean (and didn't choke) and moved pretty quickly when she spied another errant one. We kept it at one.


Finally...Sophie looking ready for bed.

Some Years Spring Comes Easily

No idea how to end this underlining or why this particular post has chosen to add such emphasis to itself, but hiking up Red Rock last Saturday almost made me break into the rousing chorus from 'He Arose or Low in the Grace He Lay' as it's more commonly known.  In my memory, ranked second only to the noble Peeps, are the rousing Easter Sunday hymns from the Southern Baptist church I occasionally attended with neighbors (when my mother just couldn't be arsed enough to take me to the local Episcopal church).  I loved the whole idea of death not being exactly what it implied, thus making anything possible.  An appealing thought and one that helps keep religion firmly rooted in the stratosphere for many.

 

It's Not Jacquie Lawson

My new favorite card site is this one.

Meme'd...Again!

Seven Weird Things about Me

GrannyP got me. As I was cyber-running through space I thought I'd arched my back enough in that critical last moment when she was stretching forward to tag me but I felt that slightest of taps and her 'gotcha' tones in my head and knew she'd done it. Still, she's headed this way in September and has thrown out the lure of some good figgy jam, and I'm a notoriously easy touch so...

1. I count things. Lots of things. Not just the steps up to my house (which are the same as the steps down) but lots of things. And then I apparently forget the number because the next day, I do the same damned thing.

2. I once faked an asthma attack in high school to get out of taking a test. Full blown attack. Parents called. Ambulance summoned. I guess I didn't properly think it through. You know, consequences.

3. I have always had demanding teeth. When I was three, I heard my dentist at Georgetown Dental School (Washington, DC) say to a group of his dental students, "That poor child. She will be lucky if she has a tooth in her head by the time she's 30." My mother swears there's no way I could have heard this, that the dentist was a good 25' away and whispering, but I heard it...and remember to this day exactly what he said. As a result, unti