Oy

A series on an American woman who chose to wear a Saudi style veil, apparantly so she could write a 4-part series complaining about the experience, and particularly complaining that women who veil should be discriminated against more.

*sigh* If she'd bothered to, you know, try asking someone who covers, Muslim or not, we could have told her a little about it, and far less of it would come as a surprise. (Such as: most people in a grocery are not going to even look at what you're wearing. They're there to get their cornflakes, baking soda, and tomato soup and couldn't possibly care less.) Heck, half of her complaints had to do with not knowing anybody (or asking anybody) who actually wears a covering on a regular basis. And most of the rest seemed to be that nobody actually hassled her, though some people *did* whisper about her at her gym.

Yeesh.

Some fuel tips

Over at Country Contemplative, Don talks about the burden of rising gas prices on the poor. And later in a comment, he says, "People making $100,000 a year are inconvenienced by $4 and $5 per gallon gasoline. People making half that much and less are crucified with those prices. The poor don’t get to drive hybrids. "

Even if you add my husband's income to mine, we still do not make even close to $100K/year, but we do drive a hybrid, the Honda Civic Hybrid - the savings on gas is actually worth it, despite some media assertions to the contrary. We bought used, and the difference between ours and an equivalent non-hybrid was about $1500. Because of the efficiency guage, I am able to improve my own fuel use and teach myself to drive with more awareness of my use of resources. Our old car had been paid off, but the savings on gas from the old car pays over half our car payment. (and that's with older, lower gas prices.)

But I'd also remind folks that it's not necessary to drive a hybrid to conserve fuel - smaller cars use less fuel than larger cars (and are often less expensive) And combining errands not only conserves fuel, but also time.

Wait to start the car until after you've put on your seat belt, settled yourself in, and released the parking brake.

Turn off the engine when you get where you're going. When you idle, you're getting 0 mpg.

Go a little slower and be more considerate of other drivers. When you leave a generous stopping distance, you're not constantly alternating between the accelerator and the brake and your milage goes up.

Don't step on the accelerator if the next light is red. Why speed up to a red light only to have to stop?

Cultivate a "feather foot" on the accelerator.

Carpool, take public transit, walk, bike when you can. The lowest tech bike beats the highest tech hybrid on carbon emissions every time. Plus, you get to meet people.

Just Plain Furious

As if it weren't bad enough that we are abusing our military through more and more frequent deployments, now we discover that funds raised for veterans are being frittered away. This really makes me angry. Hasn't this war stolen enough?

Over the weekend, someone asked me what my dad thinks of the war. I trotted out my standard response that I really can't be his spokesman, for fear of oversimplifying his thoughts - but I also pointed out that one of the things he's talked about since getting back is the level of profiteering off the misery of this war.

And I felt odd, out of place, cold. The table was full of holiday cheer - Holy Day cheer - candles, special foods, made this one season in the year, cookies and even my candies were there, festive tableware, a special centerpiece, everyone dressed colorfully. Everyone looking forward to the gifts that would come out after dessert. The room was full of joy and fellowship, but I was talking about death and misery and the pathetic mindset that looks at that and sees opportunities for profit.

I said afterwards to my husband that I wasn't sure whether they'd wanted the answer they got, but how could I say anything else? He pointed out to me that I was alone in that room in being related to a soldier, that it's important for others to hear the real story, because it's not being told in the places it should be told.

One of my favorite stories is the one about a worthless item that turns out to be a precious gift: the hospitality of Baucis and Philemon, the fool of Notre Dame (part of the inspiration for my blog's name), the clockmaker who brings only a sandwich to the offeratory, having sold the beautiful clock he had intended to give in order to support his neighbor. I agree with O. Henry. These are the gifts of the Magi, the gift of love. Often, it's a hard gift to give. We can't know how it will be received, or what the result will be. All we can do is give in hope and trust.

I'm back.

Caught up on my rest some after the grand train adventure. We wound up going sleeper car both ways, and it was lovely. While the "roomette" accomodations are indeed tiny (there was essentially no room for more than my husband's messenger bag, my small handwork bag, our coats and our two selves), they were plenty comfortable, with room to stretch out a little, a fold-out table, and a tiny closet. Meals were included, and while the selection was limited (it might be difficult to maintain a strict diet for more than a day on board), the service was prompt and the food reasonably tasty.

And they provided a space to go for quiet. While we enjoyed meeting many people over meals, it was also nice to be able to go to our own space and shut the door. In the dining car, we met train enthusiasts, a Katrina relief worker and his wife travelling to relatives, a professional dancer on vacation, a woman travelling to a school reunion and other interesting people.

I think if I were travelling with children, the train would have to be my first choice - on our way out, there were two infants on the same car with us, and a family with children. Unlike air travel, there were no major pressure adjustments, even as we travelled through the Appalachian mountains, since we mostly rode along the valleys. There was room to move about for the older children, and even my husband and I found ourselves practically glued to the windows, stopping only to sleep and eat.

The scenery was fabulous: from rolling hills and tumbling rivers to the vast open expanses of the Plains. At night, we found ourselves watching the Christmas decorations flow by. One house was plainly waiting for the train, because as we passed, they blinked the lights and waved to us. On the way back, we were able to tell when we passed the Eastern Great Divide, simply by watching the waters beside us - and watching the Potomac turn from a tiny mountain stream to the churning whitewater near Harper's Ferry was incredible.

Frequently, we found ourselves saying, "That town looks interesting. Can you tell where we are?" We were grateful for local businesses, because they often incorporate the name of the area, or prominant local features. Also, they were often nicer to look at.

As we left Chicago, we passed a large shipping yard and were simply blown away by the volume of freight containers - One part, we weren't sure - was that a warehouse made of freight containers, or simply a stack? We found ourselves thinking about the incredible wealth of a nation that produces those vast yards of food and goods. How can it be possible that we have created a system where so many lack basic heathcare? How could that happen?

Frequently, especially in some of those small towns, or along the rocky gorges of the Appalachians, we found ourselves wishing we could somehow both ride the train to see what comes next, and also that we could get out and explore the treasures that we passed...

I guess what I'm saying is... Wow, what a ride!

I'm peeved.

Rae and I decided to have a "girls night out" camping trip, since both of us have been positively itching all summer to get our tents out and enjoy the outdoors. And at the last minute, realized we could both do it this weekend. Wah-hoo! So, I set about to look for a campground that would be suitably close to where we want to go, reasonably priced, and reachable by a Civic. (At least one of the campgrounds would have required a somewhat higher slung vehicle.)

And realized I was going to have to put one more requirement in: must not seek to inquire into my domestic arrangements. One campground put right up on its website that it would only rent its campsites to families consisting of a mom, a dad, and dependent children. Excuse me? I don't believe I can have understood you correctly. Are you implying that I could not go camping with my sister, my brother, my cousin, or my parents (now that I'm an adult)? And of course, friends never go camping together. Is this how far narrow minded bigotry has led you?

Right then. State parks do not inquire into my wish to go camping with a friend, but will simply allow me to drive right up to the ranger station, fork over my portraits of George Washington, and pitch my tent in the spot indicated by the ranger. They do not inquire into my relationships, my morals, or my definition of "family".

They will charge me a little extra if I try to shoehorn more than 6 people into an individual campsite, but otherwise do not inquire into my intended arrangements, other than to recommend that I put any unconsumed food into a bear canister and don't wear the clothing I cooked in to bed. I think I can manage that.

Father's Day, 2007

Now that I have over a year's worth of blog posts, it is interesting to occasionally be able to look back and see where I was a year ago. Last year, I was worried sick about my dad's upcoming deployment. Today, I am relieved and grateful that he is back and yet, what I wrote then holds today:

We are now responsible for cleaning up our act and helping the people of Iraq. That doesn't mean shooting them. It means improving lives - with things like access to healthcare, roads, bridges, etc. It means asking folks with practical on-the-ground experience of peacework how to set about trying to rebuild. It means getting Haliburton the heck out out of there, and looking at actually *helping* people to rebuild their own lives, so they are invested in it and feel that they have some power in their own life, rather than whatever influence the US wants to visit next on them. It means walking humbly and saying we're sorry.

And that still holds today. We have spent yet another year going down that wrong road, again and again. We disrupt the lives of Americans and Iraqis, and the main benefactors seem to be extremist recruiters and big money corporations. Halliburton is no longer even an American company, but still they rake in the government spending on this war with no-bid contracts, despite prior shoddy performance, misuse of government funds, and outright theft.

Money that should go to rebuilding Iraq instead lines the pockets of corrupt "businessmen" who cheat our country and our troops. Money that could be spent on healthcare, education, caring for our wounded veterans and their families, all the boring, necessary work of responsible government, instead goes to billionaires who cynically exploit our political system.

Today, there are thousands of families that are where I was last year, waiting for the dreaded day for deployment, clinging to the time remaining, and many thousands more who will be sending emails and ecards for fathers away at war. In this years proclamation of Father's Day, Mr. Bush said that "Fathers have indispensable roles to play in the lives of their children: provider, protector, nurturer, teacher, and friend." And yet, we are separating families by the thousands. Children are growing up without knowing their fathers, because those fathers are overseas, without even a clear reason for being there or plan for sucess. And some of those fathers return wounded in body and soul. Some never return alive.

This Father's Day, let us begin to do the legwork to reunite those American families that have been separated for war. Although Mr. Bush specifies that Father's Day is for honoring American fathers, let us recognize that Iraqi fathers have a role to play in their children's lives, too. Instead of sending more troops, isn't it time we begin to send experts in world development? Many of those experts are familiar with dangerous conditions. Instead of floundering about with a military "solution", let us address actual concrete issues on the ground. People are living without adequate water or sanitation. For the sake of their fathers and ours, isn't it time we started trying to find practical solutions?

"Good Morning, America..."

"Good morning, America, how are yeh?" No, I didn't wake up this morning to the dulcet tones of Arlo. I wish.

Instead, I woke up to a collage of voices reciting various oaths of office, with one of those big, deep voices that corporate America always chooses as a spokesman talking over the rest and explaining to the thousands upon thousands of contractors in DC that Big Contractor, Inc. could handle all their IT and procurement... and all for the good of Mom, apple pie, and little league baseball.

Heck, my husband and I each work for contractors, as do many of our friends here, and that commercial upset me so much, I didn't manage my usual trick of letting the alarm go off 3 times before even thinking that maybe I should get up. (Not a morning person is a serious understatement with me. Left to my own devices, I have been known to start my workday at noon and eat my dinner at 10:00.)

In fact, once upon a time, long long ago, but not so long ago for people with memories, nor so very far away for people with strong boots, many of the jobs done today by a legion of contractors were done by civil servants. But a number of politicians didn't like this situation. The civil servants tended, as a group, to be far more loyal to their union (which had, after all, gotten them a serious sweetheart deal for benefits) than they were to any particular political party or politician. And, of course, there was that pesky Civil Service Exam, which meant that packing the ranks of the civil service was harder than it looked. And as for firing one who hadn't been caught in actual commission of a felony, well... it wasn't as easy as the politicians thought it should be.

And so in the name of all kinds of things, but mostly claiming it would save the American People money, we contracted out huge swaths of the jobs hitherto done by the civil service. Each agency was encouraged to contract out all kinds of jobs - anything that wasn't "core" to whatever it was that agency was supposed to be going out and doing. So, obviously, we couldn't contract out the jobs done by political appointees, or the really obvious bits - for instance, making the astronauts contractors to NASA would probably not fly; but a lot of the computer guys, maintenance guys, engineers, etc. could be safely spun off and handed to Big Business.

I'm not sure how much money the American People are saving, but I can say that the American People can safely be assumed to have paid, probably indirectly - though sometimes you can't tell, for the ad blitz that has been a feature of life in DC for years now. Certainly, we've helped with funding the huge buildings that line the Beltway, often with rather generic looking corporate logos and jumbles of letter soup on the side. And it has certainly not hurt the bottom line for politicians - they line up sweetheart contracts for their funders, while pretty much the same people keep doing the same jobs.

You don't seriously imagine that when the contract goes from XQY Corp. to YVZ, Inc., that the guy actually hired to, say, sort the mail changes, do you? No, the poor slob goes on working in some federal backroom, but of course, his healthcare benefits change, leave changes, etc. And any time he's built up at XQY is gone, because now he's officially a new hire at YVZ, never mind that he's been doing the same job for 15 years, back from when he was still civil service. Only now, the money that would have gone to his healthcare, retirement, and leave goes to YVZ.

By their fruits shall you know them

Whether or not this phrase was ever spoken by a radical rabbi from Nazareth during the Roman occupation of his land, it's good advice. You don't go to one kind of tree expecting another kind of fruit. Pokeberries and blackcurrants may superficially resemble each other, but one makes a tasty jam and the other is a poisonous dyestuff. I don't go to pokeweed expecting to harvest blackcurrents, and somehow, with all the blackcurrant stuff I've eaten, I've escaped pokeweed poisoning.

So many people today claim to speak for God, and they claim to do so under so many different names. Jesus, Allah, HaShem, etc. Each claims that they are the only legitimate voice, and yet... what has been the fruit? Violence, hatred, murder, rape, war, rockets, spying, lack of liberty, hunger, privation, fear. Sorrow, oh sorrow. Concentration of wealth in the hands of a very few while the vast majority taste lack. Grief, anger, violence...

This doesn't taste like blackcurrant wine to me.

When a person claims to speak for God while calling for murder and violence, you know you've got pokeberry sitting there, in all its shiny purple glory. When a person claims to speak for God while calling up hatred, reflect on the beauty of poisonous fruit.

Blackcurrant isn't always the easiest fruit to eat - it can be astringent and mouth-puckering. It's much harder to harvest than pokeberry, which grows in abundence and lifts its unprotected berries up to the first incautious hand. But it is nutritious - lots of vitamins, and plenty of goodness. I think it's time to tend the blackcurrants, lest they be choked out.

Father's day

Sunday is Father's day, and I just sent him the card I made: a pop-up airplane with a spin-able prop. We used to fly small craft together when I was in 2nd grade, and he gave me for my 18th birthday my first actual lesson in piloting, where I got to do the takeoff and landing with a licensed instructor. In fact, the wind was higher that day than the instructor usually would have permitted a total newbie to go up in, but since I'd been flying so many years, I was just fine. I think he'll like the plane.

It's wierd facing this holiday this year, knowing that later this year, he'll be going again. I got home from work to find that he'd left a message on the phone, to see if my husband and I could come out to their place next weekend. I'm going to be calling some friends to see if I can reschedule with them so that I can go out to my parents' home then. But hearing the message just set me off. I cried. While I don't want this war for *anybody*, I feel extra super selfish - I want *my dad* to stay here.

I want a sign to hang in the air over his head: this is a nice guy, really, a doctor. He works to get healthcare for people who can't afford it easily. If only there weren't this stupid war, he'd be the kind of guy to get decent services going here. Please be nice. But then, wouldn't everyone get a sign? You know, everyone's got that light to share. Which is why folks have got to stop it with the playing politics and get the world back onto the route of solving our problems with our words.

As one of my comforts, the last time Dad went, I read both of the Terry Pratchett Discworld novels dealing explicitly with war, and I still like how he ended _Jingo_. Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, puts both armies under arrest for "'Conspiracy to cause an affray,' he started to count on his fingers, 'going equipped to commit a crime, obstruction, threatening behavior, loitering with intent, loitering within tent, hah, travelling and carrying concealed weapons.'" and the whole mess is then solved when the city's leader steps in to carry on with diplomacy. That's what I love so much about the books - what solves things in the end is people talking to each other. (In fact, the author has said that he hopes that people might come to believe that we might actually solve our problems with words.)

And to all the macho posturers crying "cut and run" to any suggestion that perhaps we might put down our guns, I say, no. We helped to break it. We are now responsible for cleaning up our act and helping the people of Iraq. That doesn't mean shooting them. It means improving lives - with things like access to healthcare, roads, bridges, etc. It means asking folks with practical on-the-ground experience of peacework how to set about trying to rebuild. It means getting Haliburton the heck out out of there, and looking at actually *helping* people to rebuild their own lives, so they are invested in it and feel that they have some power in their own life, rather than whatever influence the US wants to visit next on them. It means walking humbly and saying we're sorry.

And yes, I'd even let my dad go.