Thursday, May 03, 2007

Not all Army work is destructive


By now, those of us paying attention have heard of the Case of the Mysterious Missing Honeybees:

In 24 states throughout the country, beekeepers have gone through [...] shocks as their bees have been disappearing inexplicably at an alarming rate, threatening not only their livelihoods but also the production of numerous crops, including California almonds, one of the nation’s most profitable.

“I have never seen anything like it,” Mr. Bradshaw, 50, said from an almond orchard here beginning to bloom. “Box after box after box are just empty. There’s nobody home.”

The sudden mysterious losses are highlighting the critical link that honeybees play in the long chain that gets fruit and vegetables to supermarkets and dinner tables across the country.

Beekeepers have fought regional bee crises before, but this is the first national affliction.

Now, in a mystery worthy of Agatha Christie, bees are flying off in search of pollen and nectar and simply never returning to their colonies. And nobody knows why. Researchers say the bees are presumably dying in the fields, perhaps becoming exhausted or simply disoriented and eventually falling victim to the cold.

As researchers scramble to find answers to the syndrome they have decided to call “colony collapse disorder,” growers are becoming openly nervous about the capability of the commercial bee industry to meet the growing demand for bees to pollinate dozens of crops, from almonds to avocados to kiwis.

Along with recent stresses on the bees themselves, as well as on an industry increasingly under consolidation, some fear this disorder may force a breaking point for even large beekeepers.

A Cornell University study has estimated that honeybees annually pollinate more than $14 billion worth of seeds and crops in the United States, mostly fruits, vegetables and nuts. “Every third bite we consume in our diet is dependent on a honeybee to pollinate that food,” said Zac Browning, vice president of the American Beekeeping Federation. (emphasis mine)

However, the Army's Edgewood Chemical Biological Center may have solved the mystery:

Researchers have identified potential culprits behind the wide-spread catastrophic death of honey bees around North America and Europe. A team of scientists from Edgewood Chemical Biological Center and University of California San Francisco identified both a virus and a parasite that are likely behind the recent sudden die-off of honey-bee colonies.

Using a new technology called the Integrated Virus Detection System (IVDS), which was designed for military use to rapidly screen samples for pathogens, ECBC scientists last week isolated the presence of viral and parasitic pathogens that may be contributing to the honeybee loss. Confirmation testing was conducted over the weekend by scientists at the University of California San Francisco. ECBC scientists presented the results of their studies yesterday to a United States Department of Agriculture working group, hastily convened to determine next steps.

For the past year, experts have observed a marked decline in the honey bee population, with entire colonies collapsing without warning. Approximately 50 percent of hives have disappeared and researchers around the country are scrambling to find out why. Scientists have termed this phenomenon "Colony Collapse Disorder" and fear that without honey bees to pollinate crops like fruits, vegetables, and almonds the loss of honey bees could have an enormous horticultural and economic impact around the world.

ECBC is one of many academic, commercial and government concerns studying the honey bee population decline. ECBC’s role will be to identify the extent of the problem and conduct ongoing detection activities.

One summer when I was in high school and both ECBC and I had different names -- its was Edgewood Arsenal -- I worked there. So did my pal Vintage Flowerchild. Sixteen years old and I had a security clearance. Yes, I used to work for Uncle Sam, just like George Bush does. (clears throat)

Anyway, it's nice to see that all that military whiz-bang genius designed to save soldiers from chemical attack might also help us save our food supply, especially since the news from China is so frightening.

Woman Survives Being Pushed over a Bridge, or, Damn Those Hummers!


This is either Arlene Payan's worst day ever, or her best:

JACKSONVILLE, FL -- Her hands still trembling, her clothes and hair still damp, Arlene Payan found the strength to talk about the drop that could've taken her life.

"It's scary, it's nothing fun," she said.

A blown tire forced her to stop on the bridge.

"There was a huge rock on the bridge," said Arlene. And I got off the passenger side to check it out. And that's when I heard the screeching when the other car, a Hummer, hit the side of my car."

The H2 Hummer smashed into her little Toyota.

The force sent Arlene's car into her.

She sailed over the railing.

"After that, I just remember when I was flying over the bridge," she recalled. "I don't know how the car hit me or anything."

She popped up like a cork, twenty feet below, unhurt.

"I just started swimming, I had to. I just started swimming and just hoped everything was going to be OK."

A Jacksonville Sheriff's Officer leapt from a helicopter hovering over the river and hauled her to a boat.

"It was wonderful. I'm glad they were there."

Back on dry land, Arlene refused a ride to the hospital and came back to check on her car.

She works as a manager at a pharmacy in Jacksonville Beach. Her boss gave her the day off.

Pavlov's Bitty

In my current job, I rarely use the phone. By contrast, during the 12 years I worked as a real estate secretary, I spent half my time on Mr. Bell’s invention.

But it’s the end of the semester, when everything changes. Students suddenly discover that they want information from me, want feedback. Students are dropping by the office; students are calling.

Perhaps it was because I was distracted: I had one student in the office and we were in mid-conversation when the phone rang. But how surprised was I when, in automatic response to that ring, I almost said into the receiver, “Mr. C’s office”?

I haven’t worked for Mr. C for nine years.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Let there be LIGHT!


Recently our school installed motion detectors in offices and bathrooms to control the lights. (But not classrooms yet...are they afraid that everyone will go utterly still and the lights will go out? Sometimes students are sluggish, but not THAT sluggish).

In my building, when we go into the ladies' room, there's a little anteroom that we enter before we go into the stall/sink area. Each of these two rooms has its own motion detector. When no one has been in those rooms for a while, the lights turn off.

When I walk into darkness, I stand in the anteroom and wait until the outer door closes (so no one sees me acting like an idiot), then I walk into the stall/sink area, thrusting my arms upward as I enter as if I'm invoking my magical powers. Lo, this movement turns on the lights. I can't do this in my office because the movement of the door swinging in turns on the lights. And someone might see me.

It's a heady, catharctic feeling, having power over power.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

It's (going to be) a Boy!

Marine Son just called. The latest sonogram shows that grandchild #4 will also be grandson #4.

I get to meet him in September.

:)

Edit: with some sadness, I just realized I won't be meeting him in September. New Little One will be born in California, a world away from me.

Time to buy webcams.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Southern Living, indeed: Garden & Gun


Just when I think I've seen it all, I see more.

Grocery shopping today brought me face-to-face with the premiere issue of a new mag dedicated to modern genteel Southern living: Garden & Gun.
You read that right.

Garden & Gun.

Gracing the cover is uber-Southern man Pat Conroy.

I was in a hurry so I didn't open it and thumb through, but Lia Miller of the New York Times, in her article "Garden & Gun Magazine Has an Awkward Debut", has the skinny:

Garden & Gun, a glossy new lifestyle magazine from Charleston, S.C., says it is for those who love “an adventure-bound, art-loving, skeet-shooting lifestyle.” In reality, the magazine is less about guns than it is about gardens, “Southern tradition” and land conservation. The gun part of the title, said Rebecca Darwin, the magazine’s publisher, is a metaphor for “the sporting life.”

It is also an inside reference to a popular ’70s Charleston disco called the Garden and Gun Club.

The name might not have raised an eyebrow had not the premiere issue arrived on newsstands just days before the shootings at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Va., on April 16. Ms. Darwin said only one critical e-mail message was received, among many positive ones, but others in the magazine industry noted the unfortunate timing.

Ms. Darwin, a former publisher of The New Yorker and Mirabella, said that there were no guns in the first issue. The “sporting life” piece is an article by George Black on trout fishing in Georgia.

Garden & Gun, which is published by the Evening Post Publishing Company, has an initial distribution of 150,000 and plans to publish five issues this year and 10 in 2008.

Samir Husni, the head of the University of Mississippi’s journalism department, said that he winced when he saw the name. “In this day and age, any title that you have to explain, you know it’s not the right title.”

But Ms. Darwin, who had 20 years of publishing experience in New York before returning to her South Carolina roots, said she was confident of the magazine’s appeal. “There are 40 million people that enjoy hunting and fishing; when you get outside of New York City, there is a whole other world out there.”


Oh, well if they're only metaphoric guns...

When my aunt and uncle, who live in Illinois, visited a few weeks ago, they were startled by the occasional gunshot in the not-so-far-off distance. I remained unruffled. I don't know who's shooting, or at what, but the occasional KERPLOW!! has been a fact of daily life for all of the thirty-one years I've lived in this house. I live in a subdivision that backs up to a woodsy, trailer-occupied area. KERPLOW!! is a sound as mundane as the crackle and whoosh of the squirrels who chase each other through the dry leaves of my backyard.

Gardens.

And guns.

New South, same as the Old South.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

I am not 250 years old!

I almost never look at my profile. Today I did and discovered that somehow I was listed as 250 years old.

Fixed.

I feel really young now.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Not a conservative molecule in my whole body

I am:
0%
Republican.
"You're a complete liberal, utterly without a trace of Republicanism. Your strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure. (You hope.)"

Are You A Republican?


Put on the trail of this quiz by konagod.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

The kind of momentous event for which blogs were invented....

I've completely used up the ink in a ballpoint pen.

That never happens; I always lose them first.

Mark this day.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Laugh of the Day

A student came to my office to discuss her paper. While she was here, she insisted on giving me a doctor's note for her most recent absence. I require no notes; students get X absences, then no more.

She left the note on the desk hours ago, and I only just looked at it.

Student J's illness was confirmed...by a plastic surgeon.

Instantaneous (Lack of) Gratification

At 4:50 a student e-mailed everyone in the class (including me) to see if she could borrow a book to read tomorrow’s assignment.

At 4:57 she wrote to me to complain that no one had answered her e-mail and what was she to do? By the way, I already had responded, offering my book. I wrote back and offered the book a second time.

I’m trying not to laugh. It's 5:02. Why hasn't she responded to my twice-made offer yet???

When we don’t get what we want, it should fail to come immediately, yes?

(Edit: over an hour later, she still hasn't responded to my two e-mails. Imagine that.)

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Out of Excuses, or, Not All Fluorescent Bulbs Are Created Equal

About a year ago, I bought a few fluorescent bulbs to replace incandescent bulbs, but I hated the color the light put off: so yellow that everything, including people, looked jaundiced. I even tried searching for info on a bulb with more "natural" light, but I guess I kept using the wrong keywords. Until now.

Apparently the thing to look for is the CRI, or "Color Rendering Index":

Color-rendering Index (CRI): Refers to how well the light from the bulb reflects true colors.

The CRI scale tops out at 100, the equivalent to natural sunlight or soft white incandescent bulbs. The CRI for fluorescent bulbs typically ranges from 50 for a basic bulb to 90 for a plant and aquarium bulb.
I presume this number is on the bulbs' packaging.

Time to go shopping.

Karl Rove Revokes Sheryl Crow's Citizenship

Or something like that.

Karl Rove's debate with singer Sheryl Crow and producer Laurie David about global warming heated the atmosphere at a black-tie Washington dinner.

On the eve of Earth Day, Crow and "Inconvenient Truth" producer David walked over to the presidential adviser's table at the White House Correspondents' Association dinner Saturday night at the Washington Hilton.

Their differences on global warming quickly bubbled over, the Washington Post reported Sunday.

"I am floored by what I just experienced with Karl Rove," David said later. "I went over to him and said, I urge you to take a new look at global warming. He went zero to 100 with me. ... I've never had anyone be so rude."

Rove said: "She came over to insult me and she succeeded."

As the debate intensified, Crow tried to calm things down but was drawn into the debate with Rove instead.

"You work for me," she told Rove, according to the Post column "The Reliable Source."

"No," was his response. "I work for the American people."

Heather Lylis, a spokeswoman for Crow and David's global warming tour, said Sunday that Crow's response for Rove was: "Yes, and I'm an American citizen."

It's not news that this administration has a hard time with the concept (one I learned in grade school) that government officials work for us and not the other way around (and that would be all of us, not just those who agree with them). But hey, don't go messin' with Sheryl Crow.


Sheryl Crow and Laurie David at said dinner. You know what Rove looks like.

Earth Day 2007


We only have the one planet. Without it, what happens with Don Imus, or on American Idol, or even in Iraq is rather irrelevant.

Let's get our priorities straight. Let's take care of the earth.

Earth Day 2007.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Bad News


For a few minutes today, in a very small way, I knew what the families of the VT students felt when the news of the shooting there first broke and little was clear, because Marine Son lives in a military housing area just about a mile from where a Blue Angel crashed this afternoon during an air show. The initial reports only indicated that the plane went down in “a residential area.”

I was away from home and heard the story on the radio. I know my son well enough to know that if an air show was in town, he was there…and not in his home. But then he didn’t answer his cell phone when I called to check. Fortunately for me, I suppose, I’m not an overreactor.

He was indeed at the air show and he and his family are fine. We now know that apparently only the pilot died.

But for those few minutes, the horrible thing was possible. And for one family, the pilot’s family, that horror is real.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

When I'm Wrong, I'm Wrong, or, Gov. Crist, Are You Sure You're a Republican?


First Charlie says he wants to get rid of paperless voting machines, potentially restoring confidence in the integrity of Florida's voting process to skeptics like me.

Then Charlie says he's going to restore the voting rights of felons who have fully "paid their debt" to society.

Now, at a RALLY AGAINST GLOBAL WARMING (my poor abused mind is still trying to wrap itself around that one), Charlie announces that he has legal staff looking at the possibility of a posthumous pardon for Jim Morrison, who was appealing his conviction in Florida for indecent exposure at the time of his death.

Gov. Charlie Crist said he was seriously considering pardoning music icon Jim Morrison's 1970 indecent exposure and profanity convictions stemming from a Miami concert the year before.

"He died when he was 27. That's really a kid, when you think about it, and obviously he was having some challenges," Crist said Monday, after attending a rally against global warming with rock star Sheryl Crow. "There's some dispute about how solid the case was."

Morrison's arrest generated a lot of attention at the time and is still a part of the Morrison legend. He was drunk at the concert and police said he exposed himself, which Morrison denied.

Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek said Tuesday that he never saw Morrison expose himself and none of the more than 100 photos entered into evidence showed Morrison's genitals.

"He taunted the audience. 'I'm going to show you! I'm going to show it to you!' Then he took his shirt off, held it in front of him like a bullfighter's cape, wiggled it around as if there was something going on behind it," Manzarek said.

Morrison appealed the convictions, but was found dead in a Paris bathtub before it could be heard.

"Trying to clear his name and then he dies. If you have a heart pounding in your chest, that has to tug at you a little bit. It should," Crist said. "To have that much talent and to have it sucked out, even if there was some self-involvement ... that's very sad and very tragic."

Crist is the man who ran to the other end of the state during the last moments of the gubernatorial campaign to avoid being seen with George W. Bush, which now no longer looks so much like a political stunt as it does a metaphor for his political worldview.

Salon reports that Crist has a 73% approval rating in Florida. Me? I'm leaning against the wall in the corner, arms crossed, watching with interest to see what Charlie will do next.

Rock and roll, Charlie. Rock and roll.

4-20 edit: I discovered tonight that a friend attended the Crow concert and heard Crist speak. She reported he is indeed passionate about doing something about global climate change.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

The difference a day makes

Our classroom's door is usually kept locked and students can't get in until I arrive with the key. That's fine, but it stays locked from the outside and becomes a nuisance after class begins and the stragglers start knocking on the door and jiggling the doorknob. Either I stop what I'm doing and open the door -- over and over -- or the student nearest the door patiently gets up -- over and over -- and lets in Mr. or Ms. Tardy.

Today I sat at the back of the room during my first class and watched students make presentations, and because I was in the back, I was facing that door, that heavy, solid wooden door with the strong lock.

Last week a classroom not easily entered was our curse, but today it feels like our blessing: a snug, safe haven.

May the Virginia Tech community find peace.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

My life is just like that

I dropped in on Sarah Sometimes tonight and read a post that, if not in the details, in the spirit, perfectly captures MY life. It's nice to have someone else do the work for me.

Somehow it is the end 0f March and I see I have written not a word here. I do feel as if I have been running a marathon--work, teaching, grading, preparing, uh-oh, have to write a paper for a conference, uh-oh, have to get to the airport, too much traffic, am I going to make the flight? yes, I made it! uh-oh, am I going to finish the paper in time to deliver it at 3:30 the next day? yes! it's done, sort of, well, I can always ad lib, it's just like teaching, isn't it? Conference is over, race home, see my family for a birthday gathering, uh-oh, it's Sunday night, am I ready to work and teach tomorrow night? Okay, I can do it, I did it, but, now it's Wednesday night, help, I'm being observed in class! Now it's Thursday, I'm going to work, I'm seeing the tax person after work (too late, though, she'll have to file an extension), after the tax person I take the bus crosstown, back to the school where I teach, meet with the observer, whew, she liked the class!

Home, collapse, take nap, watch Grey's Anatomy, whoops, it's a rerun, I'll watch it anyway.

I read a handful of teachers' blogs because it's so, so, so reassuring to know that all over the country brilliant people -- not just me -- are walking into classrooms partially prepared for class, partially rested, partially going mad.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

A Very Small Play, in One Act

The play takes place in Bitty's blog, a murky place with dusky blue walls and furniture that looks, oddly, just a little out of focus.

(Door opens, stage right. Bitty fumbles for the light switch, walks in cautiously, looks around.)

BITTY: It's cold in here. (Runs finger along bookshelf.) Dusty, too.

(Bitty reaches into an overhead cabinet and pulls out a long-handled Swiffer duster and begins dusting the shelves, the ceiling fan. She moves to the ceiling corner.)

BITTY (with feeling): UGH! Spiders! (Shoves Swiffer duster back in the cabinet and slams the door.)

(Bitty sits at her desk, picks up a photo of Molly, an elegant black and white cat, sighs. Puts it back down. Her fingers hover over the computer's keyboard momentarily, then she sighs again and drops her hands to her lap.)


BITTY: Not yet...but soon.

(Bitty stares into the distance, stage left [of course], still and silent for just that length of time necessary to bring the audience to the verge of impatience but not quite take it over the edge.)

BITTY: Maybe next week. (She touches the photo of Molly, then exits through the door, flipping the light off as she goes. We hear the click of the key in the lock. )

Curtain falls.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Dispatches from Bizarro World: Choosy People Don't Choose Evolution



The nuts in the peanut butter nicely complement the nuts in the video.

It is not satire.

(Hat tip to Misty at Shakespeare's Sister.)

Sunday, March 25, 2007

60 Minutes interview with Elizabeth and John Edwards

60 Minutes interview with Elizabeth and John Edwards:

We choose to live our lives fully and with strength and optimism. We get to make that choice.

666

According to the "Official George W. Bush Days Left in Office Countdown," Sunday, March 25 marks 666 days until the (p)Resident leaves the White House. Do with that what you will.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

The "right" kind of ketchup

For a few months prior to the 2004 election, my daughter and her children lived with her inlaws. Her Navy husband had had to go on ahead, and Daughter and the kids followed once housing was available.

One day while she was still living here, Daughter and I were running errands. Among them was a trip to the commissary. In addition to the groceries she needed for herself and the kids, she had a little bit of cash from the inlaws and a short list of things they wanted her to pick up.

As we were driving, Daughter said, "Mom, FIL wants me to get ketchup."

"Ok."

"Mom," she said, "he said it has to be HUNT'S. Nothing but Hunt's. He said he wasn't giving any of his money to that liberal Kerry by buying Heinz ketchup. He was really mad about it."

We had a good laugh, and she bought the Hunt's; the Hunt's/Heinz thing has become something of a shorthand between us when we talk about her in-laws.

Last night Daughter and I had a long phone conversation. The in-laws had just finished a short visit at her house, and she was talking about something that had happened at dinner, but then she interrupted herself (as we often do -- I'll bet you do, too) to tell me about a special moment at the table. FIL picked up the ketchup -- the Heinz ketchup.

"He looked at it for a long time," Daughter said. "He didn't say anything but I could see he was thinking about it."

Because dinner with two little ones at the table is lively, she never really noticed whether FIL actually used the ketchup.

This conversation reminded me of the Buy Blue site. I hadn't been there in some time, but the last time I looked I was quite disheartened -- I concluded that to be politically and socially responsible I'd have to stop eating, drinking, and buying clothes, at the very least. However, the ketchup incident sent me back to look, and I was mostly pleasantly surprised. Many of the places I shop are either blue, neutral, or represented by rather small elephants. I can substitute "bluer" (or less red) businesses for some I currently use. (The directory can also be viewed according to category or ranking.) It pleased me to see that while Blockbuster is represented by a medium-sized red elephant (because it makes more donations to Rs than Ds), my new love Netflix has a small blue donkey, representing its contributions to mostly Ds. Amazon makes many more R donations than D, while Barnes & Noble's medium-sized blue donkey represents not only its Democratic donations, but also props for "employment equality" and "social responsibility." I love Amazon's site, but I can get books at B&N just fine, thank you, and thanks to Netflix I'll be buying very few movies anyway.

The funniest statistic, though, I've saved for last. While it might be true that the purchase of a bottle of Heinz ketchup puts a little change into the personal pocketbook of Teresa Heinz Kerry and her husband to do with as they will, the H. J. Heinz Corporation makes generous donations -- currently 71% of its donations -- to the REPUBLICAN party. (Con-Agra Foods, Inc., maker of Hunt's ketchup, isn't listed on the Buy Blue site at all.)

So FIL, keep on boycotting Heinz. It'll make you feel good, but it'll make me feel even better.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Friday cat blogging: Molly update


Molly has now been on antibiotics for several days, and her status is...inconclusive.

She is frisky (as frisky as a 14-year-old cat gets), she's sleeping (which she wasn't doing at all last weekend), she's walking with her tail up (again, she wasn't before the doctor visit), and she's asking for frequent petting sessions (again, normal). In fact, everything about her behavior is utterly normal except one thing.

She's not eating much. She ate a fair amount on Tuesday, a little bit more than a full can of Fancy Feast, but since then, she's just been picking. So I'm still worried.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Elizabeth Edwards

Add me to the list of people saying prayers for the most remarkable Elizabeth Edwards as she and her doctors work to control her incurable, but "manageable," cancer.
Not too long ago, I heard a blurb advertising an upcoming news story -- must have been on NPR -- that said cancer treatment was improving to the point that many cancers could be considered a "chronic" rather than terminal disease. I never got to hear the actual story. But we're about to watch one family publicly live with just that situation.

May Mrs. Edwards' cancer remain manageable for many, many, many years.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Pfc. LaVena Johnson


I'm way overdue posting on this, although I assume that most of the four people who visit my blog already know about this. Still -- it's worth mentioning if only one new person becomes informed and does...something. At least sign the petition to the Armed Services Committees.

Pfc. LaVena Johnson, 19 years old, died in Iraq. While she's not alone in that, the circumstances of her death -- and what happened afterwards -- deserves the attention and action of every person in this country, regardless of political affiliation, who claims to "support the troops." Other than to ask you to sign the petition and write your congresspersons (if you're in Florida like me, a lot of Floridians sit on the Armed Services Committees), I'll turn the rest over to Phil Barron, who has been tireless in his devotion to getting this story out and who spearheaded the Johnson petition (follow the link to get the links imbedded in this story, including the TV news report):

Once upon a time lived a young woman from a St. Louis suburb. She was an honor roll student, she played the violin, she donated blood and volunteered for American Heart Association walks. She elected to put off college for a while and joined the Army once out of school. At Fort Campbell, KY, she was assigned as a weapons supply manager to the 129th Corps Support Battalion.

She was LaVena Johnson, private first class, and she died near Balad, Iraq, on July 19, 2005, just eight days shy of her twentieth birthday. She was the first woman soldier from Missouri to die while serving in Iraq or Afghanistan.

The tragedy of her story begins there.

An Army representative initially told LaVena's father, Dr. John Johnson, that his daughter died of "died of self-inflicted, noncombat injuries," but initially added that it was not a suicide. The subsequent Army investigation reversed this finding and declared LaVena's death a suicide, a finding refuted by the soldier's family. In an article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Dr. Johnson pointed to indications that his daughter had endured a physical struggle before she died - two loose front teeth, a "busted lip" that had to be reconstructed by the funeral home - suggesting that "someone might have punched her in the mouth."

A promise by the office of Representative William Lacy Clay to look into the matter produced nothing. The military said that the matter was closed.

Little more on LaVena's death was said until St. Louis CBS affiliate KMOV aired a story last night which disclosed troubling details not previously made public - details which belie the Army's assertion that the young Florissant native died by her own hand. The video of the report is available on the KMOV website.

Reporter Matt Sczesny spoke with LaVena's father and examined documents and photos sent by Army investigators. So far from supporting the claim that LaVena died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, the documents provided elements of another scenario altogether:

Indications of physical abuse that went unremarked by the autopsy
The absence of psychological indicators of suicidal thoughts; indeed, testimony that LaVena was happy and healthy prior to her death
Indications, via residue tests, that LaVena may not even have handled the weapon that killed her
A blood trail outside the tent where Lavena's body was found
Indications that someone attenpted to set LaVena's body on fire
The Army has resisted calls by Dr. Johnson and by KMOV to reopen its investigation.

We have seen in other military deaths, most infamously that of Army Ranger and former professional football player Cpl. Pat Tillman, that the Army has engaged in an insulting game of deny and delay when it comes to uncovering embarrassing facts. Only when public and official attention is brought to bear on the matter - as happened, eventually and with great effort, with the case of Cpl. Tillman - do unpleasant truths come to light.

Astonishing as it seems, it takes that level of outrage to compel the Army to find the truth and tell it, to honor its own soldiers. No such groundswell has yet emerged in the case of LaVena; not enough voices have demanded that someone in the military, anyone, speak for her. At first glance, the contrast between the cases of Pat Tillman and LaVena Johnson seems vast, but at the core the situations are the same. In each case, the death of a young soldier in a dangerous place and time was not explained to the families they left behind, the families that gave them up so that they could serve us. An honest accounting of their passing is all the dead ask of us.

The mother of Pat Tillman put the matter in stark and honest terms:

"This is how they treat a family of a high-profile individual," she said. "How are they treating others?"

In the case of Private First Class Johnson, we know the answer.


Put a loved one's mug on a free mug!

Publix, through Snapfish, is offering a free mug (must pay shipping costs of $5.99) until March 31. You must enter PUBLIXFREEMUG in the coupon code as you check out. Follow THIS link.

This is a real, dishwasher-safe ceramic mug, not a plastic thing with a paper insert.

It was hard to decide. The grandsons? Molly? Finally, I chose the last solo photo I took of Grammie.

Don't YOU need a new mug?

The mailbox is a happy place again!


Distracted by Molly's situation (see below), I completely forgot about my new Netflix membership and didn't go to the mailbox until very late in the day. Imagine my delight to find my first video, Prime Suspect, season 1, disk 1, especially since I truly hate going to the mailbox for what I see as the daily garbage run.

At the end of the day, I climbed into bed and watched most of the two-episode video. Less than an hour in, I realized that this show clearly inspired The Closer, which is more formulaic and less gritty, but, at least initially, addresses the same kind of sexism as Prime Suspect: resentment by the men of a woman in charge of the "murder room" (as well as disbelief by the public that the woman is in charge), led by one of the woman's subordinates in particular. As I await PS disk 2, I fully expect one of the junior men, probably Burkin, to warm up to Jane Tennison very soon, just as Sgt. Gabriel became the first to respect Brenda Johnson.

I think I'm gonna like Netflix, but did I really need another thing distracting me from getting things done?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

The Power of Positive Thinking


Yesterday I took Molly to Dr. J, compassionate veterinarian and husband of friend Alanna. Molly, it seems, is an overachiever, having produced test results that show the highest white cell count the animal hospital has ever seen. It likely means one of two things: she has an infection or she has cancer. We could confirm the cancer (or not cancer) with a $350 ultrasound or we could treat her with antibiotics for infection and see what happens. Considering that we're going to know one way or another soon enough, I chose the antibiotics.

Dr. J gave her pain medication and her first dose of antibiotics yesterday. I swear she is some better today. Her fur looks a little less ragged, she spent some time stalking squirrels through the patio door, and, most importantly, I can tell from the condition of the food bowl that she at least tried to eat a little. I annoyed her greatly giving her antibiotics this morning (liquids -- I am no good with the pills and this is too important to mess up), but I'm willing to make her mad at me to keep her alive.

I'm going with positive thinking until I'm proven wrong. Feel free to join me with thoughts and prayers. I'm not ready to be a no-cat household.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

What Makes God Laugh, Spring Break edition: When the good news is also the bad news

So it's Spring Break.

For me, that means plans: Get caught up on the grading. Get caught up on the house, which I have utterly torn apart so I can put it back together better. (At least that's how I justify its condition.) Get caught up with the yard work.

First day of Spring break...I break. I sat down to write out the bills and suddenly felt ill. Stayed in bed the rest of the day.

I've been playing catch-up ever since. Today was supposed to be full-tilt grading.

My cat is sick and I must seek medical care for her tomorrow. (No, she doesn't eat any of the tainted foods, but thanks for thinking of us.)

Today I learn my wonderful uncle and aunt, who have never visited my very humble home, are coming to visit...in 10 days.

I can't even decide which project to clear first.

Bitty becomes the last person in America to join Netflix!


I almost never watch movies. I really can't say why. I own DVDs I've never seen, for pity's sake.

But this $4.99 Netflix deal caught my eye a while back, and, after watching and enjoying an actual movie on TNT yesterday (The Pledge), followed by finding yet another "free trial" Netflix ad in my junk mail...I gave in.

Only a few movies in my queue so far, on purpose: the two disks of Season 1 of Prime Suspect (which are on the way), Sherrybaby, Quinceanera, and Mad Hot Ballroom. Because the $4.99 deal allows me only 2 films per month, if it turns out I actually WATCH the films, I'll probably upgrade to the $9.99 deal.

So...anyone have any suggestions? Interests, besides (obviously) independent films: smart thrillers/detective. Smart comedies. Smart romances.

I don't have time for foolishness.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Time and loss

My work office is a mess. I moved out of the old one and into the new in August, in media res: trying to pack, unpack, plan, and start a new semester all at once. However, the most immediate chores always win the Bitty's Time Sweepstakes, so the clutter just keeps cluttering.

Little by little I unpack and rearrange: a pile, a box, an envelope here and there. I recently came across an envelope of photos that were formerly taped to my old office's wall and in them was a particularly beloved one of Grammie and her lifelong friend Reeney (who deserves a post all of her own someday), taken in my kitchen on May 20, 1995. (I know this because once upon a time I properly labeled my photos...). At the time, Grammie was a robust 82; Reeney was a few years older. I propped the photo in front of the monitor.

Looking at it today, I realized that it really is a record of the past: Reeney died in 1998, Grammie last year. I threw away the miniblinds a few months ago, and the chairs the ladies are sitting in now wait in my living room for me to take them to the local women's shelter thrift store this weekend. The only tangible objects in the photo still in my life are the door handle that peeks out from behind the blinds, the coffee mug in front of Reeney, and the blouse Grammie is wearing. (I kept a suitcase full of her blouses, a time capsule that comforts me even though I haven't opened it once since I packed it over a year ago.)

The things and people that surround us seem so permanent because we see them day after day.

And then suddenly we look around and everything is different.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Time

I feel ever-constricted by time, but it's not time's fault: it's the way our social structure uses and abuses it. In his poem “A Martian Sends a Postcard Home,” Craig Raine catches this idea perfectly as the “Martian” tries to explain life on Earth:

… time is tied to the wrist
or kept in a box, ticking with impatience.

Yesterday I sat down with a friend and colleague as he showed me a huge web project he has almost finished. Colleague Friend is not a computer expert and he taught himself Dreamweaver to do this. This man accomplishes more on his lunch hour than I do in a week.

How is this????

We both get 24 hours per day.

My current dilemma? It’s 6:00 a.m. I must be “up” by 7:30. I woke up, however, at 3:30 and have been trying to exhaust myself back to sleep ever since. Later I will drag myself through the day only to not be able to sleep tonight. I fully expect that before the day is over, Abe Lincoln and a beaver will give me a pep talk as a silent astronaut observes.

Of course, I’m not really sure I’ve been awake since 3:30.

When we rolled into this experimental Daylight Saving Time, my home computer and cell phone automatically adjusted for the change.

I changed the time on my stove, but I changed it wrong. It’s – somehow – 15 minutes early. To get to the real time, I’ll have to take the time to scroll forward 11 hours and 45 minutes. This is a bad system.

I changed the time in my car.

I changed the time on my alarm clock and bedroom VCR. I can’t change the time on my living room VCR because I lost my remote somewhere in my house and I’m waiting for the new used one that I ordered from eBay.

I don’t care whether my living room TV and stereo know what time it is.

I haven’t changed either of my hanging-on-the-wall clocks yet.

My work office phone adjusted for the change; my work computer didn’t.

I feel like I'm ticking with impatience.
And the boxes are as confused as I am.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Friday Cat Blogging: Teenage Molly Ninja Turtle

Nineteen ninety-three was a year of change in our cat population. First I found JJ along the side of the road and brought her home "temporarily." Then, Semmi, the most majestic-looking cat I ever hope to own, was murdered with a small-caliber gun, and in my grief, the next weekend I followed a "free kittens" sign to my most-beloved cat, Molly.

She had been with us only a few months and was still in her kittenhood, probably technically a cat-teen, when we discovered her amazing talent: like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Molly could defy gravity and fight foes in mid-air. Like a Honey Nut Cheerios mini-beach ball:



Back in the old days, toys sometimes actually came in cereal boxes and we didn't have to send away for them. The beach ball was one such toy. The kids were casually batting it around when Molly went into hyperdrive and leapt to the attack. Leapt, as in gravity-defying heights.

So the game was on. For some weeks, several times a day, the kids would post themselves at either end of the hall and bat the ball back and forth; Molly, between them, would leap and twist and contort in her efforts to attack the ball, and she would play this game until she was exhausted. We took a number of photos -- this is the best -- and some video (which is somewhere in this house...). After a few weeks, she lost interest in the beach ball, as teenagers do. They grow up, find new interests, and move on.

The old TV has been replaced twice over, the nasty carpet ripped out years ago, the son now property of the USMC, but Molly and I are still here keeping each other company, both a little too sluggish and creaky to chase after inflatable balls, but still here. And so are the memories.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Meet the Press for Idiots

If my pal F ever comes back here, she's really gonna love this one.

In the meantime, Alanna, this is what you miss by going to bed early.



Thanks goes out to Shakes.

An Education from Notre Dame? Priceless.

For those of us who never thought we could afford an education from MIT – or other prestigious universities – do I ever have good news.

As long as you’re not interested in a diploma, MIT, Notre Dame, and UC Irvine, among others, cordially invite you to sit in on class – from the comfort of your own computer chair, and for free.

Although this apparently has been going on for a while, it took NPR to bring it to my attention. Janet Babin of Marketplace Money reports:

Maybe where someone got their degree doesn't impress you. But who isn't curious about what makes some colleges so expensive, and so competitive?

Well now, a few of those elite institutions are pulling back the curtain on the secret formula, making top-notch courses available online for free.

MIT was one of the first. MIT lets you peruse its OpenCourseWare program, where you can see a class syllabus, review quizzes and answers, and even watch videos of class lectures.

A faculty committee created the program several years ago as it worried that the Internet might pass MIT by.

Online students can follow along, but they don't have access to professors, and they don't get any kind of course credit.
The OpenCourseWare Consortium includes universities from all over the world, and describes OpenCourseWare as follows:

a free and open digital publication of high quality educational materials, organized as courses. The OpenCourseWare Consortium is a collaboration of more than 100 higher education institutions and associated organizations from around the world creating a broad and deep body of open educational content using a shared model. The mission of the OpenCourseWare Consortium is to advance education and empower people worldwide through opencourseware.

The Goals of the Consortium

-Extend the reach and impact of opencourseware by encouraging the adoption and adaptation of open educational materials around the world.
-Foster the development of additional opencourseware projects.
-Ensure the long-term sustainability of opencourseware projects by
identifying ways to improve effectiveness and reduce costs.

Not everyone is thrilled. Babin reports the reaction of one disgrunted UNC student:

[I]t's not just about the money. Student Denny Lyons says he'd be against it even if he were on a full scholarship.

DENNY LYONS: We're the ones asking the questions, directing classes. And I guess I have a huge problem with everyone else being able to get benefits off my own intelligence or my own ideas.

Some, but not all, classes are videotaped, so this is apparently what Lyons is referring to. As a teacher who uses active learning (at least partially student-driven discussion classes), I have to wonder: if it's not about the money, how does Mr. Lyons feel about his onsite classmates getting the benefits of his stunning intellect?

No one need worry about the online learners competing with the paying students in the marketplace. Again, the OCW courses offer no credit, so no diploma. "Self-learners," as the various OCW providers call them, clearly show up for the knowledge, which is vastly different from the goal of some (certainly not all) paying college students who come to college precisely to get the piece of paper that they expect to cash in for a lucrative job. For them, if education happens in the interim, that's a nice side benefit.

I look forward to filling a few gaps in my own education; I have my eye on Intro to Philosophy at Notre Dame. To be taken in my spare time, of course.

Notice to Tailgaters: A Physics Lesson

As much as you might like it to be otherwise, I can drive no faster than the car in front of me without engaging some of the nastier side effects of the laws of motion.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

I am Spartacus!

Following driftglass,

I am Spartacus.



Because I don't have time right now to compose my own thoughts, literally, I'll crib from two fine bloggers. First, the aforesaid driftglass:

Shakespeare’s Sister has announced that she is bowing out of the Edwards campaign.

Needless to say this is a very sad and sobering development.

And needless to say that she is doing it with orders of magnitude more grace and élan than either the rabid howler monkeys on the Right or the pudding-soft children within the Edwards campaign are capable of mustering on their best day.

And needless to say that the Right’s madness has manifested itself in threats of violence against my friend Shakes, because that is how the Right operates.


And then my #1 favorite blogger, Waveflux:

Melissa McEwan resigned today from her position as netroots coordinator for John Edwards' presidential campaign.

[...] Melissa's statement and her resignation demonstrates maturity and integrity, qualities starkly lacking in the bullying Bill Donohue and his Catholic League.

I don't worry about Melissa; she is tough and smart and will prosper. I do worry about the rest of us in a society where a pious demagogue can make cheap, unchallenged headlines by way of slander.

I said earlier that there was only one response to bullies like Donohue, and it doesn't matter whether they lurk at the margins of politics or at the center of civic discourse. Only one response, and needed from more than just the targets of their attacks, from more than one lone political campaign. The repsonse that's needed to counter the likes of Donohue, thugs who want nothing less than to silence you, is more speech, and better, and from all of us.

Though in a pinch, nailing bullies for violations of 501(c)(3) regulations will also do.


History here.

And here.

And here:

And here.

And here.

And death threats? That's just wrong.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Meet Kate


Or Clair. Or Audrey. Or even Kenneth.

My friend Alanna sent me an e-mail with a link to this Oddcast.com sample.

It's great fun to type in song lyrics or poems and listen to Audrey (so far my favorite) recite them with lifelike vocal inflection and facial expressions. Want to be particularly freaked out? Feed Audrey a paragraph from your own blog and have her read it back to you. Oh, and her eyes follow your cursor.

I tried removing some punctuation and she didn't do as well, but it still wasn't THAT bad. And it's against my religion to try to type in misspelled words, so someone else will have to try that experiment.

Fun.

Freaky.

Fabulous!

WARNING: Apparently there's a limit to the number of times they'll let you play with it. I've been thanked for playing and have now been directed to, essentially, the sales department.

Drat!

Dishin' on the Grammys

I don't know when the last time was that I watched the Grammy Awards. I 'aged out' of the demographic that record companies target a long time ago (ironic, in that I actually BUY the music I listen to), so I generally don't have any idea who any of the honorees are. But I got suckered into the Police reunion buzz, even though, frankly, it was Sting and two guys doing Roxanne. I mean, if my eyes had been closed, I wouldn't have known the difference between Sting with the Police and Sting with other guys.

So the Police were first and that's when I should have turned off the TV, since I had other things to do with that three and a half hours.

But I was pleasantly surprised.

It wasn't really an awards show; it was a music show with the very occasional award. Most awards were given pre-show. And most awards given during the show were some sort of lifetime achievement thing (frequently awarded to dead people), although they didn't call them that. So, some awards of my own:

Scariest (and saddest) Plastic Surgery: Smokey Robinson, who won't be needing a costume on Halloween...



Most (usually) wasted voice: Christina Aguilera. Why does she squander that phenomenal voice on the garbage she usually performs when she's capable of singing like she did last night? (This is not a new thought for me; I think this every time I hear Christina belt out an actual SONG.)

"Snap!" award: Dixie Chicks, those lib'ral traitors, win five awards. Dixie Chicks win for Country Album, then the camera slides over to Reba McIntyre (who has been a vocal shut-up-and-sing critic) for a reaction; she looks like she's sucking on a lemon. Then Reba has to do the next announcement. Sorry, Reba. Apparently not everyone wants the Chicks to shut up.


Moxie award: Robin Troup. Who? The "My Grammy Moment" winner. Grammy ran its own little American Idol; three unknowns -- who all looked about 17 -- vied for a performance with Justin Timberlake, as determined by America's vote. How one might decide between the three was unclear, since they looked and sounded alike (maybe more info -- longer performance samples -- was available on the Grammy site?). Troup prevailed, and in her performance (all three young women had practiced with Timberlake) held her own. But of course all I could think was: Timberlake, don't touch that girl's clothes.

Why I'm Glad I Watched Award: Gnarls Barkley. Had heard the name, had heard snippets of the song "Crazy." But live? Crazy.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Virtual Refrigerator

I'm on a purging, reorganizing, and redecorating kick. I've been at it in fits and starts for a while, but still I'm spending a good part of every weekend getting SOMETHING done.

Standing in my kitchen, holding a piece of paper not nearly as important as a birth certificate, but something I knew I ought to keep -- a flyer full of info from my garbage collector -- my urge was to put it on the refrigerator.

But another of my goals is to stop loading up the fridge with paper. I saw a great idea on HGTV's Mission Organization a week or so ago: attaching thin metal magnet boards inside kitchen cabinets for this kind of stuff. I forget what the woman used, but I think a piece of flashing might do the job if it's made of the stuff that magnets love. But that's for another day.

Today my problem was the garbage flyer and I was stumped. To make matters worse, it sat outside for a few days and is weathered and dirty. If I put its dirty self in a file folder, I'd forget all about it, defeating the purpose of saving it.

And then I thought about putting it "on" the computer.

I created a folder for my desktop, labeled it "Virtual Refrigerator," scanned the flyer, put the scan in the folder, and threw the original away.

Problem solved. The folder will be in my face all the time, just like the front of the fridge is. Going forward I'll scan all those things that fall into that "refrigerator" category, and I'll look at the Virtual Refrigerator at least once a week to see if I still need the stuff that's in there. And I'll know where that kind of thing is.

Best part? I have a big hard drive. It'll never get too cluttered.

Why didn't I think of this sooner?

Waste

I've come to see my daily trip to the mailbox as the garbage run.

I go to the box, come inside, sort through that which should be shredded and that which should go straight to the recycling bin. When life is overly busy, this can pile up for a few weeks. This week I took note of how much actual necessary mail I received. It came to exactly two items: a bill (which can't be received online) and my W-2 (which actually can).

So --
we're cutting down trees
burning fuel to manufacture all this junk
burning fuel to deliver all this junk
burning a tiny bit of electricity each time I run the shredder
burning fuel to take the stuff to the landfill (where the recycling center is).

No wonder our environment is hurting.

People hate spam, but I don't. I use a Hotmail address for all my business transactions, and my spam accumulates there, where I deal with it at my leisure. I'll take spam over stuff that exists just for the purpose of going to the landfill.

What a waste.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Horrible News

Molly Ivins has died.

Neighbor Guy is Mowing

Neighbor Guy is mowing.

That’s not such an extraordinary act, but it’s January, even if it is January in Florida. It’s about 50 degrees outside – and that’s today’s high. For most people around here, mowing season ended sometime in September when the grass mostly went into a holding pattern.

But Neighbor Guy is mowing.

I’ve lived next door to Neighbor Guy for most of the last 31 years. For 3 years I was gone, when my then-husband joined the Navy. When I returned, the Neighbor Guy family itself was elsewhere, courtesy of the Navy. But, shortly, they came back.

And it’s been fun and games ever since.

I used to think Neighbor Guy had issues because his years in the Navy turned him into a control freak, but after my son joined the Marines and my daughter married a Navy guy and neither son nor son-in-law have developed control issues, I realized that no, it’s the other way around: Neighbor Guy probably joined the military because it fit his control freak worldview.

Look, he can be nice. But whenever I accept a pat on the head from the guy, I always expect a kick in the ribs later. So I maintain a friendly, but-keep-my-head-down-as-much-as-possible relationship with him. It doesn’t take much to offend his sensibilities.

For instance, a few years ago, I was struggling to keep my yard mowed. I had little time, next to no money, and an unreliable mower. When the grass reached a level that was bothering me – probably a month’s growth – I finally went out and rented a horror of a mower. Scissors would have been easier. While I was trying to mow, a police car cruised down our little cul-de-sac and stopped in front of the house across from Neighbor Guy. This was an everyday sight because Other Guy was the frequent target of Neighbor Guy’s calls to authorities. Neighbor Guy didn’t like the truck that didn’t run parked in Other Guy’s driveway. Neighbor Guy didn’t like the length of the grass in Other Guy’s yard. Neighbor Guy didn’t like Other Guy’s dog. Anyway, Other Guy was outside and he the police officer talked a while. When the officer drove away, Other Guy ambled over to talk to me.

“Guess what he wanted?” Other Guy asked.

“No idea,” I shrugged.

Somebody” said Other Guy, and yes, he spoke in italics, “reported an overgrown lawn to the authorities.”

“Is that so?” (We both well knew who Somebody was.)

“Yep,” said Other Guy, “and as I pointed out to him, my lawn was nicely mown as was every other lawn on the street, and you obviously are mowing yours, so I didn’t see where there was any problem. The officer agreed with me.”

Shortly after that, I entered into the agreement to have the kid across the street – Other Guy’s son – mow my lawn. That didn’t go so well, but all’s well now.

When I came home last night, I found a flyer tucked beside my doorknob. Neighbor Guy has revived the neighborhood association.

Our covenants don’t call for one, but ten or so years ago, Neighbor Guy was instrumental in establishing a voluntary association (it lasted about two years). That done, he bombarded us with monthly newsletters reminding us that trash should only go out the evening before pickup day! And empty cans should be pulled off the street promptly! Yards should be kept mowed! No dogs running around! No semis parked on the streets!

That last one was particularly nasty, I thought, because it targeted exactly one family. The main road running through the subdivision is extremely wide for a little old subdivision. And once a week or so a fella who lived on the road parked a semi there overnight. Obviously, driving a truck was his livelihood. Possibly he had nowhere else to put the truck. But apparently it’s technically not legal to do that. Yet he did nothing to block the flow of traffic. Nothing. There’s room for four lanes on that road. However, he did eventually quit parking there. I don’t know where he put the truck after that, but I do know the house was foreclosed upon a few months later. One thing probably had nothing to do with the other, but I say don’t get in the way of a guy trying to make an honest living.

So this newsletter – and I know Neighbor Guy’s behind it because he introduces himself on the letter – is concerned with hot button items such as zoning and “covenants and restrictions” enforcement, garbage, etc. (As a former real estate secretary, I’ve looked into it and I know that our covenants and restrictions expired a few years ago, so I’m not sure what that’s all about.) He’s calling for a meeting this weekend.

Just yesterday (before I found the newsletter) I made the decision to start putting my recycling out late on Monday. It’s not picked up until just before dawn on Wednesday. However, Tuesday is a school day and I am up early – sometimes out the door at 6 am – and home no sooner than 8:30 pm, tired, grumpy, and lately, cold. Recycling doesn’t fit on my Tuesday to-do list.

This might lead to confrontation.

But sometimes, like Neighbor Guy obviously believes, you just gotta take a stand.

JJ: In Memoriam (Wednesday Cat Blogging from the lost files of Bitty)

I found this, in draft form, in my archives tonight. I wrote it on March 11, 2006 and I'm not sure why I didn't publish it. I think I might have been looking for a certain picture...

Well, JJ deserves her due, ten and a half months late though it may be. Here's the post:


One evening more than twelve years ago, I went to the grocery store and, like many people, came home with more than I'd planned.

Snaking out of a neighboring subdivision, a few yards from a major highway, I saw in the darkness a glint that I knew very well: light reflected from a cat's eye. In the faint street light huddled the tiniest brown homeless cat. I pulled over and tried to lure the little one toward me. She (as I would later learn) would have none of it. I was terrified that she'd get run over, but she refused to be caught. So I continued on to the store, purchased one can of cat food, and returned to the scene. The little one was still cowering near the side of the road, and while she was still skeptical, she wasn't then -- or ever -- one to resist food.

I took her home to keep her safe, only until I could find her a good home.

Apparently, though, she found one on her own, because she never left us until two weeks ago today, when I had to have her put to sleep. Even now she's with us, buried in the back yard.

Back then, we'd already had major shakeups in our cat population. That Labor Day, our Semmi was murdered by a kid (we presume) with a BB gun. We found him lying dead in our backyard, headed toward home, obviously trying to get to us, whom he thought could help him. We found him too late. That reduced our cat rollcall to one, our alpha male Shadow, who literally took to his bed for two weeks, having (we've always presumed) witnessed Semmi's death. (Our cats no longer go outside.) In my grief, the next weekend I stopped in at a house displaying a Free Kittens sign and brought home my beauty queen Molly. Shadow took poorly to his new roommate, and to this date she steers wide of him. Only a few weeks later, then, I came home with this additional interloper.

The first few nights we kept the homeless one locked up in the bathroom, but ours was then a family of three kids and two other cats, and this became just plain impractical.

There's no way to know how long the little one lived on her wits, but when I took her to the vet, I was told that her teeth indicated she was much older than she looked. She looked like a ten-week old. She had a hole through her ear, as if she'd been in a fight with another cat, or maybe more likely due to its placement, a fool kid had pierced it. Her sides bulged as if she were pregnant, although she wasn't (she remained mishapen her whole life; strangers would always assume she was pregnant). She was the chalky brown color of a Hershey's bar that had been in the refrigerator. She'd been through some hardships, so integrating into the home of a grouchy alpha male was simply no big deal. In fact, the little one, whom we eventually named JJ when we gave up the pretense that we weren't keeping her, took an immediate liking to the big antagonistic black cat. She would repeatedly nudge against him as if to insist that they become friends. And they did.

In those first few weeks, thanks to decent nutrition, JJ's coat turned from brown to jet black. (Even at the time of her final illness, her fur was soft as a powder puff.) This made her look like Shadow's shadow, as if she was destined to be his new soul mate.

Part of my delay in getting this posted was, oddly, my problem finding appropriate pictures. In the olden days when we used film cameras and my children were at home, I'd develop rolls of film and find about 14 pictures I had taken of children, etc. --and ten cat pictures taken by the kids. Now they all seem to be...where?

Probably the funniest thing J ever did was try to catch the cats on TV. From time to time I'd borrow a video camera. When I filmed my frisky new kittens playing outside and played it back on the TV, J noticed (as she got older, she quit watching TV, though). I don't remember how she managed to reach the screen in the beginning, but after that, we would pull a chair up to the TV, turn on the video, and watch her go. (I look at this picture and see that old TV, that old VCR, that old stereo...)

Here's the best of the last of the pictures I took of J, the day after Christmas. She's on the left, trying to nap with Shadow (napping together is what they did with 50% of their time).

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Don't Send Flowers

Twin Sister Number One called this morning.

Her father, my stepfather, is dying. Will die. Soon.

I'm feeling quite a peculiar mix of emotions, none of which is exactly sorrow. She says she feels nothing.

Imagine what hell for children might be. That was our childhood, except as far as I know, none of us was sexually abused.

The story has only one moral: alcoholism is a bad, bad thing for everyone involved.

Update: And later in the day he died, never having regained consciousness. Because the family was not allowed in ICU during certain hours, everyone had gone home to take a break.

And so he died alone.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Yes, It's Really Me

You're thinking something's different.

Hmm. Could it be you've lost weight, Bitty?

You've done something with the hair, yes?

No! You didn't go get the nose fixed, did you, Bitts?

A new dress?

I give up. But something definitely looks different about you today, Bitty. Something definitely looks different.

How to get out of Iraq

Barbara Ehrenreich posted 15 Steps Toward a Happier, Healthier America in 07, and while they're all priceless, the last line of her first step inspired an out-loud laugh from me. It's not all that often that I can muster up a laugh about Iraq:
Get the troops out of Iraq. Of course this is easier said then [sic] done, since conditions on the ground have become far too dangerous to allow for an orderly exit. Outward bound truck convoys, for example, would attract roadside bombs and other unfriendly send-offs. The best plan is to find out how thousands of Iraqis are managing to flee the country every day and take the same route.
This leaves me with the uneasy realization that Iraqis have a good deal more freedom than we do in terms of getting out of Iraq.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

The H List

Kevin Federline's on the H list. The Halftime list, that is (or perhaps the (Nationwide) Has-Been list):
Nationwide Mutual Insurance Co., known for its "On Your Side" slogan, plans to run a national ad during the Super Bowl, and K-Fed has been tapped to star, the Columbus-based company announced Wednesday.

The 30-second spot, to air during the third quarter of the Feb. 4 game, will be the latest installment in Nationwide's "Life Comes at You Fast" ad campaign. Previous celebrity ads in the series have featured Fabio and M.C. Hammer.

In the new commercial, Federline, 28, goes from starring in a rap video surrounded by beauties and bling to working at a fast-food joint.

"No one has personified 'Life Comes at You Fast' in the media better than Federline," said Steven Schreibman, Nationwide vice president of advertising and brand management. "Our partnership with Kevin shows the world that he has a great sense of humor."

Or he's clueless.

In the meantime, his future ex-missus received a thanks-but-no-thanks to her own inquiry about starring in a Superbowl ad:
As for Spears, a Tuesday report in the New York Daily News said the league turned down the pop star's request to be featured in a Super Bowl commercial to promote the NFL Network.

The spot is supposed to be an all-star celebrity cast showing up for Chad Johnson's Super Bowl party and features the likes of L.L. Cool J and country band Rascal Flatts.

[...]

The paper's insider didn't spare Britney's feelings when giving the NFL's reasoning: "She's too much of a train wreck. Besides, we already have Paris Hilton."

When you're less marketable than K-Fed, you're officially in trouble.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

A challenge I've been meaning to make

Alanna, when are you going to start blogging? It's high time. Want my help getting started??

F, when are you going to start blogging?

:)

Saturday, January 13, 2007

My Cluttered, Cluttered Heart: Part One of an Endless Series

I recently joined AARP. Yeah, I'm getting old, but AARP started soliciting me when I was in my early 40s. Now that I'm 53, I decided that heck, it's only $12.50/year and this group lobbies for a lot of things someone like me, a boomer who is eligible for full social security benefits in less than 13 years, cares about.

So far I haven't done much with the membership, but I have received my first issue of AARP: The Magazine, which is a surprisingly hip publication. At least as hip as we old types can handle. In it appears the article "Conquering Clutter," which is (obviously) also available here online. As I read it, my brain went ping-ping-ping. You see, my bloggy friends, I am a clutterer.

I knew that, of course, but reading the article felt much like the first time I read a detailed description of my sun sign, Libra, egged on by my friend F. How could these strangers know so much about me?

From the AARP article, we find this link to The National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization. I am somewhat relieved to find myself exhibiting mostly Level I traits, with a sprinkling of traits from Level II. (Click on the "clutter hoarding scale" PDF icon to see what I'm talking about.) And I only have significant clutter in more than two rooms because (1) Tall Son has never cleaned out his former room and (2) my kitchen is cluttered with unhung cabinets. Again, waiting on Tall Son to hang them. Those two rooms aside, I only have one truly horrific room that I would not let anyone see even if it were on fire. But I sound rather defensive here, don't I?

The article mostly discusses the difficulty older people (older, it seems, even than me) have giving up their artifacts. I, too, have that problem, but I've had it my whole life. I had little of any value as a child, and since I've been poor or struggling most of my adult life, giving or throwing something away has often seemed like a sin.

I might need that thing some day, after all. And then I'd have to buy another.

Friend Alanna surely will find this as interesting as I did (bolds mine):


At Level I and Level II the sins of the chronically disorganized are detailed [in the document previously mentioned]: “slight narrowing of household pathways; unclear functions of living room, bedroom; one exit blocked.” It is these minor offenders—the “common clutterers”—that Terry Prince, a Sacramento professional organizer, tries to help. Prince teaches clutter-control classes and workshops for the chronically disorganized, and she’s made her own observations of the species during her career in the field.

“Clutterers are interesting,” she says. “They’re creative. They’re people with a lot of interests.” About one in three of her students, she points out, are teachers—notorious compilers of paper clutter—and many others have craft hobbies, along with an unrealistic number of projects in process and a large backlog of supplies and materials for which they claim, “I’ll get to that someday,” a familiar clutterer’s refrain. “If that’s what you’re hearing,” Prince says, “you’re in trouble.”

But I'm working on my trouble. It's not a New Year's Resolution; it's a Life Resolution. It's something I've been working on slowly for a while, and I'm trying to be more conscious about and focused on that work. When I'm busy with school, however, it's tough. In the quieter time between semesters, holiday trip notwithstanding, I've been working on it. Last week I took my old microwave cart and some kitchen castoffs to the local women's shelter thrift store. As I drove away and saw the cart in the rearview mirror, a cart I had painted to match my cabinets, and which had served me well for about 10 years, I felt an irrational pang of guilt for abandoning it. I felt the same way when I threw the old stove out in November. It still worked, after all. Never mind it was in dreadful condition.

What I do need to keep around, I'm working on organizing better. My insanely slow kitchen remodel is part of that plan. And today I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and purchased a set of "risers" for my pantry cans. I was skeptical that it would do the job -- the little steps looked too small -- but indeed it did, at least for the average and small cans. So perhaps I'll be out tomorrow after another set. And I'm working hard on getting rid of two things for every one thing I bring into the house. Let's see how I did today:


  • Brought in can "risers" for the pantry (see photo below); last week I threw away half a tall kitchen bag of expired foods, a job I obviously haven't done for over a year. So, far I'm on the good side of the equation. (And I got the risers in part so I could SEE what I have and use it.)
  • Brought in four little votive candles. I've been burning away on the big candles lately and am burning one of the new candles as we speak, so I consider this as a wash. This is a consumable that I actually do consume frequently.
  • Brought in a bath "brush" with netting. This may be a waste of money if the netting doesn't stay on the brush, but we'll see. Excuse me a minute. Ok. I threw away the old worn-out bath "pouf." And since when I went to BB&B I returned a drawer organizer that didn't work out, and I mailed my old digital camera to First Grandson today, I declare myself a good anti-clutterer, at least for the day.


Revised to take out old photo and add new photo of the two most organized shelves in the pantry with the second riser (the larger one on the right) now happily settled in.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Tabula rasa

I am setting up my grade book.

It’s a crisp new grade book for a new semester and a new calendar year.

As I write each name, neatly, double-spaced, I look across the page to all the little boxes and lines. Each will be filled in with numbers and letters signifying…something. Most of these names I write are names of students I don’t know…yet.

By the time I fill in the final grades in May, the pages will be worn and a little dirty, a little food-stained. We will have a history, these 108 names and me. They will thrill me with their intelligence and/or frustrate me with their laziness and/or enrage me with their dishonesty. And, as they struggle with declaring a major contrary to their parents’ wishes, or they discover themselves pregnant, or they get arrested, or their parents die or divorce – or they do – some of them will break my heart.

But today the paper is crisp and clean and all of the bitter and the sweet lies ahead of us.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Post-surge speech observation

The best-kept secret on the planet is that Bush plans a speech tonight about adding a surge of new troops to Iraq as his "new" strategy.

I feel the need to bring up a slogan that's a favorite of many 12-step groups:

Definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

It's NOT the potatoes! It's the Firmicutes!

I've long wondered why I can eat the same amount of food as -- and sometimes less than -- the people around me but outweigh them by a factor of 10.

Sydney Speisel, writing in Slate, has finally provided me with the answer. It's not the chow. It's my bacteria supply:

...the germs inside of us may affect us every day—by helping to determine our weight.

New research: Two recent papers from the laboratory of Dr. Jeffrey Gordon at Washington University in St. Louis, one whose lead author is Peter Turnbaugh and the other whose lead author is Ruth Ley, are beginning to unravel this phenomenon. Many of the gut bacteria are representative of two large groups of germs: the Firmicutes (which roughly overlap with the Gram-positives of high school biology) and the Bacteroidetes (typically Gram-negative bacteria, which grow without oxygen and are usually sort of smelly). There are other germs in the bowel, as well, but Gordon's group has been particularly interested in the balance between these two large divisions of intestinal bacteria.

Findings: Studying mice that are genetically predisposed to obesity or leanness (but are otherwise similar), the researchers found that fat mice had an abundance of Firmicutes while their lean littermates had more Bacteroidetes. Here's one reason why: When the bowel in a mouse is inhabited by lots of Firmicutes bacteria, the animal harvests energy from its diet more efficiently. So the same amount of food that fattens the Firmicutes-carrying mice leaves the Bacteroidetes-carrying mice slim. More provocatively, when Gordon's team took germ-free, normal-weight mice and infected them with Firmicutes-predominant bacteria taken from obese mice, they fattened up—whereas similar littermates colonized with intestinal bacteria taken from lean mice did not. Something similar seems to occur in humans: The ecology of the bowel shifts toward the Firmicutes in heavy people and toward the Bacteriodetes in leaner people (including those who become thin as a result of dieting).

Conclusion: These findings, taken together, strongly suggest that intestinal bacteria may well play a significant role in how animals and humans absorb energy from the food we eat and turn it into body fat. How comforting: Germs, not gluttony, may be the cause of my weight gain.
Makes sense to me. Now how do I eliminate the little, er, buggers?

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Happily Ever After


Our little cul-de-sac hosted a first this weekend: a backyard wedding. My neighbors’ only child, a 30-something daughter, married for the second time.

S moved back home with her daughter some time back, probably ten years ago. She had reason enough to be disillusioned with her first marriage. She had married a college student being put through school by his parents, and the BA was followed by an MA, but once the young man was finished with school, he proved to be downright allergic to employment. I get the impression that to this day he is seriously underemployed, subsidized by his wealthy parents. Anyway, S was frustrated with her husband’s unwillingness “to be a man” and provide for his family (although I saw it as an unwillingness to be an adult…). So the marriage ended. After a while, S took a job out of town and took a boyfriend with her but stayed gone less than two years. Then back home with mom & dad.

Over the years, S shared some of the details of her love life with me, reinforcing my notion that All By Myself is indeed the best plan for me. The relationship with the one-time live-in boyfriend continued, but he issued an ultimatum: S’s daughter or him. I shuddered from afar when, after she chose her daughter, he softened his hard line and she “took him back.” Several times. Eventually, not without a lot of counseling from my Tall Son, she was able to break her addiction to this scoundrel…who also seemed to have a work allergy, by the way. But then she was lonely.

Within weeks of dumping Mr. Ultimatum for the last time, she agreed to start dating a co-worker who’d apparently had a crush on her for some time, a co-worker about my age, and therefore more than 15 years older than she. She didn’t say directly that she was with him to assuage the loneliness, but I only had to listen to the melody between her lines to recognize that tune. When she became engaged to him after a very short time, I was alarmed. But time passed with no date set, and on Thanksgiving 2005 she sighed that B, who wasn’t at the dinner, was “boring.” A few weeks later she told me that the engagement to B was over and she was going to try celibacy (yes, she used that word) for a while.

My life got busy, and I really didn’t talk much to S or her parents during 2006. I hadn't noticed that she had moved out...or some other interesting developments. Imagine, then, my surprise just before Christmas to be invited to her January wedding…to be followed by a February baby.

The wedding was charming… simple but festive and romantic. As she sat beside me with her feet up to ease her swollen ankles, S told me that she finally felt “complete.”

Maybe it’s because I’m too old to be awash with hormones or illusions, but I’m a little worried about S, new hubby, and baby. The newlyweds have known each other only a year, and during half of that he was off with the military. But…while most people were doing other things, the couple danced in a corner, and as I watched them gazing into each other’s eyes, it was easy to believe for a few minutes that people live happily ever after. Maybe they will.


I just wish that more women could feel that happily ever after was also possible without a man.