History Repeated

The photo illustrates what happens when one of the huge rolls of newsprint ends and another begins. It also seemed analogous to the story that was cut in half by it in today’s Washington Post.

It is about Syrian Christians being tormented because of their religion. Christians in other majority-Muslim countries also are being targeted and harassed or murdered because of their faith.

Just as Christian crusaders centuries ago believed that Jews and Muslims were infidels and must be driven out of the Holy Land, Muslims are using the same reasoning to go after non-Muslims.

The three, major world religions, Christianity, Judaism and Islam all worship one deity. The name for this deity is different within each group but it is one and the same. Wouldn’t it be grand if they could all embrace that fact and let all the other dogma not get in the way of living in harmony?

I have no bone to pick [forgive me] with Muslims and Jews not eating pork. And so what if their Sabbaths are on different days? Women who cover their heads will get no argument from me. [I do make an exception for the burqa because it is simply inhumane.] Religious restrictions are important to each group but are not excuses for hatred and discrimination.

Religious intolerance has stewed for centuries, some worse than others. It’s on a tear right now. If I had my way, Jerusalem, an ancient city at the heart of the three major religions, would be a neutral, internationally policed city. I can dream, can’t I? 

Pick-a-little-talk-a-little, pick-a-little-talk-a-little . . .

. . . CHEAP, CHEAP, CHEAP, pick-a-little-talk-a-little-more. . .

With apologies to Mr. Meredith Wilson, the above seemed the right caption for this photo.  Can you guess the group (in Washington, D.C.) to which I am referring?

 

The biggest feet I've ever seen!

This is a U.S. Park Police horse on the National Mall.  I should think anyone wanting to make trouble would think twice before messing with THIS big boy!

Did you know . . .

. . . That in 1963 it took a minimum wage earner 6.7 years to buy a moderately priced house? In 2013, it takes the earnings from 16 years of work to buy that same house.

. . . A movie ticket in 1963 averaged 86 cents as opposed to $7.96 (or more) in 2013.

. . . A tank of gas required 3.4 hours of minimum wage earnings compared to 8.4 hours in 2013.

. . . In 1963 a one pound loaf of bread cost 20 cents and a pound of coffee was 69 cents. In 2013 they cost, respectively roughly $1.41 and $6.01.

A minimum wage earner at $7.25 per hour must work 21 minutes to buy a half gallon of milk; an average wage earner at $23.89 per hour must work 6.3 minutes to buy that same half gallon. At a minimum average of $4,615.38 per hour, a typical CEO needs to work 1.9 seconds to buy that milk.

Is it any wonder that the minimum wage needs to be increased? CEOs’ wages should be cut to a reasonable level so that other workers can earn a living wage.
Statistics from the Bureau of Labor

A Fourteenth Century Soap Opera

Unwittingly, I downloaded a novel similar to “Katherine” which takes place during the same time period and with many of the same characters. The difference is that it was written from the a very different perspective; that of The King‘s Concubine, written by Anne O‘Brien.

King Edward III of England was married to Phillipa who bore him numerous children, only a few of whom survived to adulthood. His first son, who would have been Edward IV had he lived longer, produced a son Richard who would become king at the age of 13 when Edward III died. [I sometimes wish that royals had chosen from a wider range of names, but it is what it is. Ya gotta pay attention to the roman numerals on these guys.]

Anyway, Phillipa and Edward had an arranged marriage but were lucky enough to actually fall in love with each other and it lasted the rest of their lives -- with one, considerable distraction.

During a hunting expedition, Phillipa was thrown from her horse, dislocating her shoulder. It was not realigned properly so it caused her agonizing pain for the rest of her days. She also suffered from something called dropsy which also caused pain and severe swelling. She remained mostly stoic about it, but there would be no more romping between the sheets with Edward.

Knowing what a manly man Edward was, Phillipa decided that if she couldn’t satisfy his conjugal needs someone else would have to. After careful consideration, she hand-picked Ann Perrers for the purpose.

Ann P. had been abandoned as a newborn at a convent and was raised and pretty much enslaved by nuns until Phillipa came to visit one day. Phillipa’s retreat at the convent was intended to help her better cope with her pain through prayer and meditation.

Now Ann was not a pretty girl. Indeed, she was constantly reminded of how ugly she was. Mirrors were not to be had in convents, so she was unable until much later to confirm that, yes indeed, she was ugly. However, she had developed a crafty mind and learned to read, write and do figures -- something rare for females in those days.

Before Phillipa entered the picture, the nuns, in all their wisdom [and greed] made a financial arrangement with a wealthy merchant who would wed Ann and take her off their hands. She was 16 at the time. The marriage was never consummated and Ann’s husband died not long after they wed, so back to the convent she went.

When Phillipa saw this obviously unhappy teenager, living in misery with nuns who didn’t like her, she saw a good candidate with whom manly man Edward could relieve his manly needs.

Edward didn’t take to the idea immediately. But Phillipa eventually convinced him that it was what she wanted, so he gave in. Needless to say, it was a bit of a shock when Edward discovered that Ann was still a virgin. She had been married afterall! No prob. He conquered that impediment and they went on to years of unwedded bliss.

Since Edward was still married, Ann became an adulteress and whore and was not at all popular with members of the King‘s court.

Ann was strong-willed and her quick mind fascinated Edward. In short order, he became besotted with her. This hurt Phillipa, but she reminded herself that it had, after all, been her idea. Silks, furs, jewels and more soon eased Ann’s guilt and she really got into being the King’s whore.

Her influence over Edward soon riled his family and court members who wanted a piece of the action. As Edward aged, he became more and more dependent on Ann.

War was a constant feature during that time in history. Someone was always trying to conquer and abscond with someone else’s turf. Even then, Ireland was a hotbed of discontent. France and England constantly fought over and took territory from each other and then fought to get it back again. In attempts to gain or regain territory, marriages between royals were arranged, often leading to disastrous results.

Ann had been banished by her detractors who considered her a dangerous [and expensive] influence over the King. Meanwhile, Edward became more and more demented. When Phillipa died, Edward gave up on living. That’s when things got really sticky. Politically astute/devious members of his family and court realized that Ann was probably the only person who could get through to Edward, so they dragged her back to London.

In Edward’s fragile state of mind, he was angry with Ann for having abandoned him. For whatever reason [probably political] she didn’t tell him that his family and friends had sent her away. They soon kissed and made up, but Edward could no longer “tumble” Ann, so she started looking around for someone else to play with.

Along comes William Windsor, an influential member of the royal court and literally a Knight in shining armor, handsome beyond reason. He, too was politically ambitious and recognized the same attributes in Ann. He could have had his pick of any one of hundreds of court beauties but chose Ann because she held the king‘s reigns. [Pun intended]

Knowing this and the fact that she was not at all pretty, Ann initially didn’t trust the handsome dude. William eventually convinced Ann that, if they put their heads together, they could benefit from their close proximity to the King. Ann had accumulated a good bit of real estate over the years but, being a single woman, her ownership was tenuous. Once a woman married all of her possessions, including her body, automatically became her husband‘s. Ann knew that her enemies wanted to strip her of all her “ill-gotten-gains”, so she agreed to marry William only after he promised that her properties would remain under her control.

When Edward eventually kicked the bucket, a tangled web of intrigue, slander, kidnapping, and murder followed and weird Richard III became king, causing all sorts of mayhem. [He was the last English King to die in combat and his remains were discovered under a parking lot last year.]

Meanwhile, Ann and William escaped to live out their lives in comfortable wealth -- at least that’s what the novel implies.

I must admit that I love reading this medieval stories because many of my mother’s ancestors were active in those days -- the Campbells, Lancastrian Roses and more. Life was hard during those times, but so interesting! 

They don't fool me . . .

. . . manufacturers who are producing smaller sizes of their products and selling them in what appear to be the same size packages as several years ago. Prices inevitably rise but what’s going on now is deceptive at best.

Remember when you could buy a one pound package of coffee? Now it’s down to twelve ounces, having been 13 ounces for a short period. The price for the brand we buy remains about the same, but we’re getting less for our money.

My favorite graham crackers were the first shrinking product I noticed. There was a time when I couldn’t bite off the end of one; now they’re narrow enough that I can. The packaging looks the same and the price has about doubled.

Even toilet paper is not what it used to be. Rolls now seem to be a half inch narrower than they once were. I can tell because it used to be difficult to get it onto the holder and now there’s plenty of space for fingers to ease the roller onto the holder.

Spouse and I enjoy snacking on an oat cereal popular with toddlers. Looking at the box on the grocery shelf, it looks the same as always. However, when you pick it up, the box is much thinner than it used to be. The height and width are not changed which makes you think you’re getting what you expect.

I realize that drought, flooding, the cost of fuel, and other natural and manmade disasters have necessitated price rises. The packaging tricks, however, seem like a deliberate attempt to profit at consumers’ expense. Manufacturers are trying to pull the wool over our eyes that we are paying more for less.

Next time you‘re in the grocery store, see if you can spot these tricks. I won’t even mention the price of meat -- it’s bad enough to make me seriously consider going vegetarian!

Mini-Rolling Thunder - 9/11/13

A small procession of bikes streamed by this morning.  I was surprised to hear them because I don't remember them from previous anniversaries of this date.  The pictures aren't clear because it's a hazy, hot day today.  Twelve years ago it was a sparkling-autumnal-gem-of-a-day.

On this day in 2001, I was home recovering from abdominal surgery the previous month.  Spouse worked noon til eight in those days, so was still home when the carnage began in New York.  Of course we had the TV on like the rest of the East Coast, trying to find out what was going on.  I phoned my sister in Illinois and was talking with her when the plane hit the Pentagon.  We heard and felt that.  I started shaking and blathering at that point.  Then hundreds of staff from the State Department (large prisonesque building in bottom photo) started walking and running away from the building.  When we heard a fourth plane was heading toward Washington, I nearly lost it.

Standing on our balcony, watching people fleeing for their lives, I wondered where we could go to be safe.  We live within blocks of important federal buildings and the White House, all of them potential targets.

A young woman who lived across the hall from us asked if she could hang out with us.  She was terrified, too.  Thankfully, she gave me someone else to focus on.  I gathered what wits I could and tried to comfort her.

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur of anxiety and stress.  It took hours in shock to truly embrace the fact that thousands of people died horrible deaths.  It would be days, months and years before victims' families and friends received confirmation of their losses due to the incredible scale of destruction.

For months, the skies were silent except for the fighter jets circling high above Washington day and night.  It was a comfort knowing they were watching out for us.  Still, I felt like I was waiting for "the other shoe to drop."  A little more than a year later, we were again terrorized by the so-called D.C. Snipers.

To this day, I say the 9/11 terrorists failed.  Yes, they caused immeasurable pain and damage, some of it long-term.  What they didn't anticipate was that their crimes would unite Americans and strengthen our resolve to support and defend our way of life.

New security measures are not convenient but have protected us from further attacks.

Now, if we can just regain our rights to privacy . . . .

Sweet Nostalgia

I felt like remembering some happier times for my parents.  Dad has been gone for 6 years now and Mom is 88 and confused most of the time.

 

This poofy pink dress was one Mom wore when she sang concerts in the public schools.  She had a lovely soprano voice that she freely gifted to our community through our church and our local opera company.  She had lots of fans and fan letters to prove it.  One local gentleman always gifted her with a stem of orchid blossoms following an opera performance.

 

Dad loved her gift of song but was sometimes a little jealous of all the men who fawned over her following performances.  There was never any reason for him to worry, though.  The two of them were totally devoted to each other and their family.

 

The baby grand piano was one Mom grew up with and moved with our family us several times.  My sibs and I practiced on it during years of lessons.  It was to have become mine when Mom and Dad were ready to downsize.  Sadly, living in an apartment, we couldn't accommodate it so it went to my Mom's niece.  Her two, highly musically gifted daughters have made good use of it and I think it will remain in the family for another seventy years.

 

The painting in the background was one Dad did in high school and now hangs with several more in my home.  He could also play the piano and on one occasion, played a four-hands piece with me for family members.  THAT was very unusual and special.

 

August 28 -- a date to celebrate and to mourn

Wednesday was a big day, here in D.C. Famous and many not so famous gathered in remembrance and celebration of the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. Moving speeches were made, music sung and banners waved. It was a truly feel-good event.

Wednesday was also the anniversary of a dreadful page in our history. It was on that same date in 1955 that a 14-year old, African-American boy from Chicago was tortured and lynched in Mississippi. His name was Emmet Till.

Young Emmet had made is first trip to the south to visit cousins in Mississippi. Coming from the north, he wasn’t aware of Jim Crow laws. Of course he was familiar with discrimination, but of a more subtle sort.

Pubescence may have clouded his judgment about how to act around females. As a relatively carefree, brand-new teen, away from home, having fun was foremost in his mind. Worrying about other peoples’ opinions of him may have never crossed his mind. Little did he know that the color of his skin could get him killed.

When Emmet spotted a pretty woman, he did what most any red-blooded American boy would do. He complimented her with a wolf-whistle. His Black cousins may have turned fifty shades of white at that point, knowing that what he had done - simple as it was - was considered an insult and crime.

It didn’t take long before grown men, including the woman’s husband, dragged Emmet into a barn, beat the living daylights out of him, then lynched him. All of this done in the name of a lady’s honor. [I hope that said “lady” was forever haunted by what was committed in her name.]

We still cannot claim that all Americans are treated equally. Until those of a certain age are gone and take their segregationist and racist attitudes with them, the struggle will go on.

Younger generations are the hope for our future. However, we must protect them from the twisted thinking of neo-this-and-that groups that foment anarchy and chaos. We CAN overcome!

Oxymoron of the Day

Buddhist gangs attacked a Muslim neighborhood and torched Muslim homes during a rampage in northwestern Burma. They did this after hearing rumors that a young Buddhist woman had been sexually assaulted by a Muslim man.

Was I wrong in believing that Buddhists were some of the most peace-loving people on Earth? Granted, their country, aka Myanmar, has been wracked by violence since the military took over some years back. It’s just too sad that people who once lived in what seemed like harmony are at each others’ throats.

Sexual assault is horrendous. The rule of law, however, should be allowed to do it’s job of determining guilt or innocence. Rule of mob is never a good alternative.

Celebrating Young Women

Having been born in the middle of the last century, I feel kinda old sometimes. My body is no longer kind to me, but my mind is, most times, still enjoying life as a 34-year-old.

When I saw pictures of a read about the McLean all-stars from about a dozen northern Virginia middle schools playing in the Little League Softball World Series I was thrust back in time. So much has happened to elevate young women from tittering, pretty little girls into strong, capable young women!

Athleticism and participation in sports were not top goals for the majority of the girls I knew in middle school. Yes, I played badminton and volleyball and failed miserably at golf and tennis. Still, I was never encouraged to get rough and tough in order to win because I was a girl. Good sportsmanship was far more important.

It makes me so proud to see members of my gender succeeding in so many more ways than were available to me when I was their age. They don’t worry about getting dirty and sweaty or sacrificing “prettiness” to win a game. Perfect make-up and hair simply cannot be considerations when one participates in sports.

Though the McLean all-stars may have lost in the World Series, they remain champions and role models for their younger sisters coming up behind them. These young women are proof that the “fairer sex” is not weak and that they are capable of great things.

I would like to hug each member of this team and reassure her that she will always be a winner when she gives her all, whether or not she wins the game.

What qualifies as news?

Well into the A section of yesterday’s Washington Post, right above an item about a Russian surgeon being arrested for keeping packets of heroin he was ordered to remove from a human “mule’s” stomach, was a short paragraph of jaw dropping news.

Granted, not everyone is interested in women’s rights in our own country, much less in other countries. Still . . . .

The newly elected president of the Islamic Republic of Iran appointed a WOMAN vice president for legal affairs. Just the fact that President Rouhani campaigned with the promise to involve more women in government was ground-breaking. Let’s hope his word is good.

In too many countries, women remain at the bottom of the political and economic ladder. A few pages later . . .

. . . . in the same issue, was an open letter to the Prime Minister of Bangladesh. Signed by members of the U.S. Congress, it urged him to stop his planned changes to an extraordinary organization: the Grameen Bank.

The gentleman who started this Nobel Prize-winning institution did it to enable impoverished Bangladeshis, most of them women, to take out micro-loans in order to start small businesses. For example: the purchase of a sewing machine could enable a person to earn financial independence for herself and her family. [search Grameen Bank and see how this brilliant, small-scale idea has spread around the world]

Grameen Bank’s clients and investors run the bank, avoiding the national political mire. If Sheik Hasina gets his way, his cronies would replace borrowers who currently sit on the bank’s governing board. In essence, Grameen Bank would become a government institution -- ruinous to it’s mission. In other words -- if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

Grameen Bank works because it is humane, fair and practical. This is not the time to disenfranchise those who so desperately need, appreciate and benefit from Grameen Bank loans. Honor, not handouts make people strong. Repayment rates prove this.

After almost half a century, we still don’t get it.

When I went off to college in 1967, I fully intended to become an elementary school teacher. It was a most appropriate vocation for young ladies in those days -- that or secretarial work, nursing or marrying and raising a family. Our futures were pretty limited.

First semester went well enough, taking core classes that all freshmen had to take. Luckily for me, I aced Spanish because my college class used the same book we had in high school. Other than that, I was a mediocre student more interested in sororities and social life.

Second semester exposed me to a rough gang: political science majors. Not only did they know how to party, but they were liberals! Coming from a long line of conservatives, this was quite an eye-opener. My liberal gene really kicked-into gear following the assassinations of M.L.King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy in 1968.

That was also an election year and we held mock political conventions on campus. The civil rights movement was very hot and growing stronger and more militant by the day. Dr. King’s message of peaceful revolution was pretty much abandoned after he was gunned down. All hell broke loose.

At the same time the Vietnam War was causing many of us to agonize over drafted friends who went off to fight a war they detested and either died far too young or came home terribly damaged.

I considered myself a Peacenik but felt helpless because I had no power -- not even old enough to vote. Protesting was pretty pointless in my college’s tiny, rural town in the middle of the corn belt. However, passions were just as strong as they were on larger campuses across the country.

The summer of 1968 is memorable because of massive and often destructive demonstrations of frustration over the national status quo. Our military seemed to be doing more harm than good in Southeast Asia with huge sacrifices of human lives and tax dollars. It was a no-win situation that kept writhing along. Television and print media provided a constant stream of graphic details.

That summer also brought my political-science-major boyfriend to my family home 30 miles outside Chicago. He was determined to join the protests at the Democratic National Convention. I was reluctant but gullible enough to take the train into the city with him. We visited Eugene McCarthy’s headquarters and bought campaign stuff. Then wandered around.

As we headed toward the convention center, BF was trying to find out where the action was. He was ready to jump in with both feet while I knew my dad would string me up if I got arrested. It took some heavy persuasion to get him on the train back north to my safe, quiet home town. We all know what happened later that day and night and BF was so disappointed that he missed the ruckus.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Today, in 2013, I came across a paper I wrote for my political history class in 1969. That is what triggered all of the above. It also struck me so true for our current status as a world power.

The paper was a comparison and critique of J. William Fulbright’s The Arrogance of Power and William Appleman Williams’ The Tragedy of American Diplomacy. I certainly won’t bore you with the whole thing, but a few paragraphs struck me as so relevant for now, in 2013. Remember I wrote this in 1969.

According to J. William Fulbright, America has reached a point in its history as have other nations, where it is in “danger of losing its perspective on what exactly is within its realm of power and what is beyond it.” He adds that American “power tends to confuse itself with virtue” and as a great nation it is almost a duty to remake less great nations “. . . in its own shining image.” Williams has basically the same attitude towards this philosophy. “This insistence that other people ought to copy America contradicts the humanitarian urge to help them. . .”

Both men agree that the American form of democracy and everything that it encompasses cannot work and cannot be justified in most other nations. The necessity for self-determination by other governments and people is often over looked by our basically well-meaning makers of foreign policy.

As far as foreign aid is concerned, Fulbright and Williams agree that the United States has overextended itself to the point that it is almost ignoring the domestic and economic problems within its own population by trying to be a ‘rich uncle’ to every poor, underdeveloped country it can find.

Will we ever learn?

"Katherine"

I never thought that such a simply titled book would excite and move me in the ways it did. If you enjoy reading Medieval history, I highly recommend this book to you. It could be called a romance novel, but that is a small part of the story. The characters and events are real and the author, Anya Seton, did a remarkable job of fleshing them out.

Katherine Swynford was forced, at the age of 15, to marry an older, somewhat brutish man. He was smitten with her, but had no idea how to express his feelings or how to be a gentle, loving husband. Having no choice, she submitted to him and bore his children.

John of Gaunt, aka the Duke of Lancaster, and son of King Edward III of England was an older, man who, after his beloved first wife, Blanche died, was forced to marry a member of Castile’s royal family for political gain. It was in no way a love match, but they both did their duty.

During the 14^th century, the Black Plague wiped out much of Europe’s population. By some lucky fate, Katherine Swynford survived the disease when she was a child and became immune. Subsequently, she was brought to the royal court to tend to the Duke’s wife who was afflicted with the dreaded disease. She became governess to the Lancaster daughters and in short order, she and the Duke of Lancaster started to fall in love. Being devout Catholics, they both tried to avoid the entanglement, but failed.

Geoffrey Chaucer was Katherine’s brother-in-law and adds an interesting element to the story. During this period, the Reformation was also starting to gain strength and was a significant factor in the lovers’ story.

Royal intrigue, bastardy, political machinations, incredible wealth and poverty, lust, mental illness, overwhelming religious fervor and guilt -- it’s all there and makes the book and hard to put down.

The only gripe I have is that the Kindle version I downloaded is full of typos, something all too common in e-books. Still, this story is well worth a read.