Hail to the Chief!

Minutes ago, this gentle, strong man was sworn-in to the most challenging job our country has to offer. His speech clearly revealed his dignity, intelligence integrity and faith in the American system. It also echoed my strong belief that it will require that WE THE PEOPLE take responsibility for our own actions and inactions. I hope we can make him and ourselves proud. P.S. I also had a chance to thumb my nose -- one last time -- at the Bush party as it flew over the Mall! ;-)

"Obama's Sunset"

I listened to the speeches made on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial today. CSpan was allowed to broadcast those, but HBO had dibs on all the other stuff. Since we don't get HBO, I sat on our balcony to listen for a while. Little too cold to stay out there for long. Hoards of people are walking up the hill heading home looking very tired and cold. The beautiful, rosy-colored sunset this evening matches my mood thinking about the beginning of Mr. Obama's administration. I am greatly impressed by him and hopeful for our country's future.

Comfort Food

I've been a proponent of comfort foods for as long as I can remember. There is no one to blame for this affection/affliction -- it just is what it is. There's nothing quite like the aroma of beef stew and freshly baked bread on a cold winter evening. To top it off, I've discovered a new favorite dessert [at least for the moment]. It's pecan pie. Since I discovered Trader Joe's frozen pie crusts -- only brand I've found that doesn't contain lard!-- I've rationalized more opportunities to put together a pie. Anyway, the aroma of warm pecans is just too compelling to be ignored! Thaw a pie crust -- or make your own if you're better at it than I am -- and line a 9" deep dish pie plate with it. Make some of those pretty little crimp marks around the edge, or not -- your choice. Evenly spread a generous cup of chopped, toasted pecans over the bottom of the unbaked shell. (Trader Joe's carries the pecans too!) Preheat your oven to 350. In a medium bowl, whisk together 1 cup sugar, 3 beaten eggs, 1/4 tsp. salt, 2 Tbs. brown sugar, 1 cup light corn syrup (yeah, I know -- it's so bad it's good!) 1 stick melted butter (uh uhn - this is a once-a-year kinda pie), 1/4 tsp vanilla extract. Beat all this to within an inch of it's life then pour over the pecans in your pie crust. The pecans will magically float to the top to make a pretty pie. Bake on the lowest rack in your oven for 50-55 minutes. If the edges of the crust start to get too dark, cover them with strips of aluminum foil. The pie will set-up as it cools. Self-restraint is a requirement when making this pie. It is NOT one you can dig into fresh out of the oven. If you try to cut it before it's completely cooled it will be runny and decidedly not as appetizing. Trust me; your patience will be rewarded! [Note to my blog buddy with gestational diabetes: please forgive me!]

Do Not Talk Down to a Sick Lady!

I hate it when people talk down to me. This sensitivity started before the women's movement when men at parties would answer a question I had asked to my male companion, not even acknowledging my presence! AARG!! As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've had a seriously sore throat this week. I've had no fever, just been tired and unable to swallow without wincing in pain. After 5 days of this, I decided to try one of the new "urgent care" centers housed in a local drugstore. I dragged myself out of my comfy robe and into clothes and make-up and headed out into the cold. The one good thing about this experience was that I had no wait. While the nurse-practitioner, or whatever she was, waited I signed-in using their pain-in-the-butt computer touch screen. In an overly cheery voice, she announced that I had been there before -- DUH!! Got my flu shot there months ago. Then she went on to explain ALL ABOUT the mini-clinic before ascertaining why I was there. OK -- I can understand she's required to schpeel from the big binder notebook on the desk in front of her. But the amount of superfluous information really got on my nerves. THEN she needed my health history and names of all my prescriptions. . .! When she finally finished her fill-in-the-blanks-computer-enhanced-questioning, she asked me why I had come in, I explained about my sore throat and what I had been doing to treat it. I wanted to make sure I didn't have strep or something worse. Now I know that most public information is aimed at people with a 5th grade education. All I can figure is that this woman was accustomed to explaining things to cranky little kids. After this teeth-grinding session she decided to take my temp and blood pressure -- great timing! Not only was I riled from being treated like a little kid, the cuff came dangerously close to splitting my upper arm wide open! Of course this opened the door to yet another lecture about hypertension - which I do not have. When she finally got around to looking at my throat, she chastised me for not "stretching and opening the back of my throat" so that she could see it more clearly. She had me stand up, approach a small mirror on a closet door and practice "stretching the back of my throat." I mentioned tongue depressors, but that went nowhere. In what should have taken maybe 15 minutes, I spent well over half an hour being preached at. She said antibiotics wouldn't help if it was a viral infection [I knew that!], so treating the pain was the only alternative. Fine. She then searched her big binder to see if Lidocaine could be prescribed, but wouldn't you know it -- it wasn't in the big binder! She twiddled on her computer a few more times only to come to the conclusion that OTC Cepacol was what I needed. I could hardly wait to pay the fee and get out of there! Of course this process, too, was agonizingly stretched-out to the point where I crawled into my car and just sat there, trying to gather enough energy and composure to drive my sick butt back home. There's gotta be a better way!

Burning With Curiosity

I'll get to the burning and curiosity shortly. First, however, I must provide some background to put my story into context. Child labor was an accepted part of life when and where I grew up during the 50s and 60s. It was usually in the form of watching one's younger siblings while Mom took laundry to the basement. Or, it might be running three blocks to our little neighborhood store to pick up a loaf of bread. As we got older, my older brother and I were responsible for washing and drying dinner dishes -- a task we both hated. A kind of OK chore was going to every room in the house to collect waste paper and adding it to the large, kitchen trash can. Then you got the box of big, wooden kitchen matches and headed out to the far back yard to burn it. [The smell of one of those matches being lit still reminds me of birthday candles, too. You could usually light all of them on just one match.] I wasn't crazy about trash-burning-duty in the winter, but one dark and starry evening is still vivid in memory. Rushing out to the far back yard, I angrily snatched-up pieces of paper that fell out of the can, but eventually dumped it all into the burning barrel. Holding a mitten in my teeth, I struck the match and lit the fire. Happily there was no wind to blow it out nor snow to dampen the fire. I hurriedly put the match box back in my pocket and the mitten back on my hand and gazed into the fire. That was a bonus of burning the trash -- hypnosis by fire! Living in the far suburbs, there were no bright lights to obliterate the night sky. As the fire was blazing away, my eyes followed glowing ashes as they headed toward the sky. Then I noticed one star moving slowly in a straight line. Must be Sputnik. Then it did something Sputnik did not do -- it made a right angle turn and sped off. Being an imaginative type, I decided that some intergalactic visitor had mistaken my trash fire for a signal fire. Once he/she/it figured out that it was just a trash fire, it took off. I don't remember mentioning it to anyone else. During those days, if someone saw a flying saucer he was nothing more than a crackpot. These days, however, I think we're just a tad less skeptical.

Another Beauty, eh?

Though my tonsils are working overtime and I feel generally crappy, I just couldn't pass-up sharing this evening's gorgeous sunset with you all!

It's Just ONE Day!

A recent piece in the Washington Post reported on a few people living in our region who plan to get out of town before and during the upcoming inauguration. One lives in Penn Quarter downtown. I can understand his wish to get away because he'll likely have difficulty even getting his car out of his garage. Then there's the family in Fairfax Station, Virginia. Surely few if any of the expected thousands of buses will be grid-locked in front of their house. Yes, it will be hard getting around certain areas that day, but surely not impossible in the suburbs. Why panic? Some Old Virginians are riled because personal vehicles will not be allowed to cross any of the bridges into the District on 1/20. They see it as a slap in the face to the former heart of the Confederacy. Come on, people -- this is not a North/South thing! It's about security and avoiding chaos. Marylanders won't have it any easier than Virginians getting into and out of the town. The usual dearth of parking in the District will be exponentially worse. None of us wants to turn bridges, highways and streets into parking lots. As happens with any big event, there will be emergencies requiring ambulances, so let's leave room for them. Let us also remember that both Maryland and Virginia ceded land to form the District of Columbia. Virginia took back it's share which, incidentally, contains two major Potomac bridges. Was that a slap in the face to D.C. ? If those arguments fail to sway prevailing thought, consider the plight of those who live in the District of Columbia. IF we live in restricted area and normally park on neighborhood streets, we'll have to locate space elsewhere. IF someone living in the restricted areas wants to walk her dog, she cannot carry bottled water. Inconveniences; not a personal affront. D.C. residents have had worse messes to contend with. Remember when farmers from around the country drove their tractors into town to protest agricultural prices? They tore up our beloved National Mall and created mayhem for commuters, including pedestrians like myself. In the end, the farmers helped clear city streets following a snow storm and helped to repair the Lawn. Well before the farmers' arrival, tents sheltering occupants of 1968's Resurrection City protest were removed from the Mall. These strong, passionate souls had to contend with inches deep mud, dreadful weather and harassment. The Civil Rights Act and movement itself were strengthened by this brave act of civil disobedience. Of course residents were inconvenienced, but that goes along with living here. Rolling Thunder brings noise, choking air pollution and gridlock to our little burg every year. But oh, what a sight and sound -- Memorial Day wouldn't be the same without them! Just as every American has the right to petition our government, every American has the right to witness history in the making. If someone is so desirous of standing for hours in the cold to be a part of it, there are ways other than driving a private auto into the city to do that. As thrilled as I am about President-elect Obama's inauguration, I'm staying home, here in Foggy Bottom, to watch it on TV. When I was younger I stood, frozen in my boots, to catch a glimpse of new presidents. Spouse and I may walk over to the White House as the parade brings the Obama's that way. Maybe not. . . Planning ahead is really all that's necessary. Oh, and remember -- wear comfortable shoes and layers of clothing if you plan to attend. Unlike a surprise attack such as 9/11, inaugural events are well planned, organized and secure. We know well in advance where we cannot drive and what restrictions are placed on things we can carry into restricted areas. Nothing mysterious or panic-inducing there. It's just one day.

Is It Genocide?!

Is it possible that we are witnessing another genocide -- in Gaza?! How else to explain the horrors suffered by civilians at the hands of Israeli forces? The Geneva Conventions, of which Israel is a signatory, expressly forbid abandoning wounded and sick civilians as well as combatants. Ambulances have been blocked on their missions, forcing the wounded -- many of them children and their mothers -- to suffer unimaginable pain, anguish and preventable deaths. In a truly extraordinary move, the International Committee of the Red Cross and Red Crescent (ICRC) broke it's own confidentiality rules. Normally, it would only share complaints and concerns with the offending party. The situation is so dire, however, that ICRC found it necessary to publicly air the facts. It's appalling to think that a nation who's forebears included survivors of the Holocaust are inflicting the same sort of atrocities on their neighbors. BOTH Israelis and Palestinians have the right to exist. Whether they call the Supreme Being God, Allah, Yahweh or any other name, they are bound by His commandments and the laws of Man. I have to wonder if the mothers of children on both sides of this conflict support it. The fighting is no longer confined to distant battlefields. It's being waged in their own neighborhoods and homes. Revenge is perhaps the worst characteristic in mankind. It is hardwired into many cultures and precludes forgiveness and peace. If only some peace-broker could convince all parties to choose a stopping point for revenge from whence all previous affronts and crimes would be forgiven and forgotten. We need to find a way to make waging peace as profitable as waging war. The savings in human life, natural and manmade resources would be huge. Who knows; repurposing all those resources might bring about cures for diseases.

A Woman

"Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater.

If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.

If you give her a house, she'll give you a home.

If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.

If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart.

She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.

So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit."

I received this from an old pal today. On this gloomy, rainy day, it was just what I needed. Hope it tickles your funny bone, too. ;-)

What the hell do you say?!

A friend I'd had since before kindergarten faced the worst sort of tragedy a couple of weeks before Christmas. I'll call her "Pam." Her mother called my mother with the news that Pam's son had taken his life. He was only 25. When she went to Germany as an exchange student during our senior year in high school, and a year later my family moved 800 miles away from our home town, we lost touch. Pam stayed in Germany and I've stayed in D.C. The first and last time I saw her since that time was at our 40th high school reunion the summer of '07. She briefly mentioned that "Josh" had been battling depression for much of his life. She'd been supporting his efforts to overcome it and seemed hopeful. It took me a week to work up the courage to phone her in Germany. I couldn't imagine how she was handling the devastation of losing her only child! I stumbled through awkward condolences. She ended up having to reassure me that my lack of expression was OK and that she appreciated my call. I felt like a total dolt when I hung up. Why couldn't I think of something supportive to say? Depression is something most everyone suffers at some point or another. Heaven knows I'm familiar with it. A combination of cowardice and innate optimism stopped me from acting on it. Meds that correct an imbalance in my brain finally have done the trick. Why hadn't meds saved Josh? I have experienced nothing remotely close to this tragedy. I have no children, so I can only imagine the gaping hole Pam must be feeling in the center of her being. To have struggled trying to help her son through so many painful years only to lose the battle. . . !! What they hell do you say?

Already counting the days. . .

I really miss my balcony garden!

Bailout Missing Player: Big Oil

Big Oil has made big bucks thanks to gas-guzzling Big Three vehicles. It has maintained and increased profits throughout the economic crisis. Why is Big Oil not part of the Big Three bail-out? Corporations that are dependent on each other should be throwing their weight behind their economic partners. If they weren't in cahoots before the crisis, perhaps they need to cooperate now. Synergism is not a dirty word. Oil reserves will run out. Suppliers and users of oil need to work together to develop alternatives to the current situation. Is this something regulators can handle? Ethics don't seem to be a corporate strong point these days.

Thoughts as 2008 fades away . . .

As this year's last Alberta Clipper thrashes through town today, it seems to be blowing stale, bad vibes out with it. Where I grew up in Northern Illinois, it would have brought stinging snow/ice and bitterly cold temps, but it's not that cold here today. The clouds are blowing through so quickly, the sun has no trouble warming things up. Every year is filled with beginnings and endings -- 2008 was no exception. We mourned the loss of family members and friends. And we celebrated the births of new lives. On the other hand, the wars continue; leaving all of us to question why so many lives -- on all sides -- are being sacrificed and for what. The world economy took a scarey nose-dive leaving everyone wondering how and when it will recover. On January 20th a job that I cannot imagine anyone with half a brain would choose will be turned over to a man who is making history. A man who must feel compelled to serve; who is willing to put himself out there because he believes in his mission and his ability to fulfill it. He and the team with whom he is surrounding himself will be under a critical microscope as never before. However, their success does not rest solely in their own hands. Every American has a stake and role in re-constituting our caring, principled society. Our Constitution and Bill of Rights have been battered and our business practices are disgraceful. Naivete and apathy are no longer excuses. We, The People are accountable for the state of the Union. We, The People must be able to trust the leaders we choose. We, The People need to unite behind new leadership and get our shit together, dammit!

Just for fun . . .