OUTRAGEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm still shaking with anger and spluttering in outrage after reading a story in today's Washington Post. It was all of about 4 column inches and might have been overlooked except for its headline: Honor Killings Defended. Five women, three of them teenagers, were shot and buried alive with rocks and mud because they wanted to choose their own husbands. Splutter, Splutter, AAAGH!!!!!!!! The act is shocking and despicable enough in itself. But then, defending the act carried out by southwestern tribesMEN, a member of Pakistan's parliament, Israr Ullah Zehri stated:

"These are centuries-old traditions and I will continue to defend them.

Only those who indulge in immoral acts should be afraid."

Is it any wonder that Pakistan can't get it's shit together? How can this country engage in international trade, communication or anything else when so many of it's leaders are still thinking in 4th century terms?! Social evolution must become a priority for Pakistan's leadership if they want to overcome brutal, ancient, tribal ways that do not belong in the 21st century. They are so out of sync with the rest of humanity! If people like Mr. Zehri are being elected to parliament perhaps a benevolent dictator would be better than an elected government. . . Democracy cannot and will not work just anywhere unless those living in it have attained a basic level of education and understanding of their role in a democracy. Too many cultures have been force-fed the benefits of democracy without understanding that it is a participatory form of goverment. Representatives can no longer wear the blinders their cultural history provides to keep them from seeing that society has evolved past and beyond them and will not be going backwards!

Comfort Food for a Rainy Day

As much as we need the rain, I don't enjoy rainy days. Now rainy nights are another thing, but during the day I want to see sunshine or at least have some lightning and thunder with the rain.

To comfort myself, I sometimes heat up a bowl of tomato soup and bake some cheese biscuits to go with it. It's a simple, satisfying meal and seems to perk up my spirits.

This is what the biscuits look like -- after they've been baked, split in half horizontally and put under the broiler for a few minutes. The cheese melts and browns a bit and the biscuit crisps-up. It would just be too cruel to show you them spread with melting butter.

My biscuit cutter is an heirloom from an old friend. It's probably 80 years old, but still cuts a good biscuit. Years ago, no woman's kitchen would be without a biscuit cutter!

the twenty-third day of august 2008

This August feels like a non-month. Every previous August I spent trying to find just the right birthday gift for my Dad. For a few years, my sibs and I got lucky and were able to chip-in on a group gift such as an engine for his dinghy or some other, quirky boat gadget. Most years, however, we all struggled trying to decide what to give to a man who had everything. Today marks another first since Dad's death last November. Spouse and I will not be: -- driving 110 miles round-trip to spend three hours with him. -- enjoying his favorite dinner and choking down his favorite cake; yellow with peanut butter icing. -- desperately hoping he'll like what we gave him. -- leaving with big hugs all around, hoping he enjoys another good year. Joni Mitchell said it so well -- "You don't know what you've lost til it's gone".

A Story About a Book

I have made it a daily habit to click on a breast cancer fund-raising site (breast cancer site) partly because I'm a survivor and partly because it runs in my family. The site hosts several others including one for a literacy campaign. Today, it asked which book first turned me on to reading. I was soon transported back to my first school-sponsored book fair. I think I was eleven at the time and it made a huge impression on me. In the lobby one morning, there were several, large tables stacked with new books from which each of us were allowed to select two. All of them had colorful covers and each seemed to hold great promise. Learning was most likely one of the goals of the fair, but imagination played a huge role in my selections. When I finally settled on my choices, I reverently carried them back to my classroom, then home. Danny Kaye was a huge star in those days. He was also famous for story-telling. One of my books was a collection of folktales he had collected during his travels. It was beautifully illustrated -- always a selling point with a kid. Danny Kaye had portrayed Hans Christian Andersen in a movie, so I could imagine him reciting these stories to me. I have no memory of the other book I selected -- it was probably something practical like a dictionary. Years later, I gave the book to my younger sister who had small children by then. Much to my surprise, she confessed that one illustration in the book had always creeped her out since she was little. It was a picture of a devil-like character. It had never made much of an impression on me, but it sure had on her! I think she put the book way in the back of a closet. I'm now reading Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses. It is possibly the most bizarre book I've ever read. I bought it out of curiosity to see what all the uproar had been about. I have found it very hard to follow yet am determined to finish it. It seems to require a somewhat more worldly sophistication and knowledge than I possess, but it's still compelling. I'm only up to page 355 of this 561 page novel, so perhaps it will come together at the end. . . .? I'd love to know what other regular people, like me, thought of it.

Happy Monday! Something pretty for a change. . .

Our balcony window boxes continue to provide colorful, fragrant respite from the summer heat. The first photo appears to show a white petunia providing shade for some little red flowers. The second I like for the dappled sunlight. Hope you enjoy them, too.

He's a guy like every other guy!

John Edwards has been probed and pilloried to the point of exhaustion -- mine, that is. I don't think there's a man out there who doesn't sympathize with or at least understand his "moral mistake." It's what guys do, for pete's sake!! Some question why his wife hasn't dumped him. Hillary Clinton faced the same questioning after Bill's imprudence. A wise woman understands the "guy thing" and that male genetics dictate their behavior. It doesn't, however, make the humiliation, anger and hurt any easier to take. A marriage certificate may say your man belongs to you, but his brains are still in his pants. The whole idea of marriage came long after men and women were "genetically wired." I believe it was an attempt, for whatever reason, to put the brakes on natural, human behavior. We were puritanized and made to believe sex is dirty and reserved only for procreation. The male of our species still has a genetic make-up that requires him to procreate as much as possible. Maybe it's an evolutionary thing, but smart women recognize it and deal with it. So to John Edwards and all the other philandering guys out there: shame on you for hurting your wife's feelings and breaking her trusting heart. If you were lucky enough to have married the right woman, you'll accept her punishment gladly and do your best to resist the impulse to jump any woman but her from here on out.

Shoot first -- ask questions later. . . .

That seems to continue to be the M.O. for the Prince Georges County (MD) Police. Even in the home of a current mayor! On top of that, they didn't even bother to notify the town police about their operation. Despicable as it was, P.G. police commanders continue to justify shooting two family pets because the officers who forcefully broke-into the mayor's home "were afraid of them." Anyone who knows anything about black labs knows they are sweet-natured and gentle. The two family dogs were in the house when the S.W.A.T. broke in looking for a box of marijuana they had placed on the mayor's front porch. It had been addressed to the mayor's wife and sent from Arizona. Apparently, a drug-sniffing dog out there alerted to the scent and started a horrifying chain of events. Can't blame the dog, however. When the mayor arrived home he saw the box addressed to his wife and, naturally, carried it into the house and went about his business. When the police crashed in moments later it was still unopened on the front hall table. Neither the mayor nor his wife have any connection to drugs and, obviously, were not expecting the delivery. There was no reason to suspect them of dealing, either. As dogs are apt to do, both came to the door to see what was going on. The 7-year old dog was immediately shot and the younger dog was shot three times in the back as he tried to escape to another part of the house. Two little girls, their parents and grandmother were subjected to violence and a bloody scene -- equal to or worse than a horror movie -- in their own home! Their community is outraged as is everyone else who has heard the news. Apparently, drug smugglers have developed a new trick to distribute their contraband. Someone scopes out houses that are empty during the day. A drop is made and the dealer picks it up before the home owners return. It has happened to less prominent P.G. County residents and law enforcement handled it without drawn guns. NICE GOING P.G. POLICE!!! Are you all incapable of learning ANYTHING from your mistakes??!!!

HURRAY!!. . . . . . . . . .Oh No!!!!

Many cheered upon hearing the news of a covert operation in Colombia to free hostages who had been held for years. I was among those cheering until I read that the undercover operation made use of the Red Cross emblem. This is a dangerous thing to do. The Geneva Conventions protect and proscribe the use of the Red Cross, Red Crescent, Magen David Adom and the Red Lion and Sun (don't ask, it's a long story). None of these emblems is ever to be used to disguise activities such as this operation. There must have been other ways to conduct the rescue without sullying a respected organization's reputation. These emblems have been recognized and respected for more than 100 years as identifying safe haven and humanitarian aid. Once the integrity of the emblem is weakened, distrust and ambivalence set in and its protective identity is damaged. I'm thrilled for those who were freed - AND - I'm horrified by the subterfuge and misrepresentation. It's a dangerous precedent. FYI: The Geneva Conventions, of which there are four, are agreements passed during international conferences. The first was in 1864 and the latest was in 1949 which adopted protections for P.O.W.s and civilians. The United States is a signatory to the Conventions, a fact blithely ignored by the current administration.

Could this mean the end of bullfighting?

I'll get to the bullfighting question in a moment, but first. . . Have you ever felt uncomfortable or embarrassed while visiting the Great Ape House at the National Zoo? I don't go there anymore or spend time around their outside cages, either. Making eye-contact with a Beluga Whale at the Chicago Aquarium a few years ago reinforced a gut feeling. Standing on a platform over the water, I made and locked eye-contact with a sleek, beautiful, ghostly white mammal. She seemed to be looking into my very soul and I felt an overwhelming desire to set her free in the open ocean. I'll never forget her. Even before that, I avoided making eye-contact with primates at zoos. Just the thought of them having to live out their lives behind bars or Plexiglas made me feel ashamed. Worse, children and some adults would mimic their movements, sounds and expressions, thinking it was fun for everyone. I don't think so. Humiliation is not just a human response. Anthropomorphism has nothing to do with my feelings. It is well-proven that sentient beings -- mammals in particular -- have emotions and suffer pain as humans do. If more of us got beyond the novelty of the appearance of an elephant, chimpanzee or dolphin, perhaps we would treat them more humanely. Spain seems to be the first and, I hope, not the last to officially recognize the rights of sentient beings beyond humans. This is not a frivolous stand. Jokes are made about non-humans now being allowed the same rights as humans. It is not funny when primates are subjected to experiments, albeit in the name of science, that inflict preventable pain and suffering. Bullfighting in Spain is an honored, longstanding ritual with religious content. Now that science has shown the existence of pain and emotion in other mammals, I sincerely hope that Spaniards will rethink this sport. I don't know how anyone can justify breeding these magnificent animals to be tortured and killed.

Down in the dumps. . .

. . . that's how Mom would describe how I've been feeling lately. The intense heat, humidity and dirty air make me feel trapped indoors. Since nearly having heatstroke during a trip to the Middle East years ago, I can no longer tolerate the heat. Thank God for air conditioning! D.C. has experienced an abrupt increase in violent crime this month. I theorize that our dreadful summer weather is a factor. Too many folks don't have air conditioning. Is it possible that frustration over being unable to find comfort causes over-reactions and modifies behavior of people who usually would not think of harming another? To make my point, I offer the following. For several years, spouse and I lived on the top floor of a very old D.C. apartment building. The air conditioning was cooled air sent throughout the building through ancient duct work. Baffles to direct it to all parts of the building had long ago broken or stopped functioning. Some tenants had to wear sweaters all summer and others, like us, had to cover our windows with those Mylar thermal blankets and sit in front of electric fans. On top of that, some fool had stated that insects don't fly above 60 feet, so screens were unnecessary. Yeah, right! Across the alley and across the street were flat rooves. [I know that spelling looks funny, but that's what I was taught in 4th grade.] These rooves held standing water. You know where I'm going with this. . . . Imagine going to bed each night, windows open in hopes of a nighttime cool-down, covered in insect repellent, a sheet and a fan blowing across your prostrate body. The mosquitoes seemed to love buzzing around our ears looking for that one spot free of repellent. We put up with those conditions for seven years because the rent was low and the location was within walking distance to both of our jobs. The first summer in our current digs was like heaven! No open windows or streetlight glare, noise, or bugs. We both marvelled at what a difference a cool, quiet, dark room made in our sleep habits. We no longer woke up ornery and still tired! So . . . is there any wonder that crime increases in the summer? I wish I could buy air conditioners for everyone who doesn't have one. Maybe then we could all be more civil and sane.

Inspiration and hope from a bumper sticker

Gratuitous Cuteness X

I'm feeling sentimental these days. This pic is of my Dad and his older brother.

Just LOVE those baby cheeks!

Private Acts in Public Places

Checking out DCBlogs.com recently, I read a rant from someone who witnessed an intoxicated man bathing in a trash can of water in an alley. She found it disgusting and thought the bather should have found a more private spot. Well yeah, but. . . Have the decency to look away when you spot someone who doesn't have the luxury of a bathroom, much less a home. Then make a donation to a human services charity. Think how fortunate you are to be able to take a hot or cold shower whenever you wish and in private. Others are not so lucky. Allow me to illustrate. The National Association of Broadcasters (NAB) headquarters is at the corner of 18th and N Streets, NW. In the front courtyard is a funky fountain that I believe is part of the building's cooling system. During the 70s I walked by there daily on my way to work on N Street. Frequently a man would be bathing and washing his clothing on the rough surface of the fountain. People stopped and stared but he seemed oblivious to his audience. As I kept walking, I realized that he was psychologically impaired as well as homeless. He DID, however care about his appearance and used what was available. I also suspected that he might have been one of hundreds of patients released from St. Elizabeth's Hospital during that period of heightened awareness of civil liberties. The ACLU had a huge role in psychiatric hospitals freeing their occupants to live as they wished. Many former patients failed horribly. Without their meds and a supportive, controlled environment, they could not function well enough to be responsible for themselves. Many ended up on the streets, psychotic and miserable. Shelters were opened, but avoided because they didn't feel safe there. Vietnam vets soon started pouring into D.C. to seek recourse from the government. Unfortunately, it's not simply a matter of showing up. Complicated paperwork and delays may have contributed further damages to their already fragile psyches. Many of them also ended up on the streets. To that young blogger: try to make allowances for those less fortunate than yourself. Bathing and urinating in public are unpleasant to witness but, apparently, essential for those who do it. Perhaps if we had more public toilets they, cabbies and bus drivers and many others would not have to relieve themselves against walls or behind bushes. Everyone could be spared the public display of bodily functions.

A Whippoorwill

Summer, 1969 -- Potomac, Maryland -- well after midnight. A lone whippoorwill sings in the distance. It is haunting and annoying at the same time. Can't he change his tune a little? Why doesn't he stop, at least for a few minutes? Why is his the only bird song I hear? During the day there is a chorus of mocking birds, cat birds, robins, finches and others that have their own seasons to visit this part of the world. It's amusing to watch the mocking birds in their routine. Males find a high spot, often on the top of a chimney, strut around a bit then fly straight up several feet, fluttering and singing before landing again. They also like to gang-up and harass the occasional visiting crow or buzzard. When the silence of the night gives way to this lone singer, I can't help but feel sad that he's not getting a response. Where have all the whippoorwills gone? Was he a fledgling who fell from his nest, got left behind and had to grow up on his own? I don't know anything about birds, but the thought bothers me. That summer was the first our family and four others occupied newly built houses in a comfy-sounding development called Country Place. As construction finished on other houses, more families moved in. We had mud lawns and no trees. But, there were also woods to explore and a creek in which to catch slimy blobs of tadpoles. In another direction was a farm with pet peacocks and llamas where we learned the hard way that llamas spit. And close, to the south, was the old farm house of the family that had owned and worked the land our houses now occupied. They kept a large garden of vegetables and flowers and were generous with their new neighbors. That summer, the air conditioning in our new house crashed for several weeks. It was hard on our 15 year old dog who died within days, on July 18th -- the night before the first Moon mission. It was also hard on his human family. We had come from the shores of Lake Michigan with it's cooling breezes to the tropics of a D.C. summer. Stifling air pollution was also something new. Weather inversions that held pollutants close to the ground often turned the sky a sickening brown. Lying in bed, windows wide open, no cooling breezes, I listened to that Whippoorwill sing night after night. I identified with that bird. I missed my hometown and our dog. Decades have passed and nearly every square inch of Potomac is now covered with conspicuous, ostentatious houses. The village's serenity and natural beauty were pillaged by those with more dollars than sense. One positive note is that the numerous trees Dad planted in our formerly barren yard have flourished and provide comforting shade for the family that now occupies the house on Hayfield Court.