Honor, honesty, humanity -- where are they?

> The reputations of several have been ruined by the actions of one among them. They closed their, eyes, minds and hearts to his victims in the name of competition, winning and the almighty dollar. The costs will be borne by many, many others who had no hand in the tragic scandal. The ugly stigma is effecting generations.

> Deliberately, systematically and diabolically ignoring the criminal acts of fellow priests against congregants caused years or trauma for scores of victim, many of whom may never fully recover. In a culture that insists sins are forgiven simply by confessing them to another human and reciting scripted words, what else are we to expect?

> Like Pontius Pilot, a Middle Eastern despot symbolically washes his hands of responsibility. Blaming the military for the outright slaughter of civilians -- his own people -- seems to free him from any sense of regret or guilt. His pretty wife enjoys a life of travel, designer clothing, and the best of everything. Meanwhile, women and children all around her are forced from their homes by government terrorists, in the process losing what meager possessions they had and work that barely supported their needs. Constant fear takes a heavy toll on their physical and mental health. Education becomes an afterthought, way behind shelter, sustenance and medical care.

> A mentally unstable young man easily accumulates thousands of rounds of ammunition for several assault rifles in preparation for warfare against innocent, anonymous victims. Not even legitimate hunters need assault rifles to kill deer or birds, or whatever they’re after. So why are they so readily available? Ownership and use of these weapons should be limited to the military.

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The opening ceremony for the Olympics last night was beautiful and exciting. Watching all the athletes wearing broad smiles on healthy bodies gathering in the stadium was inspiring and uplifting. They are there for friendly competitions with fellow athletes from around the world. Somehow, long standing animosities are set aside for the sake of sport.

If only this kind of integrity and sportsmanship was common in daily life.

D.C. Taxicab Drivers

Before you go getting all huffy or think that I believe all D.C. cabbies are crazy and rude -- STOP. That ain’t where I’m comin’ from.

Since 1971 I’ve taken quite a few cab rides in D.C.. Some were less than pleasant. Not that long ago cabs were often really old, rundown cars with sunken back seats, windows that didn’t work, too many air fresheners . . . you get the idea. However, never did I feel unsafe or disrespected. I just figured the drivers couldn’t afford to drive spiffy, newer cars. There were, of course, exceptions.

Even with the old zone system, I never felt I was being ripped-off on a fare. I didn’t necessarily like the amount I had to pay for a short ride that went through two or three zones. [No surprise that Congress set up the zones to suit themselves.]

A Local Living article by Chris Lyford in today’s Washington Post triggered a warm personal memory. Chris wrote about the D.C. Professional Taxicab Drivers Association and in particular, driver John Bugg, a native Washingtonian who has driven a cab here for 55 years. Mr. Bugg easily could have been the driver who transported me on one of the most horrendous days of my life.

It started on a frigid February morning when I was very ill with fever and bronchitis and should have been in bed, not slogging through empty, snow-covered, early-morning streets looking for an ATM. Someone near and dear to me had been falsely arrested and jailed overnight and I needed cash to bail him out.

Having cried through the night, waiting until I could get to him at 7 a.m., I was a haggard mess. The cold air made my eyes water, nose run and made me cough so hard that it nearly took my breath away walking eight blocks to the nearest ATM.

Turning away from the ATM, there were few cars on the street and not one taxi in sight. Minutes went by and hopelessness set in. I just wanted to find a warm hole to crawl into. God must have taken pity on me because about then a taxi stopped near the curb. I crawled over the plowed snow drift and pretty much fell into the front seat, there being another passenger in the back. I was so grateful I wanted to grab and hug the gentle black man at the wheel.

As soon as I’d gotten into the front seat, the driver cranked up the heat to high. He must have felt suffocated from the hot air blowing on him, but he was clearly concerned about me. The passenger in the back didn’t say anything and soon reached his destination. I started weeping in relief and because I felt so lousy. That gentle man did his best to soothe me with kind words and encouragement.

Thirty years ago, there was still stupid awkwardness when it came to the sight of a young white woman alone in a car with an older black man. As far as I was concerned, he had saved my life and sanity. He acted like and even resembled my own grandfather. To this day, I wish I had been better able to express my appreciation.

As if his loving concern hadn’t been enough, he refused payment when he safely delivered me to my destination.

I hope his life has been especially blessed. I know he’s not the only good Samaritan out there, but he’s mine. I’m grateful to Chris Lyford for reminding me about this caring man.

- - - - - -

With so much famine, conflict and turmoil in the world, many more immigrants now drive cabs in D.C.. Striking up conversations with drivers isn’t always easy, but I’ve learned that many have advanced degrees and held important positions in their homelands. Unfortunately, degrees from overseas don’t always translate well for American jobs.

Some are less patient and more anxious about their futures than others which sometimes comes off as rudeness. And, let’s face it, discrimination still distresses many newcomers, especially if they don’t dress Western style or speak with heavy accents.

I wish that judgmental types would remember that many of them left everything and loved ones behind to escape untenable conditions, much as many of my own ancestors did.

I found my "Highlander"!

Since Thanksgiving, I’ve been enjoying medieval Celtic and Scandinavian romance novels. I can’t figure out why it took me so long to “discover” these distracting, lustful fantasies.

Some may consider bodice-rippers lightweight literature. Some are pretty lightweight, focusing way too much on the sexual exploits of their characters. Others, like Laiden’s Daughter provide insights into the history and lifestyles of those ancient times, before the Puritans twisted peoples’ minds.

In my oh so fertile imagination, I conjured up a Highlander that makes reading these stories even more fun. Recently, I saw him -- in the flesh!!! It’s a good thing I didn’t have to talk or walk at that moment -- both would have been impossible after he grinned at me.

Now that my heart has stopped skipping beats and I can breathe normally again I can chuckle over my reaction. Actually, now I’m a little depressed . . . because I do love my husband. Still, I appreciate a gorgeous man when I see one -- especially hot and sweaty from running shirtless on a 100 degree afternoon.

. . . . the dark, curly hair on his perfectly chiseled chest gleamed with moisture trickling toward exotic, forbidden places as his full lips spread into a sensual smile over dangerously straight, white teeth. . . ..
Oh lordy!

. . . the bombs bursting in air . . .

KABOOM!!!

Happy Independence Day 2012!

This from a self-proclaimed Libertarian?!

“I think a lot of things could be handled locally . . . the more local the better, and the more common sense the decisions are, rather than having a federal government make those decisions.”

Senator Rand Paul (R-Ky) during his 2010 campaign for the Senate.

There were many in D.C. who, when he won election, viewed him as a friend to District residents. Considering what he espoused above, it was natural. Little did we know he would soon employ the same kind of tricks senior members of Congress have to squelch legislation they don’t like.
Just last week he proved he lied in 2010.

By attaching completely unrelated, emotion-charged amendments to a bill that would have allowed the D.C. government to allocate locally collected taxes without Congressional approval, he went along with fellow Republicans to maintain it’s strangle hold on D.C. Of course the bill failed.

Soon afterwards, Rand Paul was interviewed by The Washington Post’s Ben Pershing and said “I think it’s a good way to call attention to some issues that have national implications. We don’t have [control] over the states, but we do over D.C. I am doing this because I can.”

I have to wonder what it is about D.C. residents and our elected leadership that encourages such two-faced behavior. The District has a population of highly educated, astute residents. Two hundred years ago when D.C. was designated a federal district, the same was not true.

Why is that the U.S. Congress is afraid to give D.C. residents the rights enjoyed by every other American? Our government preaches democracy and freedom around the world yet denies it to its own people.

Our Constitution was not written in stone. It’s time it was updated to recognize and accommodate reality. There are ways of doing that without diluting the original intent of our most sacred document. Why is it so damn hard to do?

Utter and Inescapable Temptation

To my mind, nothing conjures the sensuous sweetness of summer like red raspberries.  If I had my druthers, I would live on them and nothing else.  Really!  Not even chocolate satisfies like these luscious, juicy berries.

Looks like a blizzard

As I write this, we are experiencing a thunder storm the likes of which I haven't seen in several years.  The rain is coming down so hard that it looks like a blizzard rather than just rain.  Our lights are flickering, something that rarely happens in our neighborhood because our electric lines are under the ground.

Here's how it looks on the weather map.  We are directly under the red portion near the center of the map.

The street lights, themselves seem to be raining and nothing but a few lights are visable across the street.

I love this kind of weather and spent quite a bit of time enjoying it on our balcony.  I was sitting in a chair six feet from the railing and got throroughly soaked in a matter of a couple of minutes.  Wild and wonderful!  Now if we could just send some of this to the fires out west. . . ..

My forehead is falling . . . .

. . . and it’s taking my eye lids with it!

What’s with the loose, wrinkled skin that now resides where my eye lids used to be? I want too believe it’s temporary from rubbing my “allergy eyes”. But it now appears that I must face the fact that it is yet another cruel trick of aging.

Not only are my eye lids drooping, but they seem to be gobbling-up my eye lashes. How sick is that?! Not that I ever had lush lashes. Mine have always been stick-straight like my hair and pointed downward. Nevertheless, I’d torture myself daily gathering the few I could grasp with an eyelash curler trying to make them more perky. They ended up more bent than curled. Eye lashes with square corners -- not attractive.

Now there aren’t enough lashes left to hold mascara, much less be caught and curled. What’s a woman to do?

A couple of weeks ago, a beautiful woman of color stood behind me in a grocery checkout line. After several stealthy glances, I simply had to ask her if her gorgeous, lush lashes were all her own. Now she had every right to say they were and she would have fooled me, but I think I caught her off-guard.

Now I’ve got the urge to invest in some drugstore lashes myself. Hers looked absolutely real and not at all over the top like some Hollywood bimbo’s. However, reexamining my face this morning, I realize that glued-on lashes wouldn't stand a chance and would soon be pushed off by my now aggressive, creeping eyelids! . . .sigh.

Happy Weekend, Y’All!

So delusional

Jerry Sandusky must live in his own fantasy world to believe that his repugnant behavior, year after year, was OK. Photographs of him before and after he was caught reveal a man who seems to have no idea that he was torturing boys. He enjoyed himself and, I do think, believed his victims were enjoying his attentions.

In no way am I trying to excuse him. Being a survivor of molestation, I have little sympathy for him.

As with many of child victims, confusion, shame and disbelief kept my lips sealed until I got home and screamed into my pillow until I was hoarse. I had no idea how to act or what to say to the man who molested me.

To this day, I don’t know how or if my abuser was dealt with. He was an old, respected, up-standing member of the community. Mom was a young mother of three. I don’t think she told my Dad about it because his reaction would have been loud and clear.

When I experienced a sickening flash-back years ago, I was stunned to learn from so many women friends that they, too had been victimized as children and more as teens and adults. These are smart, capable women of a wide range of ages, some raising families of their own. This lead me to wonder how a parent can prepare a child to handle difficult situations.

As an 11-year old, I knew nothing about men and women, much less sexual behavior. I had been taught to respect and obey my elders; a perfect target for a pedophile.

If I had been told it was OK to refuse -- even coming from an adult --anything that turned my stomach or made me feel weird, would I have reacted differently? Maybe. Adults are physically bigger than children and perceived to have priority and authority. I believed that ninety-nine percent of the adults in my life at that time were worthy of respect. It was the evil one percent I knew nothing about.

Instincts in children tend to encompass simple things like not liking the smell of spinach or fearing water. Their instincts about people are pretty rudimentary, too. Early on, they fear strangers but, with age, they become more gregarious and socially aware.

Is there a way to develop and hone instincts in children so that they can better protect themselves without making them paranoid? I hope so.  Being a woman who enjoys babies and children, I would be heart-broken if children were taught to fear anyone but members of their immediate families. I love to chat-up babies and their parents in the grocery store.

The sad truth is that child abusers have been around for thousands of years and they aren’t going away. It’s about time this crime was recognized and dealt with as a crime, rather than being hidden away in shame. It’s time we Americans shed our Puritanical imprinting.

The courageous victims who have spoken up against their abusers deserve our respect and attention. They also need help to overcome their shame, hatred, and every other emotion that sexual abuse provokes. I read somewhere that some abusers were themselves abused -- a vicious cycle hard to be break.

Perhaps psychologists need to re-examine the minds of pedophiles. Mental illnesses are most often the result of a brain chemistry imbalance. Jerry Sandusky seems a prime example of someone whose mind is polluted with delusion.

Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a pill he and his kind could take that would correct that imbalance? Maybe medicine needs a Super Fund like the petroleum industry has.

Dream on. . . . …..

Weather Can Kill

Stories about the deaths of children and pets being forgotten or deliberately left in parked cars during extreme weather are starting to surface.

How many babies must suffer horrible deaths before people wake up to the fact that they are far too distracted? And what would make anyone believe that leaving his or her pet in a parked car while they work, shop or play is a good idea? I dare anyone thinking that way to sit in a parked car, even with the windows cracked but not enough to allow a pet to escape. They won’t last long.

The legal system is in a quandary over whether and how to punish those, most often parents, responsible for such tragedies. Accidents happen. BUT, how should grieving parents be adjudicated for bad judgment because they over-extended themselves to the point of neglect.

I still see people texting and driving. For some, talking on a cell phone seems to go hand-in-hand with driving. I have to wonder what they did before electronics drew their attention away from the task of maneuvering and controlling a ton of metal and glass.

Eating, smoking and applying make-up are still popular diversions. It’s facetiously called multi-tasking.

I wish that people who are addicted to their electronics would turn them off and set them aside even if it’s only for a day. So much of what goes on around us is not contained on a tiny, electronic screen. The old proverb “stop and smell the roses” is just as timely today as it ever was.

Busy parents need to ask themselves why they created a child in the first place. I refuse to believe it was simply to make a fashion statement “baby bump”.

Newborns and infants may seem like crying/pooping/barfing/wobbly lumps, but they are absorbing information at an extraordinary rate. They are sensitive to the moods of people around them. Too much stimulation is as bad as none at all.

I’m grateful that I was a child before electronics took over our lives. I happily live without TV, preferring reading. I don’t own a cell phone although with my total lack of navigational skills, perhaps I should.

Electronics ideally make our lives simpler, chores easier and quicker, provide information and entertainment and keep us in touch with each other.

Electronics cannot smile and laugh at a joke, give a hug, cry with us, tie a shoe, change a diaper, sooth a scared child, kiss a boo-boo and make it all better. Have we forgotten how important eye and skin contact are to humans?

Maybe some smart techie will invent a phone “app” to remind drivers of the sleeping child belted into the safety seat behind them or the beloved, hard-of- hearing old dog asleep on the back seat. It might prevent future tragedies. But then again, there’s nothing better than simply being aware of what is around us.

P.S. The surest way to be robbed, mugged or run-over is to drive or walk around listening to whatever on ear buds and/or your attention glued to some gadget. Those toys are expensive and not everyone has the bread to buy their own! At least look up every now and again.

Dad

Little did he know this was only the first of his five children.

I wonder if he was surprised that his namesake looked so much more like his mother than he did his father.  He had his father's build and big feet, but his mother's dark, curly hair and eventually, her beautiful teeth.

Looking at this picture reminds me of the wonder and probably a little fear that accompanied the births of all of his children.

Dad was a fierce protector and teacher.  We often resented his strict "teaching" methods, but his heart was in the right place.

Equally important for a man who fathered five children is the fact that, for the rest of his life, he remained a devoted husband and lover to the most important person in his life; our Mom.

Anticipation

We haven't planted our window boxes yet, but this weekend appears to be the right time to do that.  Today is exactly a week from the Summer Solstice so we need to get it in gear.

It's always hard figuring out what, how many and where to plant our mini-garden. We have window boxes and big pots that sit on the balcony deck.  Spouse prefers the latter, but I like the idea of sharing lovely flowers with the world as it passes by below.  Maybe we should plant all our containers.  Of course that would seriously cramp anyone who might want to sit on the balcony.

No More for This Champ

It broke my heart to learn that I'll Have Another will not be running in the Belmont Stakes or ever again.  At the same time, I'm greatly relieved that his owner and trainer withdrew him from the race because of a tendon injury.

It would have been a tremendous honor if he had won the Triple Crown, not to mention making plenty more bucks for his owners.  This is a fine example of integrity winning over wealth.

This horse has the heart of a champion and I hope he will sire many more during his retirement from racing.  He will live on through his offspring. 

Weeping

Rolling Thunder has cruised through the city since late last week.  I cheered them on and mentally thanked them for their resounding acknowledgement of the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform.

Moments ago, President Obama finished speaking at the Vietnam Memorial, aka, The Wall.  As I've never heard expressed so eloquently before, he spoke about all the things that should have been said and done when our troops came home from Southeast Asia.

This year is the 50th anniverary of the beginning of American military involvement in Vietnam.  It was stunning to realize that it's been that long.  For many of my generation, it seems like just yesterday our classmates and friends were learning they were being drafted to serve in a war that had not yet been declared.  Between 1962 and 1975, the pain of loss and agony over the missing was a daily burden broadcast on television.

Our returning Vietnam vets were treated like they shamed the country.  Many were ignored or -- worse -- castigated for participating, many of them not voluntarily.  Today the President aknowledged this fact and reminded everyone that we still owed them our gratitude and support for their efforts.

The tears started flowing at that point remembering friends whose lives were stolen from them before they had a chance to even live them.  So many good men and women gave their all for a cause that was lost almost before it started.  I don't think a single group has suffered more than our Vietnam Vets.  Physically, mentally and financially they have struggled against a tide of unprecedented negativity and neglect.

As the President revealed, it's been these guys who are working so hard to assure that vets coming after then will not suffer the same way they did.

I don't mean to ignore veterans of other wars.  Their sacrifices were equally heinous, but they were welcomed home and given advantages unavailable to Vietnam vets.  The Vietnam vets are MY vets and it moved me to hear them honored as they always should have been.

Following the President's speech, eight more names added to the wall were read out.  When a piper played "Amazing Grace" my tears flowed in earnest.  I totally lost it when a bugler soulfully played Taps.

Crying on Memorial Day is fitting and, I think, necessary.  Hating war won't make it go away, so shedding tears is a healthier way to relieve the sadness of loss.  I no longer visit The Wall because it is too painful.  It is a comfort to know that thousands visit it every week, assuring that my friends and all the others whose names are on the wall will never be forgotten.