/Long-Ass Rant Follows*Beware*

This is a diatribe. It’s possibly an indictment of how inept I am  at educating those around me on the issues about which I research and write every day. It’s a teensy-tiny angry finger-pointing at the progressive or non-traditional media outlets that cover current news. And, finally, it’s an honest exploration of how exactly women’s organizations, reproductive rights and health advocates, women’s rights activists, bloggers and others can immerse themselves so thoroughly in an issue only to come up for air and discover that not many people know what the hell we are talking about.

Health care reform is on a *lot* of Americans’ minds these days, right? Over the holiday long weekend it came up any number of times with friends and family. How bad is the Senate health care reform bill, really? Will health care reform actually be a boon for the insurance companies? Is the elimination of pre-existing conditions going to cost Americans more for health care? Who wins? Who loses?

What rarely comes up (okay, really, it never came up without my prodding) was what abortion coverage in both the House and Senate bills looked like. No one debated the merits of the Stupak-Pitts Amendment. No one asked what the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) was doing inserting anti-choice language into a health care reform bill that should remain “abortion neutral” because why should health reform address something that is already legal and legislated?  No one discussed the reasons for or against, under any circumstances, the passage of health care reform by sacrificing women’s rights and health.

First, a little background: I am a 40 year old (okay I’m actually moments away from turning 41, now are you happy?), middle-class woman, heterosexual, married with two children, living in Seattle.  My friends and family, strong progressive-minded, politically active people, fall in the low-income to middle-income range – some with young children and absolutely no health insurance, some with the barest of health insurance coverage. I have family members who are extremely grateful bearers of excellent health insurance coverage, squeezing every last drop out of their coverage because of chronic, ongoing or debilitating health conditions. I have others in my life who could accidentally cut themselves, bleed for hours and, in their health care coverage void, research Mayan prayers for healing on the internet  in order to avoid paying outrageous sums of money (which they cannot afford) for emergency care. What we all do seem to have in common is an interest in and a fairly strong grasp on what health care reform looks like or should look like in general, what the current issues encompass, what the political landscape looks like at any given time, and what it all might mean for “the people.”

But unless I, the lone voice on “women’s issues”, bring up what exactly women’s health access might look like if we were to pass Stupak-Pitts in the final bill (or some incarnation of it), or what maternity care coverage might look like, for example, the issues never arose.

So when my brother told me that, after talking with my mother, she was under the mistaken idea that the Stupak-Pitts Amendment would simply ensure that the federal government be barred (as it is now, a la the Hyde Amendment) from funding abortion services for low-income women (except in “extreme” circumstances), I was shocked. My own mother didn’t really know what the Stupak Amendment codified, why it was introduced or who was behind it (not just Rep. Bart Stupak, and anti-choice Democrat but the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops – the men behind the men). I clearly am not doing nearly as thorough a job as I thought I was.

It’s a problem.

It’s not that my mother and other progressives aren’t fuming at the lack of a public option, frustrated about what this “reform” bill has turned into: something Obama’s Clinton-era staffers pooped out in fear (We don’t want to offend anyone, do we? We don’t want to seem (gasp!) like socialist radicals. My god, we wouldn’t want the government running health care! That’s socialist. Just like that socialist Medicare system, or Medicaid, or public transit, or our roads system, or, oh, police officers, the fire department…okay, well, those are different somehow, right?). My family and friends are angry at the fact that it certainly seems, despite some modest gains for some, insurance companies still stand to make a profit, without much change for the average American.

But their anger is not about abortion access or coverage or the ways in which Rep. Stupak, and his cohort of Democratic anti-choice lawmakers have leveraged this as a wedge issue to stymie reform efforts. They do not know that the Stupak Amendment doesn’t simply re-codify the Hyde Amendment. The Stupak Amendment goes much, much farther by restricting private insurance companies from covering abortion if anyone in their pool is also a member of the health exchange – the federally funded insurance program.

The thing is, there is so much more behind this absurdity. Most people don’t know that the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (UCSSB) stands to make a LOT of money if health care reform passes. We know that with reform will come millions more Americans with some kind of insurance coverage – whether it be through private insurance, a subsidized plan or a combination of both. There will be lots more money flowing through private insurance companies, undoubtedly. But what about the UCSSB?

The USCCB runs hundreds of hospitals, medical centers and health facilities around the country from which they make billions of dollars. My colleague at RH Reality Check, Wendy Norris, is an investigative reporter. She breaks it down:

One in six patients are cared for in 624 Catholic hospitals scattered throughout the U.S. in 2006, according to the Catholic Health Association. The church also operates more than 800 post-acute care, senior living and skilled nursing centers across the nation. All told, $84.6 billion was spent on Catholic church-affiliated care…

…consider that there are 60 some Catholic-affiliated hospital systems in all 50 states — representing 13 percent of the nation’s entire in-patient health care system. That’s easily tens of billions of dollars flowing through the business arm of the Catholic church that continues to grow through mergers with private and other religiously-affiliated hospitals.

Tens. of billions. of dollars. flowing through the Catholic church. And you thought this was about religion?! Or even ideology?We know the truth. It’s about power and money. This is not a theorem, it’s an easily solvable equation.

So, the Catholic church stands to profit tremendously with health care reform as is. But, of course, they are the ones behind the Stupak-Pitts Amendment, the amendment that may have a partner in the Senate, that threatens to derail health care reform efforts. So why would USCCB put considerable power behind this amendment when their very business, their ability to reap billions more in profit, is at stake if health care reform doesn’t happen?

Norris theorizes it’s simply a “brazen attempt” to “kneecap their competitors” while still taking advantage of what health care reform efforts will bring for the USCCB.

Whether or not this is true, this is still a critical time for women’s health care advocacy. The Mikulski Amendment passed today (I wrote about it here) which is great news for women who already have insurance. The Senate bill does not, as of yet, have a Stupak-like amendment, though Sen. Ben Nelson (R-NE) is reported to be brewing something in his evil laboratory. Even if he comes up with nothing but a steaming, bubbling beaker filled with benign liquid, we’ll still need to rally efforts behind the combined Senate/House health care reform bill and make sure reform does not pass on the backs of women in this country.

I am not a political poker chip. Except that Stupak-Pitts does exactly that – makes women’s lives another part of this game. And it is a game. If it weren’t, there’d be no need to simply “re-codify” the Hyde Amendment. This is about using women’s lives as pawns – pardon the boring metaphor – by seeing how far one can get on our backs. Keep going, I’ve almost made the Catholic hospitals one hundred million dollars, now one billion. Keep going – I’ve almost lined my own legislative pockets with the political good will to get re-elected.

So, while this is my own little diatribe – frustration, sadness, confusion, and passion shaken, stirred and boiling over – When I take a breath, clear my mind and listen to my thoughts here’s what I’ve got:

I’m not bitter. I’m just alive and energized and willing to stand up for all women in this country. Because as long as I’m breathing, and as long as I have my two beautiful children’s eyes to look into each and every day, I know that there are fights worth fighting. Energies worth emanating. Journeys worth following. This is one of them.

From an interview with John Waters at Washington City Paper today (and really it’s like giving yourself a giant gift if you take a few minutes to read the entire thing):

“I talk to people about how you can’t ignore Christmas. You can love it, you can hate it, but you can’t ignore it. I love it without irony, but I understand why some people hate it. It’s a financial burden, it’s an emotional burden, it’s a decorating burden. But it’s a happy time for criminals and a happy time for people who are attracted to elderly men who are overweight and wear velvet. It’s a time for perversion.”

(And, by the way, Waters says he’s making a Christmas movie titled tentatively – what else – “Fruitcake”)…

having to take care 18 child at one go was so me?

the other one kept coming late. supposedly at 9. reach there 930. two days already. what reason next? gosh.

i had to keep paying in and had to take care of the kids. not once but most of the time. haiz.

neways i always  be patience one.

nevermind. this is her time.

the next year. another year.another problem.

period.

Giving thanks for a Thanksgiving filled with foodie delight (Xena’s grandmother’s baked mac n cheese, my mom’s nostalgic homemade stuffing, Rebeca’s traditional squash soup – ten years and counting, babe!, my homemade apple crisp, David’s magical & mad turkey-cooking skills, Evan’s Benihana-chef -like ceasar salad-for-fifteen mad dash…), handmade nametags for the table replete with shiny-starred, flat red and blue origami paper, hearts & flowers, spirals and rasta-colors thanks to my beautiful children, a cartoon-y  sort of South Park-meets-Aliyah-original ‘happy thanksgiving’ turkey for the dining room, the love, the red wine, my brother’s presence from 1000 miles south with smiles & jokes & even-keeled humor that still somehow sparks Aliyah’s fire causing her to shake and wiggle and dance and laugh, Evelyn so matriarchly at the head of the table, Sam so crazy and tattooed at the other end, conversation that weaves from religion to politics and no one stomps away…the “show” including a purple-wig and underwear worn on the head performed by Aliyah and Audrey, the immense and mindblowing pre-teen fog that follows Paul & Elijah even as they are so beautifully funny and kind, the rolling pin gliding over the dough for my pie – my first pie-crust and I love it, an orange batter creamy and smeared on the sides of a white, plastic bowl, fingers dipping, spoons cupping a rounded-blob, the smell of warmth and heat and meat, simmering red potatoes, pulling rosemary from the herb garden, painting the coffee table with blue-branches, so stark and simple…I am grateful for the dogs who sleep so soundly, black and large-boned. The laughter afterwards. The pumpkin cookies being artfully stolen as Aliyah slides in between me and Rebeca sitting at the table…I don’t mind.

With that…

Ode to thanks

by pablo neruda

Thanks to the word

that says thanks!

Thanks to thanks,

word

that melts

iron and snow!

The world is a threatening place

until

thanks

makes the rounds

from one pair of lips to another,

soft as a bright

feather

and sweet as a petal of sugar,

filling the mouth with its sound

or else a mumbled

whisper.

Life becomes human again;

it’s no longer an open window.

A bit of brightness

strikes into the forest,

and we can sign again beneath the leaves.

Thanks, you’re the medicine we take

to save us from

the bite of scorn.

Your light brightens the altar of harshness.

Or maybe

a tapestry

known

to far distant peoples.

Travelers

fan out

into the wilds,

and in that jungle

of strangers,

merci

rings out

while the hustling train

changes countries,

sweeping away borders,

then spasibo

clinging to pointy

volcanoes, to fire an freezing cold,

or danke, yes! and gracias, and

the world turns into a table;

a single word has wiped it clean,

plates and glasses gleam,

silverware tinkles,

and the tablecloth is as broad as a plain.

Thank you, thanks,

for going out and returning,

for rising up

and settling down,

We know, thanks,

that you don’t fill every space—

you’re only a word—

but

where your little petal

appears

the daggers of pride take cover,

and there’s a penny’s worth of smiles.

My daughter is now a published poet.

Yep. Like the females that have come before her…Emily Dickinson, Anne Sexton, Maya Angelou, Rita Dove, um…Sylvia Plath. Well, let’s leave Sylvia’s brilliant yet pained existence out until Aliyah is at least into her double digits. Though Anne Sexton led a similarly dark and difficult life – I suppose we all do when you pull the covers off. But let’s leave Aliyah’s beautiful ray of sunshine to shine brightly – no need to focus on the shadows, right?

Her poem, “I Am” is included in the book, “When A Sentence Ends In A Surprising Gazebo”, published by 826 Seattle (and available through 826 Seattle’s store as well as through Amazon.com, ahem). It’s a compilation of student work from various 826 workshops. What?!! You don’t know about 826 organizations?? 826 Valencia – in San Francisco – was the first 826 organization, founded by the writer Dave Eggers (“A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius”, “What is the What”, McSweeney’s, etc.). Soon 826 organizations popped up around the country, as part of a national 826 network.

Their official mission? 826 organizations are writing centers dedicated to helping young people with expository and creative writing.

But the way they implement their mission is through immense creativity, imagination, excitement and fun. My kids first saw the lit-pop band, “Harry and the Potters” and the then high-school aged, fantastic “Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head” perform live at 826 Seattle. They saw Lemony Snicket read there a few years ago. They’ve been on field trips where they’ve gone through the publishing process with “Mr. Geoduck” and taken workshops on poetry.

Elijah co-hosted a fundraiser for them a few years ago – delighting the crowd with his ability to read from little flash cards while clearly enjoying himself and displaying his wonderfully mature and unique sense of humor as he bantered with The Long Winters’ lead singer John Roderick, introducing the singer Rosie Thomas, and you know, just hangin’ backstage with one of our family’s favorite bands, local hip-hop duo, Blue Scholars. He is so much cooler than I ever was – or will be. Ah, I guess that’s one of the hopes we have for our children. That they will meet and banter with way hipper folks than we could ever hope to aspire.

For this book, Lemony Snicket, the author of the series, “A Series of Unfortunate Events”, wrote the foreword. And he also showed up for the official publishing party. Oh, yes. He introduced the young writers, who read in front of the audience. He vamped it up. He even played the accordion. Yes, I said it. He played the accordion! In fact, it was this song…

All in all, he made the literary evening a true performance-based event. Handler is a performer. Yes, he’s a writer of dark, dark, desperate novels for young people. But his love of the pained, dark life than can accompany a writer is somehow tinged with a sense of irony. He made more than one joke, that evening, about the haunting looks of these young writers alluding to the pale faces of those who engage in the “literary arts” – we know who we are. Yet the young writers that night did not care about writing as desperation or frustration. Writing was simply a drive to connect with others through the written word without the next part so familiar to adult writers: the pain of never being sure that you have.

Children don’t care about that last part – the pain of never being certain that you’ve managed to relay your deepest feelings. Young writers, inspired to create, only know to write what they think, and describe what they feel, see, experience. The rest is, “Let go, Let God.” And it’s so freeing to listen to their words, their stories. A lot of the stories written by the boys were science fiction oriented while the girls tended towards stories about themselves or thinly veiled versions of themselves .

Aliyah was the youngest writer to read this evening. Wow, did she look little up there on the mini-stage with Mr. Snicket (also known by his real name, the much less flavorful though still somewhat flowing, Daniel Handler).

Here’s how the exchange went:

Lemony Snicket: “So, Aliyah, in your bio it says you love nighttime. When is your bedtime, Aliyah?”

Aliyah: “8pm – but it doesn’t always work out.”

Lemony Snicket: “Ha! ‘It doesn’t always work out?’ What do you do?”

Aliyah: “I wander around!”

Lemony Snicket: “Wander around? Like, wander around the city of Seattle?”

Aliyah: “Noooo! I wander around my house!”

She then proceeded to read her poem, “I Am”, which, in case you don’t get a chance to purchase the book, can be found here :

I Am

by Aliyah Rain Newman

I am a daughter

Baking cookies with my mom

I am a sister

Hiding and seeking with my brother

I am a cousin

Playing dress-up in the afternoon

I am a niece

Of a mother with a new son

I am a student

Eating chocolate from my teacher

I am a granddaughter

Tubing at my grandparent’s lake house

I am a girl

Cantering on ponies

I am me

Sometimes, I just like to be alone.

And, finally, here she is – in action, no less – post-reading signing copies of the book.

yup it is rite.

there is no more students but we still have to work. haiz.

the seals are on. and i get to escape awhile to see they swim. yeah.

and back to work to do house school cleaning.

and yet my home still in mess.

u noe someone big day is up vey soon.
and yes this little sister is so not in to it!

We went out on a Saturday as he book out on Friday.

so the plan was, pay the monthly bike fees. den off to marina to catch paranomal activity

but the actual plan was diferent, paid the fees, off to marina square and catch xmas carol.3d. the movie was fun coz we watch it in 3d. if not 3d it would be just normal movie.  after the movie we went to get some food. and so i suggested Popeye.

and off to spore flyer to eat. was nice, until his auntie joins us. haha. they wanted to go ride the flyer.

after eating off we went home to catch another home movie. hehe.

yrs truly,
<3 mie

today i meet the k2 parents. im sad to see them for the last time. some gave me present and some say thanks. im so touched and i told them i am so going to miss each and every one of u. each of  u are unique in every way.

to all k2. all the best and good luck .

miss u so. =’)

today is the day i meet the parents of my children.

was fast and efficient. told them what they need to help thier children to preoare them for k2 and also to put more effort in where they are lacking.

see u all in K2. =)

today is the day i will see my K2s for the last time. as they soon will be in p1 next year, tears of joy and sad i let it go. for my k1 no tears, but was just sad that next yr i wont noe whether will be teaching them or not. soon they will all be in k2 next yr.

my k2s cried as i told them that i saw them grow since nursery. didnt expect them to cry too esp the ‘good boy’ was really touched. gosh. he had feeling too. and im so deeply touched,.. boo hoo.

my k2 loved the personalized gift that i made for them, the k1 too. told them that if they want something, they have to save and then they can ask their mommy and daddy to buy for them but using their money that they save.

it was a day to be remember. for me. i am so going to miss you all..

with love

K1 n K2.

Ma copine Loulou m’appelle pratiquement tous les matins.  On se raconte tout et rien et on partage nos idées sur la vie.  Il arrive parfois qu’une de nous deux ait un fait marquant à raconter.   Ce matin là, Loulou n’en pouvait plus de ne pas me dire.

Loulou dans un souffle:   Aaaaaaah!  Faut que je te dise.

Nitouchka sentant le potin croustillant:   Raconte!

Loulou embarrassée:  Ben……. j’voulais pas te le dire………  J’ai hooooonte

Nitouchka assurée d’un potin croustillant:  BEN LÀ!!!  Raconte!!

Loulou:  J’ai un amant!

Nitouchka:  Oh!  Ça on aime ça!  Je suis toute ouïe!

Loulou:  Il y a un mois,  j’ai eu une soirée avec ma gang de ….  J’avais du fun, le vin coulait pis toute la soirée, ce gars là tournait autour mais rien ne semblait vouloir vraiment se dessiner.  J’avais aucune attente d’ailleurs.  Je prévoyais rentrer sagement chez moi.  Au moment de partir, il m’a offert de partager un taxi.  Premier arrêt chez lui.  Deuxième chez moi.

Nitouchka:  Et? 

Loulou:  Je ne me suis jamais rendue chez moi.

Nitouchka:  Ohhhh!!  T’as couché avec? 

Loulou:  Beeeen…… oui!

Nitouchka:  Et………….?  Tu lui as dit?

Loulou:  Ben……… Noooon!

Nitouchka:  Condom?

Loulou:  Ben là!  Franchement………

Nitouchka:  J’sais ben mais tsé comment chus mère poule!  Ça valait la peine au moins?

Loulou:  Franchement?  Super!!  Gentleman le monsieur.  J’ai rien à dire!  Il m’a collée toute la nuit, m’a fait le café le matin, a soigné ma gueule de bois aux aspirin et est venu me reconduire chez moi.   C’était cool, relax et je suis rentrée chez moi prête à ranger ce moment dans le tiroir des bons souvenirs.

Nitouchka:  Cool.  Mais pourquoi t’as honte?

Loulou:  Ben……… j’y ai pas dit.

Nitouchka:  Ben là!!!  Penses-tu franchement que je te jugerais là-dessus.  Tu as fait ce que tu devais faire:  t’as mis un condom, tu n’étais pas en crise, tu prends du Valtrex et en plus, il est un homme (il faut savoir que le risque de transmission de la femme vers l’homme est beaucoup plus faible que l’inverse).  Tu connais ma position là-dessus!  Il a plus de chance de gagner au 6/49 que d’avoir attraper l’herpès.  Vous étiez chauds, c’est sans lendemain.  Des risques tu en cours autant que lui.  Voilà!  No reason to be ashamed!

Loulou:  Je le sais et je partage ton opinion aussi.  Mais l’affaire c’est que je ne pensais pas qu’il me rappellerait.  Mais il l’a fait.  Et j’avais envie de le revoir.  Et on s’est revu.  Hier.

Nitouchka:  oh!?…….

Loulou:  ……….

Nitouchka:  Tu as recouché avec sans lui dire.

Loulou piteuse:  Hum! hum!  ……… J’ai ben essayé de lui dire.  Je passais mon temps à aller au toilette pour me faire des meetings de motivation mais chaque fois que je sortais de la salle de bain, le  courage que je pensais avoir rassemblé arrivait même pas à passer le cadre de porte.  Misèèèère!!!   Là je pense rien qu’à ça.  Je sais qu’il va rappeler.  Je sais qu’on va se revoir.  J’ai le goût de le revoir mais…….Pffff!   Je suis épouvantable. 

Nitouchka:  Loulou rassure-toi.   Je te comprends tellement.  Mais TELLEMENT!!  Ça fait toujours mal de devoir dévoiler notre petit secret!  Ça coûte cher.  Je le sais, tu le sais!  C’est comme se lancer d’un avion, sans parachute, en sachant que la seule chose qui peut atténuer la chute c’est un tas de marde!!  L’enfer mon p’tit minou!  N’importe qui hésiterait à sauter!  Par contre, dès que tu en as l’occasion, décharge toi de ton petit singe.  Plus tu attends pour lui dire, plus ce sera difficile.  Faut que tu lui dises!

Loulou:   Je sais.  Je le sais tellement.  Mais avec déjà deux strikes, j’ai l’impression que le bout de la manche vient de me pogner dans l’engrenage mortel du scénario d’horreur!

Mon amie Loulou et moi on s’est fait un petit peptalk mutuel pour l’aider à plonger la prochaine fois que Monsieur Gentleman lui ferait signe.  D’une part, on s’est entendues sur le fait que c’est bien pire d’être pris avec son secret que de le partager.  Et plus on attend, pire c’est.  Une rage de dent multipliée par 10 chaque fois qu’on remet ça à plus tard.  Un court bilan de toutes les fois où on a eu à le dire a suffit pour conclure qu’on se sent tellement plus légère après. 

D’autre part, M. Gentleman, on en était convaincues, n’était pas pour  lui faire une scène et la traiter de tous les noms.  Pas un gars qui te coule un café et te grille deux aspirines le lendemain de ce qui a tous les traits d’un one night. 

Monsieur Gentleman a rappelé.  Loulou avait eu le temps de mémoriser la Bible, de solidifier son courage et de faire la preuve qu’il ne sert absolument à rien de cacher quoi que ce soit à ses amies.  L’union fait la force qu’ils disaient et c’est tellement vrai. 

Devant une tasse de thé Loulou a dévoilé son secret comme on régurgite une livre de clous.  Ça faisait mal et elle lui a dit. Monsieur Gentleman a été surpris bien entendu mais fidèle à ce qu’on attendait de lui.  Il a posé des questions et cherché à comprendre ce qui lui était inconnu.  Il a remercié Loulou de sa franchise, l’a saluée pour son courage et a reçu sa vulnérabilité comme une marque de confiance.

 Ils ont eu une conversation très sincère, une conversation qui dépassait le niveau superficiel, comme rarement on peut en avoir avec des gens qu’on connait si peu.  Loulou lui a dit que c’était sa réalité, qu’elle vivait relativement bien avec mais que le choix de l’accepter ou non, lui revenait à lui et qu’elle le respecterait, quel qu’il soit.  M. Gentleman a été soulagé, elle l’a bien vu. 

Même si elle aimerait bien qu’il le fasse, Loulou ne s’attend pas à ce qu’il rappelle.   Elle le sait.  Ça se sent ce genre de truc.   Monsieur Gentleman, c’était implicitement clair depuis le début, ne cherchait pas une relation sérieuse. 

Mais ce qui est bien dans cette histoire c’est que Loulou a réalisé que, quoi qu’il puisse décider, Monsieur Gentleman n’a pas le pouvoir de la rejeter.  Quoi qu’il arrive, son choix se limite à accepter ou non l’herpès.  Il n’a pas le pouvoir de changer qui elle est et ce qu’elle vaut.  Ce choix, lui appartient à elle.

Et j’ai pensé à cette citation d’Eleanor Roosevelt et je me suis presque réconciliée avec l’herpès:   “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

today u went home and i fetch u from maju. and taxi ride was fast but the waiting time is unbearable. ur ro is soo long. and i waited at the bustop nearly half an hour. till mom saw me and i waved back .

fetch u n home we went, let u settle and off we went . to work to take the free passes, den to orchard road. it has been so long since i last stepped there. many christmas decoration was up and we even got to witness an opening of paragon. the fireworks displays were superb, nice and the fire shock me for a moment. but the rest was nicely shown. bie and me ate at Ayam penyet ria. and we went to ion. boy the place was soo huge. we got lost not noeing where to go next. till we were at wheelock. and so, we head for a ice blended triple choco and my fav smoothies. with oreo cheesecake,was so superb.

and i did get to ask a few thing regarding the future of us. now that was a different tone n the aura of it was not really nice. it was tense. really tense.

i really hope what im telling u is going to be fulfilled.

please take me seriously.

i noe u are, but we have to move ahead.

this is such a day that we went home early than usual.

neways i got free movie passes to catch, this sat we shall continue at orchard.

home at 830 pm. 

great today is friday. no meeting or held up. thus home here i come.

my head is really banging on me, since the second session. till all of u get a nice punishment. im sorry. u guys are just tooo loud.

wonder whats up after 230 . one thing for sure, to get the present from Taton. she got something for me. next? im not too sure myself.

sat, might be coming back to work. had to clear up for end of semester.  tired. need a hand mayb two. 

im missing him badly.

Okay, I have been BUSY. Co-hosted a fundraising party for Exhale – the fantastic “pro-voice” organization founded and led by Aspen Baker, last night. It was a truly amazing night where I wasn’t a) in my pajamas in front of my computer (’cause that would have been awkward, right?) or b) pounding out an article on women’s rights faster than I can type or c) cleaning up after my two dogs or d) feeding the chickens…

Nope – I strode right into that house-party like I owned the place (which, I didn’t. But, lordy, I wish I did. My co-host’s home was gorgeous. Wowza). And I had a blast talking to colleagues I usually only get to see at conferences or meetings. Or on Facebook – which isn’t really “seeing” them at all. I’m telling you the work-at-home life is weird.

I gave a little talk about how to create respectful dialogue around abortion, online. I got to schmooze with RH Reality Check contributor, Scarleteen.com founder, author, artist, sex ed goddess Heather Corinna and the inimitable, diehard women’s rights FIGHTER, never-say-never, Jewish-but-really-Mexican-by-proxy Marcy Bloom, and other gorgeous souls who are all working towards a more just society for women.

My mother even accompanied me! She, of course, made many friends. As she always does. And she’s got purple hair. I’m just saying.

Exhale is such a worthy, unique and starry organization to me. Exhale runs a post-abortion talkline. They do not identify themselves as pro-choice or pro-life because they are not a political organization. Aspen’s goal is to create safe, respectful spaces for women to be able to openly and honestly discuss their experience with abortion – whatever that experience may be. She has been lambasted by both sides for refusing to claim a label. The truth is, Exhale is very much a pro-choice organization or they wouldn’t do the work they do. But Exhale’s goal is to create a space for the pro-VOICE perspective. And I support that. I’ve supported that in my work as Managing Editor at RH Reality Check and I support that personally. I was on the original Board of Directors for a zine called Our Truths, Nuestras Verdades which chronicles women’s abortion stories in various ways. Now Exhale publishes the zine.

Check out Aspen’s video on RH Reality Check, part of “Our Reality” video series:

I worked at a clinic for 7 years. Believe me, women who have abortions are not concerned with labeling themselves. In fact, likely at least once or more a day a woman who calls herself “pro-life” comes in for an abortion. You never think it’s going to be you.

The event was truly magical and I feel honored to have been played a role in putting it together. A huge thank you to Julie Davidson-Gomez, Aspen Baker, Deb and everyone who showed up as well!

Afterwards, I needed some non-abortion rights time (we all need that, right??) and went out for drinks with my friend Xena. We downed crazy drinks and yammered on loudly, as we do.

But I digress HUGELY. Because this post is not only about Exhale. It’s also about a publication for which I have the utmost respect and loooove. It’s a magazine called New Moon and its geared towards girls ages 8-14 years old. I’ve written about New Moon before. But I’ll say quickly that even though Aliyah is still not technically “old enough” for New Moon, she’s been reading it for the last two years.

Aliyah loves for me to read her the stories, she loves to look at the pictures of “Luna.” I think she appreciates a magazine just for girls – all about girls as human beings not as show things for one thing or another.

But New Moon is in trouble and it’s up to YOU and ME to save it. So, here’s the deal. Here’s a letter I received from Nancy Gruver, founder of New Moon Media. She is a mother herself. She started this with her husband many years ago. I cannot tell you strongly I feel that magazines like New Moon are so very important for our daughters, for their futures, for all of our futures. Read the letter below and help out if you can. However, you can!

Empowering girls with healthy, positive media is my lifelong passion, and one I know you share. New Moon Girls online community and magazine gives girls ages 8 and up a safe, exciting, supportive space to express themselves and hear from other girls around the world. Girls who could be the next Courtney Martin (a finalist this week in Washington Post’s America’s Next Great Pundit contest) whose first article was published in New Moon when she was a girl, 14 years ago.

Sadly, this will all end on 12-31-09 without your help.

New Moon’s had a tough year like many other businesses. Even with a lot of effort, we haven’t succeeded in bringing in additional investors this fall, and it’s time to add a new strategy to keep New Moon alive. We have until Dec 31 to reach monthly break-even so that New Moon can grow in the future.

Have we tightened our own belts? You betcha! Right now our monthly expenses are 65% less than they were a year ago. But we still have a gap of $7500 a month to break-even. The good news is that with your help we can close this gap. The gap amounts to only 250 orders a month @ $29.95.

With your help to sponsor memberships for non-profits and to give New Moon as gifts, we can continue to ensure a media that lifts girls’ aspirations, increases their power, and gives them an outlet for their unique perspectives and voices. I’m sending this email to everyone I know and asking you to do the same.

Together, we can fill this gap and save New Moon for girls.

Please act today so the media universe for girls won’t be totally dominated by http://www.facebook.com/l/44675;Stardoll.com, Seventeen magazine, and worse.

You can help by:

* Sponsoring memberships for libraries, schools and programs serving low-income girls. It’s quick and easy to sponsor one, ten or 100 girls – every dollar matters! http://www.facebook.com/l/44675;www.newmoon.com/donate
* Buying memberships for all girls 8-14 that you know. Our holiday special saves you 50% after the first order.http://www.facebook.com/l/44675;www.newmoon.com/offer
* Telling everyone what you value about New Moon. Link to us, and follow us on Facebook and Twitter and share with your FB friends and Tweeps. http://www.facebook.com/l/44675;twitter.com/nancy_newmoon

Together, we can do it. And, in addition to the above ways to help, if you would like to learn more about becoming an investor in New Moon, let me know.

Thank you,

Nancy

If I can make this bread, *you* can make excellent, homemade white bread – without a bread machine. I promise.

I have been on a baking binge lately. Simplicity is what I’m going for these days. David and I both work; we’re ka-rayzee busy. You’d think we run a small nation at times. I admit I’m not the most creative cook – or baker. What concerns me right now is that my children know and understand where their food comes from: where it’s grown, organically or not, from a local farm or not, how it got from the farm to “here” – whether “here” means the store or our home. We’ve got a couple of chickens mostly because I thought it would be wonderful to be able to use eggs from our very own hens.

I want my children to know and recognize most of the ingredients that go into whatever it is they are eating. I mean, it’s not hard and fast. I get that David loooves chips ahoy cookies. I am NOT going to get him to give those up. Which means the kids will eat them too. And, hey, I’m not about making them nuts over a damn cookie.  But, for the most part, whether we’re talking cereal or hamburgers, we prioritize organic ingredients, no preservatives or chemical additives, and locality.

But the real reason, I think, that I love making these things is for the utterly selfish feeling it gives me – I know I’m gifting my family with something that’s really wonderful for them. And, honestly, who doesn’t love that feeling?  I love watching them bliss out on a an oatmeal, chocolate chip bar I’ve made. Or making themselves a quickie-sandwich with this bread. Or, in my dreams, eating a bowl of the yogurt (with honey) I’ve whipped up (they aren’t huge yogurt eaters so I’m usually the one downing the yogurt…).

For now, here’s the sweet ‘n’ easy recipe for white bread – use it for sandwiches, top with jam for breakfast, eat it anywhere you damn well please cause you made it!

What you’ll need:

3/4 cup warm water

1.5 tsps (or 1/2 tablespoon) of active, dry yeast

1 tbsp sugar

2 cups flour

1/2 tsp salt

*1/4 – 1/2 c. of flax seed meal (this is optional and I add it to add some fiber to the bread and cause my kids think I’m obsessed with flax seed so I need to live up to their vision of who they think I am. Hippy-flax-seed-feminist-mama-galore). I use this and I love the taste!

Olive Oil or butter to grease pan and bowl

Can you believe that’s it??

First, combine the yeast, warm water and sugar in a bowl. Let the yeast, warm water and sugar sit for about ten minutes.

Then, add the two cups of flour, flax seed and the salt and you can start by stirring with a wooden spoon but it’s best to mix it up with your hands.

Sometimes, I find a need a bit more warm water but you just want to make sure you end up with a hunk of dough that isn’t too wet but also isn’t too flaky and powdery.

Then you place this mixture in a lightly greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let it sit for an hour and a half, even two hours if ya feel like it!

Rising...

Your dough should have risen to about double its size by now.

Place the dough on a lightly floured surface and knead it for about ten minutes.

You can also employ the help of another family member who looooves the feeling of texture against her skin…(yes, I was multi-tasking here; baking bread while carving pumpkins. Honestly? I sorta leave the pumpkin carving to David. I’m cool with the end results; I’m just not all hyped up to scoop out pumpkin-muck and flesh or maneuver little razor-sharp baby knives through the hard shell. Call me the Halloween Grinch, okay?!).

Then place this kneaded dough into a lighly floured loaf pan. I have both a glass and a tin one and haven’t seen a noticeable difference between the two. I’m a fairly green baker though so you may be thinking, “Noooooo! You don’t use a glass loaf pan for bread. What is she doing? Nooooo!” Or not.

Sorry for the side-lying photo!

Leave it in the greased loaf pan, covered with plastic wrap once again, for another 1-2 hours, until it rises again to about double its size.

Then you preheat your oven at 390 degrees F. and bake for 20 minutes.

You’ve got bread!

I love this bread so much I’m developing an aversion to store bought bread. Even the pricey, locally-baked stuff. Just cause it’s my bread. Soon I’ll be milling my own flour out back. Or out front. Or somewhere. How do you mill flour?

Enjoy!!

The Moopster and I went to Benaroya Hall last week. We spiffed it up to attend the, ahem, symphony. Well, at least our own special version. The Seattle Symphony provided the live accompaniment to the original Psycho (“WEET WEET WEET WEET!”) from 1960. A perfectly spooky way to spend October 29th – you know, two days prior to Halloween. So it’s two-days less spooky than October 31st.

Moopy dresses up Moop-style for some freakishly elite fun:

Oh, come on. I am powerless. How amazingly Elijah is this?? He’s actually wearing the suit-jacket we purchased at Value Village for $5.99 for his Halloween costume this year (Al Capone – the original gangsta).

The film and performance was, as you can imagine, just amazing. Psycho is a piece of art that really should be appreciated for what it is – an iconic, ground-breaking suspense film that laid the groundwork for so many films that followed.

The stark, stringy soundtrack. Those violins and violas and the cello with the bows eerily scratching across the surface of each string. The broad, sweeping shot of the city as the camera dives into the window of a hotel room as Janet Leigh’s character, Marion Crane, is embroiled in a steamy tryst in the middle of the afternoon. But, as the film progresses,  the shots become more and more claustrophobic in their framing. Once Leigh (Crane) commits her crime, the camera moves in slowly , helping us identify more deeply with Marion Crane, making us feel what she feels. Close-ups of Janet Leigh’s big eyes, squinting, focusing and re-focusing through the dark, driving rain.

The close-up of the police officer’s face leaning into Leigh’s car as he questions her. Her jumpy, curt answers. The timing almost feels off when she delivers her lines but you realize it’s supposed to make you feel antsy and anxious.

The first time you see Norman Bates he seems sweet and innocent. Like a lanky teenage boy striding into frame.

Hitchcock doesn’t jump into anything. He makes the viewer wait. I’ve seen this film maybe 3 or 4 times now and I’m still hopeful, initially, that Bates is really just a naive young guy yearning for some companionship. Okay, maybe that’s just me.

That is, until Hitchcock’s masterful shot in the parlor.

It’s the scene where Norman Bates has invited Marion Crane into the parlor behind the motel’s office, for a sandwich-dinner, after her long drive. The conversation turns brilliantly to Bates’ feelings of being trapped in the life he’s got as Crane realizes – in a bit of foreshadowing and double-meaning – that she has stepped into a trap by committing the crime she has. Of course, she’s not hip to the actual trap she’s stepped into but you, as the viewer, know Hitchcock’s got a secret stashed away. You can just feel it.

But the brilliance of Hitchcock is this: when Bates first hears Marion Crane talk about committing his mother to an institution, you get the low angle shot of him that just chills you to the bone immediately. It’s right at that moment that you realize Bates is crazy. I mean – just from that angle. Hitchcock was a master at these camera angles. Later on in the film, as Bates is questioned by a probing private investigator, making him more  jittery and jumpy, he leans over to look at the guest register the  PI is also looking at. The camera is positioned directly underneath Bates’ long neck. It’s so close you can almost feel the skin and veins. It’s an eery and yet sensual shot that once again makes your skin crawl.

Of course, the most memorable scene in Psycho is The Shower Scene.  And it’s this scene that is burned into the brains of everyone whose watched it. Marion is showering, happily, sexily, allowing the water to run over her face, her hair, the medium shots of the shower drain, as the water swirls around, flowing down. Again, Hitchock ever so slowly pulls us along.

And then.

WEET WEET WEET WEET!!!  The shrieking of the symphony is so effortless and I literally grab Elijah’s arm as he slinks down in his seat, t-shirt up to his nose. The shower curtain is yanked back and Marion is attacked by a knife-wielding maniac in a grey bun and a frumpy dress.

It’s all in black and white but somehow the thick blood is just as terrifying. And the final shots of this frightening gore – Marion’s eye, the circular drain below, leave you exhausted and numb.

The film obviously progresses from there. And I could go on and on about so many of the shots, the scenes, the beautiful suspense that Hitchock builds upon. In the end, though, Hitchcock sort of lets Norman off the hook. Leaves him be. He’s become his mother, essentially, and will live out the rest of his days overtaken by his mother’s personality. It’s Oedipal to the bone, sure. Before we realized that mothers didn’t make their sons killers because they remarried. Have we realized that yet? Before gay rights (“But why did Norman wear his mother’s clothing?” Marion Crane’s sister asks the psychiatrist who examines Norman Bates upon his capture. “Because he’s…a transvestite!” the police chief dramatically responds. (To which the entire audience at the symphony cracks up)). Uh, yeah. He’s a murderous, pyschotic, deranged young man because he’s a transvestite. I so do not miss 1960.

Even if you can’t catch Psycho with a gorgeous, live symphonic accompaniment, watch it anyway. It’s just a masterpiece of film. On a cold, dark, gray October night. Or November. Took me awhile to finish this post.

Happy Halloween!!

(It’s the “Bates Motel”  - or one of the houses we visited for trick or treating)

Pure Prairie League

Amie

Amie – Pure Prairie League (Stagecoach 2009)

Pure Prairie League – Aime & Falling In and Out of Love

Pure Prairie League -Amie (High Quality)

Pure Prairie League “Amie” Live

Amie- Pure Prairie League (overloaded)

Pure Prairie League – Amie

I can see why you think you belong to me
I never tried to make you think, or let you see one thing for yourself
But now your off with someone else and I’m alone
You see I thought that I might keep you for my own

Amy what you wanna do?
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer if I do

Don’t you think the time is right for us to find
All the things we thought weren’t proper could be right in time
And can you see
Which way we should turn together or alone
I can never see whats right or what is wrong
(cause it’ll take to long to see)

Amy what you wanna do?
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer if I do

(Acoustic solo)

Well now
Amy what you wanna do?
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer if I do

Now it’s come to what you want you’ve had your way
And all the things you thought before just faded into gray
And can’t you see
That I don’t know if it’s you or if it’s me
If it’s one of us I’m sure we’ll both will see
So take a good long look and tell me

Amy what you wanna do?
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer
Longer if I do

Yeah now
Amy what you wanna do?
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer if I do

I keep
Fallin’ in and out of love with you
Fallin’ in and out of love with you
Don’t know what I’m gonna do, I keep
Fallin’ in and out of love
With you

Pure Prairie League • The Official Website

For those on twitter, I received this email notification this morning from twitter (“Impotence is following you”) and I just find it funny that this is what passes for utterly normal these days. We don’t blink an eye when we receive something like this in our inbox (well, I did blink. I laughed my ass off. David kinda looked at me and said, “Uh, I guess that’s funny. Sort of.”)

“Impotence is now following you.”

“A little information about impotence: You may follow impotence as well…You may also block impotence if you don’t want them to follow you.”

“Impotence may have decided to stop following you…”

This is what’s called “technological advancement”. Hee hee. Oh, and I’m following them too.

Do I consciously try to mother in a “feminist way”?  What does that even mean? I call this blog Feminist Mama Galore mostly because I honestly do believe that most of what I do, how I live, where I come from, where I want to go and what I strive for revolves around my quest for social justice and love. And social justice and love are rooted in my roles as a feminist and a mama.

It’s all about life and death, really. How I want to live my life, how I want to help others live their lives in equality and justice – whether in accordance with other humans, animals or nature – and, well, what I want to make sure I do, become, experience before I die.

So, if you think being a feminist parent means striving to create a world for ones’ children filled with as much love, justice and joy as possible, then, yes I am a feminist parent. And I am a feminist period.

I am not a movement. I am not a stereotype (well, christ, when I’m wearing my yoga pants and clogs and black tank top, sporting my arm tattoos, I may be some kind of Seattle stereotype but still…). I am just a human struggling to make her way in the world. And all I need is my beautiful family beside me. Well, them, and my amazing friends. And my rockin’, supportive community. Oh, and coffee. I cannot forget coffee. And where would I be without my dogs?! Then there are my chickens. I’m not sure I need my chickens but I sure do love em.

I am a feminist because I cannot not be a feminist. I am a feminist because I know that my children deserve a world where equality and justice are not goody bags for the deserving but basic human rights for all. We are not even close to living in that world yet. I am a feminist because before I die I want to see real change. I want to see a woman become president of the U.S. I want to see women bear children safely and without fear of death. I want to see women’s bodies valued and cared for, without government strangling our autonomy through controlling laws that limit access to abortion or prenatal care based on socio-economics. I want to make sure that women like Caster Semenya are able to not only live in this world but live peacefully, live in accordance with who they are, claim victory, and feel ownership over their lives down to their very bones. I want to see a revolution of the workforce such that paid family leave is mandatory for any and all businesses and corporations. I want to see social security acknowledge that when people start a family, and one parent stays home with that child/ren, she or he (and right now it’s most often she) is working, and should not be penalized by an empty social security account for years. I want to put an end to the soaring numbers of women who live with their children in poverty in this country, are victims of violence in their own homes, at the hands of their boyfriends and husbands. I want women to be able to choose where they want to birth and with whomever they choose – midwife or ob-gyn. I want my daughter to see real images of women in the mainstream media – skinny women, average-sized women, fat women, black women, Jewish women, Asian women, Native American women, older women.

I want my son not to feel burdened by a male role he is forced into by a society that puts heavy borders around his heart and soul but, rather, to know that when we value the lives of women and girls it is a loving and helpful path for boys and men also. I want my son to look at the women around him and know they are valued and respected instead of used, exploited and stomped upon.

We have come a long, long way in this country – and around the world – towards prioritizing the lives of girls and women. But unless we continue our work as feminists, activists, advocates, lovers, dreamers, poets, artists, social justice seekers we will never come far enough for our daughters, and our daughters’ daughters and their daughters…

You know, we don’t need to take on the world every moment of every day. To fight gargantuan fights. We just need to live – as we die – as lovers. Because when you love, you open wide to all that is and all that is possible. And, my god, so much is possible, isn’t it? Everything that we want and need and desire and know should be – is possible. So, I guess I’m a feminist because I love and I want to make sure that love continues after I die. Go forth and love. It will change everything.

Pas celui dans le ciel, mais celui que nous avons en dedans.  Celui qui fait de nous qui nous sommes, celui sort quand nous sourions, celui que l’on voit dans nos yeux quand la vie est belle.

Personnellement, mon soleil est revenu, il a chassé les nuages même si parfois il y en a un petit qui passe.  J’ai eu un été très difficile mais tout ça est derrière moi maintenant.

Par contre, quelques amies sont présentement au prise avec des mégas nuages qui semblent les empêcher de pleinement profiter de leur soleil.

Je n’ai qu’un message pour vous: le soleil va finir par ressortir, il suffit d’y croire, mais il s’agit surtout de prendre le temps, à l’ombre des nuages, pour faire un deuil sans se faire brûler par ce soleil.

Votre soleil reviendra !   ;0)