Thursday night is the debate between Senator Biden and Governor Palin. We are opening up our home for fun, friends, information, and the chance to watch this historic (and perhaps comic) event.
Supporters of either candidate are welcome, as the differing perspectives will make for a fun night. Just be warned, this is very much an Obama-Rama zone!
The fun will start around 5:30 p.m. and last until the debate is over, and we're done chatting about what we saw. Feel free to come early or late...
Call 921-0379 for directions... or just show up if you already know where we live!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Cool Breeze
We are now a scootering family. Jon and I bought a scooter a while back, and now, it is nearly ready to ride after some overhauling and adjustments. Jesse bought a scooter as well. Initially purchased as a means of beating the beating we've been taking at the pumps, I now wonder why I didn't get into this a whole lot sooner.
Motoring in the cool breeze is exhiliarating. Liberating.
One of the more interesting aspects of my new pursuit has been the smells. Last week, I was scootering over to the Enterprise area in the early evening after work, and I was overwhelmed by the potpourri of smells. The pungent odor of cabbage simmering in a Southeast Asian neighborhood, the smell of a slow cooking barbeque, the aroma of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, all had my mouth watering.
Even at 25 miles per hour, the sounds of the neighborhoods were enticing-- people gossiping on front porches, children hopscotching on the sidewalk, someone playing piano in a small duplex. It was a very different journey than the usual hermetically sealed experience I have as I motor to and from work in my car.
The feel of the wind as I speed along is so refreshing. One night last week, I rode with friends through the Churn Creek Bottom and down to Anderson River Park. The occasional pocket of cool air was as refreshing as jumping in a creek.
It's like mediation, but on two wheels, and with an amazing view!
Motoring in the cool breeze is exhiliarating. Liberating.
One of the more interesting aspects of my new pursuit has been the smells. Last week, I was scootering over to the Enterprise area in the early evening after work, and I was overwhelmed by the potpourri of smells. The pungent odor of cabbage simmering in a Southeast Asian neighborhood, the smell of a slow cooking barbeque, the aroma of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, all had my mouth watering.
Even at 25 miles per hour, the sounds of the neighborhoods were enticing-- people gossiping on front porches, children hopscotching on the sidewalk, someone playing piano in a small duplex. It was a very different journey than the usual hermetically sealed experience I have as I motor to and from work in my car.
The feel of the wind as I speed along is so refreshing. One night last week, I rode with friends through the Churn Creek Bottom and down to Anderson River Park. The occasional pocket of cool air was as refreshing as jumping in a creek.
It's like mediation, but on two wheels, and with an amazing view!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Tasty Surprise at Taj Mahal
All week, I had been curious about the fact that there was an opening act for Taj Mahal at the Cascade Theatre last night. I couldn't picture in my mind an act that could be an honest-to-goodness 'warm up' to the venerable master, Taj Mahal. What a treat to find Naomi and the Courteous Rude Boys providing a slice-of-funk-with-a-squirt-of-jazz-in-your-rhythm-and-blues. This Santa Cruz-based quintet was a refreshing appetizer before the consummate main course. Have a taste here.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Hope for the Masses
Courtesy of my husband, here's a great piece at Salon.com by Anne Lamott to encourage and enspire us to reach the goal of change in the next seven weeks. Even if you can't focus long enough to read the whole encouraging article, at least click on the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator.
Yours Truly,
Pie Gallon
Yours Truly,
Pie Gallon
Friday, September 12, 2008
Where is That Yellow Belly?
Cowardice comes in a lot of forms. I think we all are guilty of taking the easy way out sometimes. Avoiding someone we know to be unpleasant in the market. Rolling over at the umpteenth teenaged request instead of putting down the proverbial foot.
And then, sometimes, there are the more grandiose versions, like the coward that beat my brother nearly to death two weeks ago. Wherever you are pal, there are some things I’d like you to know:
Kris is going to make it. We weren’t so sure there for a while.
Even after the truly life and death scares, our family is still left on a precipice of uncertainty. Like yesterday. I went to visit Kris, and he’d been moved to another room. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I thought when I went to his old room only to find the bed made up for a new customer, and the room completely vacant of all vestiges of my brother. And then, how deprived of complete relief I was when I finally found his new room and was unable to embrace him like I wanted because he is in so much pain.
I’m sure you’d like to know that Kris only has a few tubes remaining. One of them is a feeding tube. You beat him so badly that he is still unable to keep solid food down. There is something inherently wrong with watching an innately thin, 130-pound man be fed a smelly, ecru-stained fluid through a tube that goes straight into his small intestine. There is an uncharitable part of me that would like to see you hooked up like that, unable to shovel food automatonically into your pie hole.
I’m sure you’d like to know that it takes a nurse, family member, or physical therapist to help Kris into the bathroom. How old are you? Do you know what it’s like to watch my 32 year-old brother struggle as much with his dignity as he does with his body to go take care of those basic needs?
Because you have yet to show your face, there is a part of me that is so repulsed by your cowardice. I have racked and racked my brains to think of some just way to gain closure from what you did to Kris. Unfortunately, the only thing that comes to mind is dealing you the same blows. Part of me feels a sense of justice at the thought of you convulsing in a bloody heap on a sidewalk, virtually unresponsive, writhing in pain, mistaken for drunk for twelve hours while you bleed internally, losing consciousness, ounce by ounce, feeling your life literally drain from your veins.
Let me tell you what keeps me from shouting at the steps of town hall until that justice—or something like it—is exacted.
My step-mother. She can barely look at Kris without breaking down in sobs. She has been in a fog since this happened. She is so grateful he is still alive, and so pained to see him so physically wrecked by your wicked hand. I’m sure you have or had a mother. I would not like to see another mother endure what mine has in this situation.
My sister. She can’t even bring herself to go see Kris. She just cries when we try to tell her that he’s going to be okay. Maybe you have a sibling, too.
My brother. He is stunned by what has happened to him. He only wonders what he could have possibly done to provoke this behavior. He has no memory of the beating, or the several hours leading up to it.
You have shown your machismo. We all get it. You are a big strong bully who can hurt people.
I’m just curious: can you be man enough to stand up and take responsibility for what you’ve done?
And then, sometimes, there are the more grandiose versions, like the coward that beat my brother nearly to death two weeks ago. Wherever you are pal, there are some things I’d like you to know:
Kris is going to make it. We weren’t so sure there for a while.
Even after the truly life and death scares, our family is still left on a precipice of uncertainty. Like yesterday. I went to visit Kris, and he’d been moved to another room. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I thought when I went to his old room only to find the bed made up for a new customer, and the room completely vacant of all vestiges of my brother. And then, how deprived of complete relief I was when I finally found his new room and was unable to embrace him like I wanted because he is in so much pain.
I’m sure you’d like to know that Kris only has a few tubes remaining. One of them is a feeding tube. You beat him so badly that he is still unable to keep solid food down. There is something inherently wrong with watching an innately thin, 130-pound man be fed a smelly, ecru-stained fluid through a tube that goes straight into his small intestine. There is an uncharitable part of me that would like to see you hooked up like that, unable to shovel food automatonically into your pie hole.
I’m sure you’d like to know that it takes a nurse, family member, or physical therapist to help Kris into the bathroom. How old are you? Do you know what it’s like to watch my 32 year-old brother struggle as much with his dignity as he does with his body to go take care of those basic needs?
Because you have yet to show your face, there is a part of me that is so repulsed by your cowardice. I have racked and racked my brains to think of some just way to gain closure from what you did to Kris. Unfortunately, the only thing that comes to mind is dealing you the same blows. Part of me feels a sense of justice at the thought of you convulsing in a bloody heap on a sidewalk, virtually unresponsive, writhing in pain, mistaken for drunk for twelve hours while you bleed internally, losing consciousness, ounce by ounce, feeling your life literally drain from your veins.
Let me tell you what keeps me from shouting at the steps of town hall until that justice—or something like it—is exacted.
My step-mother. She can barely look at Kris without breaking down in sobs. She has been in a fog since this happened. She is so grateful he is still alive, and so pained to see him so physically wrecked by your wicked hand. I’m sure you have or had a mother. I would not like to see another mother endure what mine has in this situation.
My sister. She can’t even bring herself to go see Kris. She just cries when we try to tell her that he’s going to be okay. Maybe you have a sibling, too.
My brother. He is stunned by what has happened to him. He only wonders what he could have possibly done to provoke this behavior. He has no memory of the beating, or the several hours leading up to it.
You have shown your machismo. We all get it. You are a big strong bully who can hurt people.
I’m just curious: can you be man enough to stand up and take responsibility for what you’ve done?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Proof
That sometimes great things come into our lives... whether we deserve them or not...Here are rough cuts of senior portraits of my eldest fruit.
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And a picture of my nutty nut...
Friday, September 5, 2008
Ponder this...
Courtesy of family friend, former R-S reporter, and former State Assembly candidate Rob Haswell:
Jesus was an organizer. Pontius Pilate was a governor.
I'm a Cart Watcher
So, while waiting to get out of the Super Center in Anderson, I took up residence in what I mistook for the speedy express. Mindful that I was wearing a shirt with my workplace logo, I did my best to not seem completely impatient. I glanced at the magazines. I computed calories for decadent snacks. I calculated how many days until Obama is President of the United States of America (138).
That being done, I began observing other people’s carts. The gentleman in front of me was wearing a fluorescent yellow road worker-type shirt, well-worn Levi’s, and work boots. He looked about 60, but I suspect he was more like a rode-hard-put-away-wet 50. In his cart: a bouquet of flowers, a jar candle, a case of Busch beer, four sticks of hot beef jerky, a jar of nacho cheese, nose hair clippers, and cheap cologne.
Points for the flowers. It’s a toss up as to whether he’ll score.
That being done, I began observing other people’s carts. The gentleman in front of me was wearing a fluorescent yellow road worker-type shirt, well-worn Levi’s, and work boots. He looked about 60, but I suspect he was more like a rode-hard-put-away-wet 50. In his cart: a bouquet of flowers, a jar candle, a case of Busch beer, four sticks of hot beef jerky, a jar of nacho cheese, nose hair clippers, and cheap cologne.
Points for the flowers. It’s a toss up as to whether he’ll score.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Share a Mooseburger with Me, Sarah Palin...
… because I’d like to sit down and have a chat with you.
I listened to your speech last night. I was impressed by your speaking skills. Your tone and delivery were what every SPEECH 60 teacher would want from a student-- clearly enunciated words, appropriate pauses, eye contact with multiple facets of the audience. Bravo!
I waited intently to hear something from you that would confirm you as a politically savvy and eloquent speaker who would share ideas and engender hope; something that would, for once in this generation, provide for the people of the United States a choice between the greater of two exceptional candidates, instead of the lesser of two evils. I am still waiting.
As much as I fully support Barack Obama, there was a part of me, Sarah, who wanted to hear you say something-- anything, really-- that would move both sides of this campaign to a place of great ideas and hope for the future. Even though I have every expectation that my candidate will be the next leader of the free world, I expect that it’s going to be a close race. I had hoped that you, as a clearly articulate and intelligent woman, would help raise the bar of expectation for our nation. I had hoped to hear from you the kind of speech that would promote unity for a severely divided nation, regardless of the outcome of this election. What I heard instead was a lot of grade school name calling and sarcasm.
I thought your comment about how a “small-town mayor is sort of like a ‘community organizer,’ except that you have actual responsibilities,” was thoughtless and petty. I just bet that the people in Chicago’s south side who benefitted from Barack Obama’s ability and experience as a community organizer will tell you that he had a great number of responsibilities, and as we well know, his ability to manage those responsibilities led to vast improvement in that community.
Your community organizer comment also smacks of an elitism that is counter productive to what this nation needs in a time of war, a failing economy, and social denigration. One does not need to be in an elected office to assume the responsibilities of effecting change in our communities, and for our nation. We need a team of people in those two highest offices who are ready and willing to inspire and encourage the kind of individual and mutual responsibility that will make leaders out of all of us; whether it’s in elected office, in our homes, or as an agent for change in our communities.
While both deserve honor and respect, let’s try to keep in mind that enduring torture as a prisoner of war, and wearing the cap of a small town mayor are not the only activities that hone leadership abilities in an individual, and are not the sole justifications for high office.
I hope that you might bear these things in mind over the next two months leading up to the election. Win, or lose, you have a lot to offer this campaign, and I’d sure like to see you rise to the occasion. I exhort you, Sarah, to be the woman, who on the day after the election, is ready to be gracious to this nation, whether you are moving to the nation’s capitol, or, most likely, returning home to Alaska. Let this brief time in which you are making history be an enduring legacy of which we all-- male, female, rural, urban, elected official, or community organizer-- can be proud.
I listened to your speech last night. I was impressed by your speaking skills. Your tone and delivery were what every SPEECH 60 teacher would want from a student-- clearly enunciated words, appropriate pauses, eye contact with multiple facets of the audience. Bravo!
I waited intently to hear something from you that would confirm you as a politically savvy and eloquent speaker who would share ideas and engender hope; something that would, for once in this generation, provide for the people of the United States a choice between the greater of two exceptional candidates, instead of the lesser of two evils. I am still waiting.
As much as I fully support Barack Obama, there was a part of me, Sarah, who wanted to hear you say something-- anything, really-- that would move both sides of this campaign to a place of great ideas and hope for the future. Even though I have every expectation that my candidate will be the next leader of the free world, I expect that it’s going to be a close race. I had hoped that you, as a clearly articulate and intelligent woman, would help raise the bar of expectation for our nation. I had hoped to hear from you the kind of speech that would promote unity for a severely divided nation, regardless of the outcome of this election. What I heard instead was a lot of grade school name calling and sarcasm.
I thought your comment about how a “small-town mayor is sort of like a ‘community organizer,’ except that you have actual responsibilities,” was thoughtless and petty. I just bet that the people in Chicago’s south side who benefitted from Barack Obama’s ability and experience as a community organizer will tell you that he had a great number of responsibilities, and as we well know, his ability to manage those responsibilities led to vast improvement in that community.
Your community organizer comment also smacks of an elitism that is counter productive to what this nation needs in a time of war, a failing economy, and social denigration. One does not need to be in an elected office to assume the responsibilities of effecting change in our communities, and for our nation. We need a team of people in those two highest offices who are ready and willing to inspire and encourage the kind of individual and mutual responsibility that will make leaders out of all of us; whether it’s in elected office, in our homes, or as an agent for change in our communities.
While both deserve honor and respect, let’s try to keep in mind that enduring torture as a prisoner of war, and wearing the cap of a small town mayor are not the only activities that hone leadership abilities in an individual, and are not the sole justifications for high office.
I hope that you might bear these things in mind over the next two months leading up to the election. Win, or lose, you have a lot to offer this campaign, and I’d sure like to see you rise to the occasion. I exhort you, Sarah, to be the woman, who on the day after the election, is ready to be gracious to this nation, whether you are moving to the nation’s capitol, or, most likely, returning home to Alaska. Let this brief time in which you are making history be an enduring legacy of which we all-- male, female, rural, urban, elected official, or community organizer-- can be proud.
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