You have a neighbor you don't know very well. You don't particularly care for him, but mostly, he minds his business and you mind yours.
One night, you hear a big ruckus from your neighbor's house. You wonder about calling the police, but it doesn't seem to be all that serious. Just loud. Very loud. You figure it's his business, it's his life, and you wouldn't want someone calling the cops just because you got a bit loud, would you?
The next day, you see his wife and she has a shiner. Well, maybe you should have done something, but you aren't certain just what. Even if you had called the cops, what would have happened?
Next time happens. The fight is VERY loud. This time, you call the cops. Domestic disturbance, you say. No, not your house, your neighbor. No, you don't know if either of them has a gun. You aren't even certain you know his correct name.
Three or four hours later, the cops show up. There's no noise going on. No one comes out of the house. The husband and wife appear at the door and tell the officers that there is nothing wrong. They would like to know who called, however.
The next day when you walk out your door, they both glare at you. They figure you're the one who called. They don't appreciate it in any way. You've just made BOTH of them mad at you.
What will you do the next time you hear a loud fight?
You talk to some of your other neighbors. They agree that he has a mean temper, and that she is getting the worst of the fights. However, your neighbors point out that although she has made a few half-hearted requests for help, she is unwilling to press charges against him, and she is also unwilling to leave the relationship. Some of your neighbors claim that she is as responsible for the fights as he. Your neighbors say "It's their life. Keep out of it."
What would you do?
Now, replace your neighbor with Syria.
What do you think we should do?
Monday, September 2, 2013
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Planning a picnic
So, I'm planning a picnic with some friends.
Menu -
Steak
Orzo salad,
Saute of squash
Sounds simple?
I also have to put together a picnic kit.
Dishes, utensils (including steak knives), table-cloth, napkins, serving utensils, hot-pads, and dishes for the salad and squash.
We're going to the mountains, to a place called Fenton Lake. That is actually a small, fishing pond in the Jemez mountains.
We'll take charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, Large fork, brush to scour grill, paper towels for clean up. I'll have the squash marinating in white wine and spices; and a grill pan.
And of course, wine.
Perhaps two wines.
I may make some stuffed jalapenos and perhaps some stuffed mushrooms for a starter, to go with an appropriate wine. Of course, I'll have grapes and maybe a good cheese for the finish. (may need another wine for that)
Naturally, a good wine with the main course.
Picnics are a lot more fun to plan and do now. Who needs cold fried chicken and paper napkins? (OK, OK, I'll still have paper napkins)
Copola Sofia rose for the appetizer
Copola Roso for the main course (that might change -- must review reds in wine keeper)
A nice, white ice wine (either German or Canadian) for dessert,
Yep; grown-up picnics are a LOT more fun!!
Menu -
Steak
Orzo salad,
Saute of squash
Sounds simple?
I also have to put together a picnic kit.
Dishes, utensils (including steak knives), table-cloth, napkins, serving utensils, hot-pads, and dishes for the salad and squash.
We're going to the mountains, to a place called Fenton Lake. That is actually a small, fishing pond in the Jemez mountains.
We'll take charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, Large fork, brush to scour grill, paper towels for clean up. I'll have the squash marinating in white wine and spices; and a grill pan.
And of course, wine.
Perhaps two wines.
I may make some stuffed jalapenos and perhaps some stuffed mushrooms for a starter, to go with an appropriate wine. Of course, I'll have grapes and maybe a good cheese for the finish. (may need another wine for that)
Naturally, a good wine with the main course.
Picnics are a lot more fun to plan and do now. Who needs cold fried chicken and paper napkins? (OK, OK, I'll still have paper napkins)
Copola Sofia rose for the appetizer
Copola Roso for the main course (that might change -- must review reds in wine keeper)
A nice, white ice wine (either German or Canadian) for dessert,
Yep; grown-up picnics are a LOT more fun!!
Monday, July 29, 2013
The World is a Better Place
My high-school sweet-heart just got married.
Richard and I went to the prom together, and hung out and dated until I moved to the LA area in 1978.
We were two days apart in age. We used to joke that we would get married on the day between our 30th birthdays.
At his sister's wedding, I danced with his father who indicated he would be very happy if Richard and I married. I replied, "We're too good of friends to mess it up with marriage."
My father told me, "Richard's a very nice boy, but just remember, he's [ethnicity]" Yes, my father was a bigot.
My mother told me, "Richard's a very nice boy, but remember, he's [religion]" My mother was a religious bigot. (I got back at her by marrying a jack Mormon)
What my parents didn't know (and at that time, Richard's parents didn't know either) was that Richard is gay. He came out to me the summer after our second year of college. We had dated the first year, broken up when I went to school abroad, and re-connected when I came back to the States. His coming out to me made our friendship that much deeper. We enjoyed each other's company. We went to plays, to movies, to gay bars, we had FUN. I was his cover. That was when we came up with the idea of marriage between our 30th's. Clearly, if neither of us had found a man we wanted to spend the rest of our life with, we would spend it together.
Then Richard met John. John and Richard were like two halves of a whole. They FIT together. They were an ideal couple. My female roommate and I were their "dates" when straight social situations arose. After all, this was the late 1970's. Gays were beginning to flex their power, but middle-class social norms were still honored.
Two years later, I got married.
Richard and John have been together all this time. The world around us has changed in many ways. They no longer have to "pretend" on social occasions. But still, although they were a couple, they could not marry.
Today, they got married.
I am SO happy. Their love has held them together for over 30 years. Now, legally the relationship between them is equal to what I have with my husband.
Happy, happy wedding day, Richard and John. Your love has stood the test of time and prejudice. May you have many, many years of wedded bliss.
Richard and I went to the prom together, and hung out and dated until I moved to the LA area in 1978.
We were two days apart in age. We used to joke that we would get married on the day between our 30th birthdays.
At his sister's wedding, I danced with his father who indicated he would be very happy if Richard and I married. I replied, "We're too good of friends to mess it up with marriage."
My father told me, "Richard's a very nice boy, but just remember, he's [ethnicity]" Yes, my father was a bigot.
My mother told me, "Richard's a very nice boy, but remember, he's [religion]" My mother was a religious bigot. (I got back at her by marrying a jack Mormon)
What my parents didn't know (and at that time, Richard's parents didn't know either) was that Richard is gay. He came out to me the summer after our second year of college. We had dated the first year, broken up when I went to school abroad, and re-connected when I came back to the States. His coming out to me made our friendship that much deeper. We enjoyed each other's company. We went to plays, to movies, to gay bars, we had FUN. I was his cover. That was when we came up with the idea of marriage between our 30th's. Clearly, if neither of us had found a man we wanted to spend the rest of our life with, we would spend it together.
Then Richard met John. John and Richard were like two halves of a whole. They FIT together. They were an ideal couple. My female roommate and I were their "dates" when straight social situations arose. After all, this was the late 1970's. Gays were beginning to flex their power, but middle-class social norms were still honored.
Two years later, I got married.
Richard and John have been together all this time. The world around us has changed in many ways. They no longer have to "pretend" on social occasions. But still, although they were a couple, they could not marry.
Today, they got married.
I am SO happy. Their love has held them together for over 30 years. Now, legally the relationship between them is equal to what I have with my husband.
Happy, happy wedding day, Richard and John. Your love has stood the test of time and prejudice. May you have many, many years of wedded bliss.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
RAIN!
What you're raised with seems natural. What may be natural elsewhere seems strange if you weren't raised with it.
I was born and raised in Southern California. So were my siblings, and unusually enough, my parents. My mother was born in 1917, my father in 1922. They're both gone now, but their childhood experiences were similar to mine, in the way that we were molded by our environment.
Like children everywhere, especially ones who do not travel much, I thought that what I grew up with was the normal pattern of the world.
The thing most people who do not live there do not understand about Southern California is that Winter is the rainy season. Rain may start as early as October, but usually there is little measurable rain until November. After March, rain is not the norm, although there are occasionally some April showers.
After that, IT DOES NOT RAIN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. For a period of six to seven months, there will usually be less than one inch of measurable precipitation.
That was the weather pattern my parents grew up with. That was the weather pattern I grew up with. That was what I understood to be normal.
Rain does not fall in the summertime.
After I married, my husband began taking me to other parts of the country. If our trips occurred in the Summer-time, my first purchase was usually an umbrella.
I don't understand Summer rain. In Southern California, thunderheads would sometimes build up over the mountains, but rain did not fall in the valleys. If I heard thunder once a summer, that was an event.
Rain, the rain I knew, fell in the winter, and was generally cold. You bundled up, not only against the wet, but also against the cold of the winter moisture.
Now, I often run out to feel the rain in the summertime. I watch it in a sort of awe. Here, now, the rain comes in showers, short, sometimes hard bursts that may last only five minutes. The long, drizzling soaks of my childhood don't happen with the rain here. Summer rain is different. The sky can cloud up in a brief span of time, bring a measurable amount of rain, and then clear.
And lightening! And thunder! Not an occasional very distant rumble, but big flashes and big, loud bursts and claps.
I have a childlike awe and appreciation of the summer rain. It is (to me) something so totally new and different from anything I experienced before.
It still doesn't seem natural, though.
I was born and raised in Southern California. So were my siblings, and unusually enough, my parents. My mother was born in 1917, my father in 1922. They're both gone now, but their childhood experiences were similar to mine, in the way that we were molded by our environment.
Like children everywhere, especially ones who do not travel much, I thought that what I grew up with was the normal pattern of the world.
The thing most people who do not live there do not understand about Southern California is that Winter is the rainy season. Rain may start as early as October, but usually there is little measurable rain until November. After March, rain is not the norm, although there are occasionally some April showers.
After that, IT DOES NOT RAIN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. For a period of six to seven months, there will usually be less than one inch of measurable precipitation.
That was the weather pattern my parents grew up with. That was the weather pattern I grew up with. That was what I understood to be normal.
Rain does not fall in the summertime.
After I married, my husband began taking me to other parts of the country. If our trips occurred in the Summer-time, my first purchase was usually an umbrella.
I don't understand Summer rain. In Southern California, thunderheads would sometimes build up over the mountains, but rain did not fall in the valleys. If I heard thunder once a summer, that was an event.
Rain, the rain I knew, fell in the winter, and was generally cold. You bundled up, not only against the wet, but also against the cold of the winter moisture.
Now, I often run out to feel the rain in the summertime. I watch it in a sort of awe. Here, now, the rain comes in showers, short, sometimes hard bursts that may last only five minutes. The long, drizzling soaks of my childhood don't happen with the rain here. Summer rain is different. The sky can cloud up in a brief span of time, bring a measurable amount of rain, and then clear.
And lightening! And thunder! Not an occasional very distant rumble, but big flashes and big, loud bursts and claps.
I have a childlike awe and appreciation of the summer rain. It is (to me) something so totally new and different from anything I experienced before.
It still doesn't seem natural, though.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Three months
Three months of no posts. BFD. My life is not sufficiently exciting, nor are my thoughts sufficiently provoking to either create clamor, or to have their absence noticed.
I lately read a definition of a blog as an on-line diary. When I was in about 2nd grade, my sister was reading The Diary Of Anne Frank. I was told that I was too young to understand it. I was not allowed to read it. Instead of creating in me a desire to read it, I was obsessed with the idea or writing my own diary. BFD. Recording my day-to-day existence as a seven-year-old was incredibly boring. I didn't think about things or ideas. Let's face it, a seven-year-old doesn't THINK about what they are doing or why. (Unless the happen to be extremely bright and self-aware.) My biggest event of the week was going to the Blue-Bird meetings. Even there, what we did or said or thought wasn't enough to trigger anything memorable.
When I was a freshman in High school, my best friend started keeping a "record" (she wrote in the record books that you buy inexpensively at the stationers) I found reading her thoughts fascinating. But I had little desire to record my own. Perhaps even then I sensed that my own thoughts were so mundane that they were not worth recording.
Blogs, letters and diaries that become books, that people talk about, that people read, that actually affect people are written by people who are bright, who are self-aware and who understand how to make the mundane interesting.
I am not one of those people.
My writing is mundane, what I relate is banal. My friends read it out of loyalty, Once in a blue moon, I say something intelligent. Most of the time, it is drivel. If it weren't for spell-check, most of the time, it would be un-readable. (especially when I write after 3 margaritas)
I used to write to my mother once a week about what I had been doing. She died in September. I miss writing my weekly activities. Perhaps now, if I were to blog them I would not keep the severe censors on my thoughts that I did when writing to mother. Who knows? I might write something worth reading.
I lately read a definition of a blog as an on-line diary. When I was in about 2nd grade, my sister was reading The Diary Of Anne Frank. I was told that I was too young to understand it. I was not allowed to read it. Instead of creating in me a desire to read it, I was obsessed with the idea or writing my own diary. BFD. Recording my day-to-day existence as a seven-year-old was incredibly boring. I didn't think about things or ideas. Let's face it, a seven-year-old doesn't THINK about what they are doing or why. (Unless the happen to be extremely bright and self-aware.) My biggest event of the week was going to the Blue-Bird meetings. Even there, what we did or said or thought wasn't enough to trigger anything memorable.
When I was a freshman in High school, my best friend started keeping a "record" (she wrote in the record books that you buy inexpensively at the stationers) I found reading her thoughts fascinating. But I had little desire to record my own. Perhaps even then I sensed that my own thoughts were so mundane that they were not worth recording.
Blogs, letters and diaries that become books, that people talk about, that people read, that actually affect people are written by people who are bright, who are self-aware and who understand how to make the mundane interesting.
I am not one of those people.
My writing is mundane, what I relate is banal. My friends read it out of loyalty, Once in a blue moon, I say something intelligent. Most of the time, it is drivel. If it weren't for spell-check, most of the time, it would be un-readable. (especially when I write after 3 margaritas)
I used to write to my mother once a week about what I had been doing. She died in September. I miss writing my weekly activities. Perhaps now, if I were to blog them I would not keep the severe censors on my thoughts that I did when writing to mother. Who knows? I might write something worth reading.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Potato Waffles!
THANKS, Sara!!
My friend Sara gave me a WONDERFUL recipe. Potato waffles. Sounds weird? Well, think about potato pancakes. Based on how they're made, and how they're served, they are everything from a breakfast dish to a breakfast or dinner side. (And, as a side note -- Coco's does a great Denver-style potato pancake, with minced onion, bell pepper and ham)
So, Sara invented the potato waffle. Mix shredded potato (if not using frozen, GET THE MOISTURE OUT!) minced onion and shredded Swiss cheese. about 1/4 to 1/3 part cheese to potato. Perhaps 1/2 as much onion as cheese. Throw on hot waffle iron and close. Cook 10 minutes, serve.
If you want a more moist waffle, add a well-beaten egg, or even a couple of tablespoons of milk. If you decide to add a bit of flour, add baking powder as well.
Great opportunities for improvisation -- shred in a apple, throw in some green chile, crumble in bacon bits, vary the cheese. This can be a breakfast dish, a side dish, or a dinner entree.
For dinner, serve with sour cream. For breakfast, of course, maple syrup.
The writer John Scalzi recently blogged about the churro waffle (take a crisp waffle, dip in melted butter, coat in cinnamon-sugar) Right now, I find the potato-waffle slightly more nutritious, and slightly less heart-attack inducing.
My friend Sara gave me a WONDERFUL recipe. Potato waffles. Sounds weird? Well, think about potato pancakes. Based on how they're made, and how they're served, they are everything from a breakfast dish to a breakfast or dinner side. (And, as a side note -- Coco's does a great Denver-style potato pancake, with minced onion, bell pepper and ham)
So, Sara invented the potato waffle. Mix shredded potato (if not using frozen, GET THE MOISTURE OUT!) minced onion and shredded Swiss cheese. about 1/4 to 1/3 part cheese to potato. Perhaps 1/2 as much onion as cheese. Throw on hot waffle iron and close. Cook 10 minutes, serve.
If you want a more moist waffle, add a well-beaten egg, or even a couple of tablespoons of milk. If you decide to add a bit of flour, add baking powder as well.
Great opportunities for improvisation -- shred in a apple, throw in some green chile, crumble in bacon bits, vary the cheese. This can be a breakfast dish, a side dish, or a dinner entree.
For dinner, serve with sour cream. For breakfast, of course, maple syrup.
The writer John Scalzi recently blogged about the churro waffle (take a crisp waffle, dip in melted butter, coat in cinnamon-sugar) Right now, I find the potato-waffle slightly more nutritious, and slightly less heart-attack inducing.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Odd(?) Thoughts About Gun Control
Like a lot of people, I have been thinking A LOT about the subject of gun control. One of my friends posted on Facebook from the "Being Liberal" web site-- a senior citizen who has to sign at a pharmacy to get psudophedrine for her congestion vs the ability to purchase an unlimited amount of ammunition on-line without any questions being asked.
Clearly, a simplistic solution is to ban on-line or mail-order purchases of ammunition. I have no idea what the consequences and complications of such a matter would be. Possibly, at a minimum, the amount of ammunition that could be purchased in any single transaction might be limited, however, that simply creates a multiciplity of transactions. Not necessarily helpful in any manner.
There was a joke in the paper one morning -- something about Republicans banning sex and Democrats banning guns -- which is why there are more Democrats than Republicans.
However, that joke made me start to think. We can no more ban guns from our society than we can ban sex. What we need to do is learn how to address the dangers and consequences of each in a manner that overall creates a safer society.
Ideal sex education starts in the home. A child is taught the truth about their body. They are taught the meaning of privacy, the propriety of touching by others. They are taught that they have a right to say "no" to someone who wants them to do something they do not want to do.
In school, they are taught the facts and truth about sex and reproduction. Again, consent is stressed. As well as learning the facts, they are given access to the tools to protect themselves from unwanted consequences. One of those tools is the right to say "No" Other tools are safe, effective and available contraception methods. A recent study showed that where teens are given education and free access to effective birth control, the number of teen pregnancies and abortions plummeted.
In countries where children are given sensible sex education and access to reliable contraception, the teen birth rate and the abortion rate are far, far lower than in our country.
So what is the connection between birth control and guns?
I was raised around guns. From an early age, I learned that guns were respected, that guns were dangerous, and that until and unless I knew absolutely what I was going to do with them, I sould leave them alone.
I was taught that guns could injure (at best) and kill. My family hunted. I understood waht a dead animal was. By extension, I understood what a dead person was. Dead doesn't come back. Dead has to be taken care of. (I still feel that one of our society's problems is that we frown more on eating a dead person than on killing them in the first place)
Video games and movies show a lot of death of people, but do not deal with the consequences of death on the survivors. Perhaps there needs to be a movement to change that, to have consequences be a part of the entertainment experience.
If sex education is taught from an early age, when the hormones kick in, the child knows what is happening. They don't "discover" sex. It is a part of the world in which they have been raised.
If guns, gun safety, proper gun handling were taught from an early age, children would not "discover" guns.
If children are raised with an awareness of the consequences of mis-handling/abusing/playing with guns, they would be less likely to take reckless action.
And just as some women (and men) are taught methods of physical self-defense against unwanted sexual advances, children (and adults) could also learn certain self-defense techniques. "Drop and play dead" kept one child in Conneticut alive.
Another thought comes from the chart floating around on the web about cars and guns. Would it place an "undue burden" on the State to license people to own and use guns? It is conceiveable that guns could be registered in a manner similar to autos. This would possibly pay the State the cost of the paperwork. If EVERY gun were registered, if EVERY gun owner were licensed, it would not limit the number of guns one could own. Does requiring licensing "infringe" on the right to own a gun?
Yes, I definately believe that children need to be taught, from an early age, what guns are, and what guns can do. I remember when I was in my early teens, my uncle showing me a pistol. It was small, it was lightweight, it fit into my hand. "Is it loaded?" I asked. "A gun is ALWAYS loaded." he replied. THAT is a lesson we all (children and adults) need to learn. Every gun is always loaded. Treat it as such. If you are wrong, the error can be quickly fixed.
Gun education and sex education are clearly subjects that should be taught in school, from the begining.
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