Once upon a time there was a beloved kingdom, Ograf. Unlike many kingdoms ruled by despots—benevolent or otherwise—this kingdom elected its government. Citizens named their elected group the "city commission," a body to be made up of city fathers and mothers who wisely would see to the governmental needs of the kingdom. Then one day an election was held that resulted in a grave problem: simply put, not one city mother was elected to the commission, only city fathers.
New York's Attorney General Eric Schneiderman was a legal thorn in the side of President Donald Trump, going after Trump's questionable business dealings and implicating Trump's aides (also trying to ensure Trump couldn't pardon away state charges against the aides). More importantly, Schneiderman was a consistent legal champion for victims of domestic abuse and for the reproductive rights movement. Most recently, he was visible in the prosecution of Harvey Weinstein whose criminal acts spawned the #MeToo movement. Schneiderman was a progressive hero.
Is it possible to love travel and hate flying? Of course, I already know the answer and reaffirm it to myself every time I step into a commercial jet bound for some far-off place I can't wait to see. Air travel is a conundrum: flying is the only efficient way to go great distances—whether traveling cross-country or abroad—but jets really are human sardine cans in the sky. Forget pleasure; think endurance.
Way back in February the U.S. House of Representatives voted unanimously to change the "arcane" process for claims of sexual harassment, sexual discrimination or other sexual misconduct made by staffers against House members. Wouldn't it be reasonable to expect the Senate to follow suit? After all, the #MeToo movement shook both the House and Senate and resulted in several resignations. Guess not. At least, female senators seem unconvinced Senate leadership will bring reform to the floor.
Quoting the late teacher/anthropologist/psychologist Angeles Arrien, a friend of mine said, "We are not any of us safe until we're all safe." The quotation seems like a good way to sum up the message of the impassioned young people at the Fargo "March for Our Lives" just over a week ago. And it started me thinking about hope: hope in adversity, hope in the face of tragedy, and most of all, hope for the future.
Yes, I'll miss the photos of friends' grandchildren, the posts of high school friends I'd all but lost track of—that lovely (daily) sense of opening up Christmas cards; I'll miss posted poetry and funny memes and one particular friend's cat photos. Even though it feels as bad as giving up pecan pie, I'm parting ways with Facebook. The latest breach of "50 million" FB accounts in the Cambridge Analytica outrage put me over the edge.
"I've never believed abortion was a good thing—it wasn't that at all—but when you get into the area of public policy, you have to be scrupulously careful to not ever give credence to the idea that the state can impose church opinions...."
"I know what's to come," my friend says. "I've been through it before." We're standing in sunshine on a beautiful March day. A few days earlier my husband and I had flown to a nearby city, rented a car, and driven to the desert town in New Mexico where she lives. We're there for her husband's funeral. His name was Bob and he, too, was our friend.
Trying to be the good grandma who gets birthday presents to grandchildren in time for their actual birthdays, I found myself looking for a sporting goods store. It had to be located where our daughter could pick up our grandson's present without having to drive far. (Couldn't find his size online.) The store popping up in my search for "close by" was a Dick's Sporting Goods. I called the store, lined up the purchase, and patted myself on the back.
By mass shooting statistics we might think that females never experienced hatred over romantic rejection or getting fired, that they never were bullied, or that they never lay awake nights conjuring up revenge fantasies. We might think girls and women were immune to depression, anxiety, psychotic breaks, dissociative disorders—or any other of a slew of mental problems and illnesses. But we would be wrong. Holy buckets, would we be wrong.