Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Or something like that. Unless you believe that everyone has a right to free-fettered sex with anyone, anytime, no matter what the cost.

Not only did Pam Tebow chose not to abort her son, Tim; Tim is a virgin and proud of it.

Well, well, well. Lucky for him he's an outstanding football player. (Remember the time in the not so distant past when athletes were encouraged to abstain from sexual activity before a game on the theory that sex depleted their energy?)

Bookworm finds Tim's virginity refreshing and hopes that her daughter dates someone with the same values. At 23 and 16, my daughters are of dating age--and I hope they bring home someone like Tim, too! :)

So Time comes out as a virgin and respecter (respector?) of women and The Washington Post reluctantly reports that "Abstinence programs might work" in preventing teen pregnancies. Hmmm.

But mental and physical health aside, there's another reason to encourage teens and young adults to abstain from non-marital sexual intercourse: practice.

We encourage our children to practice a lot of things with the advice that they'll need it when they're older. Kids shoot hoops for hours, do wind sprints, throw footballs and baseballs at targets, write reports, do problems. Why shouldn't we use the same argument for abstinence? I don't know of many marriages where a partner has been available sexually 24/7/365. Life intereferes: business travel, pregnancy (and post-partum), serious illness. Had some famous men practiced sexual abstinence as teens and young adults, their marriages might not have fallen apart so spectacularly and so publicly.

In fact, John McCain admitted--and accepted responsibility for--the breakup of his first marriage due to his acting like a randy 25-year-old out to score rather than a mature husband and father. (One of the many things I admire about Senator McCain, BTW.)

Abstinence not only prevents unwanted pregnancies and STDs, it also keeps your name out of the front page when you're famous. Perhaps that's a message that's more understandable!

Vocations and Avocations

The Anchoress is talking about Vocations over at her blog. She has a poll up with some interesting questions.

One of her questions is whether, as parents, we have talked with our kids about the religious life. Hubs is not Catholic; the idea that his children would have to become celibate and unmarried is foreign to him. He just doesn't get it.

In fact, the whole idea that you can go to college (or university) and study what you're passionate about is a difficult one for him to grasp. The son of friends of ours is studying music. "How is he going to make a living?" Hubs wonders. "A musician's life is horrible." By that he means unpredictable: on the road, finding gigs, playing all hours of day and night, no certain paycheck.

And Hubs loves music. He has a wonderful voice and played alto saxophone in junior high, was in chorale and musicals in high school, was in a barbershop quartet for many years. Still, he can't see music as a career. Or art.

But he is also not an studying sort. He's taken some courses through community college, but that's about it.

My take is different. "He's following his passion. It will all work out," I say. My life didn't exactly turn out the way I planned, but overall I'm pretty happy. In fact, I have met very few people in my line of work who actually planned to be in shipping as a career. Most of us "fell into it," and stayed there either because we enjoyed it or through inertia. Although I might not be "using" my degree in biological sciences to do research work or in the health field (my original plan), I am using the skills I developed while getting that degree.

My dad wished I had majored in English so I would "be a writer." When he first told me this, I was surprised: I didn't realize he valued--or even recognized--those particular talents of mine. But after taking a couple of college courses, I was glad I didn't. Deconstruction is not my thing and studying biology (and chemistry and physics and math) actually gave me important problem solving skills. Would I have majored in English had I known my dad thought I was talented? I don't think so. But I might have been more willing to change my major when I discovered that I really enjoyed my History of Science classes (and did really well in them).

When discussing the classes she's planning to take as a senior in high school, DD#2 lamented, "There are too many things I'm interested in!" I sympathized with her. Biology or physiology or geology; sports medicine or dance; art or crafts. And then there's classes like photography or psychology or drama. How do you choose, especially when you are 16 or 17?

I'm rather glad that most religious orders require that candidates have some college, if not a degree. Experience some of what the secular world has to offer; know what you're giving up. I think the Church will be better for it.

Julie D. over at Happy Catholic also has some thoughts about this matter as well.

Google Chrome

As much as I think Google may be the next hi-tech "Evil Empire" (a la Microsoft and formerly AOL), I am really impressed with their browser, Google Chrome. It loads faster than Firefox, at least on my laptop, and that is important as I am often logging in on the fly. (DD#2 and I have to leave in about fifteen minutes.) Chrome is pretty easy to use as well.

My tech guy recommended it. And, although I haven't tested it, apparently my work's website application works with it (the application is noted for not playing well with non-IE browsers). Chrome is becoming my default browser, at least at home.

Irony--AGW Edition

The Bay Area has a "Mediterranean Climate," according to what I was taught many years ago. Basically, summers are cool and winters are cooler, without getting really cold. Summers are also dry, for the most part, with rain coming between November and April.

So what was this stuff I saw on December 7?
Yep. Snow. On the cars that had been parked overnight at the BART station.

And on the hills across the street.

The forecast was for the snow level to reach down as low as 1300'. So I expected to see white tops on Mt. Diablo (3849'), Mt. Tamalpais (2571'), and Mt. Hamilton (4200'). The hill pictured is much lower; probably around 1100 or less.

The snow didn't stick around, but Tuesday and Wednesday brought freezing temperatures, which meant frozen windshields and black ice on the roads. We generally don't see this kind of cold weather until January and February.

Today it's raining, so it's warmer. And we need the rain around these parts, so I'm not complaining!

USC Needs To Learn New Fight Songs...

"Ode To Troy" and "Victory" are obnoxious no matter where USC is playing.

Although I think it's pretty funny that they've co-opted "All Right Now" which is what Stanford uses as their fight song.

The only two private universities in the Pac-10--you think they could afford to buy a wider variety of music. :)

Go Ducks!

(Cal beat Arizona State--barely. But I'll take the win.)

Joe Jackson And Thoughts About Michael

Last night, DD#2 and I happened upon Joe Jackson's interview on ABC. Not surprisingly, the interview was self-serving, the questions less than probing. What really creeped me out, though, is when Mr. Jackson spoke about his granddaughter, Paris. He looked almost predatory at the thought that Paris, and possibly her younger brother, Blanket, would follow in "the family business" on stage.

"They're Jacksons!" Mr. Jackson exclaimed.

Never mind what the kids might actually want to do.

The interview also featured clips of LaToya and Katherine Jackson. I noticed that LaToya strongly resembles her mother. The resemblance between Michael and LaToya (and Janet) was often remarked upon. Could it be that Michael's never-ending plastic surgeries were his efforts to erase all traces of his father from his face?

Memorable Vacations

Okay, I admit it. I just don't understand people who claim they "can't afford to take a vacation." Unless you are self-employed or working for an employer who doesn't offer paid vacation days, there is no reason not to take some time off.

Or do people mean that they can't afford what the travel industry deems as a vacation? You know what I mean: the ads that imply that if you don't take your kids to Disneyland/Disney World/whatever you are almost guilty of child abuse or that you can only relax if you go to Hawaii/Jamaica/Mexico or on a cruise.

Yes, it is nice to be waited on. To have someone else make the bed and entertain the children. On the other hand, we have taken the kids to Disneyland (and Disney World) and what I remember mostly is the stress and the meltdowns (we were guilty of trying to do it all in too little time).

The best vacations, the ones the kids really remember and still talk about?

Camping.

They got to wear old clothes. They got to get dirty. They got to fish and swim in creeks or lakes. They got to ride bikes and burn marshmallows. They got to watch yellowjacket wasps eat a dead golden mantle ground squirrel over the course of a week. They got to play with Play-Doh (not in the tent, though). They got to play outside in the rain.

We explored ghost towns and volcanoes, visited small local museums that looked like everyone just cleaned out their attics, fed the fish at hatcheries, watched the festivities at "pioneer day" celebrations, and explored lava caves. They kissed banana slugs.

And I let them.

Why? Because my parents decided to go camping one summer, 50 years ago, instead of staying home. My parents were city folks and Bro#1 was in diapers--cotton ones, since disposables were expensive and didn't work well. But my siblings and I survived. More importantly, so did our parents. We went camping almost every summer after that.

The other option is a "staycation." We explore our local parks and beaches. Rent (or borrow from the library or exchange with friends) DVDs and make popcorn for a family movie night. Stargaze in the backyard. Make Christmas presents. Learn a new hobby or craft or practice an old one. Let the kids cook. Visit local historical sites (you know, the ones you pass every day on the way to work and you think that maybe, someday, you'll visit). Play games with the kids like Sorry! or Monopoly or Go Fish.

Unplug the phone and the computer. Tell work you're unavailable, that you won't have cell phone service or Internet access. Forget about meetings for a week.

It's about rediscovering my family. And myself.

I can't afford not to take vacation!

Gay Marriage and the Tax Code

Would gays (and lesbians) still push for "marriage" if there were no tax advantages to being married? At the Federal level, as of now, that is an advantage married couples enjoy that civil unionized couples don't. There are other benefits as well: Social Security Survivor benefits, immigration sponsorship, and others I'm not aware of. (Health benefits, pensions, and health care directives are matters of private contract.)

I'm beginning to lean more toward abolishing marriage as a state institution altogether. The State would sanction only civil unions; if a couple wants to get "married" (however they may define it), they can, in a church or other organization.

I read one gay commenter who whined that his friends and family didn't celebrate his civil union with his partner, but did celebrate their "marriage." I wonder if the couple sent out announcements, registered at local stores, and had a party when they received their civil union? (You want presents? Host a bash!) The expectation of receiving presents, as Miss Manners would primly inform him, is not why you get married and have a party. But that's another subject.

When the City of San Francisco decided that all employers had to offer family health benefits, including to "registered domestic partners," the Archdiocese of San Francisco objected. They lost. So the Archdiocese decided that their employees could designate any one adult to include under their health insurance. A parent could include an adult child. An adult child could include a parent or a grandparent. You could cover your roommate. I thought that was a brilliant solution. In fact, I would love to include DS#1 under my insurance, since he is a student and has "aged out" of the "Dependent" category. There are a lot of other parents in my situation: their adult children, for whatever reason, are currently without medical coverage. I don't expect it to be free; I expect to be charged, much as I would be under any Family Coverage plan.

When Hubs and I were first married, we actually paid more in taxes than we would had we been single. It was known as "the marriage penalty tax." And no one was beating down the door demanding to be able to join us (except other old-fashioned, heterosexual couples).

From their rhetoric, gay marriage proponents want equality. Fine. Let's eliminate marriage all together and reconfigure the tax code to suit. Is that what they really want? What will they demand next?


Update: See Doc Zero's thoughtful post, The Tyranny of False Choices, over in the Green Room at Hot Air

More Reflections on Education as an Encore Career

I was going to use Jaime Escalante, the teacher who brought advanced math courses to the students at Garfield High School in East Los Angeles, as an example of someone with an "Encore" career. While Mr. Escalante was successful at Garfield, I thought I had read he had much less success when he moved to a different school with a different ethnic make-up. I went to Wikipedia to start my search, and found something else I hadn't known and hadn't thought of.

Mr. Escalante had to fight the academic establishment at Garfield to get the classes he wanted. He didn't have success until a principal came along who supported his efforts. In fact, when the principal, Mr. Escalante, and another teacher who used the same methods left Garfield, the math program fell apart.

One of the reasons Mr. Escalante left, according to Wikipedia, was professional jealousy from other teachers and the political in-fighting that often happens.

My school district had "Coach Carter," who benched the entire boys' basketball team when they failed to live up to their study contracts. Mr. Carter also did not have the support of the principal, but he remained steadfast and eventually the team got their academics together. What did the school district do? Move the principal from the inner-city high school to the suburban one, where she was just as ineffective. (She was the principal during DD#1's senior year and DS#2's freshman year, before we moved him to a different school in a neighboring district.)

Eventually the school district caught on and transferred her to a grammar school.

So how many people, after putting up with the "daily grindstone" of working for a corporation, will put up with the political machinations that go on inside most urban school districts?

And what do the NEA, AFT, and other teachers' unions think of this plan? After all, we simply cannot have unqualified (i.e., uncredentialed) people teaching our children. It would be absurd to have a former CPA teach economics or math or a former corporate lawyer teach about government.

Wouldn't it?

Teachers spend years learning classroom management and skills like how to teach reading and math and social studies to young children. How could anyone just "walk in off the street" and into a classroom and be successful?

Maybe they could be classroom aides. Or go to school for a year to earn their credential first. And then experienced teachers can "mentor" these Encore Career teachers and guide them through the political thicket of the typical school.

Okay--I'm being more than sarcastic here. I know that corporations are also political minefields. Still, I find there is a bit of the "Lady Bountiful" attitude in this suggestion: those of us "lucky" enough (because, you know, hard work and discipline never plays a part in one's success) will come to a classroom in an "underserved" area (another one of my favorite euphimisms) and spread enlightenment and learning on the children eager to lap at the pool of knowledge.

Which is why Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn are university professors, I guess, and not in the nitty gritty classrooms of a Chicago school.

Summer Intermezzo

My internal alarm clock woke me up, even though I stayed up late watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix last night. Not only do I have no children to hustle off to school, I have no Hubs either: he and DS#2 and DD#2 are at Boy Scout camp this week as part of our Troop and our new Venture Crew. The Venture program is co-ed, which is why DD#2 can go. I have mixed feelings about that, but the camp fee for a new unit is incredibly cheap. And I am the type of parent who is always pushing her children to stretch their wings, try something new, be outdoors.

While they are gone the remote is mine and the television has mostly been off. I can read when I want, eat when (and what) I want, and write without fear that someone will walk in wondering, "Whatca doin'?", startling my Muse, causing her to flee.

This is an amazing freedom.

DS#1 is in his college town, in his apartment, having found a summer internship there. DD#2 is working and taking two classes at community college--she decided that since she's been there so long, she might as well get her AA. Later this summer and early in the Fall, the intensity will begin as both DS#2 and DD#1 apply for universities and colleges. She will probably get in; he probably will not. (DS#2 is smart enough; just not book-smart. He's people smart, but California state universities and colleges do not have personal interviews.)

The house is very quiet, especially at night. The Dog is lonely, although since there is only one human around, the decision where to sit is much easier for her: wherever I am. The cats only find me if they need to be fed or decide they want a lap.

The last week was hot, but the fog has come in and temperatures are returning to summer norms. The hills are August-dry, so there are several grass-and-brush fires around the Bay Area, tinging the fog a reddish-brown and leaving the faint smell of smoke in the air. If the burns are small enough to control, the local fire departments let them burn out to prevent larger, more serious fires. These fires rarely make the news--a burnt scar on the hillside tells the tale. The Fourth of July weekend will be a concern: more fireworks, more alcohol, more open campfires as people take to the mountains and lakes. Better to burn now.

The birds are singing. I can hear the traffic from the freeway. It sounds like it's going to be warm today. My bedroom window is open, but I'm not cold. I'll need a jacket for BART, but I'll park in the shade so I'll be able to touch the steering wheel of my car this afternoon without burning my fingers. I have to remember to stop by the cleaners and pick up my dress and DS#2's tuxedo. My schedule at work is light, but I never know.

I've read three books--novels--that I hope to review this evening. Summer novels, although one has left me feeling nostalgic and a little sad. Maybe wistful?

Now it's time to get up, take a shower, get dressed, and face the day. Put on my "game" face, my "career woman" persona.

Carpe diem!

Rites and Rituals

I don't mind some chaos in my life (including that in the Fly Lady sense: Can't Have Anyone Over). I'm a procrastinator by nature, disinclined in the Domestic Arts, have learned to appreciate clutter.

But I also crave routine. If I skip a step in my morning routine--or am interrupted by a phone call--I lose my stride. I falter. I become annoyed with the world in general and it can take awhile before my equilibrium returns.

Long ago I discovered that I actually enjoyed the rites and rituals of the Catholic Church. I can't imagine belonging to a religion without them. I know the seasons by the color of the priest's vestments. I know it's Sunday because I've gone to Mass. I enjoy the flow of the Mass, being carried along with the community in celebrating God's love for us. The Church has a rite for every major occasion of my life: birth, adulthood, marriage, death. I am fascinated by the way the priest washes his hands during the Offertory, praying, "Lord, wash away my inequities, cleanse me of my sins." The way the presider blesses the priest or deacon before they read the Gospel. The precise summary of the Catholic faith in the Nicene Creed.

I need these in my life.

Familial and cultural rituals are important to me, too. It's not Christmas without an Advent Calendar. It's not Easter without baskets. The Fall Holiday Season literally kicks off with the Cal-Stanford Big Game. Eagle Courts of Honor must be held at Camp Herms. First-Day-of-School means a picture at the front door. Last weekend was the Ligue Henri IV banquet. My great-grandfather belonged to the Ligue, as did my father, my brothers, and now DS#1 (DS#2 is eligible for membership when he turns 18 in a few months). My brothers and my sons do not speak French. No matter; it's a family thing and explains why we eat lamb with lots of garlic and eat our salad last.

Rites and rituals are my anchors. I don't have to think about what to wear to a funeral or a banquet--family ritual tells me. I don't have to worry about what to say at a funeral or a wedding (although weddings are easier)--the rites tell me. Rites and rituals provide structure to my chaos.

And I'm passing them on to my children. DD#2 knows what to wear to funeral. DD#1 knows what to wear to a banquet. Junior Prom is around the corner and DS#2 and I are discussing the details, including finding out the color of his date's dress so he can coordinate his tuxedo vest and tie and the corsage. ("Oh, that's a good idea," he said today.)

I'm not adverse to change. As long as I have my rites and rituals to fall back on!

The Next 28 Minutes

There's a great pizza commercial where the wife says, "They'll be here in 30 minutes." The husband dashes into the bedroom and comes out in a smoking jacket and a flower between his teeth. The wife says, "That's nice, Honey, but what will we do for the other 28 minutes?"

That was kind of Hubs' reaction to hearing about Governor Spitzer's dalliance at the Emperor's Club. At $4K an hour, what did they do for the other 58 minutes? Okay, maybe it took a little bit longer, but still...

I was impressed by the money. $4K an hour? Who can afford that?!

Hubs and I both agreed I was in the wrong business. And what does the former Governor say to his young daughters when they ask him for career advice? Are there any legitimate careers where a young woman can make $4K/hour? (Does Julia Roberts earn $4K/hour now?)

What made this particular woman--or any in the Emperor's "stable" worth that kind of money? What talents did they possess that couldn't be found elsewhere?

I imagine Mrs. Spitzer is feeling particularly undervalued. Although I'm reminded of a scene in Analyze This! Billy Crystal, the psychiatrist to Robert DeNiro's Mafia Don, asked DeNiro why he had a mistress. DeNiro explained that his mistress performed certain sexual acts that he enjoyed. Crystal asks why DeNiro doesn't simply ask his wife to perform those acts.

DeNiro responds, "Are you crazy? She kisses my children with that mouth!"

Perhaps Gov. Spitzer felt the same way.

Racism, Redefined

One bonus to being chauffeured everywhere is that I'm spending a lot more time with DD#1. Her car is small and, because she is the driver, she controls the radio station we listen to (family rule). So one of the morning DJs brings up Geraldine Ferraro's comment about Barack Obama.

Now DD#1 is too young to remember Ms. Ferraro and her place in history. And she doesn't particularly care for Ms. Clinton, either. So she hadn't paid attention to the fuss. I had and I commented that Ms. Ferraro's comment was probably, in essense, correct.

"But that's a racist comment," DD#1 said.

"Really? Pointing out that Mr. Obama's credentials are light and that if he were white he wouldn't be considered for the Presidency is racist? But she didn't say anything negative about his being black," I pointed out.

"She brought up his race. Any time you mention a person's race, you're racist."

"That's right, Mom," chimed in DS#2.

"Even if it's positive?"

"Yes."

"Being racist isn't always negative or about negative things," DD#1 elaborated. "You're just commenting on their race."

"What if I refer to your red hair..." I began.

"You're being racist," she stated. "I consider redheads a race."

Wow.

I couldn't think of any argument. According to two of my children (DD#2 was in the car but refused to be drawn into the discussion), any mention at all of anyone's race or physical attributes makes you a racist. Which doesn't necessarily carry the same negative connotation I thought it did. It's kind of the opposite of Dr. Martin Luther King's vision of a color-blind society. This new society recognizes that, yes, races exist and we notice them. How can we not? But our judgements about a person's ability isn't determined by those physical characteristics.

Somehow, I don't think the MSM or the rest of the world has adopted this particular outlook quite yet.

A Scare and a Lesson?

Traditionally, the President's Day Holiday is the day I gather all the forms Hubs needs to take to our tax preparer (along with two boxes of shortbread Girl Scout cookies--we have that kind of longstanding relationship). This past Monday, DD#2 was actually working on several homework projects, DS#2 was stuffing envelopes for his upcoming Eagle Court of Honor, and I was going through my box of bills and receipts, trying to keep the dog and the cats off the paperwork. I bent over to pick up a piece of paper and my head felt like someone had sent a meat cleaver through the top. Whimpering, I went to bed, while DS#2 found one of my migraine pills.

No good. The pain was so intense I couldn't keep anything down, including the anti-nausea meds that had been prescribed when I broke my arm. Tuesday I got out of bed long enough to call in sick. Wednesday I got up, started to work from home, and realized that I couldn't focus on the computer screen. Hubs called to check on me and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I did end up calling the Advice Nurse, who chastised me (very nicely, though) for not coming in to the Emergency Department Monday afternoon. But my doctor had an Urgent Care appointment open and I took it.

My doctor did some neurological evaluations and concluded that what I was experiencing was, indeed, a migraine, albeit more the onset was more sudden and the pain was more severe than usual for me. I was also dehydrated. He ordered two injections: one for the pain and one for the nausea and told me to contact him if the shots didn't help.

I got the shots and Hubs bought me some Gatorade (I usually hate the stuff, but this wasn't bad). Once home, I fell asleep for about an hour and woke up to a migraine of more manageable levels.

Today I have a slight "migraine hangover." But I can actually focus on the task at hand and reading the computer screen is not a challenge. Not being able to read was what scared me most about this whole experience. It's been a long time since I've had to parse out each word, consciously decode its meaning, and work to make sense of the sentence. To lose that ability would be devastating to my sense of self--it would mean a radical shift in self-definition.

Sleep while in pain is more escape than refreshing and in the twilight where I lived for about 24 hours, I mused about pain and Lent, specifically on the idea of "offering it up for Jesus." I'm not sure what that really means. Does it mean that I go on as if my life was normal, even though I can't see straight? Am I allowed to curl up quietly in my darkened room and not make demands of the rest of my family, trusting that they get along? Does it mean allowing Hubs to do what he does best and take command of the situation, dragging me off to the doctor even though I'm not sure I want to go? I don't know--I was focusing on not moving. (Although I did forget about my broken arm.)

I don't know how Jesus--the human part of him--made it through the Passion. I can't imagine carrying a cross on a back scourged raw. Forget Simon of Cyrene. I would have fallen after a few feet and not gotten up. Ever. I thought my head was going to explode just walking from the parking garage to the doctor's office.

Now that my pain is considerably subdued, I feel like I'm living again. I have the energy to be interested in what my family is doing. I can think coherently. I am grateful to God for the miracle of modern science and wonder drugs.

I feel like Easter.

Living Life to the Fullest?

This morning I was reading the San Francisco Chronicle while waiting for my bagel to toast when I came across this review: Her Last Death: A Memoir by Susanna Sonnenberg. The following paragraph caught my attention (not easy, since I've only had one cup of coffee):

"Daphne is a formidable figure; her behavior inexcusable, shocking and, ultimately, irresponsible. A compulsive liar, an incorrigible cheat, a promiscuous siren with an insatiable sexual appetite and an addiction to cocaine and other drugs, Daphne can quite rightly be viewed as the mother from hell. But Sonnenberg doesn't paint her as pure evil. She also portrays her positive side, her charm, her grandeur, her capacity to live life to its fullest. No one else was quite like her, and no one else made Susanna feel special the way she did." (emphasis added-Ed)

It occurred to me that the only time I hear or read the highlighted phrase is if the person described is otherwise a wild person: an addict, an alcoholic, sexually promiscuous, unable to form long-term commitments. Will Sean Preston or Jayden James Federline someday describe their mother, Brittany, as having "lived life to the fullest"? She looks pretty pathetic to me right now. And the more I read of the review of Ms. Sonnenberg's memoir, the more I wondered if she thought her mother "lived life to the fullest" or if the reviewer was putting words into her mouth. (I also wonder where the adults were in Ms. Sonnenberg's life, but the review doesn't ask that question.)

Does "living life to the fullest" really mean spending your money on booze, drugs, and men while neglecting your children? Is travel really broadening when done while your brain is in a fog? Is this really the kind of example we want for ourselves and our children?

Not me.

Personally, I think JPII lived life to the fullest. Or Mother Teresa. Or my own mother who lived through the Great Depression, WWII, was married to the same man for almost 50 years, raised six kids on a single salary, sent those six kids to college, and loves to read and to travel. She might have slowed down, but she hasn't stopped. She's still planning ahead, still looking forward. Still living until she dies.

That's living life to the fullest!

I've Got To Have This!

Mythbusters is a family favorite. It's the perfect combination of explosives, geekness, destruction, surprise, and science/engineering.

The other day, Kari (the lone female) was wearing a T-Shirt that said: GEEK. Only it was in Greek letters: G-Epsilon-Epsilon-Kappa.

Okay, I know G does not equal Gamma, which looks like an upside down L. And, yes, Epsilon is really S. But it makes a cool looking E--just look at the Sum Function button on an Excel spreadsheet.

Still, I thought it was clever. I wonder where she got it?

Oh What A Beautiful Morning!

I'm not a fan of winter. However, the upside to getting up in the dark is the magnificent sunrises I share with my children every morning. Today's was especially spectacular: red clouds fading to the gold of the sunrise. And off to the side, a surprise--a rainbow, even though it wasn't raining. There must have been a lot of moisture in the clouds.

Too bad the woman in the BMW SUV behind me was in too much of hurry to enjoy it. After all, she had to get to where she was going thirty seconds faster than she would if she had stayed behind me.

Easy Listening

I finally learned how to download music into my PDA. I loaded up music that I like, but that make my children cringe when I listen to it at home. Albums like Simon & Garfunkel's Greatest Hits or Unforgettable by Nat King Cole.

On my way to BART, I decided to listen to my tunes to see how they sound. And I found myself singing along to Nat and dancing to the soundtrack to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Looking around, I was the only person doing this.

How do people listen to music without moving or singing? Or is it the fact that Simon & Garfunkel and Nat King Cole are just so much more singable than modern artists? (Although DD#2 also sings along with her favorite songs.) And how can you not dance to "Shoo Bop, Shoo Bop"? Unfortunately, much as I like to sing, I'm not very good.

Am I the only one who does this? Or is it a matter of finding more sedate songs?

Meditations on a Beach

Today was Coastal Cleanup Day in California. For the last ten years or so, I've taken my Cub Scout Den or my Girl Scout Troop out to a particular on the bay. It's not too far from our neighborhood; but it's not in town, so there aren't as many volunteers as in other areas. We tend to pick up plenty of garbage--a bag or two per person.

Last year, Junior ROTC groups from San Francisco and Oakland showed up to help. This year, San Francisco no longer offers the JROTC program in its high schools, so there were only the students from Oakland Tech High. But there were several corporate groups: Chevron, whose refinery is nearby, and Starbucks, who provided coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks. More local corporations donated the trash bags and gloves.

DD#2 came with me and we walked along the beach, enjoying the day, commenting on the number of shells littering the beach, especially crab shells. Picking up litter is a boring job, especially plastic bags and containers that crumble in your hands, but that must be picked up so the seagulls and marine life don't think it's food. Plastic grocery bags resemble kelp and jelly fish, so we were especially on the look out for those.

The irony that we were using plastic trash bags didn't escape me.

I had ample time, though, to think about Christian stewardship and Corporate Responsibility and how the two are related. Some would argue that Christian attitudes--particularly Western Christian attitudes--lead to the destruction and desecration of the Earth. Our civilization should take their cues from other cultures, where all life is sacred, not just human. And, yet, these same attitudes have given us the standard of living and the freedoms that we now enjoy.

Not having the wisdom of angels, we mere humans struggle to find the balance between use and abuse, not only with the world of Nature but also in relationships among our fellow humans. The sick need to be cared for but what if they refuse it? The homeless need shelter but what kind? The unemployed need jobs but what if they don't have the skills? Is it always better to teach someone to fish rather than giving them one? What if they don't want to learn how to fish or have no aptitude for it?

Over the years, the idea of what the obligations are of society and its institutions has changed. The park I helped clean is in a prime location--beautiful vistas of the Bay, great weather, a haven for birds, bats, and butterflies. The reason that it wasn't built up with housing is that it was the site of a dynamite manufacturing plant. There had to be a lot of empty space in case of explosions--and there were several. The trees were planted to act as buffer for the shock waves. The company provided housing, as did many of the other refineries and chemical plants located in the area. They provided stores in these remote locations, in an era before chain stores.

The problem, of course, is that once you were no longer employed by the company, you no longer had a home or a way to buy food. This was especially devastating for women whose husbands were killed--they were forced to move out.

The companies got out of the housing and the food markets, selling their homes to their employees first and then to the general market. But where do their employees, especially the young ones, find an affordable place to live? In outlying areas, forcing them to commute in, sometimes from long distances.

Few of those old companies remain and those that have find themselves surrounded by houses and schools instead of empty fields and communities that are as likely to sue them as to be grateful for providing local employment. Chevron, as an oil refining company, is an easy target. They are constantly trying to polish their image: adopting schools, providing mentoring programs for local high school students, donating grants for environmental efforts, encouraging their employees to volunteer in the community.

In other words, acting on those Christian stewardship values that had the Board of Directors followed them from the beginning, would have been so much a part of their corporate culture that I wouldn't notice their effort.

A Plethora of Politicians

I will admit that I am sick of politicians. Nancy, Gavin, Rudy, Fred, Hillary, Barack--their words run together. They are either for the War in Iraq or they're not. Undocumented immigrants are either victims or criminals. Earth is getting hotter or it's not. America is the Savior of the World or it's not. We're in a Health Care Crisis or we're not.

Hubs loves to listen to the Talking Head on Fox and listen to them on the radio. I leave the room.

This summer I had a chance to really talk with a teacher in the trenches. Because she was a first grade teacher, she had 20 kids in her classroom. Of the 20 she started with, three remained in her class at the end of the year. The other 17 were transfers. One of her temporary students was in three different schools in two different school districts during the year. The teacher is fluent in Spanish and was helping a Spanish-speaking parent of a different student fill out some paperwork. She spelled the name of the school, using the Spanish names for the letters. The parent didn't recognize the name for the letter "Y."

How can parents help their children with their homework if the parents can't read?

Another teacher I know, a math teacher at the high school that serves the same area as the first grade teacher, acknowledges the problem. How do you teach geometry to kids who are reading at the third grade level?

And yet, in the Central Valley, children of the Hmong, who have no written language at all, excel. They excel, in part, because their parents realize education is important and because their children work hard so they are not a disgrace to their family and their community.

The teachers I know complain about having to "teach to the test." On the other hand, I've read job applications and interviewed high school graduates whose applications were illegible, misspelled, and incorrect. How do we enforce standards without "teaching to the test"?

The California Teachers Association has begun running ads stressing that academic excellence is a partnership among students, parents, and teachers. Students have to study. Parents have to be involved and make sure their children have a time and place to study where distractions are at a minimum. The ads don't really say what the teacher's job is. I guess that's implied.

Of course, Nancy, Gavin, Rudy, et al, have their theories. Most involve money. Most imply a "one size fits all" solution. But the difficulties facing Hmong students in the Central Valley are different from those faced by Latino students in San Pablo or the African-American kids in Oakland. And these African-American students have different problems than the African-American students in the Mississippi Delta.

And that's just Education. Imagine trying to find--or trying to pretend to find--a "one size" solution for the problems of health care, housing, food, employment.

Assuming, of course, that those areas are problems. Let's face it--if there are no problems, then there is no need for politicians.

Just think: what if we actually had a politician who was willing to stand up and say, "This is your problem, not the government's. It's up to you to solve it."

Previously, I wouldn't have to think about the primary until June. But the State Legislature--who can't seem to figure out how to get a major bridge repaired--have decided that June is too late and that California does not receive its due as the Most Populous State. So they moved the primary election to February. As did several other states. Because they didn't want to be left out, either.

Talk to me after Christmas. Better, after New Year, when I may have time between high school and college finals and before Girl Scout Cookie Sales to pay attention. Assuming, of course, that the politicians have anything serious to say.