accidental rabbit trails . . .

Great Story

2012-02-08T07:52:00.000-08:00

So I called a good friend of mine yesterday - Gail, who lives in Greensboro, North Carolina. She had met the president a few months ago and she told me...

Wait. Some back story first.

I met Gail back when I was campaigning for Barack Obama in 2008. Initially I went to her church because I was going to be poll watching at that church on the primary polling day (a Tuesday, so two days later) and thought it made sense to meet some people at the church itself. It was a raucous, wonderful time, with singing to the rafters (as the expression goes). I looked essentially like nobody else there (color-wise - it was a primarily African American church), but that didn't seem to matter to anyone. I was completely welcomed and embraced (figuratively and actually, as I remember). Then when Tuesday rolled around, I went and stood outside the church in lawyer mode to ensure that everyone had a chance to vote and have a voice. That's when I met Gail. She was sitting outside as well, also doing poll work. It turned out she had missed me at church because it was one of the very rare Sundays that she hadn't attended. She otherwise was one of the pillars at the place (such a great church - I love that church). She and I hung out all day and became great friends - though that is just the way she is anyway. As her father says, she has never met a stranger. She is a lovely, amazing person. There are few people out there as special as Gail.

When I came back to Greensboro a few months later - in the fall of 2008 - she and I decided we would go out together and register people to vote. I told her I'd take care of everything - get the list of where we would go, etc. When we met to get to where we were going, we decided she should drive and I would give directions. When I told her where we were going, she abruptly stopped her vehicle. Excuse me? She must have said. We are going where? I told her again. She just looked at me. I told her that I had asked for an assignment in a poor neighborhood - that way, we were sure to get all kinds of people who hadn't registered to vote yet. Mm hmm, she said. As we got the neighborhood, Gail (a former police officer) seemed to be holding back as she followed me from door to door but told me that I was the one who had to do the talking (until she couldn't help her gregarious self and would join in each conversation at the tail end). Then her pastor called her on her cell phone and I got a glimpse of what was on her mind: "Beth's got me in the 'hood," she told him. "And me without my handgun. She doesn't know any better, but I've got my phone in one hand and my keys in the other. Anything happens, we'll make a run for it!" I just laughed and chided her - "this place is fine," I said. "Everyone's been so nice!" She just rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, I was a babe in the woods - or the 'hood, as it were.

Fast forward to last fall (and yesterday, when I heard the story). Turns out, President Obama decided to work out at Gail's gym last October - a gym near where he was staying at the time. Gail had come with some freshly made pound cake to give to the staff there, saw all the secret service cars, and wondered, what the heck... She got permission first, that it would be okay to talk with him, then waited for her chance and came up when he was in between machines and told him she was a great supporter of his and that she had campaigned for him back in 2008 and then told him that she and her "white, blond-headed girlfriend" from Spokane, Washington had done some voter registration that year in the rougher side of town - she told him, "I should know, I'm former law enforcement and I had clients" from down there. And she told him that we had no problems whatsoever. (And while she was too polite to tell me this yesterday, I'm pretty sure she told him how naive that "white, blond-headed girlfriend" was, dragging her to that neighborhood.) (Except we did have just a marvelous time!) Funny funny. Then she asked him to take the four pieces of pound cake that she had, and he said, "Gail, what are doing to me? I'm here to work out!" but he couldn't turn down that homemade baking (and he shouldn't have - she is one marvelous cook). She ended up getting a photo taken with him and being on Cloud 9 about the encounter.

In fact Gail did more than what she told him, because she also drove people to voting locations at the general election, and spent a lot of time helping one elderly woman in particular get her voter registration straightened out because of some bureaucratic red tape that had been put in her way. Another person would have given up, but Gail knew that it mattered to this woman to be able to vote and she wasn't going to let her down. That's how Gail is. She also took her eldest son to the inauguration, to stand on that lawn with him and know that she was present for that moment in history. It was a great intention that she had. I wish I could have figured out a way to help her get a better seat - or a seat at all - or even just a little bit of a view. But I imagine there was something special for her to just being there at all. And then last fall - did I mention? - she got to meet the president in person and got to give him some of that delicious pound cake that she makes. That likely made up for inauguration day's obstructed view.

The New Year

2012-01-09T06:12:00.000-08:00

So far this new year, stagnant things have been moving at breakneck speed. Yes, that's about the best I can do to describe the current motifs running through my life. I wish I could say more - or had more to say. This will have to suffice.

In the meanwhile, I suddenly am finding the Republican primary race interesting. The debate yesterday morning on "Meet the Press" was really good. For one of the first times, I saw why Texans like their governor. I was disappointed when I didn't wake up this morning until most of "Morning Joe" was over, and ended up missing much of the commentary. (That still means before 6 a.m., you Easterners.) (And yes, I'm watching "Morning Joe" again.)

I also feel slightly optimistic - just oh, slightly so - because the unemployment rate keeps lowering. I worry about people, hoping they are making ends meet. This employment news makes me feel slightly better on their behalf. I do understand some of what they are going through. (One gift of having had financial struggles during this lifetime - I can have a real sense of what it means to worry about whether to spend that five dollars on a non-essential item.) But what must it mean, to wonder if your children will be fed today? Or housed in a warm place?

Oh, and I watched football this weekend - well, not so much on Saturday, but on Sunday, I watched. What a game that was, between Denver and Pittsburgh.

But mostly I'm hanging in there, watching and waiting for 2012 to unfold. I think it will be a very good year.

And on that note - having written the above, I keep hearing this song in my head - Sinatra's voice. The only live performance I can find of it on youtube is this one - it's long - but then I watched it - magical - to watch the evolution, the work in progress - what a song - and this will be the theme for me for 2012.

Down Town

2012-01-04T12:15:00.000-08:00

Can't seem to stop humming this sweet song -

The First GB

2011-12-13T05:47:00.000-08:00

I don't remember when, now - or who it was I was talking to - but recently, I mentioned how I saw a special on PBS awhile ago that outlined how the first George Bush voted for the Civil Rights Act when he was in Congress, and how he lost his next election because of it. Whoever I was talking to - was it you, Mom? - told me that they didn't believe it. I said no, it's true - and it was really compelling, how he said that he had to do the right thing, regardless of popularity.

That got me thinking this a.m.: was I wrong? No. I wasn't. Here is a link to an article which appears connected to that PBS special - http://www.pbs.org/newshour/character/essays/bush.html - and an excerpt from it -

Never again during his career did George Bush wage a campaign so unrelievedly conservative, or so oriented toward issues. When he ran for Congress from Houston in 1966, he created the archetype of the Bush campaigns of the future: the candidate's personal qualities were emphasized over stark ideological commitments. Bush told a reporter, "Labels are for cans." ......

Another sign of Bush's new moderation was his vote in April 1968 for Lyndon Johnson's Fair Housing Act, which banned discrimination in the sale and rental of housing. In his district, Bush told a town meeting, which jeered him, that it seemed "fundamental that a man should not have a door slammed in his face because he is a Negro or speaks with a Latin American accent." He wrote a friend, "I never dreamed the reaction would be so violent. Seething hatred--the epithets... The country club crowd disowning me and denouncing me.... Tonight [I was on] this plane and this older lady came up to me. She said, 'I'm a conservative Democrat from this district, but I ....will always vote for you now.' ...Her accent was Texan (not Connecticut) and suddenly somehow I felt that maybe it would all be OK--and I started to cry--with the poor lady embarrassed to death--I couldn't say a word to her." ......

What a time it must have been, back in 1968, making those kinds of decisions - It matters to me, to know that he was on the right side of that history.

More Boys

2011-12-10T05:35:00.000-08:00

I just came back from another visit to Chicago, where I babysat nephews for a week. The two boys are now 17 months and just-4 years old. It was just the three of us, while their parents were out of town. I've (again) decided to award my brother-in-law a prize of some sort, for being the full-time, stay-at-home parent with these two wonderful, non-stop boys. It's a lot of work! Parents all over deserve awards.

And yet - there is so much joy in it, too. People tell me I'm a great aunt. But my life would not be as rich without them in it. I remember back to when my nieces were little, and I happened to live just a few hours' drive from them, I would try to see them every couple months. At that age, the phone means nothing. It's the in-person contact that matters, when building relationships with those who are young. To this day, it makes me sad that I didn't have that kind of contact with my older nephew. He lived far away, yes - but I think I would have worked to make the effort to create that consistent connection, had I understood back then how things worked. I was so young myself, though... Still, he and I had a chance to hang out one year, when we both lived in the same town. I helped my brother coach his soccer team. I got to watch him be a good kid, and could see my brother's guidance over the years in the way my nephew did right by others (while still maintaining his coolness, of course).

And yes, in the abstract I make this effort for these children who are related to me. But in the particulars - I'm biased. There is nobody funnier than - sweeter than - each and every one of my nieces and nephews, in each of their own unique ways. Seriously, how can a little blood create such a bias? But it's true. That's how special each one of them is, in my eyes. And I just get more biased the older I get.

With these two boys in Chicago - how much they've grown! even in the month that I saw them last. The older one is becoming very grown up, while the baby is hard at work at learning the basics - and trying to catch up to his older brother. The work never ceases when there are two of them - especially now that both of them are mobile. Whatever one does, the other one wants to do. So if one is playing with a toy, the other one wants that specific toy. The minute I referee our way to a new solution, the one now-with-the-toy no longer is interested - as he now is eying the thing that his brother has just picked up. Every. Time. Well, almost every time. It's not quite like clockwork - but close enough.

At one point, I was on the phone with my dad just as the little one decided to break down the older one's Lego project. My dad could hear the commotion in the background, as the older one scolded the younger one, "Stop that!" I grabbed the baby and said, "He just wants to do what you're doing because he loves you." My dad said that he was with the older one - he wouldn't be buying that "he loves you" stuff, either. But it's true! Well, maybe there's a little competition thrown into the mix. But mostly, he just adores his older brother, and wants to be just like him. (I know this based on my own experience of growing up as the little sister who was always a step or two behind.) I have no idea how many times this past week I said, "He doesn't know any better. He's a baby." And the older one would sigh and nod. That's true. He is just a baby.

Right now, the older nephew can be really funny. He and his dad play Wii every night for about half an hour before his bedtime (after the little one is asleep). I have no skills in this arena. But his dad isn't there, so I substitute as the other player. I'm terrible. At one point, when we were playing a Mario Bros game where you collect gold coins, I was proving how bad at the game I really am. As it finished, I said, "I'm really bad at this." My nephew said, "No. You're good. You're good, I'm good." He looked at the scoreboard. "You got zero," he informed me. "I got eight." He smiled. I smiled. "I know," I said. "Congratulations." (I think I just got patronized.)

Another time, I was talking to myself (and a little to him), figuring out how the day was going: "Okay. You're doing good. The baby's doing good. I'm doing good. Everything's going okay." And he chimed in: "You're doing great!" (Nothing like a little positive feedback to brighten up the day.)

The younger one has his own - also unintended - funny moments. For instance, I know when he's hungry - he starts pushing the high chair in my direction. Time to eat, Aunt Beth! (Is it lunch time already?) He is one big baby, actually. He's solid, like a wall. And he's incredibly strong. I expect he will be a football player. He's built like one. Over the weekend, when I turned on the TV to watch some football, he was mesmerized. His face lit up at the sight of the game. He went to the TV and put his hand up towards the screen. Then he walked back over to me, his eyes still glued to the set. He stood at my leg where I sat, watching, watching... until he started to bang his head into my thigh. Why yes, baby, that is how they play the game of football - with a lot of head smashing.

The older one also found football interesting. We were watching a particularly exciting half of a college game, and I was explaining the game to him as it progressed. At one point, the quarterback of the underdog team almost made a phenomenal play, except his receiver didn't - well, receive. My voice raised in excitement as I explained to my nephew what was happening, why it didn't go well, what had been expected.... He nodded sagely. "Bad choices," he said. Well, yes. That pretty much sums it up. (Later, the day I left, I was recapping the week with him and said, "and we watched football," and he nodded and said, "Bad choices. Good choices. Watch the flag!" He should give coaching clinics.)

Other things we did: went to the library - puzzles and computer games galore; acted out numbers (I acted out 1 to 100 early on, and then the 4-year-old would act out different sets of numbers periodically through the rest of the week while I counted the numbers he wanted me to count); played games and music (like See-n-Say for the little one, and a music book piano for the older one, as he learned to combine notes and numbers to put together songs); read books (one night, the little one stayed still long enough to let me read him ten short books! while the older one decided to read Winnie the Pooh's "Now We Are Six" poems, telling the stories while also using some of the words typed on the pages). I even took a little time to sing a couple "Pogo" songs for them - from an album I had from the age of 3 or so. (Love those songs.)

And yet - everything was harried, too. Planning out meals - frantic. Giving baths to two kids instead of one - frantic. (I still did take the time to wrap each kid in his towel after getting him out of the bath, holding him in my lap and rocking him warm for a minute or so. It's a nice ritual.)

One day, in the midst of the whirlwind, as I parked at the preschool that they both attend (different classrooms), as I grabbed the baby, telling the 4-year-old to stay in his seat, to wait for me - as I rounded the car to get him out, juggling the baby on my hip... He said simply, "I'm happy." "Oh, I'm happy too," I said, remembering why I was there in the first place. "I'm so glad to be here with you this week. You two are my best friends." He smiled, and gave the baby and me a big hug. Heaven.

Now here I am, back in Spokane, refereeing my two cats with some cat nip - wondering how show-and-tell went yesterday (the 4-year-old had to bring something that begins with the letter "N" - we tentatively planned out that he would bring a foam number 9 he had from his bath toys) - hoping they don't miss me at all, while simultaneously missing them both immensely. That's the thing about building relationships - they touch us deeply, to the core of the heart, for better or for worse. I think I'll call to see if he brought the number 9.

Trans Siberian Orchestra

2011-11-26T08:15:00.000-08:00

My mom is here visiting for Thanksgiving. We're having so much fun! (when not fighting) (just kidding). Ahead of time, we planned to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra. She's always loved it. I have never seen it - my introduction to them was this wonderful light show at someone's house (titled "Christmas Lights Gone Wild"):

What a great show it was yesterday! Quite a performance. I loved the light show. And all the fire! Fun.

Just re-viewed the Christmas light show, above - put together by Carson Williams, an electrical engineer in Mason, Ohio. It only lasted two Christmas seasons, due to traffic congestion in his neighborhood (that doesn't come as a big surprise). Here's a link to the story behind the show: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carson_Williams

Such A Boy

2011-11-06T06:51:00.000-08:00

I remember four years ago today. That was the day my nephew was born.

He arrived late, after the doctor had said he wanted him to come by the due date, and everyone had made the plane reservations.... And then the due date came and went, and the doctor said we shall see... I already was scheduled to arrive a little after others did, to stay a few extra weeks and help my sister and brother-in-law with the new arrival. So I got to be there just in time. (One soon-to-be grandpa, on the other hand, got to come for a nice long weekend and watch my sister continue to gestate.)

But arrive, he did. And from the start, he won my heart.

I suppose that gets said around the nation, around the world, from aunt to nephew, uncle to niece, and every other combination, every day. It's true of my other nieces and nephews too - I loved them when I saw them (perhaps a little before that too). But each experience of falling in love is a little different, isn't it? And as I sit here smiling, remembering four years ago today, I am remembering those things that make this nephew special, the ways that he won my heart uniquely.

He began life in constant movement. He loved to be swaddled, as they tell you to do in the hospital - it makes them feel safe, they say - but this one loved the swaddling so that he could spend the next few minutes kicking and squirming to get unwrapped. I swear that's why he loved it so. I remember once - holding him in my arms all swaddled and warm, him squirming and moving in constant motion - undoing the cloths and saying, "Run! Run if you must. Go where you must go!" It was one of the few times he stopped and (I swear) looked up at me quizzically - with his puppy eyes that couldn't yet focus - as if to say, "Why'd you do that? I was having so much fun!" So I wrapped him back up and he looked content in his renewed struggle to get released.

I couldn't imagine him back then ever becoming larger than a very-large football. And now? He's turned into a boy.

It was just a couple weeks ago that I saw him and his one-year-old brother (another nephew who's won my heart) as we spent time in Chicago and San Diego together for family gatherings. I love the tandem team - the two of them, entertaining each other, loving each other, the older one telling on the baby as the baby starts doing more grown-up things - and think back today, to four years ago.... it's almost impossible to imagine that all that would have turned into all this. And yet it is so, in perfect form. Such sweet boys, such excellent parents....

I suppose that, after four years, he necessarily would end up turning into a boy - a little person, but a person nonetheless. I think of four year olds that I see on the street and yes, they are real boys (or girls), they have each grown into that kind of maturity, with the promise of a future - so why wouldn't my own nephew follow suit?

But you know, he's that baby too, in my eyes. I can remember the little one that he was when this all began, four years ago. Yes, I can see how big he's gotten, how tall he's grown, how mature he's becoming.... while all the while I also see in him - in my mind's eye - the baby he was, back when I first made his acquaintance.

And maybe that's why we celebrate birthdays as we do. They are precious days, aren't they? Happy Birthday, baby. Happy Birthday today too. I love you! And wish I were there, to celebrate yet another day of that wonderful life you will lead. Onward.

The News

2011-10-07T07:54:00.000-07:00

I'm busy, sure. Very busy. And the Internet has changed things too. But really? I just can't watch the news anymore, even if I had the time. It's too... bombarding.

I realized this morning, when I happened to watch a so-heartwarming story on The Today Show, that I actually used to watch The Today Show - because of stories like these. I wanted the headlines, but I also wanted the "human interest" stories - perhaps because, as a human, I was interested.

I do want to know hard news stories in depth. I do. But I can't seem to watch a news show long enough to get that. Instead, it's sound bites and shrillness. It's screaming headlines that "don't mean what they're trying to say at" (this is a semi-quote from a novel, I don't remember which one, I'm thinking "As I Lay Dying," but I'm not sure). Not even Morning Joe keeps me tuned anymore (though my watching this news-talk show does depend on whether I am awake before 6 a.m.).

I do stay informed. I read news on the Internet - where headlines often are shrill sound bites, just like they are on the TV news. But the written word does require something from news reporters and commentators that TV news does not - it requires new sentences. It requires an attempt at depth. And it lets me skim through the noise to get to the substance. It lets me walk away if the shrillness is too much, just in time to find another, more reasoned article or column.

So if the TV news programs think getting people's attention requires a lot of noise... why not try going back to a reasonable approach? Let me know you're doing it (there's a lot of noise out there, you know!) and I promise - I'll make it a point to tune in.

England, 30 Years Ago

2011-09-20T07:11:00.000-07:00

I laughed out loud just now, remembering the following from 30 years ago - while I was an exchange student in England and my mother and younger sister were visiting - on a stage somewhere in Great Britain, with a comic magician who had pulled me from the audience:

Magician: What's your name?

Me: Beth. [Not Elizabeth, btw. "Just Beth," is what I say often when filling out forms.]

Magician: And who is that in the audience? Your sister? What's her name?

Me: Becky.

Magician: Beth and Becky. Beth and Becky. (laughter) What's your last name?

Me: Um... Bollinger.

Magician: Beth and Becky Bollinger! (repeated) (laughter)

He then proceeded to stuff scarves down the neck of my very-cute teal dress (I remember that dress!) for the "magic trick" - and then pulled out the scarves and - voila! - there was the bra of a very large woman (clearly not my bra) tied in between the scarves! As everyone laughed at his "magic" trick of taking off my bra, my sister Becky (see above) apparently whispered to my mom next to her, "But she's not wearing a bra."

She was right - I wasn't. But I played along with his joke by pulling my dress collar forward and peering down to see what was going on down there. The audience roared. As the magician grabbed my arm to help me down the steps, back to my seat, he whispered in my ear that I should come see him after the show. I decided we'd interacted enough by then.

Anyway, one thing led to another this morning, and I remembered that whole "Beth and Becky, Beth and Becky" part of his act... and thought I'd write it down.

The Eagles

2011-09-12T10:02:00.001-07:00

I can't help it. I love the Philadelphia Eagles.

It's a love-hate relationship, really. And one-sided, I'll bet. (Do they really care what I think?)

But it must come out on the side of love, since I am willing to break my current silence on this blog and post something.

It helps that they won yesterday. Yes, in their season opener, after fits and starts and after really showing the world just how young their offensive line is... they won. Egads, and it looks from the score that they won big, doesn't it? 31-13, against the Rams in St. Louis. Looks solid, don't you think? But it came only after awhile.

My sister called at the beginning of the third quarter. I had to walk away from the television, so distracted I was by the ineffective Eagle play. I complained to her that I had forgotten how much stress there was in enjoying an Eagles' football game.

Michael Vick is definitely amazing. He did have that one fumble - you need to watch your back, man! (and assume that nobody else is, right now)... But it was a blip on an otherwise strong radar screen. You can tell he's not just the man of yesteryear but the strong(er) man of today - he does watch those game films now, doesn't he?

Nearly as satisfying as the Eagles' win was the Cowboys' loss. Oh, say it is not so, poor Tony Romo - say that you did not just fumble on the one yard line... I apologize to all Cowboy fans for taking delight in your lament. But let's be honest - you'd return the favor in a second, wouldn't you? Ah, what it means to be division rivals....

Commercial break is now over. I am now removing the battery from the scrivener part of my brain and returning you to your previously-scheduled silence. Why? you may ask. Well, let's hope not. But it's important to be realistic too. Too much practice of law (as I now am doing) gets in the way of creative juices. My brain is too focused on information that is not fit for print, if only because of its confidential nature...

Morgan

2011-07-23T06:42:00.000-07:00

Well, our family got some sad news yesterday. My sister's cat Morgan passed away. She was 16. She needed that extra help from the vet, actually. She wasn't in pain, thank goodness. Her past 24 hours she was so lethargic (their other cat Arthur sat with her all day). It was time. She lived a long life, right there with my sister and her husband. She oversaw the arrival of their two sons, would sit outside the closed bedroom door as the newborn slept. She never liked the rest of us - hissed, mostly - her way of encouraging us to find other accommodations, I suppose. But the times that I spent with my sis right after she gave birth (in 2007 and 2010) gave me great appreciation for the soul that was Morgan. She loved those boys, and seemed to watch over them, right from birth. And at quiet times amidst all the chaos that comes with a new baby, she would find my sis and cuddle up in her lap (when that lap wasn't otherwise occupied). We have great Morgan stories - like how she gained some weight, then lost it when my brother-in-law came up with the idea of putting her food in the basement. She wanted to eat more than she wanted to not-exercise. Or how she got out once, and all my brother-in-law had to do was say, "treats!" and she was right back in the house. (hmm, these stories revolve around food...) But my most immediate, and fond, memory of Morgan is watching her these past years, watching over her small but growing family and loving them. RIP kitty. We will miss you.

Telltale Silence

2011-07-11T12:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I have good intentions, at least. But there is just no time to maintain this blog right now. Life as I know it is just creating too much chaos for me to find that quiet moment in the morning to write down something salient or even something at all.

In sum: this blog site is down due to a non-functioning scrivener. We apologize for any inconvenience. We thank you in advance for your patience while we fix the problem.

Skunk Revisited

2011-06-28T07:32:00.001-07:00

It was about 10 p.m. last night, and I opened the front door to see if either of my kitties wanted to come into the house for the night. (Yes, my life revolves around letting cats in or out of the house - especially at times like now, when the weather is nice.) (Excuse me for this commercial break - one of the cats is just now meowing to be let in.)

There at the base of the stairs was the baby skunk of a couple weeks ago. So cute! Or so I think - it was dark and my porch light's burnt out. Flower - as we've nicknamed the skunk - looked a little longer than before - apparently growing into its adult oblong shape - and seemed as sweet as ever. Knowing it was as potentially lethal as ever as well, I scolded cat Alex to keep trotting down the sidewalk, scooped up cat Annie to bring her into the house, and then calmly went after Alex (who'd gone across the street) and enticed him into letting me pick him up and bring him into the house as well - just by voice this time - no can of cat food necessary.

I have no idea where Flower went, other than into the bushes at the side of the house. Perhaps he (or she?) was hoping that Alex would come back out to play, and dove into the bush as a way of playing hide and seek? Hmm. The ways of cats and skunks remain a mystery to me. At least I have a can of tomatoes in the cupboard...

The Menagerie

2011-06-17T06:48:00.000-07:00

There's no shortage of animals around, these days. In the past week, there was a wild turkey outside my office window, a crow (or raven) that nearly flew into my window there, a multitude of spiders everywhere, a skunk at the house...

Ah, yes. A skunk at the house. That was exciting.

It was a recent Sunday evening, at dusk - not quite night. One cat - Annie - was outside, wanting to come in. The other cat - Alex - was inside, wanting to go out. In sum, it was a typical Sunday evening, where I am servant to cats' needs.

I opened the door to do the Cat Exchange. And there he was. Or she. A skunk. A baby skunk, in fact. A very sweet looking, gentle - but potentially dangerous to the olfactory sense - skunk, in the walkway, just below the flower box on the living room window (where Annie was sitting). I gasped. Alex crouched. The baby skunk perked up. Annie gazed at us all, in Zen-like mode: "Ah yes," she seemed to be saying, as she nodded in the direction of the baby. "Did I fail to mention there's a skunk in our midst?"

Then Alex started his hunter's stalk. I went into action too. "Alex. Alex. No. No. No. No," I said, in an increasingly shrill voice. Alex looked over his shoulder at me, confused by my sudden insistence, annoyed that I was interrupting his plan to pounce. I grabbed my lap top's extension cord - the only thing close enough to a 10-foot-pole that I could see - and got ready to swing it in someone's direction. The baby skunk scurried into the bushes, but not far. Alex trotted down the walkway towards the sidewalk, away from the baby, I'm sure as a way of calming me down (and biding time until I went inside and freed him up to continue his prowl). Annie just watched.

I knew I had precious little time before Alex circled around the back side of the bushes where the baby was. "Hey Annie, Annie," I said to my calmer cat... approached the window box where she sat, and.... swooped her into my arms. Surprisingly, she acquiesced. I tossed her into the house, grabbed a can of wet cat food, and went back out. Yes, yes - do I know my cats or what? - Alex had circled around, and was aiming for that baby skunk from a different angle. "Hey, Alex," I said in what I hoped was my sweetest voice. "Hey Sweetie Pie. Look what I have... oooh.... cat food... mm..."

I clicked open the can. Alex was torn. Oh gosh, he so badly wanted to chase that baby skunk. But, hmm... that cat food did look good... he leaned toward the bushes, but the can won out, and he headed in my direction instead. I think he was trying to concoct a plan where he ate the cat food and chased the skunk. But my plan was to get him into the house. So I sneaked him inside by backing into the front door with the cat food low by his nose, and just out of his reach. He couldn't help himself. He had to follow the can. Suddenly he was inside. And he did get wet food as his reward. But he was "in" for the night too. This did not make him happy. I heard his protests all night long. I didn't care.

When I told a friend about it the next day, she wondered if perhaps the baby skunk had rabies, as they are nocturnal animals and it wasn't quite yet dark. I told her no, I didn't think so - the skunk never got aggressive, never even turned its back to spray... (by that time, I'd read up about skunks - had found out that babies can spray just as lethally as adults). I told her how sweet the skunk was, how round (!) (I didn't know that baby skunks are round, and not long), how it was more likely to start playing with Alex if Alex had been nice. As she listened, she said, "It was Flower." I gasped. "Flower! It was Flower!" We both laughed, having turned eight years old in an instant, each remembering the skunk that Bambi named "Flower" because he had just learned his first word and figured everything went by the same name.

I haven't seen Flower since, though neighbors have had sightings. Alex has been going out at night - how can I keep him inside, without all that meowing? - and has yet to come home stinky. Maybe he and Flower have become friends. I can only hope.

Out of the Whirlwind

2011-06-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

"Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades? Can you loosen Orion’s belt? Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons or lead out the Bear with its cubs? Do you know the laws of the heavens? Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth?"

-Job 38:31-33

Job was a whiner. Well, in his defense, a lot had happened to him - his family was dead, his money was gone, his body was full of disease, probably leprosy. And it all had happened after he had led what had always been considered, by everyone, "a good and pious life."

But still, he was a bit of a whiner. Read Job. You'll see.

I'm feeling a little like Job these days.

Which means, I think, that I've been asking questions similar to the ones that Job was asking, way back when. Sort of a "Why me, God? Why are you picking on me???" I had a plan, you know. And I believe we all had agreed to said plan. I know I agreed to it. (And then my home went up for sale, and my workload radically changed, and those last 15 pages of that new screenplay now appear as though they might get written sometime in 2025....)

And so, as I soldier on into my current fortunes, I think I've also been yelling at God. Or whoever. It hasn't been all that organized - maybe I've been yelling on the inside (as I buck up, and pull on those bootstraps...) But I've been, at a minimum, grumpy about the whole evolution of All That Had Been Planned.

The best laid plans... you know how the end of that sentence goes. Or, what's the other one - you know how to make God laugh, don't you? Just explain the plans you've made.... except I thought - I really did think - we were on the same page on these particular plans. I really did. I've been banking on it.

I think a little grumpiness is only fair. In fact, in recent days I've been thinking that Job was less of a whiner and more of a reasonable guy who just wanted a little fairness to come his way. That's the way karma should work, anyway.

So when I happened to read the above-quoted passage from the Bible, it woke me up a bit. Like Job, I needed a reminder: maybe I don't have a perfect handle on how this universe works, after all. And maybe I should give a little credit to the idea that there is an order to this apparently random chaos that will make itself clear, all in good time, regardless of my preferences. And maybe I don't know why - maybe I'll never know why - but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Job 38 is a fascinating chapter. It's when God's voice comes out of a whirlwind to Job and asks these kinds of questions. When Job asks God why - why? - are you punishing me? God in essence asks, why do you imagine that this is punishment? He asks it not in a one-word sentence but by pointing out to Job all the wonders of the universe that exist, even if they exist beyond human logic or comprehension. God essentially says, why do you have such a narrow view of the universe, that bad things happening to you must necessarily be retribution? Couldn't the world just be a little larger than that?

I love that the voice comes from a whirlwind. And I love the talk about the Pleiades and Orion. Well yes, I imagine those star formations had names back then too - though I don't think I knew they were known by those particular names. There's something ... infinite about God talking to Job about the Pleiades and Orion.

So then I did a little research, and found out that the questions posed by God actually have legitimacy in modern science. When God asks Job, are you the one who figured out how to "bind the chains of the Pleiades" while "loosening Orion's belt," God is actually foreshadowing heavenly circumstances that evolve over time. Apparently scientists predict that the Pleiades (Seven Sisters, actually about 250 stars congregated together) will ultimately stay clustered - or "chained" together, while Orion's Belt (the three stars in perfect alignment with each other) will, over time - lots of time - separate from each other - no longer stay in that alignment. In other words, the Belt will "loosen." So, wow. God says this to Job back before anyone knows that this all will happen in that way. Talk about Big Picture Thinking.

Here is a great article that talks through the comparison of what is said in Job and what is actually happening - it also goes into Arcturus (the Bear - "leading the Bear with its cubs") portion of this quote: http://www.bible411.com/andgodcried/chapter2.htm After explaining the science, that writer states the "lessons" of Job as follows:

Few have suffered the multiple tragedies of Job. How could God reach through the enormity of Job's self-pity? (Job thought God just didn't care.) In these three questions (Job 38:31, 32) God is in reality saying:

Job, you think I am not concerned about your suffering. Well, let Me ask you these questions. Can you loose the bands of Orion? No, you cannot. But My Divine power will—some day Orion will no longer exist. Job, can you bind the 250 stars of the Pleiades together in their symmetry of beauty and not have a single one drift off? Only I have this power and wisdom. Can you prevent the runaways—Arcturus and his sons—from colliding as they go dashing out of the Milky Way? No, only My Divine power and wisdom can.

Job, if I am caring for the details of the universe, do you doubt that I not only care for the details of your life but I have the ability to solve your problems? Trust that there is a good reason I am permitting these tragedies. Remember, Job, I work from the perspective of your eternal welfare.

So, cool.

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for my life. No leprosy here! I have a wonderful family, a supportive community, a profession (the law) that gives me the potential for instantaneous livelihood... Like Lou Gehrig, I am aware of and count my blessings, no matter if adversity has also presented itself. Still, this passage from Job helped put me back into perspective.

At the end of God's speech, Job says oops - I didn't think of it that way. Actually, Job says he'll shut up now ("I will lay mine hand upon my mouth," Job 40:4). Wise choice there, friend. Perhaps I'll do the same.

Now, back to work on this sunny Sunday morning...

Billy McLaughlin Feature

2011-05-27T08:47:00.001-07:00

CBS News just did a wonderful feature on musician Billy McLaughlin - love his music, and now his story - I wrote about Billy here-

Here's a link to the CBS piece: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2011/05/27/earlyshow/main20066772.shtml

Chicago Visit

2011-05-25T13:15:00.001-07:00

Well, I just left Chicago two days ago, after five days with my two young nephews, ages 3 1/2 and almost 1. My mom and I came to tag-team babysit while my sis and her hubby were out of town. We came, we loved, we got the stomach flu, and then I headed back home. Well, my mom didn't get sick until after I left. The boys already were sick when we got there. Man, it was wicked.

Before I got sick and after the boys were feeling better, we did have One Grand Adventure. It was my mom's idea - go to the nearby firehouse! She called and said if we could come by with the boys. They said great - they even were doing a water exercise out in a field when we got there. My nephews were amazed as the water shot high into the air. One fireman came over quickly to introduce himself to my older nephew, who is at the age where he can get nervous around new things. He went from that to helping shut down the fire hydrant. When the firemen suggested he look in the truck itself, though, it was too much. Time to go home, he said. And when they offered to let him put on a fire hat - oh my goodness. I did show him the hat, and showed him the eagle on the hat. They said to come back any time. As we left, my nephew (teary-eyed and ready to "go home," as he put it) took hold of my hand. I said, "Say 'thank you,'" and pointed to the firemen. He turned around, waved and, between tears, said, "Thank you." Even in the midst of tears, he's able to be polite. So sweet. In his defense, it was a pretty big truck.

We had other fun in the sun too. On Sunday, it was a Great Windy Day. My mom had gotten a kite at the store - not big, but manageable and with a dragon as its face. She got photos of me trying to tame the kite, hair blowing everywhere.... the kite won. She also got photos of my nephew holding the kite - and one photo of the sky, when we actually got the kite up and running. Now that photo is of the sky, not the kite in the sky, as somehow the kite evaded photography at that point. Still, it's an illustrative pic of what we accomplished. Within a few moments after that Kite Success, the wind was too much and destroyed what was left of the winged creature. We got a photo of that too (will try to add some later).

Still, with all the illness, it was a chopped-up visit. As I was getting ready to leave on Monday afternoon, I looked at these two lovely boys and wondered if we had laughed enough. The baby was teething too, though everyone seemed to have recovered from the flu part of the five days... So in the final minutes of my visit, I gave them both a bunch of belly raspberries, going from one belly to the other, and then a bunch of kisses too. It made them both laugh, even as they squirmed to get out of my grasp. The baby's giggling seemed to help him forget he was teething, at least for a few minutes. We definitely all needed the laughs.

Wow

2011-05-11T06:03:00.001-07:00

Amazing - Niki Dawson and Vicci Martinez - watch the comments too

Made in Spokane

2011-05-11T05:09:00.000-07:00

Up at 2 a.m. or so this a.m.... wondering when the third act begins... trust me, I've done about as much bootstrap pulling as any one person should do... besides, the weather's turned nice, and I'm wearing sandals, not boots... the turning point has now arrived, as far as I'm concerned...

It was one of those "I'm awake" insomnias. So I got up and started working - which immediately got me to procrastinating. So I decided to do an internet search for Spokane and its movies - saw that they actually were filming the Spike TV pilot "Thunderballs" out at Manito Park at that moment, in sync with my insomnia... actually, I didn't see that item until two hours later - when it no longer was the middle of the night. I did drive out to the park just now (needed to pick up some half-and-half anyway, for my coffee) but they were already all wrapped up for the night. Ah, well. Wish I had seen the item earlier - it would have been fun to watch them film.

In my computer searches, I did run across this great link - a list of all movies made in Spokane over the years. It's humanly compiled, so may have inaccuracies. But still - a nice list to have. http://www.moosicorn.com/2010/03/filmed-in-spokane-movie-marathon/

Double Rainbow

2011-05-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

And there it was - right after the soccer game, outside our Rock bar, in the midst of a storm that blackened the sky - the beginning of a double rainbow.

Made in Idaho

2011-04-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting article about a film that was made in Idaho - Boise, in fact - though now that the legislators have cut off their own educational system at the knees, one wonders how they expect to build the workforce needed to continue with these kinds of projects - certainly kNIFVES, our film networking/workforce development group, is doing its part. I do know we've discussed locally how to get the incentives program funded, as well as how to explain intelligently how Idaho's filming costs end up being low enough to make the difference when it comes to incentives programs...

Here's the article, out of the Boise-based Idaho Statesman newspaper:

http://www.idahostatesman.com/2011/04/30/1629588/can-city-of-trees-double-as-windy.html

Las Vegas, with update

2011-04-27T13:46:00.001-07:00

Well, we did it. My family congregated from all around the country - every corner, I believe - in Las Vegas this past weekend to celebrate my upcoming 50th birthday.

Yes, tomorrow I turn 50. Exactly how did this happen?

My siblings, parents, uncle and their spouses/fiancees appeared miraculously and somewhat dramatically for the Big Event. We ate too much, laughed a lot, and could have been anywhere, really, and not just in Vegas. We did do a wee bit of gambling. I lost. And I'm very grateful that everyone made the effort to come celebrate.

Also present, by happenstance, was a good friend of mine who lives in Phoenix. I have known her for twenty years - met her right before I turned 30, in fact - and she came with my family to the Birthday Dinner, on Saturday evening, at Nora's Italian Cuisine. They sat us in a back room - twelve people, was the final count - all sitting at a round table that filled the room there. Apparently we ordered every appetizer on the menu, along with several entrees - it was excellent food. As if my family's presence was not "presents" enough, I had a variety of treats for the day - a massage/pedicure/manicure in the a.m., a sweet jewelry box, fifty trees planted in my name, a show, an amazon.com certificate, a wonderful necklace and a rabbit. Actually, it was a human being dressed as a rabbit - the Easter Bunny, I think he thought (but my brother explained it wasn't that, and it wasn't "accidental" that it was a rabbit in the first place, ha!) - who came with a singing telegram and then wanted to dance. So I danced with him. It's all on tape, or so my brother-in-law assures me. As the TSA check-in guy said at the airport in Spokane - when he saw I was going to Vegas - "What happens in Vegas ends up on Youtube!" We shall see. We shall see.

On Sunday, as most of the family was departing, I ended up staying with my friend from Phoenix, who was staying at the glamorous Bellagio. It was a perfect day, weather wise, and we sat out at the pool, sunning. This was a far cry from when I left Spokane (sans jacket, as I knew I wouldn't need it in Las Vegas). As I had walked to the Spokane airport from the parking lot last Thursday, it had snowed. And the wind had blown, as though we were on the Great Plains. (Coming back on Monday, it poured rain. Oh, well. The parking-lot-to-airport hike is only about five minutes, in Spokane.)

The other thing that tried to affect my trip was my cat Alex - or, should I say, the cat fight that Alex apparently had a week or two ago, that gave him the scratch on his head that broke open into a sore on Thursday, about three hours before I had to leave. Alex. He's such a pain, that cat. He sees all cats as directly challenging his authority to rule the neighborhood - and every cat fight starts with him going head-first into battle. This is how these cat-scratch battle scars always end up on his head. But I didn't fret too much - I just put a cone on his head to keep him from scratching at the wound, and my neighbor checked on him to ensure that he could eat and could not remove the cone. He was grumpy by the time I got home - Alex, not the neighbor - but he was healed - or nearly healed. I told him I was sorry, but I was not about to let him make me cancel my trip to Vegas. After all, you only turn 50 once. (It's 49 that you can repeat as often as you prefer.)

UPDATE: Well, Alex is doing well. The cone is off, the head is healed, and he is out and about, looking for another cat fight. It's good to see him back to himself.

Cyberspace Chorus

2011-04-19T11:33:00.001-07:00

I happened upon this wonderful story of making music via the Internet. It was orchestrated, literally, by an artist named Eric Whitacre. Here is his story of how the global chorus evolved - it's a little long, but worth the view - short version is, basically one young girl posted on youtube a clip of herself singing this piece of music, written by Eric Whitacre; they came up with the idea of inviting others to sing; and ultimately they put together a clip of all of the youtube posting of people singing the song from their own various bedrooms and living rooms, with Eric directing them - all via cyberspace. Here's the longer story:

Here is the first piece they created:

And here is the one they are now developing - a vision of global participation:

Filming PSA for Post Falls Domestic Violence Hotline

2011-04-10T11:13:00.001-07:00

kNIFVES, my movie networking and workforce development group (I'm the board secretary), just finished up a day and a half of filming a 30-second public service announcement for the Post Falls (Idaho) Police Department's domestic violence hotline. We did it as a training workshop - "PSA in a Day," we called it - and we had a mixture of cast, crew and students totaling about 45 to 50 people. It was just so great. The proposal came to us just a month ago. This means that kNIFVES - with its all-volunteer board and no executive director - went from the seed of an idea to a 30-second PSA in one month. This includes getting the writers' group to write scripts, brainstorm them, winnow them down from 13 to 8 to 3 - all incredibly great scripts, by the way, so no small feat to reduce the number down to 3 - from which the police department selected one. It also meant networking the professionals in this region willing to donate time and equipment to good cause, and project.

The ultimate script has a total of four scenes, with voiceover, showing three instances of abuse and then the final victim making the phone call to the hotline for help. It was really emotional to watch the filming, as the scenes are very intense - a teenaged girl trying to get out of a car and her boyfriend yanking her back in; an older, sophisticated woman with a black eye putting on sunglasses in the privacy of her bedroom to hide the abuse she's suffered, as she readies to go out of the house; and a young couple in the early morning where the husband nearly hits the wife with his fist because of a sink full of dirty dishes. The title of the commercial is "Break the Cycle." The kitchen scene shows, at the end of it, the couple's little girl, watching, which then prompts her mom to make the phone call for help.

It thrilled me to have so many students attending, and the variety of them, all interested in learning about the practicalities of filming, being able to participate, having the crew and the director (WJ Lazerus, kNIFVES' president) stop action to explain what they were doing and why - the thought process behind the various shots from a practical, creative, and time-sensitive prospective. I loved how the crew donated time and equipment to our process - how the police department kept feeding us meals and snacks - how everyone pitched in to make the project a success.

The actors, too, donated their time. When some were introduced, I asked how they all felt about doing these scenes, given the topic. One said that it was a topic very close to them, and how honored it felt to participate. It seemed like there was a story to tell there - a story like the three being told in the commercial. This is a topic that is prevalent but taking place so often behind closed doors. It was really gratifying to know that this workshop, and the ultimate product, not only turned out to be a great training tool for up and coming cast, crew and writers, but would actually have the potential to touch people's lives.

This topic is close to me personally, as I have worked on this it in the past. I haven't done so recently - it was more when I was younger, both in college and in law school. In college, I volunteered on the local hot line. In law school, through the clinic there at the University of Maryland, I represented an abused woman who was convicted of first degree murder for killing her abusive husband, and who never had any of that abuse admitted as evidence in her trial. Ultimately one thing led to another, and we ended up rallying the community of mostly female lawyers to do three things: make a video of these women's stories (because my client was just one of about a dozen women in similar circumstances in Maryland prison); get legislation passed in Maryland that would allow evidence of the battered spouse syndrome in assault and murder cases where the spouse on trial had been abused; and work towards clemency for these dozen or so women who were in prison in Maryland but had never been allowed to explain their circumstances during their trials. All three goals were met, and the governor gave most of the women clemency from their prison sentences. I was gone from Maryland when the women were given clemency - I had graduated from law school by that point and was in Wyoming, clerking for a judge - but I felt so proud of the work that got accomplished based on what we had started, there at the law school.

The last two days have made me think of that project - have reminded me of how far we, as a society, have come since 1990 - as this kind of information is now part of trials, no need to fight to allow for that kind of fairness - but also, how far we still have to go. I mean, here we are, doing a PSA for abuse victims out there who don't know how to ask for help. Each circumstance is individual. Most abuse occurs behind closed doors. There is much to know, and not enough public education that takes place, even now - when we know so much more.

They say that the police can tell you which houses are ones with domestic abuse - they know the homes where they will be called to referee every few weeks. But this PSA is to reach out to those people who suffer that kind of domestic abuse in silence - the ones who do not pick up the phone and make the phone call. I hope this PSA reaches them, inspires them to reach beyond where they are and "break the cycle."

Appliances

2011-04-03T08:05:00.001-07:00

As I sit here waiting for a refrigerator...

I love the house where I live. It was built in 1912 (I made that up - but it had to be around then). It has high ceilings and dark wood floors, the gorgeous wood somehow surviving various tenants' impulses over the years to follow painting trends. Bookshelves are built in, in that same gorgeous dark wood, as is a buffet in the dining room. I even love the funky cardboard-like paneling that someone installed back in the '50s, we guess. We think someone went through the neighborhood saying that everyone's kitchens and bathrooms would benefit by putting up paneling on the walls... It's weird, but interesting. Very kitch.

The house is not without its drawbacks. The heating system is an Octopus in the basement - what they used to use for coal-heating systems - a central source with huge metallic tubes that lead from the source to the individual rooms. While it no longer uses coal for its heating source - thank goodness - the system was never removed - just converted to a modern system, using the Octopus arms to distribute the heat. (It is also the cooling system - no air conditioning for this old house! There's a light switch that I can turn on in the summer - it runs the Octopus' motor which sucks the cooler air down below and circulates like a fan, just like the thermostat triggers the motor to run heat through the house in the winter.) This is an inefficient, expensive way to heat the house in the winter. Yet my rent is so reasonable (yes, I rent this sweet home) that I don't mind the expense in the winter. It all balances out in the end.

One of the drawbacks of living in this lovely home is that the facilities are older than dirt - or so it seems. About a year ago, the toilet broke. I called a plumber to replace it. (Oh, I also have the best landlords ever - who immediately take care of whatever needs fixing, either by fixing it themselves or authorizing me to hire someone.) The plumber said he figured he would be able to fix the toilet itself, and not have to get a replacement toilet. Um, I said, I love your optimism, but I think you may have to replace it. When he got here, he said there was no way to fix it - it was about 50 years old, or some such thing (maybe not, maybe only 30 or 40 years old, I can't remember - "really old," is what I remember him saying). So I got a brand new toilet. It was so exciting!! (I know, I need more excitement in my life, if this is considered one of the Big Events of 2010.) My landlord had said I could authorize whatever, but that he didn't want a gold toilet, or anything like that. So it was funny when the flush handle turned out to be brass.

So this week, the refrigerator died. I didn't notice right away - didn't notice the lack of humming coming from the kitchen, or anything. I did think it was odd that the ice wasn't forming well. When it dawned on me that I had a dead refrigerator, the cold already had mostly faded away. We made phone calls, my landlords and I. They decided they wanted a new refrigerator rather than the very-reasonably-priced used one that I had found at a local appliance store. Luckily they didn't want a big one - most new ones are mammoth, these days - so it actually will fit in the little alcove I have for it - sort of squeezed in next to the stove, but that way the appliances are off to one side and I can have a little table in the kitchen for casual dining. Real cooks would find this situation awkward, to say the least. Me? Not so much.

So now I await the new refrigerator. It shall be delivered today between 1 and 3 p.m. I'm kind of excited about it. Another appliance goes from 1950 to the 21st century. Not that the dead refrigerator is that old - not that I know of, anyway.

I'm also excited about having a completely cleaned-out refrigerator. Though I do think I'll miss my various science experiments... I mean, what's the purpose to a science experiment if you can't keep it around for years? Isn't that how it became a science experiment in the first place?

It's also a little thrilling to imagine a completely clean corner of the house, as I plan to clean out under the refrigerator before the new one arrives.

I haven't been able to have frozen items this week - my neighbor graciously took my frozen items for safekeeping in his freezer - and refrigerated items didn't last too long with the ice that I bought - well, not after the ice melted and I didn't replace it. So one nice thing about the end of today - I'll be able to have half-and-half again for my morning coffee.

And that opening line, above? It's a play on the words of Tillie Olsen's short story "As I Stand Here Ironing." She was a writer from Santa Cruz, California, who was also a mother and home keeper, who wrote around, and about, the mundane chores of life. Maybe that's why I noticed the refrigerator so much this week - I'm writing again, and anything can be a distraction when I write.

Child Sex Abuse Statute of Limitations

2011-03-24T08:00:00.001-07:00

Two years ago, I wrote how the Washington state legislature considered, and passed, extending the time by which a victim of child sex abuse can report abuse. At that time, it was extended to either age 21 or age 28, depending on the circumstances.

Now Washington contemplates eliminating that statute of limitations altogether, as it is in 29 other states. The proposed bill passed the Washington State House unanimously. One state senator from the West side, however - Senator Jim Hargrove - refuses to give the bill a needed hearing by this Friday in order to let the bill be considered by the full Senate. If it isn't heard by then, the bill dies for another year.

Here is a great piece by local KXLY on the difficulties - by the way, the argument that it shouldn't be extended because victims will then not come forward is bogus - no victims' advocacy group is saying that, to my knowledge - and it does not reflect the truth of what happens - as one advocate put it, the only ones who don't want this bill passed (besides those playing politics in Olympia) are the pedophiles themselves. Oh, and the article that the cases will be harder to prove is also bogus - prosecutors always have the option to decline prosecution if evidence cannot be gathered. But in the case of, for instance, Patrick O'Donnell - a priest here in the 1970s who abused so many, including Tim Corrigan (his widow Cheryl is holding his photo in the news story) - he never faced criminal prosecution in spite of all the evidence because the statute of limitations already had run.

If you do want to express an opinion, email Jim Hargrove at hargrove.jim@leg.wa.gov or Lisa Brown (Senate Majority Leader from Spokane) at brown.lisa@leg.wa.gov.

Here's the story:

(I'm in the shot, actually - standing to the left of the reporter at one point, in black, getting my hair blown all over the place. )

The Deafening Silence...

2011-03-23T10:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry. No postings. The script writing finally is going well, though - as long as I reduce distractions...

I did want to mention that Friday is the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory - the 1911 textile factory fire in New York City that killed 146 women immigrant workers, mostly Jewish and Italian. Here is a very touching article about people remembering those who died by marking their names in chalk in front of the apartments where they lived.

The happening of this anniversary is eerily timely right now, as Wisconsin unions - and unions across the country - fight to keep at least the basic boundaries formed to protect workers' rights over the past 100 years. The Triangle Fire was one of the catalysts at the turn of the 20th century (another being the publication of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair) that moved people to action to protect the rights of workers in this country - and to form unions that helped the least workers among us. In the Fire, the factory heads were saved, but not the women workers - mostly the ones who were working on the ninth floor, where the fire engine ladders didn't reach, and sprinklers didn't work, and exit doors were locked, and phone calls couldn't be made to warn them (because the phone on another floor was off the hook, preventing inter-floor phone calls). Under those conditions, with material strewn around workstations like ready-made kindling, the fire ripped through the overcrowded floor at lightning speed. Workers either burned, or jumped to their deaths.

Here is an interesting quote at the end of the article about the sidewalk markings:

One of [the chalk writing organizer's] favorite quotations comes from Gabriel García Márquez: “Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.” Certainly, she said, the Triangle fire was colossally sad. But the huge protests and push for change that followed it were, she said, “invigorating.”

“In the wake of tragedies like Triangle or 9/11, my sense is there are actually quite wonderful things that come out and radiate from that,” she said. “There’s an immediate dropping of day-to-day falseness. You become much more compassionate and humane toward each other in those moments.

“It’s incumbent upon us if we’re going to commemorate the fire,” she added, “to commemorate the spirit of action that grew out of the fire.”

There will be bell ringings at 4:45 p.m. EST around the country, to mark the moment that the first alarm sounded 100 years ago. Here is a website for more information.

Justice

2011-03-16T08:25:00.001-07:00

I'm writing a script, so I've not been blogging. And now I feel guilty about that. So here's a post. I'm choosing "Justice" as the topic. Why yes, such a lighthearted concept, don't you think?

I think we all have basic values, and then we have one or two values that define us individually. For me, one of my defining values is Justice. Although I never dreamed about becoming a lawyer, it was a great choice once I thought of it, because having balance has always motivated me to action.

When I cry at plays, or movies, justice - or the imbalance of it - is usually a motivating reason. I cried at "Camelot" when King Arthur gave a speech at the end of how he wanted to create courts in order to establish a civilized society. Yes, I cried at his words - at the concept, though in a good way. For as imperfect as our court system is, it is where we go to settle disputes - not the streets, I hope, but to the courts. Or to the courts after the streets, if we weren't able to wait. To hear his speech - from the point of view of the origin - moved me.

I sobbed at "Man of La Mancha" (the older couple sitting next to me didn't want me to drive myself home, I was so emotional) - and at the injustices there - I didn't expect it, you see - I had never seen the musical, though I knew some of the songs - and remember, as a child, listening to my father sing about dreaming the impossible dream (as my mother accompanied him on the piano). But it's a dark play, and it took me down.

And then I could hardly keep myself together at "Of Mice and Men" - had to duck out the theater after it was over, so that nobody had to see how distraught I was. I had always been so angry with George for not getting it together better to keep Lennie out of harm's way, until a friend of mine scolded me for having such high expectations of the poor guy, who himself was hardly able to survive. And so, when I watched the play with her thoughts in mind, and I realized George was a victim too - my gosh, I couldn't stand it.

(As a youth, in a philosophy class, I wrote a paper once about Oedipus, blaming him for fulfilling his destiny of killing his father and marrying his mother. If he didn't want to do that, then shouldn't he have stopped killing men his father's age? and really - shouldn't he have thought twice before marrying a women who could have been his mother? After reading the paper, my professor said, "Aren't you being a little hard on Oedipus?" Maybe. Maybe I was a little hard on him...)

When I was on the board of our local Meals on Wheels, I went out once to serve the meals - only once, though. I was great at keeping my distance in the board room - looking at things analytically - knowing we were doing our small part to help out Spokane's poorest-of-the-poor seniors. But when I went door-to-door, all I wanted to do was fix everything - clean every apartment - take everyone to their medical appointments so they didn't have to struggle with the bus and their walkers... So I stayed in the board room after that - where I actually could be productive, and not just spinning my wheels (so to speak).

The thing is, for as much as I want justice for all, I can't really personally provide it for every single person. And even more than that - the world doesn't intend for one human being to achieve that. In fact, if you look beyond our justice "system" - the court system that is imperfect, and rarely effects justice because money does not heal all wounds - and look to karma instead - spiritual justice - where (the theory goes) the universe constantly seeks balance, and seeks to correct imbalance - then part of the equation is that individual people need to stand up for themselves sometimes, on their own, without additional help, so that the next time some injustice comes barreling on down upon them, they have some tools to use in the battle.

That doesn't mean I can't help sometimes - or at least cry, at the sight of unfairness - that must create some balancing too, don't you think? If we can see the injustice, recognize it, and mourn its existence...

I do think that's why the tearing down of teacher unions has been met with such public negativity. It's one thing to get the unions in balance. It's quite another to just destroy them. Where's the justice in that?

Okay. Well, I hope this makes sense. I typed fast - knew I couldn't let another week go by without a blog entry! And happy Justice Day to you. (Is there such a thing?)

"Fish Don't Clap"

2011-03-06T06:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spent the day at a genealogical conference, oddly advertised as a "Day With Bing." You see, Spokane is proud of having been the childhood stomping grounds for Bing Crosby. The Secretary of State's office - which has a genealogical division - who knew? - figured they would attract people interested in family history by holding a day-long conference exploring one of the better known families in the Inland Northwest. The Crosby family, that is.

It was just a wonderful day, filled with lots of immigration information about Bing Crosby's roots, and how his family played a huge role in the settling of the Pacific Northwest. The whole day started before the program began, however, with a burst of nostalgia. Someone had set up a small screen with youtube clips of Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Dean Martin that played while we waited for the conference to begin. It was just wonderful! And so funny. Here they were - the cool guys - bursting into song during a movie, or completely relaxed while singing as a trio. That's back when you could be cool and a little corny at the same time. Here are some of the videos we watched - first, one of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby singing in the "High Society" film:

And then this clip, from the Dean Martin Show - I presume it was his show - singing the Nathan Detroit song (a part Sinatra played in "Guys and Dolls"):

So much fun!

The title of this piece comes from Bing Crosby's nephew, who was also one of our speakers. In his reminiscing about "Uncle Bing," he told a story that his uncle had told him, about how they tried to get Bob Hope to take a vacation - a two-week deep sea fishing expedition - but they had to come back to shore after just a day to drop him off. When the reporters asked Mr. Hope what had happened - did he get seasick? - he answered that he had not realized one thing before going on the trip: "Fish don't clap." So he'd come back home. Ha!

I did get a chance to show all the Crosby presenters the photo in my baseball novel ("Until the End of the Ninth," about the Spokane Indians' minor league team and a bus crash midway through the season that killed nine of the players) of Bing Crosby donating $2,500 at the memorial fundraiser game that they held just days after the bus crash, to raise money for the families of the bus crash victims. He and Bob Hope had just been up here golfing a month or so before the crash. The presenters were excited to see a photo that they had never seen before - and gathered information on how to get a copy of the original through a local family.

One of the tasks yesterday was to spend some time doing your own family research on ancestry.com. I decided to focus on my dad's side of the family, where I have some records and photos of a great-great grandfather who served in the Civil War. The volunteer who assisted me (they had a volunteer for every participant, it seemed) was especially thrilled that we kept running into family photos online. Apparently this was quite unusual. I had no idea. I told her that, through my mother's side, we go back to the American Revolution. She was in awe. She made me feel like I had accomplished something, just by sitting there and existing.

What I did notice about my dad's side though, was how they all came over from this fairly small area in Switzerland - the province of Schaffhausen, and then these little towns sprinkled around the province - towns like Schleitheim (current population 1,663) and Löhningen (pop. 1,213) and Guntmadingen (pop. 248). And then somehow they all found their way to Buffalo County in Wisconsin - to towns like Mondovi (current pop. 2,634) and Eleva (pop. 635) - and got married. All to each other, too - all these Swiss marrying other Swiss. It must have been quite the detour for my grandfather to marry my Norwegian grandmother. He was 28, she was 17 - and he was smitten from the start, is what the story always was.

It did baffle me a little yesterday - you move from a little town in a cold place to another little town in another cold place? Huh. It seems to be a lot of work, and distance, just to recreate what you had back home. It did get me here though, so I'm not complaining. And maybe that's partly why I like small towns - it's in the blood.

I was proud to read how civic-minded they were. I already knew that my grandfather was the local hospital administrator, and was on the Buffalo County commission, for years. Yesterday I learned that his maternal grandfather - the one who served in the Civil War (and is rumored to run an oral message between General Meade and President Lincoln on whether Lincoln should stay in D.C. or not) - ended up a Justice of the Peace, helped organize a school district as well as creamery co-ops there in Dairyland, and was quite active in the Lutheran church - as they all were, I'm sure. And I didn't read about any arrests - well, they were Swiss, after all. Anyway, a fun day overall. Worth the trip!

The Absence Of Posts... with updates

2011-03-01T08:11:00.000-08:00

Well, hi there. I haven't posted in a while... there's a good reason, actually. I'm writing again, and when I write on this blog (usually in the a.m.), it sort of takes away from the creative juices for my current screenplay effort - a "rom com," or so I'm told (i.e., romantic comedy).

If I tweeted (or is that "twitted"), things would be posted - since that takes a lot shorter time to compose than a blog entry. Indeed, I continue a little Facebooking, even in the midst of creating and editing.

So, in semi-tweet-like form (did I just hear a bird?), I can tell you that:

*It's been snowing in Spokane. Winds reached 58 mph yesterday at our airport.

*I had a plan to drive to Seattle over the weekend, as I wanted to do research about my new script, and one of the main scene locations is Pike Place Market - so I was going to go on a ghost tour and such - but was worried that the snow would impede my ability to get through Snoqualmie Pass and back, so I postponed for a later date TBD.

*I have decided to go all-out in my effort to buy American - under the theory that, since our tax structure encourages companies to take jobs overseas, then our buying patterns here should encourage them to keep the jobs here instead. My foray into this effort was only partially successful on Saturday, as only one of my three purchased vegetables - the onion - was home-grown, so to speak. The other two - the tomato and the mushroom(s) - were from Canada and Mexico. Sigh. But I did hear from Bounty Towels (which I like - they have cute patterns!) - in response to my email - that they do manufacture their towels here in America, so it looks like I'm able to keep purchasing Bounty. Here's what they said:

Dear Beth,

Thanks for contacting Bounty. I'm happy you are interested in knowing where our Bounty products are made. Bounty paper towels (including Bounty Basic & Bounty Napkins) are made in Mehoopany, PA – Albany, GA – Green Bay, WI – Cape Girardeau, MO – and Oxnard, CA. Hope this helped! Thanks again for writing.

Jerron J., Bounty Team

This sounds great. But I'm such a lawyer - so I thought, hmm - does this mean that all Bounty towels are made in these locations? And if not, what percentage of towels are manufactured overseas and then brought here for sale? Inquiring minds want to know. So I've emailed that follow-up question - will let you all know what I find out.

UPDATE: Bounty has not responded to my more pointed question. I emailed again this (Thursday) a.m., saying that if I don't hear back, I'll presume it means that the majority of American-sold Bounty towels are not American-made. (I did notice where Procter and Gamble, which manufactures Bounty, has manufacturing plants around the world, so I think it's a pretty fair question for me to ask). (Update - Thursday afternoon - they've responded! and yes, Bounty towels all are made in these United States - Whitney S. from The Bounty Team emailed me the following: "Hi Beth, Thanks for contacting Bounty. We really appreciate your interest in our bounty paper towel. I am happy to inform you that all Bounty paper towels are manufactured in the United States.")

If Bounty ends up not to be an option (update: it is! see the few sentences immediately above), I do know that Seventh Generation is manufactured in the U.S.A. In fact, I actually contemplated SG as my first option, as they not only are a U.S. company (privately owned), but they also are a responsible one, using only recycled products. I have purchased their paper products before...

ADDITIONAL UPDATE: Just got off the telephone with Seventh Generation - such nice people! - and they were able to inform me that their paper towels (and toilet paper) are manufactured both in the United States and Canada - and that the stretch to the one plant in Canada had to do with a limited pool of manufacturing plants in the United States for recycled products - and was not an effort to flee the country - which makes sense to me (e.g., their manufacturing choices are not actually costing Americans jobs0 - and they have the additional attraction of producing recycled products - so hats off to Seventh Generation! I'm officially switching to them for those paper products.

By the way - the Seventh Generation concept originates with Native Americans - that all we do is done in honor of the seven generations that have come before us and in anticipation of the seven generations to come in the future - which makes that a very cool name...

So this is all excellent news. It means that we now have at least two great choices for paper towels.

*Oh, and I've been enjoying all the Wisconsin stuff. One wonders (as the Morning Joe crew observed last week) why the Wisconsin governor just doesn't declare victory and settle it all. He has, after all, won all the financial concessions he was seeking from the unions. Here was a nice video from over the weekend about the protests and sit-in. I sent it along to both my nieces as I thought they would enjoy the efforts that students in their age group were making in Madison.

So there's a quick recap of My Week That Was. Thanks for checking in!

Can You Say "Rickets"? - with updates

2011-02-20T12:22:00.000-08:00

Rickets. I am wondering how many know the definition of that word. You can be forgiven if you don't know it. After all, it's a disease that has been nearly eliminated in the United States because of government and educational programs, and better nutrition.

But get ready to learn what it means now - that is, if Republicans get their way.

Rickets is the softening of bones due to a lack of vitamin D and calcium. It is mainly a childhood illness, as it is in childhood that our bones are formed. It is the primary disease of children in developing countries. Here, read this article on it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rickets

We've come a long way since rickets was a likely condition of young children in this country whose families couldn't afford proper milk, cheese, etc. for them. In recent years, our progress on eliminating rickets actually has gotten a banner acronym associated with it. That acronym is WIC. It stands for Women, Infants and Children. This is a federal program. In 1974, the year it was established, it served 88,000 people. In 2009 alone, it reached 9.3 million people. Here's the website on it.

WIC ensures that families whose income falls at or below 185 percent of U.S. poverty levels can supplement diets with coupons that buy formula (for babies), milk, cheese, eggs and the like. Pregnant women participate, so that there is sufficient nutrition in the womb for fetus bone development.

The Republicans propose to cut the WIC program by ten percent.

Seriously?

Yes indeed, this is the party that advocates no abortions at any time - yet they'd like to get rid of the program that stands between our children and bone disease. So much for protecting the life of children. (The Repubs also have proposed about a 15% cut to Head Start, which already is underfunded - so, they'd like to cut into the two federal programs most highly lauded as having direct positive and traceable impact on the youngest, and least, among us.)

There are more than enough places we can cut federal monies. Just don't take milk from the mouths of babes.

For astounding of a headline that this makes, there is virtually no news coverage on this very symbolic and miserly cut proposal. The best I could find was this article out of Florida. Comments show people's concerns (other than the ones that call the program "socialism"). Most commenters get the point - these are resources for our children, who make no decisions on how family funds are spent. We are setting up our children for bone disease if we cut WIC in a way that affects their access to formula, milk, cheese, etc.

Sure there are ways to cut government spending. Put me in the "for" column on that. But make these cuts wisely. Don't - literally - cut our children off at the knees in order to make your point.

UPDATE: Okay, I did find this article out of The Economist - which cites to this column by Paul Krugman (great column) - both of which bring up the WIC cuts. The Economist's article also talks about how the House Dems "failed to restore $131 million for the Securities and Exchange Commission, facing new responsibilities under Wall Street reforms enacted in the last Congress." Yes indeed - the SEC, which was too overworked to watch over Bernie Madoff, will continue to be anemic. Great. Oh, and I saw that, when asked whether the Repubs' proposed cuts would result in the loss of federal employee jobs, Rep. Boehner answered, "So be it." This brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, "compassionate Conservative." I guess it really means to say that we should be conservative with our compassion? Is that it?

UPDATE: One of my sisters just forwarded this link to a column by David Brooks on how politicians are cutting off children at their knees because that is the easiest target these days. He doesn't really discuss WIC - which is a program that just works, and doesn't have a lot of layers to tweak - but does discuss Head Start, and ways to improve programs if cuts do need to occur. It's worth the read: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/01/larry-crowne-tom-hanks-julia-roberts_n_829540.html

Journalism Ethics Movie Marathon

2011-02-11T08:53:00.001-08:00

KNIFVES board member Karla Petermann will be moderating a month-long Film Appreciation and Discussion Series at the Sandpoint library from 1-4 p.m. for the next four Saturdays, starting tomorrow. The theme for this year's series is "ethics in journalism." The films slated for viewing and then discussion are Ace in the Hole tomorrow; Sweet Smell of Success on February 19; Network on February 26, and Good Night and Good Luck on March 12 (hmmm... apparently they're skipping a week). I urge you to attend. Apparently the discussion part can get quite lively.

I've only seen the last two movies, with Good Night and Good Luck being one of my favorite movies ever. It fits in the genre of telling a true story with integrity (a topic I discussed a couple days ago, when writing about The King's Speech). It's such an important slice of history, that movie - and what Edward R. Murrow did to shift the tide back then, away from Senator Joe McCarthy's fear-feeding, communist witch hunting. Murrow dug to the truth, and showed it to the country - and we woke up. My mother, who teaches history at El Paso Community College, tells of how some of her students saw that movie and then wanted to know who played Joseph McCarthy in it. (chuckle - McCarthy played himself, through old footage!) Love that movie.

I remember Murrow's documentary Harvests of Shame too, about migrant workers - it stunned me, as a kid. I even wrote a paper in high school, designing an elementary and secondary school education for migrant workers' children who could never stay long in one class because of all the moving they did (and all the work). The paper was a child's effort, I know - solving nothing. But that does show that Murrow had lasting impact, at least on me.

There's an Edward R. Murrow Award at Washington State University that is handed out every year. The year that it went posthumously to Danny Pearl, I went. I also went when Tom Brokaw was the award recipient. It's a great event, in honor of a remarkable man (who went to WSU back when it was WSC) who really did help America remember balance.

WashYourHandsington

2011-02-11T06:37:00.000-08:00

And here I thought I lived in a state called Washington:

Apparently, we - collectively, as a state - think it's great that people are laughing at us over this ad campaign because - um - they'll remember the message better that way?

http://www.spokesman.com/blogs/hbo/2011/feb/08/washyourhandsington/

Cindy's right (second comment down on the above link): "It's just embarrassing."

But funny. Funny too!

"The King's Speech"

2011-02-08T06:09:00.000-08:00

I went a week ago to see "The King's Speech," an interesting and lovely movie. It is deserving of its recent awards. Colin Firth's acting is excellent, if just for the stutter alone. It was an interesting slice of history, worth the telling.

In fact, that was a big reason why I wanted to see it - the history part of it. I had read an article by someone who was disappointed that the movie "made up" facts (was the claim of the article's author) - both saying that the stutter was not as pronounced as the movie intimates, and that Winston Churchill was not really supportive of a change of crown from older brother to younger. I've written about a slice of history in my baseball novel ("Until the End of the Ninth," based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians' minor league team and the bus crash that killed nine of the team's players). I want this story to be made into a movie. And I want the film maker to have a sense of what it means to tell a story, fictionalized, while still honoring the truth of the story being told. So I wanted to see how "The King's Speech" was made. I readied myself for disappointment.

As it turned out, however, I was pleasantly surprised. Any artistic license that they took with the facts described above seemed reasonable to me, as I watched the movie. The stuttering seemed like a lifetime - but was only seconds. This must be how it feels to speak publicly - to an entire nation, as a leader - when, the whole time, you fear that you will stutter. As for Churchill - whether he supported the older brother in public to keep the crown doesn't mean he always supported him in private. I expect that Churchill was, at a minimum, of two minds, so having the movie portray him as being of one opinion over the other didn't bother me. In the end, I was pretty happy that I could enjoy the movie for both its storytelling and for its honorable efforts to tell a story based on a true event.

In fact, it is a special art to tell a true story through the vehicle of fictionalized drama. Few even try to do it, and only a handful of those people succeed. This is especially true with sports movies (to this, I pay close attention, since I have written the baseball novel). It's as if movie makers think that sports stories don't deserve any kind of special care. For me, the richness of a true story is in its special details. It does take extra effort to look for those details - to draw those kinds of nuanced lines from different points. But isn't it all the richer, to tell the story that way? The lines almost draw themselves, when a writer is faithful to facts - either as they happened, or as they could have happened - while allowing the imagination the freedom to take the story to depths beyond facts. Life can be a lot like art, if we allow it to be - if we allow ourselves to see the themes and symbols, see how we grow within the moments of our lives, day to day. Portraying a true story, while believing that the story contains themes and symbols - just like our own lives do - is key - as is the dramatization of those facts, themes and symbols in a way that gives cohesiveness. We are, after all, taking the expansiveness of life and condensing it into a two-hour movie. How do we tell that story so that it honors both the story and the telling of it? It's a delicate balance, but one that, if done well, will allow the telling of a slice of life that touches something deep within.

I do hope "The King's Speech" keeps winning awards. It's subtle, character-driven, and an interesting slice of history, told well (in my opinion). It was a great way to spend an afternoon.

"As I Lay Dying"

2011-01-31T06:15:00.001-08:00

"I made it on the bevel." - Cash, "As I Lay Dying"

I read somewhere that someone (I forget who, now) is turning this William Faulkner novel into a movie. And I think - well, how? How will that be accomplished?

I was 14 and a freshman in high school when I first read that book. Immediately, I fell in love with it. My teacher was part of the reason - he loved the book too, and he explained to us young 'uns what we were about to read - a stream-of-consciousness story of Addie - a Southern woman who had died - told from the points of view of her family - from their thoughts. So it's a head game, you see - and yes, there are pieces of a story too, so that you see the family go on the trip to bury her. But - the trip itself is just a vehicle. It's what the people are saying in their minds that is most important.

Take Cash, for example - the son who builds the coffin. He isn't Darl (who reads minds, and knows exactly what's what). He isn't Jewel (his name says it all - and more, as the book progresses). Cash is much more concrete - what he can tell you is how he made the coffin. "I made it on the bevel," he says, as the first sentence of his first chapter. That's how he can explain what he's doing, what it means to him, that his mother has died. (I must credit my teacher for pointing out that bit, actually - it has stuck with me all these years too - how choosing one sentence in particular for a character's opening line can be so definitive for that character).

I didn't like Addie much as the book progressed (the mom). Aren't you supposed to like the mom? And a dead one at that? There was nothing too warm and fuzzy about her, though. Especially as the book progresses.

The daughter doesn't stand out to me much either - Daisy, I think was her name (oops -it's Dewey Dell) - the dad, I'm remembering almost not at all. Darl was something else, though. It was Darl that kept me in the story the most. Imagine, knowing everyone's thoughts... knowing all the family secrets - and not because you have lived them - but because you can hear them, in the heads of those who you are supposed to love - and who are supposed to love you.

When I was in the midst of writing my baseball novel ("Until the End of the Ninth," about a team in 1946 that died in a bus crash) - someone suggested that I add a narrator. I had the Spirit Woman already, as a third person character - the one who helps the men transition from life into death. Suddenly I had a narrator too - who was semi-omniscient, who could read most thoughts and be basically wherever I needed the narrator to be - not identified as male or female - time period also unidentified - did he (or she) come from a different time period? and only the Spirit Woman was able to see him (or her). Interestingly, nobody has complained to me about the narrator. Other aspects of the book have raised questions. The narrator, however, has seemed to give comfort without concern.

It was "As I Lay Dying" that inspired me to have such a narrator. Thank you, William Faulkner, for your courage back in 1930 to try the almost-unimaginable. Almost, but not quite, out of reach of the imagination - I mean, you thought of it, didn't you? It was there for the imagining. I hope - believe - I did justice to that style. And when they make "As I Lay Dying" into a movie, I hope they can do justice to what William Faulkner intended by telling that story - not just through the story's details, but by the way he told it, too.

Looked it up - James Franco is the one who is planning the adaptation. Here's to an adaptation that keeps the spirit of the story alive.

Interesting Clip - SNL

2011-01-30T06:18:00.000-08:00

Well, I wasn't actually awake to watch it - but this is a fun clip from Saturday Night Live last night - the first meeting between Facebook's Mark Zuckerberg and the guy who played him in the movie -

I haven't seen the film yet - probably should - just because I do enjoy FB'ing itself - and also for that whole Best Picture Nomination thing. I think Mark Zuckerberg's a pretty good sport to do this at all - and I think he ended up with the best line, about inventing "poking." :)

The Tenor of Politics (with update)

2011-01-23T07:54:00.000-08:00

I just posted this comment on Huckleberries Online (a news blog at Spokane's Spokesman Review), after reading Kathleen Parker's column in this a.m. I'm cross-publishing it here.

Kathleen Parker has a column this a.m., giving Sarah Palin what appears to be a pass on saying “don't retreat, reload!” in connection with her gun-sights map from last year that targeted 20 democrats across the country (one of whom was shot in the head two weeks ago and has somehow survived), while simultaneously taking to task those who use the phrase “Nazi” when convenient (which was done this week by a democratic congressman).
Here's the thing: I don't want to give anyone a pass on this kind of language and imagery.

A year ago, when Palin's crosshairs map went up on line, I was concerned. When I heard recently that Democrats did something similar in 2004 (at least with regard to the map), I was concerned. When the Dem called Repubs a Nazi last week, I shook my head in disbelief. When I see photos of anyone with a Nazi moustache - most recently it's been President Obama who has been so drawn - I think, people are crazy (and am concerned when political leaders condone the drawings).

Kathleen Parker says that Sarah Palin didn't mean that people should use their guns. But isn't it irresponsible to talk that way in the first place? And if the Dem from last week says that he didn't really mean Nazis - isn't it irresponsible to use the phrase? These are words, people - being said out loud, or typed into a computer. It takes personal action, choices, to reach the point of saying Nazi or of saying “reload.” And if it was just an accident - if Sarah Palin didn't “mean” to evoke the imagery - then why did she leave the map up in spite of people's protests at the time?

I don't care if Sarah Palin's crosshairs map - and her follow-up to “reload” - is what triggered the shooting two weeks ago. If it did, or if it did not, her advocacy for using gun targets on a political map, and her violent rhetoric, was and is a tee-up for potential violence. I don't choose sides when I am concerned about violence metaphors used by our politicians. I don't want ANY of them to do it. But she doesn't get a free pass from me on her graphic symbolism. She gets all the credit in the world - at a minimum, for upping the ante on the vitriol.

I guess what we're saying, if we accept all of this, is that our politicians are immature and/or should pander to the basest emotions in us all. That, my friends, is part of what causes reasonable people to turn away from the entire mess of politics.

When our country first began, we used to hold town halls, where the details of a politican's plan were outlined, and people could evaluate from there. That system has given way to our current soundbite culture. It is what it is. But as the president said at his speech in Arizona, I would rather see us live up to our children's expectations.

I added this:

On the same topic as above: I very much appreciated this op-ed piece by Senator John McCain in the Washington Post recently:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/01/14/AR2011011403871.html

Speaking substantively - having intelligent debates - is a heck of a lot harder than throwing mud. But if you have the debate, I promise to listen.

UPDATE: We went back and forth on the Huckleberries posting yesterday - one thing that struck me as we wrote - few out there know much about that rifle target map - it did list names - and there were three red "splats" on the districts where the Dem had decided to retire - as I mentioned on Huckleberries, I decided to look at the map itself back last March because I thought the article I was reading about it was exaggerating - when I saw the map, I remember thinking: who is going to die as a result of this map? So for me, the concern about that map has been around a very long time.

"My Favorite Band Does Not Exist"

2011-01-18T07:23:00.000-08:00

Two Saturdays ago now, I was in San Diego at the American Librarians Association mid-winter conference (I believe is the title), standing by my baseball novel at the top of every hour for about 10 minutes, and then wandering the rest of the time.

On one of my wanderings, the robot hit on me. Seriously - asked me to marry him. But that's a story for another post - perhaps never to be written. (Don't know. Haven't decided.)

On another one of my wanderings, I happened by the Houghton Mifflin publisher's table - Clarion Books section. There was a black book propped up there. Lack of color notwithstanding (or maybe because of its starkness?), I picked up the book and casually flipped through the pages. There was darkness, and then crinkles, on the pages' edges, as though the pages were torn on the inside - except it was just the way the pages were printed to look. It made me curious. So I turned the book over and read the back. "Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare - just ask Idea Deity," it read.

How cool is that? "What a great idea," I said out loud (or maybe I said "how cool is that?"). I sort of startled the two women standing at the counter. We started talking - one of them was the book's editor. She offered to give me a copy. "I'm not a librarian," I warned her - I can't be either buying or distributing the book to a wider readership. She told me to take a copy anyway. I do suppose that anyone that excited about a book's concept should receive a free copy when free copies are being distributed...

So I took a copy, and read it on the plane. By the time I landed, I had only a few pages left to read of "My Favorite Band Does Not Exist," by Robert Jeschonek.

MFBDNE is worthy of its concept. And when it comes out (which isn't for a few months yet), I highly recommend it - if you're intrigued by the ins and outs of what it means to imagine someone thinking that they are trapped in a book in the first place.

The reason for the caveat? There's a lot in this book. Its whirlwind effort, and choice to bounce between several worlds via pithy, Dan-Brown-like short chapters, means that I read it both too quickly and not fast enough - I knew I was missing things along the way, but I really wanted to know what happened. Perhaps that means I will read it a second time? Perhaps. And that is not something I normally do.

The fact is, I wanted to know what happened. Sometimes, today's authors do not keep my attention, especially when the main characters are so much younger than I am. But here, the author's view of a bigger-picture concept made the story's details interesting to me.

There's Idea Deity, as one main character - and Reacher Mirage, who Idea thinks he's created, and who is annoyed that Idea keeps posting things about him on the Internet. There's the goddess-like girl who is with Idea, and another goddess-like girl who is with Reacher - there are the things that the two goddesses seem to have in common... there's a green sky and a blue one - and then there is the book within the book - "Fireskull's Revenant" - ...

Let's just say it's complicated.

I did find that both the title and that first line about being trapped in a book do not fully capture the fullness of the book's journey through reality possibilities - but it's a decent jumping-off point. If I complained at all, it would be two-fold. First, there comes a point towards the end of the book where the author ends up explaining a lot of what is going on. (This is probably a complaint unique to me - I have found out in recent years that I'm in the minority on wanting mysteries like that to remain unsolved and/or left to my imagination.) Second - well, the characters are really young, and so are a little - mmm - limited in their view of what stands out in life as most important. (Did I mention I'll be 50 in a couple of months?) (omg - when did that happen?) But this publisher, and its Clarion Books section, is focused on youth, so it makes sense the main characters are young. And the story itself - and its underlying concepts - overrode those two elements for me, making the book accessible not just to young people but to old folks like me too. In other words, it's definitely worth the read.

This is a fantasy book, or so I believe - I don't read a lot of fantasy, so I can't say for sure. I do write in a way that's been called "magical realism" though, so I was drawn to the author's imagining of worlds beyond what we know already. Perhaps one of the book's best strengths is its ability to write fantasy while staying very grounded in reality - or multiple realities, as the case may be.

One thing I really liked is the allegorical nature of the various characters' names. If someone is called "Idea Deity," and someone else is "Reacher Mirage" - what can we learn from that? Though I must admit - I was too busy getting through the novel to spend a lot of time wondering about it. Which is where it might behoove me to re-read for nuances, now that I know the ending.

Tucson Tragedy

2011-01-11T08:54:00.000-08:00

I thought a few days' time would help bring words to me. But I'm still just horrified. Saying nothing at all, however, makes it look like I'm unaffected. So, here they are. A handful of words for the victims of the shooting in Tucson. I wish I had more. The depth of my emotions - and the emotions of so many - stretch beyond words. And then - Jon Stewart - what he said last night was the best I've heard so far: http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-january-10-2011/arizona-shootings-reaction

Huck Finn (with update)

2011-01-06T10:21:00.000-08:00

So in Huckleberry Finn Land, they're taking out the "n" word and replacing it with "slave" (and changing "Injun" to "Indian," is what I hear). Hmm. The idea, as it's explained, is to create an elementary school level version of the Huck Finn story without distracting the young students with a discussion of the "n" word in general, and why their anti-hero Huck is using it in particular. It makes sense, right? Sigh...

This commentator makes a good point - that we study literature both because it's brilliant and because it gives us a view into a time in history that we otherwise wouldn't know. Classics are both classic and tied to their time periods.

The purist in me prefers the unabridged version. The realist in me acknowledges comments from Twain scholars (Mark Twain being one of my favorite authors) who say that primary and even secondary school teachers have opted out of teaching Finn because of the awkward conversations it provokes. I'd rather see Mr. Clemens read. Right? But - at the cost of a major part of the book?? because doesn't it cost the book, to take Huck's real friendship with Jim and then contrast it with that ugly "n" word that was Jim's societal label? and that's just for starters, when it comes to editing a classic like "Huckleberry Finn."

It reminds me of studying "My Name Is Asher Lev" in high school. I loved that book. It is by Chaim Potok, and is about a young boy growing up in New York and grappling with his dual, at-times contrasting identities of artist and Hasidic Jew. I don't remember why I loved that book so much, though it may have had something to do with my less-obvious but still-conflicting existence of being an aspiring writer with stoic Northern European roots (where flights of fancy are just not understood). (Thank goodness for that touch of Irish and Cherokee - and Viking - blood in me, all of which give permission to sparks of passion beyond practical common sense.)

In class discussion, my teacher stated that - regardless of quality - "Asher Lev" would never be considered a classic because it did not have a universal theme. It's a specific story about a specific theme, and would not stand the test of time (he said). I was dumbfounded. That didn't seem fair. So, no matter how well written a novel is, it can't be considered a classic if it focuses on one person's unique cultural and religious struggles?

I do think my teacher was wrong - would have to re-read "Asher Lev" to see if he was wrong about that novel in particular. I do appreciate the above commentator's point of view - that classics give us both something timeless and something about that time. And with "Huck Finn," I wonder if eliminating the "n" word takes away from both aspects of that classic in particular.

UPDATE: I received an email yesterday about this posting from Rosa Sow of newsy.com (a website that attempts to gather diverse viewpoints on a particular issue and condense them in one synopsis), chatting with me about this post and then asking me to consider embedding the following video into the post. Sure, why not? Though I think it's a really shortened version of the whole argument ... it does give some interesting soundbites, if you're looking for a quick summary. (And while I'm at it, these two letters in the New York Times - by writers unhappy with the change - are really interesting too, in that they point out (a) it sanitation is the goal, you also need to edit out the thievery and mayhem, and (b) "slave" is the least optimal word to use as replacement since a major point in the book is that Jim is finally a free man.)

Here's the newsy.com video:

Multisource political news, world news, and entertainment news analysis by Newsy.com

Alex Is Famous!

2010-12-30T07:00:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I posted photos on Facebook of my cat Alex standing on the roof, meowing at me that I should catch him if he jumped. I declined, but took some photos of him in the meantime.

(It's a favorite game of his, going on eight years now - he gets on the roof via the tree in the back, then stands there meowing about the injustice of it all, that he can't figure out how to get down and how he needs help and all - when he was a lot younger, I'd walk him back to the tree to remind him how he'd gotten there - now, I just tell him he'll have to get down on his own - I'm sure he understands every word! but he does get the gist of things, and sooner or later has solved his dilemma.) (and yes, that's fresh snow on that there roof!)

My friend Cindy - who is running the local newspaper's blog Huckleberries this week - decided to use the photo as her "parting shot." So there is Alex, on top of the roof! She calls the entry "Cat on a cold snowy roof." Funny. And though I do recall mentioning to her that he didn't actually jump, she writes in the entry that he "jumped into Beth's arms, which is better than on her head." Well, that last part is true...

Here's the link: http://www.spokesman.com/blogs/hbo/2010/dec/29/parting-shot-cat-cold-snowy-roof/

And here are the two photos - Cindy only used the first in the "parting shot" entry:

Remembrance

2010-12-28T13:45:00.000-08:00

I've been organizing a packet of material on the baseball novel I wrote - "Until the End of the Ninth," based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians minor league team that died in a bus crash midway through the season (nine of the 16 men on the bus died) - so I've been going back through old material that I got back when the book first came out, in 2006 - have been reading notes and letters that I received back then - handwritten notes, from wives whose husbands were on that bus, back in 1946 - from nephews whose uncles were...

And I'm remembering how sad this story can make me feel. They were such great men. I say it at book signings, over and over - I sign it into print, as one of my phrases when autographing books - I mean it, I do. But just now, re-reading these notes, I'm feeling it again too. It seems almost unfair and unreasonable, to feel agony for untimely deaths of men who today - almost 65 years later - most likely would not still be alive anyway. But I can, and I do. Today will be one of those days when my heart breaks for the rest of the day, thinking about what those men and their families went through back then... Maybe that's the agony part. Knowing what people felt back then. Knowing that the novel brought back those memories for loved ones. Reading about it in letters that they wrote in 2006, telling me that - thanking me for writing the novel, but explaining how it's filled their hearts with sadness, to remember those days from long ago.

Don't know what else to say. Don't know that there really is anything else. Just... it hit me hard today, remembering with the heart.

Miracles

2010-12-21T06:42:00.000-08:00

"Even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness."

-Motel to Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof," when Motel is asking Tevye for Tzeitel's hand in marriage and Tevye accuses him of being too poor...

And then Tevye says yes. And Motel sings, "Wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles..." I love that song. "David slew Goliath, yeah - that was a miracle..." and manna in the wilderness - a miracle too. But the most miraculous miracle in Motel's eyes? "God has given you to me."

I could use some of my own miracles right now. Little ones, from God's perspective, but really big ones in my own life. Like in the song. Small, for God. But the most amazing of all, for me. Three of them, would be a perfect number. You know who you are (she said to the miracles-in-waiting - all intertwined, as they happen to be, so they know each other too).

There happened to be one - miracle, that is - in the Eagles/Giants game this past Sunday. (Eagles fan here.) They are calling it the "miracle in the new Meadowlands," so amazing it was - and a play on the original "miracle in the Meadowlands" back in 1978 (also a play that went the way of the Eagles). (The Giants just got a new football field this past summer, making it the "new" Meadowlands.)

I keep watching this past Sunday's miracle on youtube - the clock runs down to 0:00 as DeSean Jackson runs a punt back 65 yards for the winning touchdown. Un. Believable. (is what I wrote on Facebook, and how the announcer said it too, turns out). Actually, I kind of like this version best, because it shows how Jackson waves the ball to himself ahead of time - hands to the sky, waving it down to himself, even before the ball is punted. I remember watching the game, so relieved that the Eagles had tied it up, waiting for the clock to run out, for the overtime, seeing DeSean ask for the ball with his hands, and thinking - well, it's nice he has some bravado in him...

And then. Un. Believable.

A lot led up to that 65-yard miracle. The Eagles were down - twice - by 21 points, the second time with only eight minutes left in the entire game. They had to have faith - had to believe in redemption in the same 90-minute period to regain ground sufficiently enough to be able to have a punt return win the game with 0 seconds left on the clock. No need for overtime, that time...

So it was an explosive miracle at the end, yes. But we needed mini miracles along the way for the end moment to make a difference.

Last night was an full moon lunar eclipse as well as the solstice. It was a miracle of coincidences, I suppose. When I went to sleep, I asked for a dream to help me understand where things are going in my life - and how, and when. (Now, please.) And I dreamt - well, a lot of things, but what I remember most vividly ... I was at a church service, and the minister was doing the readings that led up to the sermon - a sermon that I was going to give. It was on miracles. I felt confident - I could speak with authority on this one (is how I felt in the dream). So the minister gave the readings, and I got up to the pulpit (looked more like a podium - the church was more like a rec room, actually) - the audience looked expectantly... And I said, "The thing about miracles is... they come unexpectedly. Think of the last time you had one. And now, remember the day before it happened. You didn't know it would happen, did you? One moment, it didn't exist. The next moment, it did. That is part of the magic of a miracle. Not just that it is one. But that there is the space before it occurs, when you don't know it will occur, when you wonder if it ever can occur, that makes the gift of the miraculous feel just that much more poignant..."

I woke up and thought - I better keep my eyes open for what happens next.

Even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness.

Brothers

2010-12-17T05:07:00.000-08:00

I'm just back from another week of babysitting nephews - ages 3 and just-5 months. My sister and her husband were taking a just-vacation trip to Paris (lucky! their first actual no-work vacation together, just the two of them, since the 3-year-old was born), so I offered to come babysit again. This time my mom came to help too. It was a godsend, really, to have an extra pair of hands. I'm always so impressed with my bro-in-law - the primary caretaker - when I spend a week in charge of the household that he runs so smoothly. How does he do it?? My forte is not in keeping the house clean, or keeping up on the laundry - but my mom was great at keeping track of all that. At least one of us was good at that.

It's just two months since I babysat the two of them most recently. Last time, there was still some tension for the older one (I thought), in having a new addition to the family. This time though, the tension had dissipated - almost completely, it seemed. Across the country, there are three-year-olds adjusting to new family additions... these tiny miracles of adaptation are taking place in households all around us... it doesn't make it any easier, though, to know that it happens everywhere. So I marveled at the change that I was privileged to witness. These two boys truly have become brothers.

The three-year-old has always said how the baby is cute. "He's so cute!" The older one says periodically throughout the day. As the baby has gotten bigger (and he is big - a little Kahuna, my friend says), he has gotten more like a little person, and the two boys have been able to start interacting. In fact, there is nothing more fascinating to the baby than to watch his brother whirl around the room with his toy cars, or a ball, or whatever. If the baby was fussing, we'd ask the older one to play in front of him. It would calm him right down, so distracted he would be by his fascination with his older brother, reaching out towards him (just out of reach).

At one point, my mom suggested to my older nephew that he stand close to the baby and let the baby touch him. So he bowed his head towards the baby, who grabbed at it - and then grabbed at his ears, got his nose, his eye... not so much that it hurt (or so I imagine). We all laughed. It started a trend that lasted off and on all week. So much fun.

There was no sleep for the weary, as there are still middle-of-the-night feedings. At one point, as I got up at about 2 a.m. in response to the baby's cry, I looked into the bassinet where he was lying. He saw me and smiled, and cooed a little. "It's a good thing you're cute," I told him. (They must make them cute to make sure we'll take good care of them, my mom said at one point.)

One high point for me was watching football with the three-year-old. I explained to him that his hometown team is the Bears, but that he should feel free to root secretly for the Eagles at all times. He may have taken that to heart, because after the Eagles won Sunday night (they beat Dallas - always a nice achievement), he started carrying around a stuffed Eagle toy with him. Every so often he'd show me the toy, and I'd spell out the team name: "E-A-G-L-E-S, Eagles!" I'd say. He so loves to spell.

I got home late Wednesday night. I miss them already! But I'm glad to be home too, if only so I can sleep the whole night through.

Planning Ahead

2010-12-07T07:04:00.000-08:00

I'm headed to Southern California in early January.

My publishing house asked if I would be one of their featured writers at the American Library Association semi-annual meeting in San Diego. (Actually, it's called their "mid-winter meeting.") It was hard to say no, especially since my dad and family live there. So I decided to go. It's the weekend of January 7. I'm hoping the trip also helps me organize some meetings in Los Angeles, both before and after the weekend.

I have a winding story behind the publishing of my baseball novel ("Until the End of the Ninth," which is based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians team that died in a bus crash midway through the season). Initially I had no patience for the publishing world as I wanted the manuscript in print by the 60th anniversary of the bus crash. So I self-published with Authorhouse. They were great. They always have been great, actually.

Then the next year, the book got picked up by Rooftop Publishing - a new, private publishing company that had some connections to Authorhouse but operated independently. They too were great. Really great. Example: when I was doing a book tour in the summer of 2007, and was on my way to Wisconsin and Minnesota, the bridge in Minneapolis gave way. Overnight, I decided I wanted to donate all of my own proceeds during the WI/MN leg of the trip to the victims and victim families of the bridge collapse. It was the only thing that felt right. I told Kevin King, my publisher. He immediately said that Rooftop would donate the publishing cost as well. In the end, the teams where I had book signings (Eau Claire Express, Duluth Huskies - even the Minnesota Twins) all agreed that any of their proceeds also should be donated. I felt lucky to have teamed up (so to speak) with Rooftop.

Then the company went the way of 2008 and 2009. It no longer is in business. I am now back to Authorhouse.

I have thought about finding another publisher. But the book is already out there - it's really easy to get a copy off the Internet - and my next goal really is to adapt it to film, so I've just left it as is, with Authorhouse and the first edition.

So it is Authorhouse's booth where my book will be featured - in the sports/literature section (or so they tell me). I figure I will be there all day on the Saturday of the conference. I may try to be there on Sunday as well - but definitely I'll be there all day Saturday. It just feels right, to make the trip. We'll see how things go.

Terry Corrigan

2010-12-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

I cannot believe that I am writing yet another entry about yet another special person who has passed away.

Terry Corrigan was 75 when he passed away, in a freak accident in his own driveway just a few short weeks ago. He and his wife Ann were two of the most precious people I have ever met. My heart breaks at the thought of them separated, especially under such tragic circumstances.

I almost didn't hear about his passing. I happened to read about it in the newspaper, as I was flying to my grandmother's funeral and running out of reading material... so I turned to the back of the newspaper I had brought, and started reading obituaries... and I saw Terry's face and thought no - oh no...

I wonder at how Terry's passing affects me so. Unlike other people close to me who have died this year, I did not know Terry well. Although - somehow, that doesn't feel exactly true. I did not see Terry often, is a better way of phrasing it. Because somehow, I feel like I did get a chance to know the essence of Terry, in spite of our relatively sporadic interactions over the years that I knew him.

I wish I could say I met Terry under joyful circumstances. Instead, I am honored to say that I met him under important ones - that I had the privilege of witnessing, first hand, Terry's quiet, determined integrity to do the right thing, always. He was that rare kind of person who steps forward when others stand back. He and Ann stood together that way.

I know this because I met Terry through the Catholic church - or, should I say, through the people who were trying to keep the Church accountable for all it had done, and hid, when protecting pedophile priests from prosecution and consequences these past many years. Back about six years ago now, I felt that I should actively support those abused by priests in Spokane. So I started attending meetings with SNAP (Survivors Network for those Abused by Priests) and VOTF (Voice of the Faithful). At these meetings, I met Terry and Ann - heard from them about their son Tim, who committed suicide on August 29, 2002, the day an article was published about his abuser, then-priest Patrick O'Donnell. Over time, as I got to know them, I saw how they listened quietly to people's stories, felt the pain in their hearts, did what they could to lessen it. Sometimes - often - just their willingness to act as witness was what made the difference. They knew they couldn't bring their son back to life - they never even knew, before he died, that he'd been abused - but that didn't stop them from reaching out to others. I think now of how important it was, what they did back then... especially then, when emotions in this town ran dangerously high, when abuse victims stepped forward almost daily, saying, "He did that to me too..."

I know that Terry and Ann were public about their fight for justice - articles were written in the Spokesman Review and the Seattle Times - and I know that the steps they made to take on a church that they loved were some of most courageous steps that any person may ever take. "If you ever did an autopsy on us, you'd find Catholic in our bones," Terry told the Seattle Times back in 2004. My gosh, they chose to live right next door to their parish so their kids would have access to the church at all times. They kept a passel of cards in the basement, and sent two cards a year to every priest in the Diocese - one on his birthday and one on his ordination anniversary.

But there is a difference between right and wrong - and Terry and Ann knew it. They left the Church over it. "The crisis in the church is not the scandal," Terry told the Spokesman once. "It’s the hierarchy’s abuse of power. It’s the cover-up." And: "Some day I may be able to forgive O'Donnell [the abuser priest]. But I don't know if I can ever forgive those involved in the cover-up."

For all that bravery, what I remember best about Terry, and Ann right next to him, is watching them listen to people's personal stories in these meetings, and nod their heads - watching them act as true support for people who may not have had anyone else. I wonder how many victims the Corrigans comforted just by giving them support when their own parents didn't. It's like they were surrogate parents to all who came - quietly, but firmly, in their corners. For the Corrigans to be that way, when grieving the loss of their own son... what heroes they were.

I have flashes of other memories... like the time Terry came to my office and we drafted a letter together for the Voice of the Faithful to distribute to all the parishes and finance committees, about how the Diocese was hemorrhaging money because of all their attorney costs (one additional step to distract and delay getting to the root of everything). (We had little luck with that letter - from what we heard, the Diocese told the parishes to refuse to speak to us. And virtually all of them obeyed.)

I remember too, when we were at a vigil once, Ann talking about their grief in the aftermath of Tim's death. She told us that out of all the priests in the Diocese - all 150 or so, who got two cards a year from the Corrigans - only seven sent condolences. Seven. I can see her in my mind's eye, telling us this story, and then how she went down to the basement one day looking for Terry, and there he was, sitting at the desk, tears streaming down his face, trying to fill out the next batch of cards. Ann gently put her arms around him and said, "You know we can't do this anymore." And Terry said, "I know." A silver lining around that black cloud was that two Catholic friends came over within a half hour, took over responsibility for the cards, and took them from the house.

I remember one time, at one of our meetings, Terry sharing with the group how he went to Tim's grave - on the anniversary of his death - with purpose and ritual - how he told us of the mementos he brought, special to his relationship with Tim (they shared a love for the outdoors) - how he had finally reached a point where he was able to do that sort of personal ceremony. I was really happy for Terry that day, hearing him talk about what he had done, and what it had meant to him.

And I remember a few years ago, how the Corrigans so graciously bought a copy of my baseball novel - based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians team that died in a bus crash midway through the season - and how they told me later how they read the book aloud to each other - how they had to hand it back and forth numerous times because one person couldn't read it very long before getting choked up. I cannot tell you adequately how touched I was by that story. I think now of how, in that book, I worked so hard to find a silver lining to that dark cloud, of those baseball men dying. And maybe I succeeded. But today, thinking of the unexpected, tragic loss of Terry to the lives of his family and friends, I don't know that I can be so optimistic. The best I can do is hope for the best.

Here is a story written in the local newspaper about Terry after he died (likely not accessible to non-subscription holders, sorry): http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2010/oct/27/mild-mannered-dad-essential-in-making-church/. The article's first line is: "Did Spokane just lose its greatest man?"

One thing that struck me, at his memorial service a couple weeks ago: Terry touched so many lives. I knew about the world in which I met him, how helpful he was. But from his business, and through friends and family, everyone remembered this quiet man of integrity. It was a way of life with him, to be like that. Our lives were richer because Terry was a part of them.

And then the other morning, it was the first true snowfall of the season. That first snowfall is beautiful, really - when the earth turns white. The world slows down. People smile and wave as they navigate the streets. There is a charity in the air that is less present on other mornings. The sweetness of that morning made me think of Terry, how much he would have enjoyed it all. I miss him.

I Won!

2010-12-01T12:47:00.000-08:00

Well, I think I won...

So Monday morning I was watching "Morning Joe" (awake too early again!!) and saw Kerry Kennedy on the show, talking about the RFK Center's fundraiser auction. The auction people had extended the bidding deadline, they're raising money for a good cause, etc. So I decided to check it out on line. And saw, lo and behold, an entry to bid on the chance of talking to a screenwriter about screenwriting - Jeff Van Wie, who wrote "Love Song" with Nicholas Sparks. It isn't a movie I've seen - but I do think of my work as having similar heart quality to Mr. Sparks' work...

So I thought well, I'll bid on that.

But then the day got away from me - yesterday did, too - and suddenly there I was, this a.m., in between phone calls (I'm currently doing my "shark" imitation when it comes to my writing career - you know, keep moving or die), and I thought - oops - I meant to bid on that screenwriter thing...

So I went to look it up on line. Ten minutes left. What?? Ten minutes? Left to bid? For all time?? Yikes! I'm not even registered! I'm typing like a maniac, trying to register and bid all at the same time, pulling out my credit card (now six minutes left)....

I submit a bid. Done! Success.

Wait. What does this mean?

So I go back and read the fine print. It appears that I haven't offered to sell my first born or anything. (Not that I have a first born. Well, there's my cat Annie. But you can't have her!) I refresh the page... four minutes left. I'm still the highest bidder. Oh my gosh! I might win!

I "refresh" the page again. I'm still the highest bidder. Refresh. Still the highest.

I start pacing around my living room. Am I going to win? (Never put a lawyer in direct competition with anything where the goal is simply to win.) I refresh again. One minute left. I pace. I refresh. How can there be zero minutes left, and no result???

And then - it's done. Closed! I've won! I've won, right? I check the listing. There's no winner listed. So, we go for ten minutes listing in detail all the bidders, all the bids, but once the bidding's closed, there's no indication of anything?

I think about posting an entry on the blog, saying I've won. But - well, have I?

Then I get an email - I've won! They say I won! "Unless there's a live auction at a later date..." Wait. Huh? What? Have I won or not?

I pace a little more. It's pretty funny, actually. Here I am, vested within moments in something that I've just done ten minutes earlier. I love the synchronicity of it - think that Jeff will enjoy the story once we sit down and talk... "had I waited ten more minutes..." That's assuming that I've won, of course, and that we end up talking.

Wait. I do get to talk to him, right? I go back to the auction entry. "Learn from Jeff Van Wie the ins and outs of screenwriting." What, is he going to write me a letter? (And shouldn't a lawyer read the fine print before committing money to an auction bid?) (But I had only ten minutes, I tell you! There was no time!!).

So I go back to the original entry. It says that he arranges a conference call with the winner. Okay. Whew. So we will talk. Because I have questions - lots of questions. I feel simpatico with him again - both of us coming at the profession as a second career (which is Jeff's story on IMDB, though he's younger than me and already established)...

But when do I find out if I've won? I am thinking and wondering when...

Voila! In my in-box arrives an email. "Winning Bid Invoice" reads the topic.

Wow. So I did win, after all. That was an exciting half hour or so. Can't wait for the phone call.

The Snow

2010-11-28T07:21:00.000-08:00

We've had a week of it now. Almost a week. It'll be a week tomorrow. And there are no underachievers here. According to weather reports, this series of snowfalls is angling to add up to the most accumulated snowfall in November in Spokane. We are at 20 inches. The record is about 24 inches. And there are three days left in the month.

It isn't two years ago - when we had crazy snowfall in 36 hours. But it's steady.

Somehow though, I don't mind it. It's actually kind of nice. Maybe I like it because it happened to accumulate on a Thanksgiving weekend when I had no travel plans. So all the world's quiet fits neatly in with a weekend intended for peace. That must be it. Also, the snow isn't too heavy to shovel. (Having lived here too many years now, I have finally learned the difference between wet and dry snow.) I even bought some insta-logs for the fireplace earlier in the week, and have had a couple fires to warm up the house while snow has fallen outside. Very Norman Rockwell of me. Or Crazy Cat Lady. You pick.

On Wednesday (or was that Tuesday?), it was so cold that it was miserable. It hardly reached the single digits. But that lasted only a day. Perhaps that's another reason I'm enjoying the weather now. It's a balmy 20 degrees outside right now.

Or maybe I've enjoyed the snow because I've been hosting archangels. Suffice to say they are fun to have around. And without going into details, the dreams this time around have been a sort of "This Is Your Life" review. So it's been interesting.

Thanksgiving was very sweet. I went with friends to their parents' home. It was great turkey, and lots of cheer. I made a carrot raisin salad - had to borrow my friend's salad shooter after learning that using my chopper/grinder would not be wise... yes, I had not known that until my sister told me ... (in amongst her laughter, ha ha ha ha ha). At the dinner, we debated whether a cold salad was "cooking." The cooks in the room said no. I, on the other hand, said that it was. It certainly was a lot more cooking than I normally do!

After dinner, we went back to my friends' home to hang out a bit. Finally it was time for me to go home. I said my good nights, and walked down the driveway to my car, parked at the side of the road. I must have been watching my step, because I was almost to my car before I looked up and saw him - a young buck, antlers shining in the moonlight. He was standing in the middle of their snowy road, watching me walk towards my car, and towards him. I gasped. He took my breath away. And then he nodded - didn't he? - as he casually loped to the woods there, on the other side of the road. I heard a rustling and realized he wasn't alone. I never did see who was there with him. I guess it was Thanksgiving Day for us all.

Angel Invitation

2010-11-23T08:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I decided to host the archangels a third time. Seemed like a nice, balanced number. Three visits from five archangels when, after each visit, I "send" them to three friends. Three time's a charm. Something like that.

And when I say "host," that means host them in a fairly ethereal sense. It isn't as though they eat a lot. Or make a mess. Or knock things over. There's no statue that gets mailed to symbolize that they've arrived. It all plays out in the mind's eye - simply, but powerfully.

I do think this is the final formal visit for me. (Of course, they're always welcomed at any time!)

So far, it's been really great - again. It all will evolve as the days progress.

With the past two visits, I've written about them after it's over (here and here). This time, however, I'm writing about it while in progress. This is because I'm including in this entry an invitation to anyone who has wanted to host the angels but either didn't, or couldn't, for whatever reason, ask me if I would include them in the next round.

So here's the invitation: if you are interested in hosting the archangels from December 1 to December 6, you can. You don't even have to email me to let me know (though you can, if you want).

All you need to do is think it (or say it aloud) no later than this coming Friday by 10:30 p.m., that you want to host the archangels, and they will appear on your doorstep at 10:30 p.m. on December 1.

Normally what has happened is that, when they leave my house after five days (always at 10:30 p.m.), I have given them the names and addresses of three people who have agreed to host them next. And I could do the exact same thing this time. But it feels like there is something more that can be done here.

So this time, when I give them the names and addresses of three people, the third "person" will be all the people who have said (aloud, or in their minds) that they want to host the angels after me on December 1 - with the address known by the angels themselves.

I figure - hey, angels know. Don't they know? They don't really need a zip code, do they? Also, I figure that if my third "person" is a multitude - well, that doesn't matter either. Really, a big part of this archangel hosting is that we ask. We invite. Angels can be everywhere, always - if they are invited.

So that's my experiment. And my invitation. That you agree to host these five archangels for five days. Tell me, or don't tell me. But be sure and tell them between now and Friday at 10:30 p.m., so they know that you are one of the households included in my "everyone who's said they want you to come visit on December 1" statement on this coming Friday night.

This is how it works. There are five archangels - Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael, and Metatron (who apparently was first mentioned in early Jewish writings, as well as the Talmud - protector of children, is what I've gathered). They arrive at 10:30 at night on the designated day. They stay for five days, which are counted according to 24-hour periods (five overnights total). You get three wishes - one for the world, one for your family, and one for yourself. Write them down. Get a candle that stays lit while the angels visit. (I've used a battery-operated candle for when I'm out of the house, so that there is no danger of fire while I'm gone.) Also, get a white flower and an apple. (You'll eat the apple after the visit's over.) Put the written-down wishes under the apple. Right before the angels arrive (at 10:30 p.m. - time zone unimportant - on December 1), light the candle and then open your front door at 10:30 p.m. and let them in - they've arrived!

Thank them for coming - thank them (in advance) for granting your wishes - and then, the next five days... see what develops. You may want to sit with them and talk. You may want to invite them along for your daily events. You may want to journal, perhaps in a free association way, and see what comes up. They seem to get most active at night - when all else is quiet - so anticipate interesting dreams and/or waking up in the middle of the night, restless.

Expect little miracles - or big ones, I suppose. Mostly, expect the unexpected. Be aware of things beyond the daily routine. By staying alert, you will see more, I believe.

If you want, you can line up additional people to host the archangels after you're done. The angels "rest" for five days between visits (again counted as 24-hour periods), so that the next hosting period is December 11-16 (and so on). But it isn't mandatory to line up additional hosts. It's just nice. (Imagine all the households hosting angels around the country, and the world, because of this additional piece.)

Actually, I imagine that all parts of the process are optional - the candle, the apple, even the wishes... I think all the concrete gestures are to solidify for us the process of hosting angels. We have free will - if we want something, we can ask for it - or we can refuse it - up to us each individually... I did have one friend who never wrote down her wishes, used a lamp as the candle, and ate the apple halfway through the angel visit because she was hungry! So - totally up to the individual, how to interact with these heavenly hosts. (Oh, how interesting - we are "hosting" these heavenly "hosts". I never noticed that until just now.)

At the end: At 10:30 p.m. on the fifth full day (in your case, December 6), open your front door. It is time for the angels to depart. Be sure to give them any names and addresses you have for them, for the next hosting location(s). After they're gone (for me, it's been the next day), burn the paper with the wishes on it and put the ashes in a stream of water - it's a whole "return to the Earth" sort of thing. You can wash them down your sink if you want - that's a stream of water (though I've been taking the ashes down to the Spokane River). Also, put the flower somewhere that it can biodegrade (I've taken the flowers down to the river as well, and placed them in the bushes there). And eat the apple! It's got nutrients of all sorts, by this point.

One piece (optional, I suppose) is to put the wishes in an envelope. While I've done that, I haven't known what to do with the envelope. Do I burn it with the wishes? I ended up feeding the envelope to our mechanical goat at the river. He is like a vacuum - you push a button off to the side, and he sucks in whatever trash you "feed" him via that vacuum. Here's a photo of our goat:

So, hope you take up the invitation. If you do invite the angels for December 1 - have fun!

AND - for anyone reading this later than December 2010 - I do think you can create your own invitation cycle - the idea is that we are opening our doors to them by asking them to visit - not necessarily that they are coming from someone else - so why not issue the invitation spontaneously, even if there is no friend currently hosting to send them on to you? It's like inviting an old friend to come visit again. I know friends who have done that very thing. Well, and the angels are always there - as I say above, this is about creating our own consciousness and deliberately inviting them to visit.

Grandma

2010-11-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

I've just returned from Eau Claire, Wisconsin - and more particularly, a town just south of there called Mondovi. Mondovi is where my grandmother lived for her adult life. It is where she passed away last week. We gathered there for her funeral.

At 94, she was my last surviving grandparent - my father's mother, the matriarch of the Bollinger clan. And a clan it is - while my mom's family has just a handful of people, my father's family is expansive. I suppose it didn't hurt that his father was one of 16 children - and that my father and his two brothers had a total of 12 children between them. So going to Eau Claire on Wednesday (where many of my family still live - uncles, aunts, my brother, his wife, kids galore...) was like going to a family reunion. With one caveat. We were missing Grandma.

It was a truly wonderful service at Grandma's church - one of the local Lutheran churches there in Mondovi (yes, there is more than one Lutheran church in this town of just-over 2500). The pastor had named his sermon "A Class Act," and then, as he began, got choked up as he remembered what a special lady Grandma was. Which she was. Always helping where she could - and then, when she really couldn't anymore, living in peace, day to day, allowing life to fade away.

My grandmother always had a kind word about, and for, everyone. She kept track of every family development. Every photograph of every child was on her refrigerator and all around the house. She did not expect divorce, but learned to accept it when one of her children and some of her grandchildren - good people, she knew them to be - had to go through it. She didn't balk when some of her great-grandchildren were Jewish due to her granddaughters' marriage to Jewish men - she just wanted to learn how to pronounce "batmitzvah" when the great-grandkids turned 13. Perhaps that was a shining glory of hers - to accept people as they were, and work from there.

My last visit with her was just in October. I was in Chicago helping my sis and her husband with their two boys, and I took a day to drive up to Mondovi and hang out with her. She had been living in a group home - had moved from that lovely home on the hill where she had lived ever since I could remember - and in recent months had moved into a room that allowed for more caretaking. It still wasn't a nursing home - but she was getting close to that.

I guess that day that I visited was one of her last "good days." She couldn't really say a lot. But still she had comments to make. When I told her I was having hot flashes, she said, "Get used to it." (Thanks, Grandma. I was looking for a little sympathy!) When I told her how much my sister's new baby - her most recent great-grandchild - weighed, she said, "At birth? Big baby." That was Grandma. Even with her fading memory, she was interested in knowing those kinds of details. As the day went along, she was able to say less, so I just kept her company and said things as I thought of them. When I told her how much I liked that photograph of her and my grandfather together (he passed away in 1987), and what a great person he had been, she seemed quite moved. I didn't want to make her cry - but look at all they had built - the foundation for entire generations. So I told her that too. And thanked her for it.

There was no rush to death for my grandmother. It was a gentle passing, over time. At the church service, the song verses that choked me up the most were the ones that talked about being in heaven. For that is where my grandmother would be. Instantaneously, or so I feel. The minister based his sermon on Revelation 2:10: "Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life." That was my grandmother. She will rest in peace, I know.

We had a dinner later, after the funeral. We told stories - about her wonderful cooking, and graham cracker pie (need I say more?) , about the featherbed in the basement and the comic books there - about how she always stuck up for people, gently but firmly. I thought about how, when the pastor spoke of her myriad children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, he did not know that, early that morning of the funeral, her great-great-grandchild had been born (to my nephew and his fiancee). One more member to add to the clan.

So life will go on, even as Grandma departs from this world. She leaves behind a wake of tears, a never-ending supply of beautiful memories, and a lasting legacy of goodness.

Angel Central Station

2010-11-07T08:50:00.001-08:00

Well, I just had the angels for a second time. I'm really enjoying these visits.

As I described a couple weeks ago, a friend of mine had asked if I wanted to host five archangels and I had said yes. It was a phenomenal experience (not using that term lightly), and I was sad to see them go. Well, sad but also a little happy. It had been an intense time and I needed rest!

Here's the story: if you want, you host five angels for five days, and then you send them on to three friends. They rest for five days in between. They "arrive" and "depart" at 10:30 p.m. (via the mind's eye). You get three wishes - one for the world, one for your family, and one for yourself - and you hang out with them, however you choose to do that. Often you wake up in the middle of the night with dreams. Or you can choose to journal about the experience. Or - whatever. And then the possibility of miracles surround you. And because you've asked... well, you know that saying. "Ask and ye shall receive." I think the whole visit is structured around that principle. That we need to learn to ask.

There's something tangible for me in having the experience right now - as though they can help facilitate my life's current transitions. So I decided to bring the angels back for a second round, and had one of my friends (who had received them from me) send them back to me.

The first visit - wow. This second visit... a little more unsettling. It is as though the first visit was for fun and laughs, and the second visit was for building strong foundation. Also, in the first visit, my "wishes" had been a little open-ended. Generalized. This second time - and at the suggestion of a friend - I was more specific. So I think the wishes up-ended systems a little more than the first set of wishes did. Well, and my wish for my family this time - it was that they each have the courage to take the next step(s), whatever the step(s) may be. And I decided that my "family" included not just my blood relatives but anyone who is part of my larger clan - those people who are family to me, even if we don't share DNA. So if you see me that way, or if you think that I see you in that light... sorry. I probably should have warned you! That feeling you've had, all last week, like there's a pebble in your shoe that refuses to leave you alone? It may have been my wish for you that generated that feeling. Again - sorry! If it makes you feel any better, the wish for my family boomeranged back to me. So I had that pebble feeling, too. All week long. Oh, and - because they are archangels, the wishes are always taken in the brightest and best light. So it's all good. Even if you felt the pebble.

The other part of this experience that is extraordinary is the process of finding others to host the angels in their homes. While optional, it is a nice part of the ritual. The first time, I needed only to find three hosts. And I did. One of my three hesitated, as she didn't think she would be able to find three people to host them after her. I told her not to worry about that - my gosh, she should host the angels anyway! - and that I would help her locate hosts. Then my other two friends called me. They couldn't find hosts either! They both were shocked. I told them both I'd help them locate people.

Nine hosts later....

And then this past week - I've helped locate another 10 or so, either for now or in the near future. It's been interesting, to see when people say yes and when they say no. I support whatever choice. Though I don't fully understand why anyone wouldn't want them at their home. And then some people have decided not to send them on. Which is fine, too.

It's been interesting to watch the choices that people make, and hear about the experiences they are having. Several of my friends have spoken about the perfect timing of getting them when they did. Others have felt a nice warmth and calmness without a lot of fanfare. One friend lost five pounds, inexplicably (and it had been part of her wish too). One friend told the angels not to wake her up in the middle of the night, and they didn't. As she put it, they were excellent guests. One of my friends forgot what night they were coming - so he thinks they "sat" in his car from the point of arrival (10:30 p.m.) until he got up in the morning, realized what day it was, apologized. and confirmed that they were indeed invited to his house for the week. And then they drove around town all day with him! He was thrilled. And then one friend who agreed to take the angels had forgotten to tell her husband that they were coming. Apparently he felt that he should have been consulted first. I mean, don't we always tell others in the household when we are having house guests? This is how I imagine the scene: it's 10 p.m. or so, this past Monday night. My friend is fussing around the kitchen table with a candle, an apple and a white flower (all part of the process), and is humming a little. As she sits down to write out her wishes, her husband says, "What are you doing?" Oh, she says. We're having archangels visit this week. Didn't I mention it? ...

And while this week was a little back and forth for me personally, I did have some cool dreams. And then yesterday, I went to a fashion show (a fundraiser for the domestic violence prevention center in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho), bought a raffle ticket for the big prize (a weekend getaway at a house on a lake, plus all kinds of alcohol and $100 mad money) - just one ticket, mind you - for five dollars - and won. I won the whole thing! I lamented to the organizers, "but I don't have a boyfriend!" and they offered to auction one off for me... ha ha. And then they pointed out that there's so much room in the house that it could be an all-women's weekend getaway anyway. So I'll have to figure out how to use this gift, and when. It's a house on Lake Roosevelt - here's the link to the information - http://www.homeaway.com/vacation-rental/p219236.

I figure I have some angels to thank for it.

Sanity Signs

2010-11-01T07:11:00.001-07:00

I watched the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on Saturday, sponsored by Comedy Central, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. It was great. There is a wonderful article in Salon Magazine that captured the essence of the event: http://www.salon.com/entertainment/tv/feature/2010/10/30/restore_sanity_television/index.html. And the magazine article had it right - it was goofy at times, odd at times, but overall, quite an event. The Peace Crazy Love Train was especially fun. And Jon Stewart's speech at the end - worth watching. I appreciated this line: "If we amplify everything, we hear nothing." And I loved his reference to traffic that is narrowing to get ready for a tunnel - "you go, then I go, you go, then I go..." and the occasional jerk who drives along the shoulder to take cuts - well, we know he is the exception to the rule - and we certainly don't give him a cable show. Here's the entire speech at the end:

The signs, too, were fun. I saw one: "I believe in Sanity Claus." There was another that had a smiley face with a Hitler mustache. And then here is a list of others that I like, gathered from various sources:

"Patriotism is using your inside voice."

"Hyperbole is the greatest threat of all time!!!"

"Less rhetoric, more cowbell."

"I want my country back or a pony. One of the two."

"Compromise is sexy."

"It appears we disagree. Would you like some pie?"

"Take a deeeeeeep breath."

"I have a sign."

"I respectfully disagree with your opinions but I still value you as a person."

"I'm mad as hell but I'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"Anyone for Scrabble later?" (apparently this sign generated one of the world's largest scrabble games later that day!)

"Somewhat irritated by extreme outrage"

"Is this the line for Justin Bieber tickets?!?"

"No head stomping"

"OMG! Snakes!" on a "Don’t Tread On Me" flag

Well, I think that's enough. The whole event was a lot of fun. Now, let's get sane.

Michael Smith Settlement

2010-10-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

A case settled recently - Michael Smith v. Department of Social and Health Services. It was a case of a child in need of supervision, whose care was given to our state's government, and who ended up in the hands of a convicted pedophile. I wasn't Michael's lawyer - Bill Gilbert and Garth Dano are - but I helped on his case. Ultimately the case settled for $1.925 million (with a value of $2.25 million, since some costs to the state were waived).

It is a heartbreaking case, that the State fought vigorously. It was embarrassing for the State to be so litigious and aggressive in a case about a boy, now man, who was raped repeatedly by his foster dad (and gang raped by that man's friends). Here was a child most at risk, and the State chose - negligently or otherwise - to have him in harm's way. This is the kind of child that we ask our State to protect. And look what it did instead, in our names.

Michael is a brilliant writer - poetry, prose. I see him defining his life according to who he is, regardless of what the State did - or tried to do - to him. It has been a long road for Michael. No one would wish to go through what he went through. For all the tragedies related to child sexual abuse, having those tragedies imposed on a child by the State itself is just horrifying. Good for Michael, that he has survived. Not too many people would have.

Bill Gilbert, Michael's primary lawyer, did stunning work in the morass of this matter. This does not surprise me. Bill is just that way. And beyond money, beyond litigation - Bill got one more thing. An apology. The State will be issuing an apology to Michael Smith, for all that was done. I hope they say, "on behalf of the State and all its citizens..."

Restoring Sanity

2010-10-28T08:33:00.000-07:00

This Saturday, from noon to 3 p.m. ET, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert are hosting a rally on the Mall in Washington D.C. entitled "Restoring Sanity and/or Fear" (Colbert's preference is "fear").

What a great idea.

The rally is for all of us out here who have opinions but shy away from name-calling and stomping on opponents' heads. (Oh, I'm sorry. I mean "shoulder, which crunch into the head, and might as well have been stomping on the head itself.") Poster slogans will include "I disagree with you, but I'm pretty sure you're not Hitler."

I am one of the many who gets news from the Daily Show because it is about the only delivery style out there (television, anyway) that is tolerable. That doesn't mean I don't watch "Morning Joe," or sometimes flip on other news shows. And I do like Rachel Maddow - she's smart, and careful with her facts. But I just as often turn the channel than stay with a particular news show, even though I'm tuning in specifically to get headlines from a talking-head perspective. These days, it is just a lot more palatable to get my current events information from the Internet, where I can choose the source - where I can exchange vitriolic spew for even-handed delivery, where I can get the same story from three different viewpoints in an effort to get the full story and not just a part of it.

And then there's the Daily Show. They are - well, just funny. Pithy. And they get to the point of the craziness right away. It's hard not to watch the Daily Show.

So this idea that there are others like me out there - who just want the rhetoric toned down while hearing the news - well, it's so exciting!

And the other very-cool thing: Comedy Central is going to air a live version of the rally for those of us who can't actually make it to the Mall. In Spokane, there's a viewing party at Isabella's (near Main and Division), starting at 9 a.m. I might go.

The Daily Show has been airing in D.C. all week long. It's been really funny, especially for me since I lived in D.C. for years, before coming to Spokane. On Monday, they had their "on-the-street" reporters in various places in D.C. Jason Jones was supposed to be standing out in front of the Supreme Court, but when Jon Stewart caught up with him, he was still fake-driving his car. When Stewart asked him where he was, Jones said, "I'm in a six-lane traffic circle that leads to an underpass! And then that leads to another g-damned traffic circle! I mean this Frenchified city layout makes no f**king sense! How hard is it to lay down a grid!" When Stewart told him that all he needed to do was get to the Supreme Court on Second Street, Jason Jones said, "There are four Second streets! They don't even intersect! And the columns — everywhere! The indistinguishable columns. This town is simultaneously magnificent and useless. It's like they designed the whole thing as a metaphor."

This is very funny, especially if you have spent any time in D.C., because it all is true. Metaphor included. In fact, the D.C. audience roared. They knew exactly what he meant.

The next night was also very funny. Jason Jones went supposedly to the "legendary Avenue of Lobbyists - K Street" but when the camera panned on him, he was standing in front of what appeared to be a dump. Jon Stewart looked quizzical as he said, "Actually Jason, it looks a little more down-market than I imagined." Jason Jones said how the lobbyists "must be true believers - they're spending all their money on advocacy and not on aesthetics..." Stewart asked him, where are you, exactly? And Jones read the "gang-tagged" street sign as saying "K Street S.E." - which, of course, is gang-torn southeast, not lobby-town northwest. Stewart points this out to Jones, who says, "There's more than one K Street, too? Motherf**ker, I hate this town! It's so broken!"

Then last night - and on a more serious note - President Obama was on the show for the entirety of it. In my opinion, it is absolute-must viewing, regardless of party affiliation. For me, it helped put things in perspective. Take a look: http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes/wed-october-27-2010-barack-obama

Getting Better ... ?

2010-10-26T06:31:00.001-07:00

I woke up this a.m. thinking it would be impossible for me to still be sick. This will be the tenth day. Say it isn't so! But alas - sigh - here I sit, on the couch, preparing for yet another day of this dastardly cold. My energy level is fine, as long as I don't move. It's the moving that gets in the way. So I feel either really bad, or really bored. Sigh.

Yesterday, as I stretched out on the couch, resigned (by 11 a.m. or so) to another day of yuckiness, my two cats Annie and Alex stayed close and kept me company, in rare peace with each other (usually Alex is plotting Annie's demise). This is the view I had, of the two of them - those are my legs, under the comforter, with Alex stretched out with me and Annie curled up on the sofa pillow. They just hung out with me like that for most of yesterday afternoon. Aren't they sweet? to be my friends like that, when I feel so sick...

Baseball

2010-10-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been sick this past week, with a cold that kept me down but not away from the television (well, maybe it kept me exactly in front of the television, now that I think about it, since I was not really feeling well enough for much else). Am still not 100 percent...

If ever there was a week to be sick, however, it was this past one - with a lot of excellent baseball to watch. In the end, it's the Texas Rangers and the San Francisco Giants that are going on to the World Series.

I was sort of rooting for Philadelphia... no matter. The Yankees lost. And to the Rangers, no less - a competitor with the Mariners, but the major league team with whom the Spokane Indians are affiliated, so - fun.

It's great to watch Ian Kinsler in particular on the Rangers team, as he played here in 2003, which is the year that I started writing the baseball novel that I have ("Until the End of the Ninth," based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians team). I remember watching him play in Spokane that year, and remember that 2003 team fondly. They won the league title that year. It's pretty exciting to imagine that the kid playing Single A ball here in Spokane in 2003 has been able to go on and play in the ACLS, and is part of a team that is going on to play in the World Series. And he's been playing well, too - having clutch hits at just the right time.

Congratulations to both teams. It should be a fun World Series. I can hardly wait for Wednesday.

Hosting Angels

2010-10-17T08:16:00.001-07:00

I know I haven't written in awhile, but I've been here! It's just been a busy time. I've had a lot of law to do. And then there are the angels, who have been here since Tuesday. I'm hosting them. It's a long story. Well, it's not all that long. A friend of a friend... okay, so already it's getting complicated. Suffice to say I agreed to have five archangels at my house for five days (before they head, in five days, to the houses of three friends of mine who have agreed to host them after me). In exchange, I - well, I get to have them here. And I get three wishes - one for the world, one for my family and one for me. It's been a miraculous time. And I don't use that word lightly. Plus, it's been fun. They're fun, these angels. And very - universal. Big-picture sorts. Well, they're archangels. That's what they do.

They leave tonight at 10:30 p.m. It's been like Alaska in the summer time, when the sun never really sets. You have so much energy that you think you don't really need to sleep. But you do. That's how humans work - we sleep! Perchance to dream. And it's the dreaming that's kept me up at night - and where the universality has really been the most noticeable. I did get three wishes - one for the world, one for my family and one for myself. Each night the dreams would really - educate me about those wishes, and life in general. And while I often dream, this time my dreams would continue throughout the night. If I woke up from a dream three times, I went back to the same dream three times. That part was amazing. The messages have been a bit cryptic - a little buried within the dream. But - well, here's an example. My wish for the world is "compassion." So on the second night, I had three different dreams symbolizing three different circumstances in my life. I came away from those dreams thinking that, if I want compassion for the world, I need to start out with having compassion and forgiveness for the people in my own life. Which I normally do. But I have a couple of places where I don't. And these dreams suggested that, for the world to have compassion, I needed to release all my own sticking points, not just some. The theme emerged: "Think globally, act locally." Or, "Compassion begins in your own back yard." Or, "Compassion begins at home." So I resolved to do that. After all, I want compassion for the world, don't I? So why hold on to grudges? Why not at least see the situation from the other person's point of view - while still maintaining my own? And then I wondered - what if we all did that? Imagine.

Someone asked me if I think the angels have actually been here this week, or if I'm more just using the idea of them symbolically to help get myself focused. It's a good question. And for me, well yes, I believe there are angels here. But I'm also the one who's written about baseball men's souls surviving the aftermath of a bus crash - having time to complete a final ninth inning. I love mysticism in any form. It draws me in. So I think that I would be the kind of person that would choose to imagine that they truly are here. But even if they are here only symbolically... well, that's an opportunity in itself, where my mind can fathom the possibility of miracles because it is in that frame of mind that I can believe in them. So, it's a good question. But it doesn't really matter which answer I choose. However they are here - truly or symbolically - it's been a good time.

The cats have been going crazy. All week long, Alex has wanted to sleep in the house, curled up next to me all night. And Annie keeps laying on the table, next to where I have the candle, white flower, apple and wishes (yes, there were things like that to do!). Just now, Annie jumped from my couch to the top of a built-in bookshelf in one corner, across to the mantle, and then off to the top of the other built-in bookshelf - my favorite corner in the entire house - because she just couldn't help herself. They're big jumps, and she's 15 years old. But she had to get to that beautiful corner of the house - the one with the shot glass that I got one night on our Alaskan cruise in 2007. (Ah - Alaska!) And once she was there, she stretched up and reached high into the corner, as all the talismans around her wobbled from her force. I rushed over and gently picked her up and helped her back down. And then I took a scarf with butterflies on it, that had dropped from the candle table just minutes before, and hung it on the tiny nail that was hidden in the woodwork right above where she had stretched. Apparently the corner needed one more talisman.

UPDATE: I decided to get them a second time. Here's the post on that experience...

"Deliver Us From Evil"

2010-10-06T11:55:00.001-07:00

I just saw this documentary, "Deliver Us From Evil," directed by Amy Berg. My friend and neighbor Matt told me about it a couple days ago - I thought I had seen it, but the way he described it, I wasn't sure. Yesterday, he came by the house, library dvd in hand. That's how strongly he felt about me watching it. Here it is, Beth. A seven-day rental. Be sure to watch it this week.

It is about the Catholic church - sex abuse in the Church. It was out in 2006. I'd confused it with a book by a similar title.

I've seen a different documentary - a really good one - filmed in Boston. This one, though - based in Los Angeles, about Cardinal Mahoney and abuser Oliver O'Grady - pulls together all the pieces in such a masterful way. The children, their parents, an abuser willing to be interviewed, the hierarchical cover-ups... The lawyers, the expert... All the pieces. I listened to the interviews and could see the spontaneous comments as though part of a script. Sadly, it is a part of a script - a bigger story - the same story, over and over... of valuing appearances over the protection of children, of covering up the cover up... The details in this documentary only emphasize what I've said before - the surprise isn't that the abuse scandal includes behavior by the Pope. The surprise is that people are surprised by that.

It was interesting to see men that I know, in the film. There was John Manly, and the Manly Law Firm from the Los Angeles area, who have co-counseled cases with me. There was Patrick Wall - I love Patrick - who is a former Benedictine monk and an expert in canon law, and who is on staff at John's law firm. And there was Tom Doyle - Father Doyle, a Dominican priest, the whistleblower. A rock star, in this world of SNAP (survivors network of those abused by priests). It was Father Doyle who told the U.S. bishops back in the mid-1980s that they had a crisis on their hands - that they needed to address sexual abuse by priests before it got really out of control. They didn't listen to him. Indeed, they demoted him. And then - nothing, until Boston erupted in 2002...

Most powerful, for me, was Bob Jyono, whose daughter Ann, now an adult, was one of the 100s abused by Oliver O'Grady. Mr. Jyono speaks little through much of the documentary. His wife does much of the talking for them. But then is his description of how he called his daughter Ann to ask her - after O'Grady had been arrested for abusing other children - if O'Grady had ever touched her. She said yes. His face crumples in tears as he remembers, and then it sets deep in defiance as he describes the details of that conversation, and its aftermath. He is a man who converted to the Catholic faith, who was betrayed by his adult choices. At one point, he explains that he asks his daughter why she never told him about the abuse. She says it was because he had always said that he would kill anyone who harmed her - that she remembers asking a friend what would happen if her father killed someone, and the friend saying that he would go to jail forever, and how she resolved right then not to tell anyone about the priest's abuse, because she knew her father would kill the priest if she told. "I was wrong," her father says, to threaten life like that, even in hyperbole. "I feel guilty," he confesses, for having unknowingly erected that barrier to truth. But then he says what we all know - that it is not his fault to want to protect his daughter. It is the fault of the church, for ever exposing his daughter in the first place to this known pedophile.

The creepiest moment comes when Oliver O'Grady, the pedophile priest, speaks of wanting to bring the abused children - now adults - to his home in Ireland so that they all can sit down and talk. I know O'Grady is doing something that he thinks is the right thing to do. But it's just so creepy and controlling the way he goes about doing it, like he wants to hold court one last time. He writes letters to the victims, explaining what he wants from them - wants from them, as though he has any rights here. Had he put the letter in the context of an offer to do whatever the children-now-adults want, including meeting with him (rather than telling them that meeting with him is the solution)...

But the thing is - he's sick. He can't see it any other way. Or so I imagine. (It turns out that, as a child, he himself was abused by priest, as well as by his own brother.) This is why my anger for the abuse suffered by people at the hands of sick priests has almost uniformly been reserved for the hierarchy. The pedophile priests are sick, under a compulsion. It was the hierarchy that knew better, and had the faculties to do better. (This documentary helps demonstrate all that.)

The documentary ends on a discouraging, while simultaneously uplifting, note. (There are silver linings to dark clouds.) Watch it and see. And I love, love the music at the end - "Hallelujah," by Leonard Cohen. In fact, I have been playing Justin Timberlake's version of that song - that he played at the Hope for Haiti Telethon, back in January - as I type this summary. Here's a link to it. The song always makes me cry. This documentary - it has the same effect. Song or no song. The heartbreaking stories, the missteps that led to 100s, 1000s, to be abused.... and those same men, being still in power... with no real consequences to their actions.... as though they lack not just compassion, but the capacity for it...

It makes eminent sense when Mr. Jyono - the father I describe above - says near the end of the film that he does not believe in God. How can anyone go through all that, and not at least wonder? And yet - I wanted to cry with his daughter Ann, as he said it. I too wanted him to have at least some hope, still, that there's a God. To not let those men steal that too.

it's not a cry that you hear at night
it's not somebody who's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah
hallelujah, hallelujah

Thomas - I promise!

2010-10-04T06:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back. From a week in Chicago, with my two nephews. Ages almost-3 and 3 months. I babysat. For the week. By myself. And the two of them. The little one is not yet, quite, sleeping through the night. And the two-soon-to-be-three-year-old is, as I have said before, in constant motion. The Whirling Dervish. So not only did I have my hands full, but I was functioning on limited sleep. Aunt Beth is very tired!

But it was a blast. The best week ever. (I did sleep the entire weekend though, after I got home on Saturday...)

The baby is such a sweetie pie! And smiling a lot. He is a little colicky, with the afternoons being hardest on his poor baby belly. I felt so bad for him, then. But he's sweet and interactive and very present. He watches his big brother a lot - watches him move around the house, eat meals - all of it. He loves the activity - luckily, since his big brother is always active! From interactive alphabet games on the computer to a posse of balls on the back porch, and everything in between, there is no slowing down the toddler.

We had our ups. We had our downs. Mostly ups - though there was the Penny Incident (as it always shall be known), when the older one wondered if the younger one would like to eat a penny.... Crisis averted (thanks to all humans and angels who might have had a hand in resolving that one...)

It was a little different than usual. Usually, when I babysit, it's been just my older nephew and me. We have bath time and play time - which is like study time, since he loves learning so much - nap time and meal time... Lots of things, all centered on his activities. With the addition of a cooing baby, though, my time was split. This was a new experience for the older one. He seems so aware - in a positive way - of the baby - once spontaneously saying, "He's so cute!" - but he is also, I think, noticing the changes in his life due to the increase in little ones around the house.

Luckily my sister and brother-in-law arranged for me to have help in the afternoons. I decided to use those daily three hours to go on short adventures with my toddler nephew. The first day though, we never could get far from the house because the baby needed extra help... so we played balls outside in the yard. One got lost. (I'm not pointing fingers or anything, but let's just say that I am not the one who kicked it into the wooded area behind the house.)

The next day, I had a plan. We would go to the Learning Experience store, and then the grocery store. The Learning Experience is a great children's store, with hands-on stations for the kids to play. My toddler nephew is in love with Thomas these days. You know - Thomas the Train. And his friends Percy, etc. In the past, we have played with a train track at the Learning Experience, with Thomas Trains everywhere. So as we drove to the store this time, I kept saying, "Let's go play with Thomas... Thomas is waiting for you!" Very exciting.

Until we got to the store. And saw that the Learning Experience had taken down its train track table. Uh oh. "But I promised Thomas," I told the store clerks. "I promised."

They suggested my nephew play with the doll house. Um - I don't know if I mentioned - but I had promised him Thomas. I didn't think he would be distracted from that.

And he wasn't. He just kept wandering around the store, looking hopefully in every corner for the train tracks, and the Thomases that must be sitting there. I couldn't stand it. So I bought him a Thomas. Oh, he was so excited! His very own Thomas! I was hoping that he would use the toy shelves as a train track - play with his new train for awhile, and then we'd go grocery shopping.

He was having none of it. He wanted a train track. He needed a train track!

So we built one. Right there, in the middle of the store. Using train track pieces that were sold there, piece by piece. We built a bridge, and we circled the track to come back under the bridge itself. This is how we started it (that's my hand, keeping the bridge up):

To the store's credit, they did not try to stop me. Under normal circumstances, they might have halted my initiative. But they knew - they knew - I had promised Thomas. And had expected a train track table. They couldn't really say "no," could they?

I told my sister of the event. She remembered that Toys 'R Us had a train track.

The next day, my nephew and I got back in the car during the babysitter hours and drove to Toys 'R Us. This time, he knew. As we drove into the parking lot, he knew. "Thomas!" he said, his face shining with excitement...

And this time, the train track table was still there. Whew! Only now, there were no Thomas Trains. There was one Percy (a green train, Thomas' friend). And a little girl was already using him.

So I bought my second Thomas, in two days.

But you know what? My sweet nephew was in heaven. It was worth the $12, to see him moving Thomas up one hill and down another, playing with that train. He would do this for hours, if he could. And now we had two Thomases, for his train track at home. Nothing like a little train activity to keep a child happy.

And now - if I could just figure out how to help that baby from getting a belly ache in the afternoons... Such a smiling baby, when his belly doesn't hurt. And a brave one, when it does. Beautiful boys, the two of them. Two peas in a pod. I can't wait to see what adventure is in store for us, the next time I'm in town.

photo credit: Ween Nee, found here

Clinton's Initiative

2010-09-23T06:02:00.000-07:00

Bill Clinton's been on the news recently. Just this morning he was on "Morning Joe." (Yes, I'm back to watching Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski - especially when I wake up at 4 a.m.!). He is in the midst of the Clinton Global Initiative, an annual event that he created a few years ago in which he gathers people with money - buy-in - and gets them organized to not only talk about economic problems here and around the world but to propose and then implement plans to fix those problems - or at least improve upon them.

I've seen Clinton now on a couple of news programs - which is nearly a miracle, since I've hardly been able to tolerate the news at all, and so basically have not been watching it. And here's my conclusion: he's good. He's really good. He's clear, he's got practical ideas, and - beyond that - he's working towards implementing those ideas by bringing people together and moving them forward.

One thing this a.m. that was particularly interesting is how he described the "gap." There is what private business does, and there is what government does. Regardless of who you think should do more, there necessarily ends up being a gap between business and government, where things - people - can fall through the cracks. So his Global Initiative targets that gap, with an idea towards implementing experiments on fixing problems that, if successful, can then be adopted and implemented in the future by either government or private business with either government or business taking the risk of failure. As Clinton explained it - if you aren't risking the investment of taxpayers or shareholders, you have a lot more freedom to try innovative things.

What also was fascinating was the relief - felt by Joe (the former Republican congressman who used to fight with Clinton back in the 1990s), by Mika (Joe's co-host, who is always fighting with Joe), and by me - the viewer. Listening to Bill Clinton was like a breath of fresh air - a moment of no fighting, no malicious soundbites - just ideas that answer current-day problems.

Scarborough did say how much everyone listening in today would like Clinton to run for president in 2012 (an impossibility, given our constitutional limitations on presidential terms). And well, it is nice to have Clinton speak of solutions so elegantly. But there's a reason for that, in my opinion, beyond the fact that he is articulate - it is that he is playing the role of Elder Statesman. He is playing it effectively, and he is, as always, really smart. But it's a role. The tone and conversation, from Joe et al, would be completely different if Clinton were currently president. And the games people are playing today would be played on him, if he were president. And the games people did play, back in the 1990s, when he was newly president (in the middle of his first term, when the Dems lost midterm elections...) And it's funny that Joe said how the Obama administration should have been using Clinton before now - given how freaked out the pundits were, back when Hillary Clinton was appointed Secretary of State, by the idea that Bill Clinton might meddle (oh my!). So, you gotta love the pundits for their ADHD qualities, and inability to remember what they said a year ago - or yesterday, for that matter. (Though Joe and Mika are better than most.)

But my gosh, Joe's right. It's great to listen to Clinton now. The morass is less, when he speaks - and when his interviewers allow him to speak with concise solutions, and talking points, from which a true and rich debate is begun. I've seen Clinton on a few interviews these past couple of days, so I know.

But even as Joe laments with our former president the tone of politics today - and even as they discuss the impact the Internet has had, to change how messages get relayed - the ticker tape below the talking heads reads how Bob Woodward's new book "exposes" the White House's internal arguments over how to handle Afghanistan. "Exposes?" Not "discusses?" Doesn't the media yet understand that sensationalizing the headline - even by the use of one editorial word versus one more neutralized one - plays right into the hands of those who would prefer that political tones today be taken to extremes? Thanks Joe, for speaking about the need for moderate tones in politics. Now fix your ticker tape so it doesn't say "expose." It's not more descriptive. It's just more inflammatory.

I do think it says something that I'm turning off television news because of extreme tones. I'm not alone. There's a reason Jon Stewart is having the "Million Moderate March" (officially the "Rally to Restore Sanity") in Washington on October 30. There are a lot of us out here who just can't take the extreme rhetoric anymore. You exhaust us. And that goes for sing-songy tones too, by the way. I'm really tired of being treated like a child, whether it be through extreme rhetoric soundbites or reassuring political voices that take on sweet tones but tell me nothing.

This is why I appreciated President Obama's town hall meeting a couple days ago - he was real and spoke in paragraphs, with lots of information (though I wish he'd spoken more about the things that they are doing in the future). And this is why I appreciated Bill Clinton this a.m. - things are being said that I can chew on, digest, understand, use.

I will say this for Bill Clinton - he energized me. He made me imagine possibilities. He spoke of the trillions of dollars that banks and businesses have on reserve, that they could spend if they chose. He spoke of proposals that the president has on the table - small business incentive programs, technological research tax credits, education and training ideas that would allow us to fill the too-many job openings that require more skills than our workers currently have... He pointed out that all these issues have a liberal and conservative point of view - that both are worth hearing - and that it's time to address them, one by one.

I've been so worried about people in this economy. I've had a dream that, if I did have extra money (some day, I will!), I'd want to hire people to do community improvement jobs - a day's wage for a day's work. I've wondered why we haven't done that, as a nation - gone back to the CCC, the Civilian Conservation Corps, that gave jobs to unskilled labor to improve national parks, etc., back in the Great Depression. The CCC provided a public service in two ways - it gave people work that had concrete results. The stimulus - for road construction - does that a bit, I suppose. And the grander scale likely touched more people's lives than person-to-job, one person at a time. But there would be a bigger sense of movement, I think - and more people would be employed - if we went to a one-person-one-job model, even if we had to modernize it for today's times, and even if that work was not permanent. And yes, I understand that if you pay unemployment instead, that frees people up to go out and find a job that lasts. But what about self esteem? It's exhausting to worry about having no job. There's got to be a way that the CCC model can be helpful today, as the economy remains in the midst of its own recovery.

Protocall

2010-09-19T06:59:00.000-07:00

Soccer season has begun for the Grand Masters League, of which I am a member. (Grand Masters = Old People...) Our first game was yesterday. We did well. We tied twice - right at the beginning of the game when it was 0-0 (;-)), and then sometime in the second half, when it was 3-3. And while we ultimately lost, we played with heart, and with - well, I can't actually call it "intensity," but with - well, a lot of effort for a bunch of - ahem - Grand Masters.

At one point, one of my players was fighting to get to the ball before it went out of bounds. He came so close... the other team's defender blocked the view of the referee - we only get one, no linesman, very rudimentary - and the ref let the play continue without a whistle for the ball going out of bounds. I had the angle that actually showed the ball go out of bounds - just barely, but it did.

Hence the title of this entry. What is the protocol - proto"call," - in recreational sports for such a situation? For as I watched the play continue and did nothing to interrupt it, I realized that such a protocol exists.

If it had been me chasing the ball, and I had realized the ball had gone out of bounds, I more likely than not would have presumed a whistle from the referee and given the ball over to the other team. This is because: (a) the ref was probably getting ready to blow the whistle anyway; (b) these games are really hard on the ref, because he (or she) can't see every play on the field with just one of their kind; and (c) why generate bad karma?

In this case, however, it was not me chasing the ball - it was my teammate. So I didn't say anything. This is because: (a) my teammate may not have realized the ball went out of bounds, so it wasn't a matter of principle and/or karma; (b) the other team failed to protest the play - other than make a few protest sounds, not enough to get the attention of either my teammate or the ref, so anything I said would just distract from the game, and not add to it; and (c) it simply wasn't my "call" to make.

As I watched the play, and realized what I was doing - and not doing - and the decades of sport experience that went behind my in-the-moment decisions, I realized that I love soccer. I love playing it, I love being with my team, I love hanging out with my team afterwards, at whatever bar we decide to fraternize. It's just a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Speaking of bars...

When I got to where we were going after the game - The "Rock," I think it's called - it used to be "Bottoms Up," but that ownership went out of business - I parked next to a car with a gekko on the side. Yes, it was a Geico business vehicle. I didn't realize people took their business cars to bars. It seemed like an odd sight, right there at The Rock, so I took a photo of it. And sat there, listening the final beats of "Desperately Wanting" blasting on the radio. "I remember running through the wet grass... And falling a step behind.. Both of us never tiring.. Desperately wanting..."

and the winner is...

2010-09-14T11:37:00.001-07:00

The winner of the $150 CSN Stores giveaway contest is...

... drum roll ...

Nancy Miller! From somewhere in these United States!

Almost two weeks ago now, I was asked by CSN Stores, an internet shopping site, to host a $150 giveaway of credit for their store (their money, not mine!). So I did. That contest ended Sunday at midnight. I got entries from all over the United States, and just now had a blind drawing of all the entrants. And Nancy won! Very exciting.

I did ask people to give me feedback about the CSN website and/or to tell me what they might do with the proceeds if they won. It wasn't a requirement, but most people did do just that. I had fun reading all the entries, and learning a little about people's lives, hopes, dreams...

As for what she might buy, Nancy - the winner! - told me, "I would use the GC for the OIA 30" laundry sorter, and the Farberware Classic Stainless Steel 16 quart covered stockpot, two things that would make things a lot easier around here." As for feedback on the site, she said, " I love the variety of things they offer, although there are so many products it takes a while to search there. Thanks for having this generous contest."

It's true. They have a ton of products. And while I hosted the contest, it was CSN Stores that was responsible for the generosity.

I really enjoyed reading a little about how people would use the winnings if they won. There was the couple who recently bought an 80-year-old house, and could use extra cash for an exterior light to the main entrance, and another one for the hallway. There was the soon-to-be mom (is my assumption) who wanted to order an Atlantic Furniture crib. There was another young woman who will be married soon, and probably needs just about everything, but was hoping to buy some luggage for the honeymoon...

People talked about buying CDs, or new sandals, or a Le Crusseut Dutch Oven, or a comforter set (as a birthday present for Mom), or a kid's bookcase, a food mill, new pots from the Circulon line, Abilene cowboy boots, a new office chair, a wall clock...

I wish everyone could have won.

As for CSN Stores, people said things like:

"I love CSN, they ship fast! They always email me back when I have a question and they have been so awesome, with these giveaways they do!"

"This site is extensive. Looking forward to getting back to shopping."

"CSN Stores have so many great items and deals..."

"I like the website. I found something I have been looking for for six weeks, so thanks."

"I have bought quite a few things from CSN already - everything from toys to lights to kitchen items. I love their products and they have great customer service."

"I have lost track of time when I have gotten onto the CSN site before. There is so much to look at."

Some people provided links to their own blogs, which I read and enjoyed immensely. I particularly enjoyed Nicole-Lynn's site (the one who's getting married soon). It was just fun to see all she's doing to get ready for The Big Day.

Thank you, CSN Stores, for giving me the chance to host this giveaway and meet people around the country who I would never have met otherwise. And congratulations Nancy for your win!

Escaping Death

2010-09-13T10:12:00.001-07:00

And you think I exaggerate...

The other day - a beautiful day - I was driving to my office from Coeur d'Alene. I pulled into the parking lot, thought about parking towards our building (an old mansion), then changed my mind and decided to park away from it, facing downhill. I swung the car around towards a number of empty spots, and went to park in one place that would have given me space between myself and the next car towards the building, but then - don't know why - I decided to park in the spot next to that car instead. This was just a little weird, since I usually like my space (so to speak). But there it was.

Now normally I'd open the car door and get out of the car with my hands full of whatever stuff I need to cart into my office. Isn't that what we all do? But this time, I decided to call a friend instead - a friend who works in this building too, though I didn't see her car in the lot...

My friend answered (what if she hadn't answered?), and we started talking.

Just then, a black truck barreled past me, backwards, on the driver's side, like someone was driving it in reverse. It rolled over the curb and down the grass, towards the (historic) building in front of me. It crashed into a tree that stood right before the building. It had missed my car by a couple inches.

Turns out, there was no driver - just a bad emergency brake that decided to take that day and give out.

It all happened fast, and slow, all at the same time. I didn't have to jump back into my car, because I hadn't gotten out of it yet. I didn't even have to watch the truck tear off my driver's side door because I had decided to sit in the car with the door closed while I had my phone conversation.

But what if I had parked one spot further away from our building? My car would have been rear ended, maybe even crushed. Or what if my friend hadn't answered her phone, which delayed my getting out of the car for just that extra few moments? Or what if it I had opened the car door and stepped out while I talked to her? As the truck came racing backwards, aimed right at me...

Or what if the tree that the truck hit - which was almost right in front of me - had just toppled forward, crushing my car, with me still in it?

I can't decide if God likes me enough to spare my life, or is yelling at me about something.

Already outside was Chris Wooley, from the upstairs photo studio (Beautiful Photo - it was his dad Larry Wooley who took the photos of my office a few months ago). Chris said it was like watching a movie in slow motion - nothing he could do to stop the impending crash... Right after, he came and took photos of the scene. Here's one that he took:

And, just to give some perspective, these are some photos I took the other day. My car was in the spot where the red car is - the tree that the truck hit is the first one off to the left of the car - as I recall, the truck leaned a little away from me as it went over the curb and into the grass, which is how it got to that tree:

And the truck came backwards towards me from the spot where the maroon vehicle is parked in this photo (that's my little white car next to it):

As you can see, the parking spots don't line up. The truck likely crossed over the white line - or was near it, at the very least. It really did miss me by just inches.

The young woman who owned the truck came out of the building from her appointment and saw the mess. I guess she was pretty upset. Our building's owner told me later that he went over with her how amazingly lucky she was - not too much damage to her truck; nobody hurt; no other car rear ended (this parking lot is usually full!); no damage to the historic building in the line of fire because a tree stood in the way; no tree crashing downward...

Yes, she was lucky. As. Was. I.

CSN Stores Giveaway - $150!

2010-09-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

GIVEAWAY CONTEST THROUGH SEPTEMBER 12TH!

From kitchen tables, to the plates that go on top of them, from exercise bikes to a nice pair of shoes.... it seems they have everything.

Who? CSN Stores.

About a week ago, I heard from CSN Stores, an online shopping store based out of Boston, complimenting this blog and wondering if I would be interested in giving one of my readers $150 (of their money, not mine!) to spend at their Internet store. Well, yes - yes I would. What a great deal for someone! And from CSN stores too. I'm not a big online shopper, but I had heard their name before. After spending some time on their website this past week, I can say that I'm truly complimented by their choice to ask me to host this giveaway. CSN Stores is an interesting combination of offering a huge number of products while being easy to search. On the shoe front, for instance: I did a random search for white high heels, and pulled up such pretty shoes! And when I went through the kitchen tables, I found some very sweet ones. There are a total of 200 stores (meaning, links to online shopping categories). Very cool. Check them out by clicking on the logo.

If you win the $150 giveaway, it can be used for whatever. Shipping is on you (though most shipping seems to be free on the site). But what a great opportunity, right?

TO ENTER: This is what you do. Email me at bethatlaw@gmail.com, with your name and contact information (though I guess I'll already have your email), and say that you are entering the CSN contest. It would be nice if you gave me feedback on CSN Stores - the product you might buy, your thoughts about the site - though feedback is not required to enter the contest. Enter by midnight PT on the night of September 12th. Only one entry per person. I will announce the winner shortly thereafter. The winner will be picked randomly from the entries.

Good luck! And enter by September 12th, before midnight PT.

One American

2010-09-01T07:38:00.000-07:00

There's that song: "I'm proud to be an American, because at least I know I'm free...."

I really like the music. I'm not so crazy about that line. "At least"? Doesn't he mean something a little more enthusiastic? And - I don't know - does that line mean that "being free" is the only good thing about being an American?

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be an American recently, especially as I read hyperbole (and actual lies) about the Islamic Community Center being planned blocks away from the World Trade Center, and wonder how it is that the majority of people oppose it (rather than rush to embrace it, glad to show the world that America is about freedom of religion and expression, and inclusion). And maybe that's another reason that line in that song bothers me - it acknowledges the singer's freedom, but not the freedom of those around him. Well yes, freedom for everyone would be implied. Except - well, the line's egocentrism seems to be just a microcosm of a larger view in the United States these days - that it's all about protecting my freedom, and keeping you under control (rather than free as well). At least, that's how it's been feeling around here.

I think of us as a young country - like a country filled with juveniles - enthusiastic, energetic, sometimes idealistic, almost always impatient. I find it hard to imagine being from someplace else. And I'm proud to be from here. But these days, it feels like we are losing our idealism while hanging on to our impatience. It makes sense. It's a scary time. Our impulsivity, as a nation, and especially since the year 2000, has led us into some tough spots. I have compassion for people who react out of fear. But I wish we could regain our idealistic roots.

I think back to 2001 - September 11, and the mornings after - and remember how beloved we were, across the world. It was a crossroads. We could choose to be brought into the fold, or we could choose to circle the wagons. In the end, fear won out over goodwill, and we circled the wagons. Such an image. Can you see it? The majority of the world reaches out to us as we turn inward. I get it. I have compassion for the wagon work. It was a scary time. But it makes me sad, that our collective better halves did not win out that day, and in the days after.

There was a line in an op ed piece the other day: "More and more of the American people are choosing to live in closed circles of collective concurrence..." It's true, isn't it? I know I personally find comfort in the impulse to find like-minded people. It still matters, though, to imagine the other person's point of view. I guess I still believe that, one on one, I can find common ground with virtually anyone - and ultimately that person will be able to see at least a part of the world from my perspective too.

I'm the kind of person who will not say "under God" when saying the pledge of allegiance, out of respect for American atheists, or who will defend in court the person who burns the flag in protest. But I am also the kind of person who looks with pride at that same flag - my flag - as it waves in the wind over a baseball field, as the national anthem plays. I swell with pride, looking at that flag and knowing the ideals that it represents, knowing that I belong to a nation that represents those ideals. Maybe that's why I fit right in here, in America. I am, at heart, an impatient, idealistic, enthusiastic soul.

Sorry. This rambles. But here we are, on the first of September, getting deeper into a recession, with our neighbors losing jobs, and with our juvenile nature kicking into the dirt - in a moment less than optimistic - and I just thought I'd pause and reflect.

One American. A multitude of emotions.

photo credit: melifaire, found here

Radio Woman

2010-08-31T17:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm going to be on the radio this Friday, from 7 a.m. to 8 a.m. on KVNI AM 1080. Kerri Thoreson set it up. Thanks, Kerri! And Joe Paisley will be interviewing me. Joe and I talked today. He sounded like he thought I was nice, what with my KNIFVES movie networking group, and my baseball novel and all. So I said, "By the way, I'm a lawyer." I figured full disclosure was important before we met in person.

You can listen to the program Friday morning at 7 a.m. on the radio at AM 1080 here in the Inland Northwest, or at the station's website at http://www.kvni.com/.

Baseball Days

2010-08-26T07:52:00.000-07:00

So last Saturday, I spent selling baseball novels again - this time, it was at a Spokane Indians game. The Indians had a five-game series at home against the Eugene Emeralds. They split it, 3-2. They lost the last game of the series, and the second one. We were at the second one. I wondered (until the fifth game, when I saw the headline the next morning) whether they would end up losing only one game - the game when I was there. People become known as jinxes, in such scenarios! But no such (bad) luck. Instead, just good baseball.
We sold over 10 books - about 13 total. The book's been out long enough that a number of people came by to tell me they had the book, enjoyed it, and wanted to let me know. That was a particularly nice way of finding out.

The game was going well - or so it sounded (as I sat outside the first base entrance, relegated to my table) - until I came back in the crowd. That's when the Emeralds went on a scoring streak. (Oops. Maybe I should have stayed out by my table, even in the dark.)

There were fireworks again (as there were two weeks ago). This time, the Indians didn't sit and watch. Perhaps it mattered whether they won or lost. Maybe this past Saturday, after the loss, the team wasn't in the mood to watch celebratory fireworks.
But before I went into the stadium to watch the game - around the third inning or so - a bi-plane, like a World War I style plane, flew over. At the American Legion World Series, that happened on both nights that I was there (Sunday and Tuesday). So - three times in a week. Nice. Someone, it seems, is flying high.

In fact, it could have been this very biplane -

photo credit: Ryan Pemberton - posted (with detailed information) by Tom Harnish, found here

Memory Keepers

2010-08-19T07:39:00.000-07:00

They're called keepsakes, or memorabilia. But for me, they're the things I have around the house to keep present with my memories...

The other day, I received a thank-you note from one of my nieces for a birthday gift I sent her. I felt a pang of guilt, because I'd never sent a thank-you note for the birthday gift I'd gotten a couple months ago from her (and my sis and her older sister). But it was a picture frame, and I had been waiting to get a photo to put in the frame so I could take a photo of it and send it along with my note. I wanted a photo from the last Christmas holiday - a photo of my two nieces and 2-year-old nephew. I knew a photo like that existed. I just didn't have a copy. So the note got delayed. (Please know this doesn't mean that I'm predictable about writing thank-you notes. I'm not - unlike my nieces, who are amazing.)

So then I thought - I may not have written the note, but I think about their gifts every day. This is because I've placed those gifts all over the house - on shelves, in corners, wherever the gift looked nice. And I thought - they don't even know that! Connecticut is a long way from Washington, and there is a whole group of them and just one of me, and so typically I see them by going out to Connecticut, and not the other way around. They did come one year, at the Christmas holidays - about eight years ago now. So they do know the structure of my house. But they haven't seen which rooms I've painted since then, or how I've decorated with their gifts...

So I sent them an email yesterday, saying "this is where I've put" this and "where I've put" that. I had about seven or eight pictures in all - and that didn't even capture everything! One of the photos that I sent was this one, of the gingerbread house that they made back eight years ago on their visit here. Yes, it's trying to fall apart, eight years later - but there's no way I can do anything but keep it on a shelf to remember that trip, and how sweet they were as they put it together:

And here's a photo of the frame from this past birthday. This is, in fact, my niece-and-nephew corner - I set it up that way on purpose - so almost all the knicks, and definitely all the knacks, come from one or the other of them (and the hippo was a gift from 13 years ago from my soon-to-be-30-year-old nephew who won it in a Las Vegas carnival contest of some sort. I watched him win it, cheered him on, and then he just turned around and gave it to me - such a good nephew):

And here is a photo of my mantel - on it is a blue glass crystaled pyramid that my younger niece gave me last winter - there it is, right in front of a green-dyed gourd that I got when a group of us (including my nieces) went on a cruise in Alaska, back a couple summers ago. It's a nice line-up of memories up there on the mantel, because both the pyramid and the gourd make me think of my nieces:

And speaking of Alaska.... off to the side from the mantel, on top of my built-in book shelves, is another Alaska memory. It is a blue glass I got on the ship. There was a special one night - for $10, you bought a particular liquor (as much as you wanted), and the glass for it. Great deal, right? So I spent the ten dollars, and picked out a glass - I had a choice, I went with blue - and then at the end of the trip, I brought home the glass - carefully, carefully - and put in on this shelf (one of my favorite shelves in the house - full of life and color). Can you see it in the foreground there? It keeps the memory well.

Oklahoma Outlaws

2010-08-18T07:52:00.000-07:00

The Outlaws stole the win last night, in the American Legion World Series finale.

And when I say "stole," I mean it in the most positive of terms. Those kids stole every base out there, including home. They played scrappy, and they won two games against the up-until-then undefeated Eden Prairie, MN team. They deserved the title, in the end.

And when I say "stole home," I don't mean from just an errant throw to second or something. One player decided to steal home on just a regular pitch. It took everyone by surprise - including the pitcher and catcher for Eden Prairie. And he made it! Safe. Amazing. And then another Outlaw who had just gotten a walk, and was acting like he was settling into first base, just took off and landed on second instead. Apparently the ball had still been in play, and the pitcher had not yet settled into the mound...

And for as miserable as a game that it turned out to be for Minnesota - set of games, actually - they did have some highlights. There was one throw to home where the catcher had to leap for the ball but was able to defend the plate anyway and tagged out the Outlaw running home. And then there was the eighth inning. There was one out, with Outlaw runners on first and third. The first base runner went to steal second, and the catcher threw the ball and got him tagged out. And the second base man immediately threw the ball to home - anticipating, by now, the third base runner's intention to steal home in that circumstance - and somehow the catcher tagged out that runner as well. So it was a double play, and the inning was over. Eden Prairie had finally figured out Oklahoma's methods. It was too late in the game to make a difference for the final score. But it had to have been nice for the Minnesota kids to have that play.

As I've written in recent posts, the American Legion World Series was in Spokane for the first time in its 85 years. I went out to the ballpark on Sunday and Tuesday for book signings, with net proceeds going to the Legion's World Series efforts. We raised a total of $300 from 39 book sales for the Legion (which is all proceeds except the wholesale cost of the book to me). So it was a nice roundup. And people from all over the country purchased the book, which is nice. A few umpires too! I told them to watch for the book's scenes with umpires. There are a couple fun ones.

There was another flyover last night of a World War I era plane. It wasn't announced, or expected. We all looked to the sky when it happened. People softly clapped, too. A surprise, but a nice one. And perfect, for a Legion event.

For as much as the games last night were not seriously in question, the skill of the players was something to watch - from both teams. Attitude, too, was admirable (for the most part). (I did see a couple jabs between players. But these are kids. They're learning too.)

Perhaps attitude is always improved on the field if you have to say a Sportsman Code before every game. This is the one that the Legion has - that they read to the players before each game - and that they had each team captain read to each of their teams, in front of everyone, before the first game last night:

I will
keep the rules
keep faith with my teammates
keep my temper
keep myself fit
keep a stout heart in defeat
keep my pride under in victory
keep a sound soul, a clean mind, and a healthy body

Words to live by. In fact, perhaps we all should say this Code every morning, the moment we wake up.

Next up: book signing at the Indians' game this coming Saturday. Fireworks night!

American Legion Baseball

2010-08-16T07:23:00.000-07:00

Well, that was exciting!

In yesterday's blog, I talked about how I was going to a book signing yesterday out at the Spokane Indians' baseball field, which is currently being used for the American Legion's 85th World Series. I was looking forward to it - my novel "Until The End Of The Ninth" is about the 1946 Spokane Indians team that died in a bus crash midway through the season. Eight of the nine who died had served in World War II in some capacity. I'm sure they also played American Legion ball, or would have wanted to play it. So signing books at the Legion's World Series - the first time it has ever come to Spokane - seemed like just the right thing to do.

I went. It was great. Great baseball, great people. Great plays. In one play, the second base man from Roseburg, Oregon bare-handed a grounder and then flipped the ball behind his back to his shortstop (since he didn't have an angle to first), who caught it and threw to first, just in time - well, just in time to make it a tie at first, so the runner was safe, by my oh my (as they say in the announcing world) - what a play. Everyone stood, including everyone from both benches, and gave him a standing ovation.

(Can I just say here, I think bare-handed it? I heard someone say that's what he did. It was spectacular, that much I know for sure.)

There were other highlights too. Great baseball! And there was a fly-over, before the start of the second game, of double-winged planes - like the ones used in World War I. There were four altogether, flying in unison. I thought of the 1946 baseball men - from World War II, not I - and thought what it would have meant to them, to have the World Series here, to have this flyover - a reminder of days gone by...

I sat right behind home plate, with a little table and a box of books, intensely in the sun, turning bright red, and people wandered past me with nary a look (or with an odd look, like "why's this woman in the way?" or "shouldn't she have some sunblock on?") and I thought, well at least I get to watch good baseball.

But then I sold a book. Hurray! To a man from Sandpoint, for his son who plays Legion ball.

And then the events organizer and I came up with the great idea of having the PA guy make an announcement over the loudspeaker, that I was there with the book and all. "Terrific book," he said during the announcement. (I didn't even give him that note!)

And that's when we sold 27 more. There was even a line. Very exciting.

All net proceeds are going to the Legion, so it was nice to be able to raise some money for the group. I'm going back on Tuesday for sure - which is the final game, the World Series finale - and maybe tonight (am going to try...).

I've heard much through the years about American Legion baseball. As I understand it, the organization gives kids a chance to play organized ball at increasingly skilled levels. As the linked article states, most major leaguers played American Legion ball at some point. And then they gather every year for a World Series, facing double elimination during the tournament itself. Here's a link to the main page of the American Legion, which is a veterans service organization.

What I loved yesterday was how they started each game with the American Legion creed - about health, and strength, and staying strong in defeat, and humble in victory... I can't find a copy of it on the Internet. Will try to write it down at the next game.

The two teams I'm rooting for - well, I root for all of them, and can't stand to see any of these kids lose - but if I have to choose two teams right now, they are the Roseburg, Oregon kids and the Minnesota team. Roseburg because it's the local team, Minnesota because I've been talking to all the Minnesota families (for some reason). And Minnesota brings me fond memories of the Duluth Dukes - the other minor league team that lost players in a bus crash, two years after the Indians' crash, in 1948. (Two bus crashes in two years, and then nothing more. Thank goodness.) I did a book signing at the stadium in Duluth back a couple years ago. Nice people.

So I hope to be out there at Avista Stadium tonight. And I definitely will be at the stadium for the game on Tuesday evening - or games, if there's more than one because of the double elimination system. I will be there from start to finish tomorrow evening for sure. And maybe tonight, I'll get a chance to sneak in for the game between - gasp - Oregon and Minnesota...

Spokane Events

2010-08-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

On Friday, I received notice this weekend that Jive Five, a friend's band, was playing at the Garland Street Fair on Saturday. I'd heard of the fair but had never gone. It's the only blocked-off street fair in town, and is up in the Garland District - up north of the river by a mile or two. It's a place of history in Spokane - has the Milk Bottle restaurant, the old Garland Theatre that is still independent from the AMCs, and nooks and crannies of neighborhood shops. Its theme every year is "Wizard of Oz," because of Garland and Judy Garland. Fun.

Also on Friday, a friend of mine asked me if I'd gone out to the American Legion World Series games yet. The ALWS is in Spokane for the first time in its 80+ year history. It has only been in Washington three times before, each time in Yakima. My friend thought it would be a great opportunity for a book signing. I hadn't even thought of it, though I'd been reading about all that good baseball in the newspaper. It's odd that I didn't think of it, since I've been thinking about book signings recently. In fact, I've got one out at the Indians' stadium next Saturday, for fireworks night (another fireworks night).

So yesterday, I made it a Spokane day. First I headed to the baseball park - the ALWS is being held at the Indians' Avista stadium - and talked to the organizers about coming out for a book signing. I'll be there today for all three games. Fun! They'll even let me sit in a place where I can watch the games.

Then I headed over to the Garland Street Fair, in time to see the Jive Five play. They were so good! Almost a big band sound, with jazz thrown in. The sound is hard to describe, but I kept hearing people around me talk about how good they were. Definitely a treat.

Here's a hard-to-see-them photo of the Jive Five, at Garland and Post:

And here's a photo of the red boots I bought from the now-closed Ruby Slipper (a very cool, upscale shoe store in Spokane that went out of business but had a few shoes left to sell at the Fair). I felt a little bad about the great deal - but they are trying to clear out merchandise:

And then here's a very-bad photo of the Milk Bottle (off to the left) - which is a greasy spoon restaurant in the shape of a milk bottle - quite the conversation piece in the Garland District - also at the corner of Garland and Post, across from where the Jive Five was playing.

Here's a better photo of the Milk Bottle that I found on Flckr, coming at the restaurant from an opposite (and clearly better) angle, though not taken during the Fair itself. Photo credit goes to Christphre Campbell. Photo is found here.

Billy McLaughlin - "Into the Light" - with update

2010-08-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago, I bought a new CD - "Into the Light," by Bill McLaughlin. It's as wonderful as any of his other CDs - in fact, a little more wonderful, because of the title song.

As I listen to it, I can see Billy playing - my memory sees him, immersed, engrossed, lost on stage to the music.

It has been more than a decade since I saw Billy McLaughlin perform. But I can still see him, in my mind's eye, as I listen to his music.

Billy was born for this. He was a miracle musician - playing his own compositions that, for nearly any other guitar player, would require two guitarists. But for Billy, it took just one. I know that's what amazed so many - his ability to play on one guitar what should have taken two, or even three.

For me, it was the music. It sang into my heart - touched my soul - from soul to soul. The music had come from God to me through Billy, is how I felt. It was like having a conversation with God for me, to listen to Billy play. And yes, there was something miraculous about seeing him play in concert, because he did in fact play all the notes himself, almost with sparks flying from the guitar, almost beyond possibility. But the music itself is what compelled me to return.

"Into the Light" - now, finally, recorded under a CD of the same - was the first song I ever heard Billy play. He was at the Gardenia Center in Sandpoint, at their Sunday service. I happened to be at the service too. He was giving an introduction to his music that he would be playing that night in Sandpoint, and the next night in Spokane. And he started playing "Into the Light." That is where I went, with him. Into the light. I was mesmerized - hooked - had to bring a passel of people with me to the next night's coffee shop concert in Spokane... I bought a couple CDs, and hoped "Into the Light" would be on the next CD. Over the next couple years, I'd look for that CD, and at his Tour Schedule to see when he might be coming back to Spokane from his home in Minnesota....

and then, I lost track of him. There just was so little movement...

Turns out, in 2001, Billy was diagnosed with a disease called focal dystonia. It caused his left hand to seize up when he played the guitar. As he explains, he had symptoms for awhile. "Something had crept in ... into my hand, my wrist, my arm....an unwanted guest that wouldn't leave. I had no name for this visitor who caused my fingers to suddenly curl, caused the music to veer out of control as audiences cringed, caused my solo career to slowly (against all my stubborn nature) grind to a halt." As he also explains, he was almost relieved by the diagnosis, so he could know he wasn't going crazy. Yet it was devastating too. Though only on his left side (hence the modifier "focal"), it could ultimately spread throughout his body. Doctors told him to stop playing the guitar altogether. Instead, this left-handed guitarist decided to retrain his right hand to do what the left had been doing. And he has been on a long road since.

I didn't know any of this until recently. My heart broke for him when I heard. How does that happen? How does one of the most gifted guitarists on the planet come down with such a debilitating disease? Especially a musician whose music comes from such a place of purity....

I wondered - what is supposed to come from this? how is he supposed to use this? or - us? or - something.

I wasn't trying to put a rosy picture on it. I meant it. Music that comes from God, through a human body - there has to be a bigger picture purpose when that same body no longer can perform as it did.

It made me think of Beethoven, going deaf. He was deaf when he wrote his Ninth Symphony - his masterpiece - the first symphony to have a chorus in it (the fourth movement). In the end, his curse became our blessing. His lack of ability to hear outside noise seemed to transform him to a place where he could hear only purity instead. It was as though all his works - amazing in themselves - were just setting the stage for the Ninth.

Except... that's where Billy McLaughlin started... in that place of deafness - not that he ever had to lose his hearing - just that he already did keep the extra noise out when he wrote and played the music he had within. Or so it seemed to me.

Billy's situation also made me think of a passage from "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" - a book I have not read since I was a teen - that I probably couldn't get through today, as idealistic as it is (as I recall it). There is one part of that book that I've never forgotten. Jonathan is trying to figure out how to fly as fast as possible, so he dives from the highest of heights, only to break up at a certain speed. But then he comes up with the idea of pulling his wings into his body. This way, the wind can't pull on his outstretched wings - can't hold him back. It's a brilliant idea. A brilliant move. It works. Jonathan dives, and reaches an unbelievable velocity.

Except he hadn't thought ahead to imagine how to get out of such a fast dive once he got into it. And when he turns to pull himself out of it, he's going too fast. Instead of moving up and out, he crashes into the ocean like he's hitting a brick wall. We wonder if he's dead. He isn't, but almost.

That could have cured him from his desire to go so fast. But it doesn't. Instead, he realizes that he will need to adjust his turn out of his dive to accommodate his velocity. So he practices. And figures out that, at that speed, to change course doesn't require an entire flapping of wings. It only requires the flip of a couple feathers. He practices and crashes a few more times, until he has the formula set. He realizes that not only has he succeeded, but he has succeeded with ease. Once he made one part of his path easier, the whole path could follow, with similar ease, if he just imagined it. And now he could move to the next level.

With Billy, he's become a voluntary ambassador for the Dystonia Medical Research Foundation. There's a PBS special on him called "Changing Keys" (cool title - I'm trying to get Spokane's PBS channel to show it). And as for his music, he's added an orchestra. He continues to compose. In 2007, he generated the above-mentioned "Into the Light" cd - with orchestra. I'm so grateful to hear the music now, whenever I want, on my new CD.

Yes, he's retraining his right hand to do what his left hand could do before. But he's expanded his options too. And while he is not the only one to play his music anymore - at least at this time - not at one sitting, anyway... I wonder what else he might be able to do because his disability asks him to stretch there. I wonder - as he flies - what he will see and imagine to get him beyond, into all levels possible.

And I wonder what I can learn from his journey, as I listen to the first CD recording ever made of "Into the Light." I wonder where I'm trying to do everything myself - could just expand further if I allowed for more than just my individual effort - or a different, easier individual effort than how I am doing it now.

And as I listen to "Into the Light" - that one miracle composition that drew me in, from the beginning... As I listen to it, I can imagine what it might feel like, to fly always into the light.

UPDATE: CBS News just did a feature story on Billy (this a.m., May 27, 2011). Read the article and watch the video here: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2011/05/27/earlyshow/main20066772.shtml

Fun Game!

2010-08-08T09:21:00.002-07:00

Well, I did it - I finally went to my first Indians' baseball game of the season last night. It was such a blast. How in the heck did I delay going? They're always so much fun. The team is owned by the Brett brothers (including George of KC fame), and they have, for years, done a stellar job at the park with mixing fun, in-between-inning events with the beauty of the game itself.

Last night was no different. There's always something to watch. For instance, there is the new edition of Recycle Man. He runs through the stands towards the end of the game, collecting things to recycle. Here's his profile. Notice under school: "OF COURSE!" And favorite activities: Cleaning Up and Indians Baseball. Funny. Oh, and here's the photo I took of him - chased him down, in fact, to get it:

He couldn't make his normal heroic pose, because his hands were full of recyclable items - but maybe that's the most heroic pose of them all, since recycling is what makes him a hero in the first place.

And then, beyond Recycle Man and the like, the Indians won! 8-1. That was the great thing.

It was a fairly quiet game through the fourth inning - no scoring, almost no hits - and then Yakima, the visiting team, scored a run. A sense of panic rippled through the crowd. But for me, it was a good sign. "Now they'll have a fire lit under them," I told my friend Greg (who was there at the game with me). And by the first batter at their next at-bat, the Indians went on a scoring streak. Really, all they needed was something to fight for.

You knew things were going the way of the Tribe when the third base runner scored the third run for no apparent reason. I asked a guy sitting to my left - twice, because the first time I didn't understand his answer - if he saw what happened. His explanation was that the third base man had overthrown the pitcher. Oh. (I should have known he didn't know what he was talking about, since his reaction to my questions was to move to the other side of his wife, apparently so I no longer would be able to "interrogate" him!)

So this is what really happened. Apparently Yakima's pitcher asked for a time out, and the ump didn't allow it. So then the pitcher wanted a new baseball, and threw the one he had towards the Indians' dugout. Unfortunately for Yakima, that was still a live ball. So then the pitcher ran to chase it down (which dang ball is it, anyway??) and the runner ran on home while the pitcher was otherwise occupied.

Loved how they wrote it up in the newspaper today -

The capper for Spokane during a charmed night came during the fifth inning, when the Indians scored their third run and most people at Avista Stadium had no idea why....

Two walks, one passed ball, one wild pitch and one error later, Spokane led 2-1 and Santiago Chirino stood at third base.
That’s when confusion took over.

Wilson called for a timeout, but home-plate umpire John Silva didn’t grant it. Wilson then wanted a new baseball and threw the other one toward the Indians’ dugout. What he – and many fans – didn’t realize was that the ball was live.

“I looked away to say something to (Chirino),” said Indians manager Tim Hulett, who serves as the club’s third-base coach, “and the next thing I hear was somebody yelling, ‘Go get it!’ ”
Chirino scored as Wilson chased down the ball...

I thought of my friend Charlie last night (as I ran into other people I know) - who sat in the same seats for years, at these Indians game. He passed away a few short weeks ago. It was the only moment of sadness last night, thinking of how I couldn't wander down to Charlie's seat to say hello.

Getting the tickets in the first place had been a bit challenging. Turns out, Saturday night was fireworks night - one of those popular nights where the games sell out. When I came for tickets on Wednesday, the only ones left were waaaay out in left or right field. Sigh. After asking a variety of questions to make sure there were no other choices, I said, "Well, I did write the book." The guy helping me said, "You did?" I nodded. "You know." I said. "'Until the End of the Ninth.' The novel on the 1946 team." He smiled and nodded - he knew the book. "So...." I said, glancing at his ticket-generating computer, "are there any good tickets available now?" He dutifully looked at the computer again, and shook his head no. Well, I knew he was telling the truth the first time - but it didn't hurt to ask! In the end, I got tickets a couple days later in relatively decent seats because they freed up (from a group that ended up not using the entirety of their blocked-out seats). By then, of course, the guys in the ticket office knew I was the author (since I'd talked about it before). One thing led to another and, by the time I had left with my tickets, I had also left behind a signed copy of the book. Hey, if ever a group of people should have a free copy of my baseball novel, it's the guys running the Spokane Indians' ticket office.

After the game, there were fireworks. Spectacular! so much fun. They did a countdown on the scoreboard, down to "0", and then lights went out, and all was black for an instant before the fireworks began. As the show progressed, we noticed the Indians' team sitting on the grass in the dark, right outside their dugout. There they were, the team that had won the night, that deserved a moment of sparkle... As they sat, almost glowing in their stark white uniforms, intently yet casually watching the sky, I thought - they love the game. Just like the 1946 guys, just like any of the men that have played before them. They are playing for the love of the game, and as a team, and in this moment, they can rest. Everyone deserves a moment of rest.

I tried to take a picture of them, sitting there. But it didn't turn out. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe there was something there that just couldn't be captured on film.

Four Women Justices

2010-08-07T07:56:00.000-07:00

It's official. Elena Kagan will take the oath today to be the 112th United States Supreme Court Justice - and the fourth woman ever. For the first time in this country's history, there will be three women justices sitting on the highest court at the same time.

It makes me think of all the women lawyers who have come before me - of the ones who very clearly were the first to mark an unmarked path for the rest of us to follow.

Elena Kagan is not one of the first - she is more like one of me (though 10 years ahead of me in legal seniority). But Sandra Day O'Connor? She is one of the originals. She graduated third from Stanford Law School in 1952, behind William Rehnquist (who graduated first), but she only got one job offer from private law firms upon graduation - and it was an offer as a legal secretary. She went into public service at that point, stayed there and, from there, became the first female Supreme Court justice in 1981.

That is where this all started - not in 1981, but decades earlier, on the backs of women who refused to let their spirits be broken by a profession unwilling to welcome them. We have those women to thank for our own law degrees and for our lighter paths. For no matter how challenging it has been to be a female lawyer in this still-male world (and trust me - it has been), our path has been easier because of women like Sandra Day O'Connor who long ago made the choice to enter the profession in the first place.

And now there are three more - all to serve at the same time. Justice O'Connor must be proud.

I met Justice O'Connor once, in Arizona, back in 1991. I was clerking for a 10th Circuit court judge at the time, and went to the circuit's annual conference that summer in Sedona, Arizona (the state where she lived most of her life). It was hot. Beautiful, but hot! She ended up having a special meeting with us, the handful of women who had attended the conference. Before that moment, I'd had my frustrations with her as a justice. I'd studied her opinions of course, and had shook my head at many of them. In that meeting, though, I fell in love with her. She was steady and clear. She spoke from the heart, with heart. I was so proud of what she'd done, how she had come from where she did, how she had faced down the naysayers back in 1952 and beyond. Funny that I was proud, like I somehow had helped her when I wasn't even born, but that was how I felt. And then she said how proud she was of us - of the still-handful of women there at the meeting with her. And she urged us on, to do well and do right by what might come upon our own paths. As did the two women judges who served on the 10th circuit at the time - Judge Seymour and Judge Tacha, philosophically completely different judges, but always encouraging the few women, young lawyers, who were clerking for the 10th circuit that year (and other years, I'm sure). They were like Justice O'Connor - the women who made this path possible for women lawyers like me. In life moments, that day and that year - and those women - stand out in my memory as remarkable.

And then in the years following, when I would read Justice O'Connor's opinions, I didn't always agree with them, but I could hear her voice in them. I understood them, in context. In her context. And I knew she meant to do right by them, the best she knew how. It's all any of us can do.

The protest against Elena Kagan - that she had never served as a judge before - was just bizarre in light of the fact that there is nothing unusual about that resume. Forty of our 112 justices had never been judges before they were appointed to the Supreme Court - including Rehnquist and Earl Warren, who both came to that bench as chief justice. But I guess opponents had to have something to say.

And now, it is over. She has been confirmed. She will be sworn in. The ceremony is at 2 p.m. ET. I intend to watch it. I hope Justice O'Connor is there. Wouldn't that be something? If she were there too.

Become.Com

2010-08-05T06:39:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago, I got an email from a young woman named Emma Trotter, who wanted to feature my blog on www.become.com (which is a comparative shopping website - one of the top such websites on the Internet). Turns out, Emma wrote her thesis on Sherman Alexie's work, and had the impression that my work had some similarities - or at least was about the same region of the country. For anyone who doesn't know, Sherman Alexie is a writer from just north of here - and I think he went to high school in Spokane - who has wonderful, funny, poignant work, including "Smoke Signals," "The Business of Fancydancing," and "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight in Heaven" (my favorite title). He is Native American, which flavors his writing. We both have a "magical realism" style (where the extraordinary can be seen in the ordinary, is perhaps a good way to describe it). Having someone use my name and his in the same sentence was quite a compliment. And then she wanted to write about my blog too.

Here we are, two weeks later, and voila! Emma has been true to her word. On the "pocketbook change" section of become.com, there is now a feature blog entry on Accidental Rabbit Trails (or ART, for short). (The article is currently linked on the front page too, probably just for the day though - www.become.com). I love the color she used to frame the photo. (Oh, and some of you may recognize the photo as Taryn Hecker-Thompson's work, from www.pricelessnotpricey.com - she did my photo shoot in January - this is one of the photos she took.)

Become.com is ranked one of the top ten deal-tracking shopping sites on the web. (In fact, in this survey in PC Magazine, it was ranked number one out of the ten because of its AIR technology - "Affinity Index Rating." As the article says, "In layman's terms, the [AIR] service is capable of crawling through buying guides, expert reviews, articles, product specs, forums, merchants, and other useful information available on the Web" and apparently gets you to a wide variety of products based on price and quality without requiring you to be the informed one.) "Pocket Change" is a segment of become.com and is intended to give more specific advice to shoppers about what's out there, blog-wise and otherwise. I'm excited to have ART featured on the site!

And the process of getting there was interesting. Emma had me answer a series of questions, about what my background is, what my writing exercises are, what advice I'd give to aspiring writers... It was interesting to put my thoughts down on paper about those topics, and then to see how Emma was able to condense that all into a concise review. So, a great process all around. Check out the feature and keep the become.com link among your favorites.

Here's the photo part of Emma's article - nice colors, right?

where to live, where to live...

2010-08-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago, I saw a local news headline and sighed. "I've got to move," I thought to myself.

This happens every six months or so. As much as I love Spokane, and this region, something flies up and hits me in the face and just says, "you don't fit here."

The most recent "thing" was a headline out of Sandpoint - a North Idaho town 90 miles northeast from Spokane - that the Republicans there were protesting the county's fair theme, "Fiesta at the Fair," because they are English-only folk and felt the fair should reflect that. I swear I am not making this up. The Republicans were going to decorate their booth with the word "celebration" - which they said meant the same thing as "fiesta" - and they had written the governor of Arizona asking for Arizona license plates that they could use to help decorate the booth, to show solidarity with Arizona and its recent passage of draconian laws (aimed at illegal immigrants but likely to snag a lot of U.S. citizens instead).

So I saw this headline and story, and I sighed, and I marveled at these Republicans' total miscomprehension of the Spanish language ("fiesta" means "celebration"?) and I thought, I gotta move.

See, here's the issue. It isn't that there aren't people everywhere who are intolerant. Of course there are. But here, intolerance is - well, celebrated. When an official component of society in this region can feel as though its preference for intolerance and spitefulness would be widely supported - that a "protest" at the word "fiesta" would be not only accepted but applauded - then I have to face facts: I am not meant for the Inland Northwest.

Luckily the "protest" has been largely rejected. News articles have poked fun (I loved the headline, "what's English for 'burrito'?), and informal surveys have shown that the bulk of the public agrees with me, and not the Republicans up north. So my need to move immediately has passed.

But still - every six months or so, something like this happens, and I think, I gotta move.

And then other things happen and I think, I love Spokane. Just two days ago, I was at a busy intersection on the south side of Spokane (called South Hill) and I saw an older man crossing the street who didn't look well. He was stumbling and looked disoriented - like he had Alzheimer's, actually. I made my turn and then pulled over into a grocery store parking lot and called Crime Check, our local non-911 police dispatch number. I described what I had seen. The man on the phone said they would send someone right away to check into the situation. And I knew they would. I knew that, if that older man was in any danger, he would be out of that danger within a couple minutes.

There is something heartwarming about living in a place where people can be made safe so quickly. Which is, I guess, why I'm so likely to get upset when an official component of society is bent on making people feel rejected and targeted. Do these people not understand that this is a place of hospitality and compassion?

... maybe it is ... and maybe it isn't. I can't seem to figure it out.

Remembering Readers

2010-08-01T08:36:00.000-07:00

A baseball author friend of mine, Barbara Gregorich (author of "She's on First," among other books), pointed out this article in Publisher's Weekly entitled "Tour of Duty." It's written by a children's author who makes book tours to rural community schools, and is about how she almost always finds one child on each tour who lights up as a result of her visit - how giving this one glimpse of a larger world to a child who knows only what is just in front of him or her may make all the difference in that child's life. It's a touching article. It made me think of stories of mine, when I've been on the road with the baseball novel, and of the people who have come up to talk to me about the book. I think of the man who said he read it when he was sick in the hospital - it gave him hope. Or I think of the family whose daughter had a plan for when she would read it - after she had attended a challenge camp - so she would be ready. And then there were the four people - two couples - who just beamed at meeting me in person after having passed the book between them a couple months before. These memories, and others, inspire me to remember the power of the story itself - and the power of how one book, one visit, can have an impact beyond what anyone imagines. The ripple effect.

I will remember this the next time I unload a box of books, and my poster, and the easel for the poster, and all the rest of my accoutrements that I lug around when doing book signings. Makes it all a little more worth it, to imagine an outcome outside of the moment right before me.

I Think I'm Back

2010-07-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I've had nothing to write for a couple weeks. Nothing! Amazing. Beth, at a loss for words?? But just this a.m., I've been writing up a storm. Not on this blog - in fact, I need to go finish a legal brief, and so am just writing this quick note here - but I do think my brain is stirring with things to write about, finally - again. Perhaps I'll go silent before tomorrow morning.... but I'm thinking no. I'm thinking I have things to say about, say, that opinion out of Arizona (a no-brainer, I thought - am glad to see those "activist" judges get away with applying decades-old Supreme Court rulings)... or about the guy whose dog bit my cat (yes, I believe we now have met, the schmuck).... and on and on. But the brief comes first. Will type on this blog again tomorrow.

Home Again

2010-07-16T07:40:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back home from two weeks in Chicago, visiting my sis and her husband and their now-two boys. It's good to be home, and the cats clearly were happy to see me, but it's sad to be away from them. Kind of breaks the heart. Such a sweet family my sister has now. My older nephew's still the Whirling Dervish he's always been, and the new baby seems to sleep best when his brother's rushing around his bassinet. Two peas in a pod, they seem.

There was family galore - a neverending stream of grandparents, aunts, one uncle and the neighbors... But still it did not seem to phase the brothers.

The baby is beautiful - and big! at 9 pounds, 14 ounces - and loves to be held, to be in the midst of the action. He's a little sleepy still, and hates to be wet - and apparently is most wide awake between midnight and 3 a.m., when he stares up at his dad holding him....

My main job for the two weeks was to entertain my older nephew. What a blast. Okay, so - you don't have to believe me but - he is reading and writing. At 2 1/2 years old. His favorite words to spell are violin, elephant and rainbow. I swear I am not making this up. And he spells words randomly, wherever he happens to be. It's like being at a spelling bee all day long - "BROTHER. B-R-O-T-H-E-R, BROTHER." (And yes, I got him to spell BETH - just a little self-promotion there....)

And in case you're wondering if he's just a memory machine ... he wrote, on his own, "nock" on the door of the little cardboard playhouse my mom gave him, which imitated her saying "knock, knock" when she knocked on the door to "look" for him there. He just wrote it on his own, sounding it out, without asking anyone for help. Amazing.

A week ago, on July 5, my mom and I decided to take him to a town parade a few miles away from my sister's house. He darted while we waited for the parade to begin, and then stood mesmerized as the parade began. Well, mesmerized with occasional darts. In fact, he tried to join the parade a couple of times - like when the navy band, all in white, marched by playing their brass instruments... "TUBA - T-U-B-A, TUBA!" he said as they went. And then he tried to join the boy scouts too, as they walked by. He must have figured they'd let him join. When we brought him home, wondering if the day had been too overwhelming, he rushed in and re-enacted the parade for his parents. "One, two, one, two," he said, showing what the marchers looked like, so excited. And when he said something about a "frog," I thought - oh, yeah, there was a stuffed frog on one of the remote-controlled cars, wasn't there?

A few days ago, we went for a walk to the nearby park. (He loves it - "Walk?" he'll ask...) We went to that park a few times... His newest habit is picking up rocks and washing them in his mouth. ("Yuck, yuck," I tried to emphasize, as I took them from his mouth. "Speak for yourself, lady," is the look I got back.)

So then yesterday, right before I left, we were playing with a computer game that has I-can-read style books on it, and suddenly he read the page in front of us: "Pete can not sleep," he said in sync with where I moved the cursor. Then he looked up at me, waiting for me to flip to the next screen for the next page of the book. "Uh huh," I said to him, and then looked at my sister, wide-eyed. (Did he just read that??) He kept going with the next pages, reading virtually all of that book, missing a few "the"s and "and"s, but otherwise reading the words accurately. Wow. When we tried to get it on camera later, though, he was mute. So we have no proof. Ah well. Tomorrow's another day.

When it was time for me to go to the airport - oh, just so sad. I'm going to miss them all, so much. My sis and I got a little teary - I had sworn I wouldn't cry until after I left! - and my sweet nephew looked up and smiled and said hopefully (as I reached for the door), "Walk?" Oh no, honey. I have to go home now...

Noes and Toes

2010-07-04T05:46:00.000-07:00

Well, I am in Chicago. My new nephew was supposed to be born tomorrow. Everything was all planned out. Many family members had plane reservations for the planned-out bris (my sister's husband is Jewish, so both boys are Jewish as well), which was to be held on July 12.

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans...

So this beautiful new nephew was born this past Thursday instead.

Such a beautiful boy! And big. Very big. Even at two weeks early, he was 9 pounds 14 ounces and 22 inches long. And we thought his brother was big.

My whole job, the next two weeks, is to entertain that older brother - my 2 1/2 year old nephew whom I adore (as anyone who has read this blog this past year knows).

When I was studying the photos of the New Dude (as my brother-in-law calls him), I kept looking for brotherly resemblances. Where can I see the older one in the younger? (the older one, who I held as a baby during the first weeks of his life, when helping the family right after he was born...)

The nose! I thought. They have the same nose. (Which is a paternal trait.) Ooh, and the toes, I thought. The big toes on both boys separate just a little from the other toes (does that show independence??) (Also a paternal trait.)

When I told my brother-in-law what I saw, he said that sounded like the title of my next blog entry. Why so it did - so it did. "Nose and Toes" says it all.

Elena Kagan

2010-06-30T08:41:00.001-07:00

I haven't paid much attention to the confirmation hearings on Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan - she seems eminently qualified and confirmable - but I did see this in the Christian Science Monitor, about her great sense of humor - funny! http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Politics/2010/0630/Elena-Kagan-shows-off-sense-of-humor-in-confirmation-hearings

A Beautiful Day

2010-06-30T06:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, I was busy working, working, working - and decided to go mail a letter in a nearby mailbox across the parking lot at my building, rather than mail it at the end of the day on my drive home. As I was walking back to my building, my mind racing on various and sundry, I looked up and felt the sun and realized what a beautiful day it was - and how lucky I am, to be able to come to work every day in such beautiful surroundings. So instead of grumping about the work I still had to do, or even rushing back into the building to complete that work, I sat down on the grass and took a photo of what I saw - the building where I work - the Undercliff Mansion - almost straight out of a painting, with its perfect sky set against the deep green of the trees - though a photo can't do justice to how nice it felt, in the sun and all.

Anniversary

2010-06-24T08:27:00.000-07:00

Today is the 64th anniversary of the bus crash in 1946 that killed nine Spokane Indians' team baseball players. In a week when my mother lost her husband Jim (and my family lost a member of our family), I have been thinking a lot about living and dying and the process in between. Hearts break at the losses. Hearts broke 64 years ago today. I know family members who still survive the baseball players who died. They still remember this date, still mourn. They are the ones that I remember today, as I remember everything else.

photo credit: Casch52, found here

Back

2010-06-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

... in every sense of the word.

I've made it back to Spokane - am back at boot camp - and am having to baby my actual back, which apparently was worse for the lack of wear this past week, while I was in El Paso. Too much sitting? Likely. It's like there is a kink in it, or something. Jogging makes it worse. Stretching makes it feel a little better. Probably doing nothing is the real answer.... at least for a few days. It doesn't feel permanent - just a spasm or kink. But it's enough to slow me down.

This is the last of this session of boot camp. Will have to decide whether I'm joining the next session - after my trip to Chicago, starting a week from tomorrow, when I get to meet my new nephew - still to be born - very exciting. My job is to keep my 2 1/2-year-old nephew company while his new baby brother is born, then brand new.

And then, in the midst of the sorrow of the weekend, and the tedious trip back home (think "back" and "back" - all connected), I had some joy yesterday - we all did - watching the soccer game between U.S.A. and Algeria - where a goal in the 91st minute put us from out of the World Cup to the head of our division. I've decided to use that last-minute effort as a symbol. That one moment of success, of glory, made all the 90 preceding minutes of agony worth it.

Jim

2010-06-21T09:27:00.000-07:00

This isn't good news - hasn't been good news since Wednesday morning, when my mom called me at about 5:15 a.m. I didn't even flinch when I heard the phone, or saw the number. I don't know why, but I didn't expect it when she said it, in spite of the early hour. But there it was. Jim had died.

Jim is - was - my mother's husband. They'd been married 10 years, together 18. (Why rush it? they had said about the time between meeting and marrying. It's not like we're going to have kids or anything...) He'd been sick for a year. Yes, my trips to El Paso last fall were not just to hang out with family - they were to help my mom, and Jim, get through some rough, post-stroke times. And now he's died.

We gathered this weekend in El Paso, from all around the country - Jim's two adult children, my mom's brother, my siblings (except the youngest, who is two weeks from having her second baby and couldn't travel). We've had the funeral. We've cried, laughed, remembered his ornery ways. Jim had them, you see. "Turn left here" would invariably guarantee a right turn, if Jim were driving. It drove me nuts, over the years. Until it didn't, anymore. At some point, Jim was just Jim. He was that guy that told bad jokes, that answered "a million dollars" when the waitress asked if she could get him anything else, that wandered off at family gatherings just to give himself a little space...

And that loved my mom. It was that last one that made the rest of anything else all right. They were a great team, my mom and Jim. They listened to each other, and made each other laugh. They drove each other crazy sometimes, to be sure. But then they'd regroup and start all over again. They were a match. I think that, sometimes, when I think of the couples I know who are the happiest. They're a "match." That was Mom and Jim. A match.

So here's something. Someone at a doctor's office noticed, last fall, that Jim wasn't making jokes when he checked in. (He was too sick by then to be his old self like that.) She was devastated that he wasn't joking with her. That's when I realized - I missed his jokes. I missed them! How in the heck could I miss them... But I did.

Because that was something about Jim - how he got people to enjoy the moment, when he was around. He had a really good heart, that Jim.

The service Saturday was powerful. We all spoke except my mom. My niece wrote from France, where she is spending the summer. The whole service was filled with great stories that made us laugh and cry all at the same time. There was heartbreak, too. There were thoughts about the moments gained, the moments forever lost. "You can shed tears that he is gone, or you can smile because he has lived..."

What can I say about the Essence of Jim? Nothing seems to do full justice. He was a really good person, who loved my mom and made her laugh. In the end, that's what mattered most. Thanks, Jim. We will miss you.

Powerful Video

2010-06-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

A friend sent me this link to a video highlight of soldiers coming home and surprising their loved ones. Imagine this scene taking place every day across the country... a silver lining in a challenging time.

Growing Mushrooms

2010-06-12T07:53:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm growing 'shrooms. And not in hiding - I'm completely out in the open. As are my neighbors. They too are growing 'shrooms by the dozens - in the front yard, in the back...

That is how much rain we've been having. Mushrooms are sprouting up everywhere. Moist, moist, moist. And well, yes, they aren't that kind of mushroom. But they're everywhere.

It's almost as if the summer feels slighted from last year's record snowfall. (Looked it up. We had over 97 inches of snow in the 2008-2009 winter.)

This past winter was mild - the summer's rain has come with a vengeance, however.

People think Spokane normally has a lot of rain. But they're just getting it confused with the other "S" city in Washington. Seattle is soggy. Spokane is dry.

Well, usually.

The past three weeks have been the fifth wettest in Spokane since they started recording rainfall levels. The additional rain has taken one of our driest years to over normal. Back on May 27, we had .98 inches of rain, which broke the one-day record of .84 inches, set back in 1898. It sure seemed like a lot more rain than that.

So mushrooms are sprouting. It only makes sense. Here is an example of what currently sits in my front yard:

Poor Annie

2010-06-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

This has been Cat Central Station around here - injury after injury....

First, Alex got into some fights with Venom, the cat next door, and needed to wear a cone on his head while the stitches on his ear healed.

Now it's Annie's turn.

Not that she got into a fight or anything. So not like Annie. She is truly the sweetest cat.

No, in her case some big brown lab, off leash, came chasing after her. My neighbor saw it, tried to stop it, and watched Annie climb up a telephone pole to relative safety. The dog still nipped her in the back as she climbed. But at least she avoided greater harm.

Luckily my neighbor was able to tell me what had happened. Otherwise, I might not have gone looking for her. As it was, she wanted to stay hidden. I did see the dog (who was looking all excited and trying to say, "did you see my chew toy climb into these bushes?"), and should have followed him when his owner whistled for him - but I was too distracted, still looking for Annie in the midst of everything.

Took about half an hour, but finally she came out of the bushes into the alley - long enough for me to see her - then trotted back into the bushes to her privacy. Ultimately I enticed her out with some food, grabbed her, saw she was all scraped up on her side (down to the skin - fur ripped off) and took her to the emergency pet clinic. They told me she was lucky. Apparently often they see cats who have been grabbed in the chest by dogs "playing" with them. Their ribs are broken, and they have to be put down. They complimented Annie's muscle tone for a cat of 14 years, and said she was very very lucky....

The poor baby wasn't feeling lucky, I bet. Her side did not require stitches, but her bottom sure did. A couple stitches, anyway - not wounding any, um, strategic areas (again, she's lucky), but making her very very sore - and requiring me to put on that cone, to keep her from bothering the stitches.

She's off the pain meds now, and is doing fairly well. The cone slows her down, and she has no interest in the dry cat food, so I'm pampering her with canned food and tuna. She likes that. Poor baby.

Here's a photo of her, the day after the attack. As my sister in law said, it's hard to tell what is worse - the cone on the head or the bite on the butt. I asked Annie. Apparently it's all pretty miserable. But I also found a cat age calculation chart. Annie is 72 years old in "people" years. And she still made it up that telephone pole, to keep herself out of worse harm's way. I hope I'm that limber at 72!

Loving Baseball

2010-06-03T08:15:00.001-07:00

People ask me a lot if I love baseball - pronounce it, often, that I must love baseball - say that anyone who wrote a book on baseball would have to love it. My answer is usually awkward. Well yes, I say, I do enjoy the sport... which sounds like I'm making something up...

Football? Unhesitatingly yes, I love football. Baseball? Well, yes but...

I don't actually love a particular baseball team, or even the game itself - not in a consistent, methodical way. It's the moments in baseball that I love. The heart of a moment. Not of every single moment, perhaps, but the moments themselves. The ones we remember. Can remember.

I missed a moment last night - a moment that is breaking the hearts of Detroit Tigers fans - a team that I loved a couple years ago when they were the underdog favorites to win the World Series (but didn't).

The moment last night - there was a game, and a pitcher - Armando Galarraga - a near-perfect game, in fact - when suddenly the 27th out was called safe at first and a moment in time crashed upon the rocks. So now there's a lot of talk about how to fix the tragedy - every sportswriter in the country has an opinion - it just may be that instant replay in baseball will change for the better because of last night - the umpire who made the wrong call has been in tears, so bad he feels... there may be a way to fix it...

But then last night, there was another moment as well (thanks to Mike Lupica for spelling it out here). It was the moment that the pitcher turned to the ump who made the wrong call and - smiled at him. It was an awkward smile, followed by a pulling of the cap and a return to the mound, to finish a game that ought to have been finished already. But that smile - that grace, to react with a smile and not a shout - was a moment in time that makes baseball something else - reminds me that baseball is a game of moments, of opportunities to play above and beyond just the mechanics of the game.

All sports, I think, carry the opportunity for such moments. But baseball? Somehow, baseball has the opportunity to be full of them. And so yes, I love baseball - not every game, not a particular team... but there are moments in baseball that sparkle with magic. And I love to watch the game just in case one of those moments appears.

Back to Boot Camp

2010-06-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

Well, I've had the hiatus. The break. The mornings off, for about four months now. So it was time to get back to that good ole boot camp. Today was the first morning. We are back outside, at Manito Park. It was fresh and actually exhilarating. Dare I say it.. it was fun! Of course, it was just the first morning, and there were enough newbies participating that we took it sort of easy. But my gosh, it was great.

Boot camp is technically called Adventure Fitness Boot Camp, so as not to confuse it with military boot camp. And I'm sure it isn't as strenuous as the military. Certainly it isn't as long - we are there for just an hour - but it is a lot, a lot of exercise from 6 to 7 a.m. in the morning.

In the winter the boot camp's indoors, and it's dark and foreboding when we arrive, since we live so far north (not that we're Alaska or anything, but our winter days are pretty short). In the summer, though, we are out at Manito Park - at the tennis courts there. Summer's taken charge, and the sun is already up and about for at least an hour before our designated arrival time.

This morning - the first day for the upcoming month's session - it was brisk and damp, but not raining. And now here's the surprising part - I'm already in pretty good shape. Soccer these past few weeks has helped, I'm sure, as well as has the previous boot camp sessions from the past year... But I actually had fun this a.m., and may just go ahead and join up for four days instead of three.

Speaking of good shape... Danna Snow, our instructor, competed in weight lifting in Cleveland recently and set a new record for her weight category for deadlift - 347 pounds. Wow. She'll be competing internationally in the Czech Republic in coming months (with a stop in Puerto Rico in August for the North American championships), and is looking for sponsorship. This is her website: www.dannasnow.com. Good luck, Danna!

Whew!

2010-05-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

Now, that was a busy week.

I worked on writing while negotiating deals while keeping tabs on the law while preparing for the big KNIFVES (movie networking group) luncheon in Spokane... all culminating into a busy Thursday, capped by the luncheon.

I slept well last night.

The luncheon was just excellent. Amy Dee and Lindsey Johnson from Washington Filmworks - the group that manages the film incentives program from the state of Washington - came over from Seattle and gave an overview of the film incentives program here. We had lots of people, including those people representing lawmakers. We talked a little about reciprocity between the states, as a number of KNIFVES members are from Idaho and certainly eastern Washington and north Idaho would benefit from a sharing program...

What stood out most, besides the presentation, was how many projects are in the works in the area. Person after person announced their goings-on, and the energy in the room built as everyone talked. Very exciting!

Oh, and brochures. KNIFVES finally has brochures! I am getting some printed and going over to the North Pole Mystery's festival event - the Riverstone FEST - tomorrow afternoon, in Couer d'Alene, and will be armed with a stack of brochures. NPM is the group putting together a reality show in CDA. Brad Kline and Luke Jiles - or "the boys," as I call them - have been working diligently for a couple months now.... and bringing in others to help coordinate and organize... Should be fun tomorrow.

And now, back to the law...

Thinking Hiatus

2010-05-20T07:31:00.000-07:00

It's been a creative time this past week, and this coming week - after several weeks of the law. As I've done before (and I think I've already started), I am taking a short break from blogging while creativity takes over. Should be back in a week or so....

My Friend Charlie

2010-05-13T08:07:00.001-07:00

My friend Charlie Schlesinger passed away at 12:04 a.m. early Sunday morning. He'd been through it all - most recently a second liver transplant that had been working as the rest of his body shut down. Charlie was young - much too young to be so sick - only 61 - 62 in a few weeks - not yet eligible for senior citizen Medicare, even. But die he did, without a tenth life in him.

Everyone knew Charlie. I cannot remember, in my 15 now 16 years of living in Spokane, ever talking about Charlie without hearing, "Oh, yes - I know Charlie." Whether people knew him because of his work as an investigator, or as a DJ for his jazz radio show on Friday nights ("Jazz With Chazz"), or as a member and security guard of the local Jewish temple, or as an avid Spokane Indians baseball fan, or just because of Charlie himself - who seemed to know everyone from somewhere - everyone knew him. He was sort of like the president that way - except with Charlie, everyone knew him personally. When he got so sick the first time, and was on death's door before, the radio still played the jazz program, with a different DJ, and a slightly different name: "Jazz for Chazz," this time. We all wanted Charlie to live.

Charlie - wow - with his raspy voice, and his big heart, and his commitment to friends (which was anyone who crossed his path) - Charlie was a living, breathing example of how to be. Charlie is a big reason of how I stayed in Spokane, really. He asked, back in 1996, when I was getting ready to move to his hometown of NYC to be a public defender, why I was leaving. Well, I don't have a job here, I said - pointed out - something he already knew. We'll keep you here, he said, and set about finding me a job. I took a different one that he found, but his belief in the outcome gave me the impetus to imagine the possibilities. That was Charlie.

And he helped me when I found out the story about the 1946 baseball guys, the Spokane Indians team that died in a bus crash midway through the season, the subject of my novel - he loved the Indians team, had season tickets forever, knew everyone at the stadium (what a shocker) - he vouched for me with the front office of the team - I told him of the connection I found between the 1946 team and the Brooklyn Dodgers, knowing he would love the stories of what I'd learned -

I can't really do justice to describing who Charlie was. I can just try, with an example or two. And my stories are just a sliver of the stories out there, of Charlie and his big heart, raspy voice.

I saw him just a few short weeks ago - ran into him, outside his house. (Just a couple days earlier, I had seen Sue, his - how can she be called girlfriend? so connected to him - life partner, is a better way to describe all they were to each other... so he'd known I was still around....) It was a good day for him, and I was so glad to see him up and about. "Let's go to lunch sometime," I said, seeing his good energy. Well, he said, today's a good day, but who knows what tomorrow will bring. I knew lunch wouldn't happen. But I was glad to see him, just the same, and glad to make the plan.

I went to graveside services on Monday, and there they were - the eclectic gathering that of course would be there to say goodbye. One of the speakers coined it by saying that Charlie knew everyone - whether it was the clerk at the airport in China, or... and then asked us all to turn to each other and find out how we each knew him. When I explained it was through his investigator work, and the people I was talking to wanted to know how that happened, I couldn't really say or remember - because I just had always known him, is the thing. And they all nodded, like they knew what I meant.

There were some funny stories, some heartfelt ones, and then it was time for a final goodbye. The rabbi explained the Jewish tradition, of us each taking a shovel and, using the back side, lifting (not scooping) a little bit of dirt to throw on his coffin, three times - then setting the shovel back down for the next person - not handing it over, not rushing it, taking our time instead. Each of these steps, the rabbi said, is a way to show our reluctance to say goodbye.

So I stood in line, and waited my turn, and then took the shovel and got some dirt, three different times, to put on the coffin. I took my time, like the rabbi had asked. And then, too quickly, my turn was done. So long old friend, I thought. We will all really miss you.

Jersey Justice

2010-05-06T07:04:00.000-07:00

We all pretty much know by now that Arizona has passed a lot with a lot of problems. Putting politics aside, it has a lot, a lot of problems. A standard of "reasonable suspicion" for asking Americans for documents? Even with our shrinking Fourth Amendment, that screams a misunderstanding of the law. That isn't the only problem (there's also the state/federal province issue, the citizens' right to sue police, etc.), but it was the first that jumped out at me. (Though the citizens' right to sue - wow - so, someone calls in to the police to report some "suspicious looking people" at the local fast food restaurant, and then can sue the police if they don't arrive - or arrive soon enough - to investigate?)

On a practical level, if my last name was Rodriguez, and I lived in Arizona, I'd be moving. I don't care how legal I am, or how many generations my family had lived in the United States, or if a red carpet had spilled out for us way back when, welcoming us to this country. By August, when the new law goes into effect, I would either move or expect my life - and the lives of my children - to become scary and unpredictable, any time I left the house to go to the grocery store, or to visit a friend, or to go watch a sports event.

Seriously, could you imagine being a Hispanic American with that kind of law passing? To be afraid to speak that beautiful Spanish language because it would give police "reasonable suspicion" that you are illegal? I love Spanish - I studied it in high school and college, I read parts of Don Quijote in the original Spanish - but if I had darker coloring, I would be afraid to use Spanish in Arizona for fear of people suspecting me of a crime, stopping me, arresting me... And how awful is that? That my blonde hair and blue eyes would allow me to speak Spanish when my dark-haired neighbor can't.

And while I have sympathy for people here illegally - well, they are here illegally. If we have laws, we should enforce them. If the laws are not working, we should change them. But the laws should not be traps for Americans. That's the point that people seem to be missing, and where we should have consensus. Which is perhaps the most depressing part of this law passed in Arizona. What is it - 75% of Arizonans support this law??

The local newspaper "gets" it. The Arizona Republic printed a front-page editorial listing all the local politicians who failed Arizona on the way to passing this law. It starts out: "We need leaders. The federal government is abdicating its duty on the border. Arizona politicians are pandering to public fear. The result is a state law that intimidates Latinos while doing nothing to curb illegal immigration." Here's the full text.

The law's follies are yet to develop. Joe Scarborough (on "Morning Joe") the other day pointed out the likely scenario of someone dealing with an emergency - like a man going to get medicine for his wife in the middle of the night and forgetting his identification, and getting arrested, and being unable to help his wife, who ends up in the hospital or worse - and how that will be the legacy of this law, in the end.

So it was very cool what the Phoenix Suns - or, should I say, "Los Suns" - did yesterday.

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, and in quiet response to the impending law, and in recognition of their Hispanic players (which apparently make up about 15 percent of the NBA), Phoenix wore their "Los Suns" jerseys at their playoff game last night, against the San Antonio Spurs. And then they won the game. (That seems like jersey justice, doesn't it? Hence my heading.)

Apparently they've played in these jerseys twice before, and won both times. Jerseys, 3 - people who hate Spanish, 0. Not that winning was necessary. But it's nice.

Here are two articles on it - before: "Immigration Takes Center Court at Suns-Spurs Playoffs," and after: "'Los Suns' Join Protest, Then Stop the Spurs."

It's A Breeze

2010-05-04T07:34:00.001-07:00

This is funny:

Breaking News: Large Air Spill at Wind Farm. No Threats Reported. Some Claim to Enjoy the Breeze. (Picture.)

Great Theater

2010-04-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

And no, I'm not talking about any recent political developments.

In fact, I am talking about the play at Interplayers last night. I went with my friend Jennifer to see "Eleesymonia" (or something like that), about a mother and a daughter and another daughter (and, therefore, granddaughter) and their eccentricities and illusions. I suppose is the best way to describe it. We were left with much food for thought. It was a play thick with layers, and welcoming to the analysis. A modern play, it is left with its kinks and quirks, but it was definitely worth the trip.

It plays through this weekend - no Sunday performance. Check out times and dates at www.interplayers.com.

My Office

2010-04-28T08:41:00.001-07:00

In Spokane, my office is in the Undercliff Mansion, which is part of a cluster of old mansions known as the Marycliff Center. We are called the Undercliff because the mansion where we have offices is under a cliff. I have had offices here since 1998. I started in a small one with lowered ceilings - just perfect for a new lawyer starting out with her own practice. For a desk, I got a 1930s wooden kitchen table with the idea that I was there to work with my clients, as a team, rather than sit behind an imposing desk, dictating answers. By 1999, I was in a much larger room, but still with the kitchen table. I added an old voting box from Spokane's earlier days - a tall wooden box with a hole in the top to put the ballots and a place for a padlock (which I didn't keep locked). I kept it by the office door and told people that they were supposed to vote for their favorite lawyer as they left (which was funny, because I was the only lawyer - not just in that office, but the entire building).

Then two years ago, the building owner approached me and asked if I'd be interested in moving to the first floor - to what had been the billiard room (back when the mansion was a home), and the nuns' prayer room (when it had been the Catholic girls' school). It was a room with brick walls and three sides of cathedral style windows. I said yes, furnished it eclectically...

and got a new desk. This time, since what I wanted was to write, the purpose of the desk was to welcome me to it. I found it at a local antique store, and fell in love. It is of 1895 vintage, with scrolly legs (if that's a word) - a dark beautiful wood with a certain delicacy to it. I had a local carpentry shop put small rollers on the bottom of the legs - eight in all, as there are two legs per corner. And I got a round working table that I put to one side that would work as the working area for the law - as a place for clients and me to roll up our sleeves and get to work.

The other day, Larry Wooley from Beautiful Photo Studio - a family-run photo shop in our building - took a series of photos of the office. Below are some of the photos. Aren't they beautiful? Larry did such a wonderfully careful job - so much better than any photo I've taken. Their website is www.yourbeautifulphoto.com.

And then this one is perhaps my favorite - the close up of the dragon.

The King

2010-04-25T07:50:00.000-07:00

So I was walking through the kitchen, and glanced in to the yellow room (a room for writing, specially designed), and this is who I saw lying across the writing table:

It appeared that Alex had chosen to own the yellow room yesterday morning... Which is funny, because it's more of a girl's room - it's where I wrote a play that emphasized females, and it's where I plan to write a screenplay that will emphasize a female. It's yellow and purple, with touches of green and white, and is intended to welcome in the light. But it's definitely for the girls. (It is not where I wrote the baseball novel, for instance.)

And yet there he was - Alex - the boy, all boy - solidly claiming the room as his own, laying across exactly the spot where I put my laptop when I write there. The King. Like the Winnie-the-Pooh poem: "I am the king of the earth and the king of the sky..." (I am the king of this room, whether you say so or not...)

Two days ago, I did learn something from my neighbor - the one who owns Venom, Alex's nemesis. Apparently every couple of days, "someone" is leaving a pool of cat piss at her back door. At first she thought it was one of her own cats. We have surmised, however, that it is one of mine. And when I say "one of mine," I don't mean Annie.

Yes, Annie. If Alex is king, then Annie must be queen, right? Except that isn't quite right. It isn't enough, frankly. Instead, Annie is - well, Annie is the angel. Or so I believe. And if I'm posting a photo of Alex acting as king, the least I can do is post a photo of Annie being Annie - the angel in us all.

When Economists Fight

2010-04-16T08:05:00.001-07:00

What kind of punches do they throw?

So, this is funny. Apparently Paul Krugman, NYT columnist and economist, wrote a column last year that had a phrase in it about nationalizing banks and then this week Andrew Ross Sorkin, another NYT columnist, called him to task for it. Except it turns out that Krugman didn't exactly say what Sorkin said he said. And then people all around the blogosphere apparently debated the debate. Here's an article summarizing the whole thing, with all the links intact.

In the end, the NYT public editor came out and said Sorkin was wrong for oversimplifying:

I think the right thing to do is to simply acknowledge that, in trying to quickly summarize Krugman's nuanced position, Sorkin over-simplified and got it wrong.

What's funny is that the article in the above link summarized all of the goings-on with a headline about the Krugman/Sorkin feud and a synopsis as:

So, remember back on Monday, when it looked like Andrew Ross Sorkin and Paul Krugman were set to go all Aaron Burr/Alex Hamilton on each other, only with blogs? That was a fascinating time in our lives.

Funny. And you know, for as much as I enjoy reading Krugman columns, and would be naturally interested in what was happening in connection with his name... the real reason I clicked on the link to the summary article was because I wondered how Paul Krugman had gotten into an argument with Aaron Sorkin, of Broadway and Hollywood fame (you know the guy - wrote "West Wing," among other masterpieces). And as I clicked on the link, I thought to myself, you know, Aaron Sorkin's a smart guy - but isn't he wading into waters a little too deep for his knowledge base?

Imagine my surprise. There's more than one Sorkin in NYC?

John Paul II

2010-04-11T14:54:00.001-07:00

Expanding the possibility that a pope's problems could be beyond the current pope...

One thought I've been having, as Pope Benedict XVI is getting a thrashing in the press, is that he is somewhat inheriting things that actually belonged to John Paul II - in terms of what hasn't been or wasn't done on behalf of children in the Catholic Church. (It's sort of how, in 2008, John McCain inherited the rancor of unhappy Republicans that G.W. Bush had generated - only this inheritance would be way, way behind the scenes.)

I do know that Benedict, back when he was Ratzinger and in charge of the CDF (called the "Modern Inquisition" office), seemed concerned about Marcial Maciel, a money generator from Mexico and head of his own order called the Legion of Christ. I do know that Ratzinger, once he became Benedict, sent Maciel into a life of prayer and penitence whilst John Paul II had had that same Maciel on a fast-track to canonization. And I did know a fair amount about the allegations that Maciel had groomed young seminarians - recruited from isolated and often poor Mexican towns at tender ages of 10 or 12 - and ultimately abused them sexually. (Newsman Jason Berry, among others, have headed the exposure of stories about Maciel.)

And these past couple weeks, in light of this new wave of concern about the behavior of the Catholic church, I've wondered whether John Paul would continue to escape visible taint.

Not that he was a bad man - just that he made really really bad decisions, imo, when it came to the issue of child abuse. It is my belief, and it was his good treatment of Maciel - in light of such horrific allegations, by many of Maciel's own priests - that in large part brought me to believe that.

Maciel denied any wrongdoing. The Legionaries defended him to the hilt. Money seemed to line coffers.

And now, as it turns out, Maciel also fathered three boys and a girl by two different women. Two of his sons recently accused him of sexually abusing them. (The third boy, youngest of the three, was kept from Maciel, on the insistence of his two older brothers.) As I understand it, the findings of a Vatican investigation will come out by the end of this month. A college owned by the Legionaries went belly up over spring break last week. No money. The National Catholic Reporter apparently has been writing long articles about the group and their money.

What I found particularly helpful for a nutshell version of the money issues here, however, was written by Andrew Sullivan, and his description of all the cash being distributed, right and left, over the years, by the Legionaries to people like Cardinal Sodano, who's the one who talked on Easter day about how we need to ignore all that "petty gossip" out there about those men in the Vatican not doing right by the people who follow their lead....

Here is Sullivan's synopsis. Totally worth the read: http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2010/04/the-vaticans-watergate-follow-the-money.html