baratin debordant

On this morning's BBC news, a spokesman (i didn't catch for whom or what) explained the anti-Blair protests of the Mugabe "supporters": If Britain and the European Council were to support the Zimbabweans and offer aid, rather than voicing opposition and sanctions, the country would be better off economically. He appeared to really believe what he saying. The blame for the country's slow starvation of its people is not the governement's (of 25 years) fault; the blame is with Tony Blair. Slowly, and painfully, someone's child in Zimbabwe is being starved, many children, in fact--young and old. And no global outcry to establish a "feeding tube" into the economy for these children has been heard. Where's the outrage?

If Terri S. were given the benefit of the doubt from those who believe she is more dead than alive (depending on how you define life), then convicts on death row could also have the benefit of the doubt that they may be as innocent as Terri. Instead, they will die at the hands of the courts--guilty or not. Each time we execute someone we risk killing an innocent person. No, we don't starve them, but we do keep them in less than pleasant surroundings with the smell of death hanging over their heads--and they are fully conscious and alive. This country is unwilling to give benefit of the doubt by law once the verdict has been announced. Blessed are those who rally at midnight, speaking out for the benefit of doubt on the side of life.

Just as a reminder:
Note to self--remember--

"For most people, writing really does not look like work. You sit there. You think about things. You consult other books. You type. It is all very internal, and very quiet, and sometimes it involves spending an hour or two reading what others have written, and occasionally it involves a walk, or a nap, and from the outside, to the untrained eye, it looks a lot like youre just hanging out, or daydreaming, or...taking a nap."-- J. Weiner on the art of writing

At Bookworm, I learned a new rule for clothing styles: If you can't climb a fence in it, don't wear it. I like this advise. And most of my clothing already fits this mold. I'd go the same route for shoes, too. Not that I have need for climbing fences on a daily basis, but the comfort of being able to do so with ease means I'll be just as comfortable sitting in the driver seat behind the wheel or climbing the library stairs to the fifth floor.

I'm giving my closet a good looking over for the non-fence climbing styles. In fact, it could be a new rule for organizing the closet. Fence climbing on this side and casket attire on the other. Only need one of the latter. More room for shelves, then, eh? And what will go on the shelves?

Books!

Yes, the addition of photos to the blog site does spif it up some. No limits to what can be described, now. There are photos you will never see here.

Here's one: last week I suffered a mean twist to my hip as i attempted to catch a falling chair--one that I was sitting on--from hitting the floor and causing the baby to scream. I was unable to sit or roll over or put on my own underwear for a week. I'm down to two Advil a day, now; at bedtime and upon rising. No photo of the sudden, violent twist or the awkward maneuvers to get on the underwear will ever be shown here.

It is NOT everyday that you see a Butt-puppet. 

where i'd rather be! 

i see a storm o'comin'. 

I passed. I've done it. The comprehensive exam--written and oral--for the M.A. Theology are behind me. One big successful PASS.

And how will I spend my time now that the index cards with notes do not rule my life? Yes, there is that major paper/thesis to write.

Several years ago, our hamster went missing from its cage in the basement for about 6 months. Nowhere to be found. Until one day, during a ping pong match, the hamster was spotted scooting across the floor. They ran to catch it. Eventually, they succeeded in cornering it and locking it back in its cage where it proceeded to die within a week or two. Today, before 9 am, I found the hamster's hideout.

In a sudden and overwhelming urge to see what was stored under the basement steps—yes, it’s as scary as it sounds, I moved 25 boxes of varying size, some empty some filled, and discovered a pile of tiny bits of Styrofoam. The bits were packed inside one of the boxes, formerly being the packaging material around a random electronic device. My first thought was MICE. And then I remembered the hamster's 6 months of freedom.

Along with the stryo-home, I found boxes containing an assortment of baby clothes, baby toys, Highlights, stereo components, PC boxes, toys from my own and my husband’s childhood, and an infant swing that I thought I’d given away. Some of these items will be useful, and some of them are out the door.

What possesses otherwise reasonable folks to keep such trash, under the basement stairs or anywhere? It’s rather like difficult psychotherapy uncovering all that garbage from the past. Covered with dust, bug webbing, and hamster habitat, the boxes—some of which had not been unpacked when we moved in 8 years ago—are a sign of anal retention, no doubt. Guilty. I’m as AR as they come, I suppose. I read recently that under the study of compulsive disorders is a subcategory called compulsive retention of junk. You can google this if you don’t believe me. It’s true. They will send you information from the prestigious university in the east if you request it.

Now all that crap is scattered around a previously clean basement. No telling what demons or bugs I’ve disturbed. The task is larger than Herculean, if that’s possible to be worse than a mythological epitome of large, horrible tasks. How much of it will I get rid of? Stay tuned.