A Little Perspective on 9/11

Today was 9/11. I was reminded all day about how powerful my feelings of community were then. I was so American...I mean really American. I was all about going after whoever the hell did this. I was all about singing the national anthem and being a patriot. And then this idiot president ruined everything. We had a chance, a moment to be brilliant and fabulous. And because we had the most selfish man on the planet in history as our president, nothing changed for the better. Everything got worse! We needed a hero and we got a numnuts. And I was feeling kind of mad about it. And I was feeling kind of mad at Democrats for not rising above it and being better. And I was mad at ABC and its bull.

And then I went to teach my 8th grade religious ed class.

These kids were 8 when 9/11 happened. They have no idea what a Republican is or a Democrat. They don't really understand why radical Muslims would hate us because they don't even know what a Muslim is. And they ask cute questions like:

"what's a Protestant?"
"if I have so many sins I can't remember them all, can I still confess?"
"how much is too much eating to count for gluttony, because I can eat a lot?"
"what's a schism (I reply, it's a cleavage)...(lots of giggling here) oh my gosh she said cleavage...we know what a cleavage is"
"do we have to drink that communion wine, I mean, that stuff tastes horrible"
"when I genuflect do I have to kneel?"
"you know you're in trouble when your penance is a prayer you've never heard of...by the way, what do I do when that happens to me?"

I am hoping that somewhere, some Muslim religious education teacher (and some Protestant religious education teacher and some LDS religious education teacher and some Jewish religious education teacher) is saying, we believe X and someone else believes Y and someone else doesn't believe anything...but it's all good. Let's make it safer for this next generation.

my Puppies Rock

I have two labrador retrievers. They are rather large (weighing in at 70lbs and 80lbs); they are rather loud (they have a tendency to speak rather loudly about strangers walking down the street); they have rather atrocious odors at times (they never say excuse me as they wipe out the room); they are rather obnoxious (stealing most of the bed most every night and eating many expensive items); and they rock.

When I found out I was losing my baby at 5 months and waited for 5 weeks for it to happen at 6 months, they spent a lot of time just being with me. My older puppy, Hobbes, took to laying his head on my stomach as if to comfort both the dying baby and me. When I don't want to get up in the morning to jog, they act as though the only thing they have been waiting for has been the chance to run very slowly with me on leashes through the neighborhood. When I took them to my very favorite place to be, Sacandaga, they loved it more than I did and took immediately to boating and swimming and hanging out in the camp. They are always thrilled to see me when I come home and sad to see me leave for work.

Today, hubby and I were having a rather loud argument. As he says, we do this about once or twice a year. We sound off at each other about nothing really serious and then we laugh at each other for being silly. So, really no big deal. But it probably sounded scary to a puppy who doesn't speak English very well. Hobbes comes strolling into the room and sits down between hubby and myself as if to say, "can't we all just get along here?" As we carried the argument into a second room (I was dusting and insisted the argument follow me so I could multitask), Hobbes followed us around, continuing to put himself between us. This cracked us up rather quickly and the argument was over.

I love my puppies.

Gardening Feels Good

I am a scholar, which doesn't mean much other than mostly what I do is think. Try to write stuff down that seems intelligent and interesting. And then think some more. It can be rewarding, but it is not obvious at all that you have done anything.

So why do I enjoy gardening? Because at the end of the gardening impulse you have done something. There are no more weeds, or the lawn is shorter, or the roses are dead headed, or there are new plants, or just about anything.

Today hubby and I moved eight plants from our front garden (where it was just a bit too crowded) to our backyard (where there was not much going on). This was a major step for Paul, who seriously has been treating our back yard like a golf green. You were barely even allowed to walk on it 3 years ago. But today, we planted five plants in the lawn and three plants in the rock garden we have. We shoveled and dug and got our hands, feet, shirts, faces and knees dirty. We tore up sod and carried heavy plants around. We even used a wheelbarrow.

And at the end of 2 hours I could say, these plants were there and now they are here. I was tired from the digging and the moving and I will sleep well tonight. That is why, I think, God says those who work with their hands are the happiest people on earth.

I am a Work in Progress

While in Philadelphia (oh yes, I was in Philadelphia which is why I have been silent, and I was fabulous in ways I cannot even describe...well I imagine I could describe them but you would be bored to tears) I had dinner with my father's friend, Bob.

First off, Bob should not be named Bob. He is clearly a Robert or something much more debonair than Bob. But Bob he is, so, I had dinner with Bob. (my father's friends are nice enough to pretend I'm interesting...which I appreciate because it allows me to think I'm cool...and also, I love that these men all knew me when my father was 21 and I was born because they are witness to my life story in ways that many people are not...but that's an entirely different story)

Bob drives a little BMW which was fantastic. It had a GPS thing (who knows what the real word is) which I was very intrigued by. And it was very nice to drive through a city in a BMW. I mean you notice how all those other cars are pathetic in a way you don't when you are driving your ten-year old Mazda. We go to a Japanese restaurant at which I say, please, I can eat anything. And I proceed to eat everything that is put on my plate (when is somebody going to buy me Japanese dishes?!?). It was delicious. It was fantastic. It was raw fish and rice and wasabi and it was great. Ten years ago I would have said to Bob, let's go to Chili's, but now, as a grown up, I can say take me where you'd like to take me and I can eat anything. And I enjoy it. I have eaten Moroccan and Thai and Japanese and Indian and I like it all. I am proud of myself. I have progressed beyond the provincialism that marked my youth growing up in a town whose closest diverse food was Italian.

Then we wander out to the parking garage. While waiting for the BMW to come back (I am struck, of course, with scenes from Ferris Bueller's Day Off), I strike up a conversation with a woman (another piece of my progress where I am polite to other people rather than pretending they aren't there). I say, those shoes are fabulous. (she's wearing those plasticy things that I actually find ugly but I understand are very comfortable). She says, yes, I work at the hospital. I say, oh are you a nurse. She says, no, I am a physician.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

I made the classic gender mistake. I assumed she was a nurse because she was a she. I am an idiot. I, of course, immediately own up to my idiotness and she laughs and laughs. I, who teach women and politics, who didn't take my husband's last name, who am more gender conscious than most of the people I know, I made the gender mistake. I assumed based on a person's gender.

I am not so grown up. I have so far to go. I am still a work in progress.