For my Valentine

Once upon a time,not so very long ago, in 1981 or1982, Steve and I lived in Portland while I was going to graduate school. We were living in NE Portland near the Lloyd Center in a little apartment with these wonderful neighbors living in the same building. There was Escobar, who was from Peru and made us lovely pastries. His wife, Jan. Then there was a young woman who lived downstairs, who's name I can't recall right now, but I do remember her cat's name, Loretta. That's kinda nutty, I know. Anyway, in the house right next door there lived a woman, who was almost for sure a crackhead. Which is okay as far as that goes. But she had a big Malamute Husky named Chance who she kept tied up on a short leash in the front yard all the time and I do mean all the time. He was kind of an unpredictable dog. Like one minute he might bark like crazy at us and run to the end of his leash and another time he might just walk over to the edge of the driveway and be sort of friendly. We would talk to him then, but otherwise we would usually give him a pretty wide berth.

In the meantime, there were bikers and kinda scary looking people coming and going from this house with Chance standing watch at all times. Well, one day I was standing in our living room and I hear this growling sound. I stepped out onto our little porch to check out what might be happening. I looked over and here is Chance with his jaws clamped on to a little child's head, shaking the child like a rag doll. Well I let out a scream and Steve came running. He took one look and raced over to the scene, while I continued to scream like a crazy woman. First he yelled at the dog and then quickly jumped behind the dog and yanked at his collar until Chance released the child. He held the dog above the child and either me or someone else was able to get to the little boy and get him out of there. His little head was bleeding and the little guy was panicked and crying. Chance did not do anything. He just let Steve lead him away. Steve said he thought it was like he knew he had done something very wrong.

We later learned that the child, who was about 4-5 years old, had to have multiple stitches in his little scalp. There is no question that Chance would have killed that baby if Steve had not been there to pull him away. We later appeared in court, in a case brought by the boy's parents,  and Steve testified to that fact. The judge was all ready to dismiss the case, but was shown a picture of the injuries to the little guy. He took one look and ordered the dog destroyed. I have always held that Chance should have been given to some rancher out somewhere and the woman who kept him so cruelly should have been destroyed. That would have been way more just. But, no one consulted with me on the matter.

Steve's actions that day represent who he is in his deepest self. I suppose you could say that anyone would do the same given the same circumstances. I honestly don't know if I could have. Maybe I would have beaten the dog on the head with a shovel or something. I really don't know. But there was no time to think, just time to act. And Steve did. Yesterday he told me he was riding his bike and passed a dog and it suddenly all came rushing back, the fear and panic. That happens every now and then. That guy who saved that child, who is probably around 38 years old today, that guy, my husband, that is who he was then and who he is today. I am ever grateful.

This, That and the Other Thing

Here I am in Barcelona a few years ago

Not sure why I chose that photo for today's blog.  But there you go.

I have been thinking lately about my strange relationship with cyberspace via Facebook and this blog mostly.  For instance, just very recently I had an entire process of decision making occur that included 4 other human beings that took place via Facebook and email and nary one word was spoken in actual in person speaking fashion.  The whole thing happened over a period of several days as well.  Ideas were shared, other people consulted, etc. Very interesting to me.  It's dangerous territory for someone such as myself, who is basically an introvert.  For instance, my last blog about my childhood friends, the Pearson's, I am not too sure I would share that story verbally, face to face with just anyone.  I actually have told only a very few people that story face to face. It was also somewhat of a departure from my usual blog fare, kind of going from "hey, what's going on in The World to what's going on in my world or my head or heart.  One risks oversharing, if you get my drift.  Especially if one is an introvert.  Hey, let's just let the whole world know a little somethin' about me they didn't know,bam!(Well, not the whole world. In view of the comments I get back it may really be like about 10 people who ever really see this thing, but hey, that's 10 people who didn't know my Pearson's story) I seem to be using the word, "hey" quite a bit today.  But I digress.  Back to my point: I feel that I am creating another persona on this blog.  Not my original intention.  I mean, not totally another persona, but sort of. Is that entirely a good thing? Is doing that feeding some insatiable force in the universe pulling us all away from actual human contact and interaction? This is my question to you, dear reader, if you are out there and inclined to reply. No pressure, you understand, but still... and "hey"!

On another topic entirely, I just finished reading the book "All the Things We Cannot See", by Anthony Doerr.  Not to brag or anything, but he lives right here in Boise.  Anyway, it is the best damn book I have read in a very long time.  I highly and unreservedly recommend it.  What a lovely and compelling story.  The title so captures the very essence of the story. And, ironically, given the above paragraph, the story involves a relationship that develops with very little face to face contact and how the most obscure things connect us.  

And also, this whole thing with Brian Williams...how much we seem to want to hang out in the corridors just waiting for the popular guy to trip and fall on his face.  Who amongst us hasn't totally exaggerated or actually lied or done some damn thing that we hope nobody hears about? (See Anne Lamott's post on Facebook today)  And as Bill Moyers points out so well, who cares whether Brian Williams lied about something he did or didn't do in Iraq.  How about calling out the liars who started the entire war on a giant pack of lies, the result of which is a much destabilized Middle East.  No, let's rattle on like a bunch of junior high nerds on CNN and other "news" channels about how Brian Williams lied.  Are we really that dumb as a nation? 

And then again, there is all the bruhaha about President Obama pointing out the obvious about Christianity.  Maybe he should be impeached for speaking the truth about something.  Jeeeeezzz...

Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, part II

I have gotten a few responses to my last blog that make me think that I need to add something.  I am really appreciative of the encouraging and reassuring responses I have gotten.  I kinda think we all have some sad or traumatic experiences of childhood that are not completely resolved and maybe never will be. Things we look back on as adults from the perspective of being adults.  I am not suffering terribly with this memory.  But my relationship with the Pearson's and the abrupt and sad way it ended is a profound and poignant aspect of who I am. That's a big part of what I learned about suffering and trauma in my work with refugees in the last ten years of my career.  Well, that's it.  Let us take comfort in one another and carry on.

Mr. and Mrs. Pearson

Recently I have been thinking about the neighborhood I grew up in and being reminded of what a little community it was.  I have many good memories of that neighborhood, Fairway Drive.  I guess it was called Fairway Drive because the neighborhood, Southwood, bordered a big golf course.  I don't know.  None of the other street names were golf related.  Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Pearson lived just about right across the street from our house.  At the time of my memories of them I must have been between about 6-9  years old, something like that.  They, of course, seemed ancient to my young self, but were likely in their 60's. (the decade I am now in, but not to put too fine a point to it..) Anyway, somehow, I got into the habit of going to their house regularly.  They taught me to play Scrabble, at least at the level I was capable of playing.  If I was 6 years old when I started, it must have been like 2 letter words and stuff like that.  Mr. Pearson was in a wheelchair.  I have no recollection of why he was in a wheelchair.  I vaguely recall the word "stroke" being part of the discussion.  Mr. Pearson was from Sweden, so spoke English with a lovely accent.  They kind of let me have the run of the house when I was there.  One of my fondest memories of being with them was that they had a bedroom that they used kind of as a library.  I used to go in there and poke around looking at books and I don't know what all.  Well, they would keep big giant Hersey bars in that room and I would sneak a piece or two or three every time I went into that room, thinking that I was really getting away with something, I suppose.  They had a back porch with one of those green plastic wavy roofs that were kind of common back then for porches.  It gave the porch a kind of other worldly color and I loved being out there.  Sometimes we would go sit on the porch and hang out just for a change of scenery I suppose.The porch was often warmer than it was outside, so it felt cozy and nice.  Where I grew up, in South San Francisco, CA, it was often damp and foggy and dreary, so that porch offered warmth and coziness for us.  Mrs. Pearson would give me coffee in tiny cups with a big dollop of evaporated milk.  I will never smell or taste evaporated milk without thinking of her and Mr. Pearson.  Her influence, along with my Great Aunt Jean's, was what got me going on coffee at a very young age.  She told me stories of making bathtub gin in San Francisco during the prohibition days. She shared memories with me that made me think she was quite the party girl in her day.  We were good friends.

Well, this is where the memory gets sad and a little murky for me.  One day I went over to their house as normal and went to knock on the back door.  I think I would usually knock on the door and then just walk in.  When I went to do that, there was obviously something leaning against the door so I couldn't get the door open.  Then I heard a kind of moan and unintelligible talking.  It sounded like Mr. Pearson.  I was immediately overtaken by a fear so deep and visceral that I froze up and just ran away.  I was so frightened that I didn't tell anyone, not my parents, not anyone.  In fact I never told anyone this part of the story until years later, because I felt such a deep sense of shame that I didn't do anything.  Well, it turned out that Mrs. Pearson had dropped dead and apparently, Mr. Pearson had tried to get to the door to get help or something and fallen out of his wheel chair against the door.  They were discovered by a neighbor sometime after my encounter at the back door.  Mrs. Pearson was dead and Mr. Pearson may have had another stroke and was taken to a nursing home.  I never knew what happened to him after that.  Or I don't remember.  I still carry some of the shame with me that I was too frightened to even say anything to anyone.  It was the childhood magical thinking perhaps that if I don't say anything or think about it, it really isn't happening.  But my young heart was broken. And has never been fully repaired from the loss of them and from my unintended involvement in their last moments as a couple.  But I am grateful to them for their kindness and care of me at that tender age.  I know they would forgive me for my fear and I hope that some day I am fully able to forgive myself.

I Cannot Keep My Mouth Shut (altho this is probably totally obvious by now)

Once more into the breech...

What with the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade and the Republicans in Congress making news with their calls for more restrictions on abortions and crazy talk about rapes (is there ever a theory or idea looney enough to be ignored by the Mitch McConnells of our world???), I am moved to hold forth the topic of abortion:

When the people who are so passionately anti abortion, or "pro life" (as they erroneously refer to themselves) start being equally passionate about what we do for children who are born and here among us, then they will have some credibility.  But not until then.  The majority of people who are anti abortion are the same ones who want to do away with food stamps, don't give a damn about properly funding education, want to undo Obamacare, are against government funding of child care services, don't give a damn about ending poverty, etc. etc. etcetera.  Some of these same folks are strangely against birth control and for the death penalty.  If you are not in support of policies that help children who are already born you have forfeited your right to call yourself "pro life". You are pro birth and that's it.  Being pro birth doesn't amount to a hill of beans if you don't back up that value with actions and beliefs that support the child once he or she is born.  I will stand up to any pro birth bullshit actions that would create a world in which safe and legal abortions aren't available to my nieces and the other young girls and women I know and love.

That's it.

President Barak Obama

This is my president. Photo taken by me at one of many citizenship ceremonies I have attended in the past several years.

I have been an unabashed fan of President Obama from the beginning.  I never thought he ought to be a miracle worker.  I never expected him to walk on water.  But in my opinion, he is the best president we have had in a very long time.  I wish he would have kicked ass more.  So I kinda like the way he is coming out of the starting gate in the aftermath of the Republican win in Congress.  I love his proposal about paying for community college.  I love his proposal 
about increasing taxes on the very wealthy.  I love his vision for this country.  It reflects my values and the values of practically everyone I know. 

I believe that much of the opposition to him and, frankly, the extreme rudeness shown to him in SOTU messages of the past and last night, is rooted in racism. Even those on the left who have complained that he hasn't done enough on this, that and the other thing ought to take a good look at whether or not some of their criticism of him may have some roots in unconscious racism: the expectation that black people need to do better than white people in similar positions. It's not that there are no valid criticisms.  Of course there are.  It's just that it is dangerous to dismiss the likelihood that some of the negativity about this man is rooted in our unaddressed history of racism. Racism is this country's cross to bear that we must find a way to address with courage and dignity.  

In short, there is no president in my lifetime that I can identify as much as this president as my president.  History will be kinder to this man than many people have been during his tenure.  I sit here and watch the State of the Union address from last night and watched the address he gave at BSU today. I can only say that his vision ought to be our vision.  When the Republicans come up with a vision that doesn't begin and end with the word "no", maybe they may  may earn the respect that I give wholeheartedly to our current president, Barack Obama.  I say, "Keep it up, President Obama. Keep going after what is right and decent and forward thinking and if the   Congress doesn't want to jump on board, then they should just get out of the way and you keep going!"   

Post Birthday Post

Clever title, no? Anyway, having just passed my 66th birthday I am left to wonder how on earth I got this far.  How have any of us gotten this far, what with the state of the world and so forth?  Today I attended a rally to "Add the Words" to the human rights laws of the state of Idaho concerning gender identity and sexual orientation.  I guess it is a step in the right direction that after 9 years of advocating for a hearing before the state legislature that this cause is finally going to be heard.  This speaks volumes for the individuals who have hung in there with this cause and for the state of the state of Idaho.  Let us hope and pray that the Idaho State Legislature comes to it's senses and passes a bill.  I wouldn't bet the farm, but one never knows. We live in hope, sometimes in spite of the evidence.

Meanwhile, the old world keeps spinning in spite of efforts by hateful groups to stop it from doing so.   We have the Boko Haram in Nigeria and elsewhere. ISIS in Syria and Iraq.  The crazies in Pakistan who murdered school children and then more recently the Charlie Hebdo murders by another bunch of psychopathic killers.  Who knew there were so many psychopathic killers out there in the world just waiting to join up with a group that would allow them to live out their dreams.  Killing just because they can. It's a scary damn mess.  I think I already may have mentioned somewhere in "Tweets..." that Steve and I had the good fortune to listen to Salman Rushdie speak to a huge audience here in Boise.  In addressing a question about Islam he said that he felt that these groups identify themselves as Muslim, so they are Muslim.  That view went contrary to the view I held up til then, that these groups were just hiding behind Islam.  But his words made me change my mind.  Who can speak better about this topic than a man who was living under hiding for years because the Ayatollah put a Fatwa on him.  Rushdie said that Muslims must stand up to these groups and examine what it is in Islam that may be supporting or encouraging these acts of violence and hate.  I have been encouraged and heartened by groups such as  Gatestone Institute:  Gatestone in Sunday's New York Times: "Beautifying Islam"   . In this ad in the NYT last Sunday a group of prominent Muslims published their thoughts about taking back Islam from the strangle hold that a bunch of psychopaths have on it in our current world.  I say "Amen" and about damn time.  Of course as we all know, Christianity has not exactly been without it's tiny faults over the many centuries either.  But at least, to my knowledge, there are no bands of raving lunatics calling themselves Christians running around killing school children.  We do have the Westboro lunatics, but still...

I would so love to see a group of millions from all over the planet have a big old protest march of the type we saw in Paris last week about all of it. About Paris. About Nigeria. About Pakistan. About Syria and Iraq.  I'd go.  Where would we meet?  Where would there be a big enough space to hold us all?  I think there are millions who would go. We could join hands and chant, "Not on my watch, you sons of bitches"  Would you go?