Take that, ACLU!

Yeah, take this.

Oh, I'm just so glad the American Civil Liberties Union is out there doing the hard stuff, defending me from high school kids reciting the Lord's Prayer at their graduation. Isn't that what the founders had in mind when they put their lives on the line for free speech?

Oh, I forgot. The First Amendment to the Constitution is really there to protect public libraries from having to put porn filters on their PCs.

DaVinci cowed?

Not I.

Who said I have to have read the book/paid good money and time in order to say I dislike The DaVinci Code? I couldn't get through more than ten pages of "Left Behind" either before I ran screaming from the room. (Okay, silently screaming.) I dropped out of a book club so I wouldn't have to read or hear about Opus Dei and the plot to keep women from exercising our goddess-given rights. The ubiquitous articles, reviews, blogposts, conversations wafting across restaurant aisles have left me no desire to fuel the bank accounts of Dan, Ron, and Tom any further. DVC is now an indicator of what I call Walgreen's Syndrome, in which something once trendy is absorbed so completely into the popular mindset that it ends up on a drugstore shelf next to Zen water fountains, Tae Bo videos and power bracelets.

I'm not boycotting, mind you--I'm "elsecotting". I've found something else to read, something else to view, something else to occupy my time. Now I've found something else to talk about, too. See ya.

Pondering Mother's Day

In 1977, during the reign of polyester separates and that ghastly stuff called Disco, and while Jimmy Carter was president, I became a mother. That year, and again in 1985, two incredible kids from two different continents were placed in my arms.

One of them now awaits us in another Land, his sojourn here accomplished. The other is just now moving into her life as an adult, making her own decisions. Some of those decisions cause me concern and even consternation; others make me so profoundly proud I almost can't breathe. Isn't that the way it always is with one's grown children? All the what-was-I-thinking mental smackdowns, in which I rehearse every time I failed them as a mother, mingle with the myriad happy memories in which I know I got it right. Somehow, through all this, two productive human beings emerged. My son left his indelible mark on hundreds who knew him, who were inspired by his courage in facing a life of pain and difficulty with indefatigable faith and zest for life. My daughter will find her way as well. Most importantly, the One who loves her beyond what any of us could, will find her.

This Mother's Day I miss terribly the laughter of the man who always prefaced his call from back East with an apology for not having remembered to send a card in time. I hold him in my memory, the infant already astute enough at three weeks to insist on being carried so he could face the world; the boy delightedly chasing bats through a Brazilian cave, or pulling down the top of a two-piece kitchen cupboard because he couldn't wait for me to get the peanut butter out for him; the demanding, churlish teenager chomping at the parental bit holding him back from the adventures he longed for, then patiently enduring the traumas of multiple surgeries and dialysis after being hit by a train attempting one of those very adventures. I remember driving away from the 18 year-old who wanted to blaze his own trail rather than accompany us on our move to California; and the young man who became more than a son--who became one of my closest friends as well.

I recall, too, the years of longing for the little girl who would complete our family. Jeremy wanted a sister. Patrick and I both wanted a daughter. The doll-sized baby with the starlike black eyes lassoed our hearts the instant we looked into them. How could we not have gone through all the obstacles facing us to make her part of us? How there have been the last 20 years without her? Perhaps someday she'll read this and realize how truly loved she is and always has been.

In the meantime, the cards will be tucked away in a memento folder. The flowers will droop and go the way of all things. The gifts and dinner out will become part of the fabric of happy recollections. But Happy Mother's Day to me, for I am blessed beyond measure.

What would Jesus boycott?

It's fairly quiet here in Lettuceland, on this day devoted to shutting down the country's economy to show the flexed muscle of undocumented workers. The usual recess yells waft over from the charter school across the street. Underneath my lofty perch, a yellow Stanley Steemer van is pumping vacuum power to clean the apartment across the parking lot. The carpet cleaners are obviously Hispanic and obviously not taking the day off. Traffic seems normal; the difference is that the sirens which screech intermittently every other day are conspiculously absent. I've not noticed a swell of students from the high school two blocks away jubilantly cutting class and yelling "Mex-i-co! Mex-i-co!" as they did several weeks ago, but the day is still young. Haven't been down yet to see if the Mexican restaurant next door opened for the day. If it's closed, I might leave a note saying I'll never eat there again. (Then again, I haven't eaten there in five years because they have incredibly lousy service and I had Montezuma's Revenge for dessert last time.)

In our city, the demonstrations will take place in the almost-exclusively Hispanic east side. Talk about serenading the choir! That'll really get our attention! Since I'm miles from there, I won't be hearing a thing. Another case of the people agreeing with you already being there.

I am pondering what the Christian attitude and response to all this should be. So far I've not fully developed a personal theology on the balance between loving one's neighbor as oneself, and rendering unto Caeser the things that are Caeser's. The same Bible which admonishes the Israelites to be kind to the aliens among them, also called him who would enter the sheepfold another way aside from the gate a thief and robber. We must have law and secure borders. We also must be humane and kind. Mercy and truth must meet together; righteousness and justice must kiss each other.

Somehow.

What Americans won't do

According to the top-ranked man in the United States, there are jobs Americans just won't deign to. Apparently, such things as landscaping, construction, agriculture, hotel services, office administration, housecleaning, plumbing, child care, retail sales, and the like are suddenly considered beneath our dignity. We hear that only the 12-20 million or so persons in this country illegally, who fill up the bulk of said job vacancies, are willing to do the Hard Stuff. That established, so we are told, we must move to give privileged status to undocumented workers in appreciation of their relieving us of such servile, mundane tasks.

To think or do otherwise is to be ungrateful, uncompassionate, racist--and who wants that stigma?

I live in Salinas, California. Probably no other city in the USA has a higher concentration of residents lacking documentation. Local services strain under the load of caring for all these needy non-citizens. I will not say that many of them don't work hard. Of course they do. I understand, too, that there are those desperately seeking something better for themselves and their children than the unbearably corrupt, hopelessly dirty pits of despair they left behind in Mexico and other places.

However, there are many jobs here for which I, a native-born, intelligent, willing American would be disqualified for one reason only: I am not fluent in Spanish. Even fast food joints favor Spanish speakers. Often, employers prefer people whose ability to communicate in the supposed language of the country in which they reside is sketchy at best; while otherwise willing applicants, as well or better qualified in other areas, are passed over because they don't speak Spanish. This is required not only get employment, but keep it. A couple of summers ago, I took an intensive Spanish introduction class just for my own enrichment. I was amazed at how many participants were in the program, until I was informed by one glum fellow student that he, like most of them, were teachers there under coercion from the school district. How many times is this story repeated in California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and other states?

What Americans won't do, seemingly, is the difficult task of maintaining our borders, enforcing our laws, requiring the learning of our language, and holding our elected officials to their promises of defending our Constitution.

Politicians are obviously less concerned with the likes of the average American than the delicious Twofer offered by the current move to make mass illegals into mass quasi-citizens with a swoop of the Presidential hand: the prospect of a permanent servant underclass is too strong to pass up for the greedy on the right side of the aisle, the succulent plum of millions of easily manipulated new voters too enticing for the Left.

Meanwhile, Americans will do whatever needs done. We just need to stop being told that because we don't speak a different language, or want more than $3.75 an hour, we can't do them.

Not buying it

The White House wants a sweeping "we're not calling it amnesty" program to settle the invas-uh, immigration problem. The usual roundup of shrill leftists Democrats wants the same. Strange bedfellows, these.

Could it be they each have their own agenda? Could it be they're all being less than honest about their true motives? Nah.

Republicans could never be selfish and avaricious enough to want all the dirt cheap labor they can get to keep their money mills churning, now could they? After all, we need a new underclass in this country to do "all the hard jobs Americans won't do" (read: "...all the stuff we don't want to pay Americans a decent wage to do, and by the way it sure is nice to not worry about that Social Security thing cutting into one's portfolio".)

And Democrats could never be supremely power-hungry enough to wax all Emma Lazarus merely to have one more easily manipulated populace at their beck and call. Oh me oh my, no. They're all in it because they care so much. It's all about virtue, compassion, motherpie and applehood. Getting their butts whooped in national elections has nothing whatsoever to do with it. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

And I, my friends, am taking flight from The Eyrie to take up residence at the royal palace in Monte Carlo--once my Powerball ship comes in, I win the Pulitzer Prize for blogging, and I wake up weighing 125 lbs.

I heart breathing

Okay, today at 1:15 PDT I have an appointment with my MD to begin finding out why I can no longer walk one flight of stairs up to The Eyrie, or even a straight block, without getting winded and gasping for breath. This, on top of the interesting eye thingies, worries the doctor--and no one wants their doctor worried. I asked him what could be causing all this. His answer? "Lots of things, and none of them are good." Gulp.

Not that I'm overcome with fear. If Heaven is before me, and I know it is one day, hey--at least I never ever have to wear pantyhose again! Or have somebody rush their car through the crosswalk while I'm in it! Or be a captive audience to a loud, boring cell phone conversation at the table next to ours in a restaurant! Or read horrible things in the news which vex my soul!

It isn't the thought of leaving which bugs me. It's all the stuff leading up to the leaving.

Sure puts a new perspective on a lot of things. Or should I say, brings into focus the one I should have had all along.

HE IS RISEN (shortest blog entry ever)

No other reason for Christianity to exist.

Video Gem of the month

In a world way past semblance of control, most of the time all I want is a nice, comfy, dry cave to in which to hide (one with a hot spot would be nice.) Occasionally I take a break from the general mayhem without and retreat into mindless levity. This is one such time.

Join me, if you will, and partake of my April pick for Video Gem of the Month--and don't forget, it's simarils this time around.

Hobbit Folk Rock Watch it now on StupidVideos!

Eye of the storm

Still don't know what's causing the lightning flashes and strange floaters. Doc couldn't see any obvious retinal tears or displacement, which is encouraging. Sighs of relief, however, are premature, since that means we still don't know just what it is. Theories dangle before me, but nothing that explains everything. So now I'm in monitoring status, meaning I have to keep track of the symptoms and report back to the optometrist as soon as something changes. If it doesn't aright itself soon, I will be referred to a specialist.

Thanks for the prayers.

Eye spy

Back to my world.

Nothing gets your attention quite like a worried-sounding doctor saying, "Get in here tomorrow." Yikes!

A day of lightning-like flashes along the periphery of my right eye, along with unfamiliar floaters, prompted that reaction from my optometrist. When I gave my recent history--the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad flu that held me prisoner for two weeks last month--he was doubly concerned that violent coughing may have actually caused damage to my retina. His examination did not produce anything to explain those phenomena--which is both good news, because it means no nasty retinal tears were obvious; and not so good, because we still don't know why the flashes and floaters are occurring. I'm at the self-monitoring stage now, wherein I have to keep a log for some days of how the symptoms are progressing/subsiding/persisting.

(And wow! There goes that new amoeba-shaped floater again!)

Someone who finally learned that the many vital uses for eyes does not include two nights a week of American Idol just does not need this.

Where is Abdul Rahman?

As of writing, no one who knows is telling.

Worst case, my dire predictions came to pass.

Best case, some kind country offered asylum. Not the US, though. Nuh-uh. Wouldn't be prudent to tick off those "allies", now would it?

Abdul Rahman, martyr-to-be

The goings-on in my little life seem quite shallow right now.

The story of the Afghani Christian being tried for the "unspeakable crime" of converting from Islam is taking a new turn. It appears that political pressure from the West, combined with bad publicity, is having an effect on the outcome of this story.

But don't get all warm and fuzzy just yet.

I predict that the Afghani court will find Rahman unfit to stand trial on mental grounds, then release him. That clears away the fallout of responsibility from the tyrant captors and political appeasers, and looks to be a solution everyone can live with. Everyone, that is, except Abdul Rahman.

Go back and read Michelle Malkin's excellent updated commentary. Better yet, read the full report from the Chicago Tribune to get a perspective on this case. Rahman will not be released to safety. He will most likely find a crazed mob awaiting him, ready to stone and beat him to death before ripping his remains apart.

After that, look for government spokesmen of Afghanistan to throw up their hands and say, "Well, we tried." Thus they get to have their cake and eat it too, with chocolate buttercream frosting--the foreign aid can continue to flow and they need fear no recurring effects from their "allies". The mullahs can appease their infuriated followers with a soothing, "Allah had justice; the infidel has met his fate." The White House and State Department will protest that they did their best, how much more were they expected to intervene in the affairs of a sovereign state? The rest of the planet will tut-tut for a few days until the Next Big Story hits.

After that, watch for a general bloodbath to ensue, as emboldened and ever-more-desperate Islamicists across the world rise up to follow suit. These will receive lesser attention from the media, as journalists shrug them off with, "Well, what did they expect? Didn't they see what happened in Afghanistan?"

Fighting for his life--and ours

Afghani citizen Abdul Rahman is on trial for his life right now. He is being held in a cell where he is neither allowed any visitors, nor has an attorney to represent his case. Note the prison official saying that they will “cut him into little pieces”. The judge in the so-called trial already has stated that Rahman deserves death--check out the "evidence"--and seems more than happy to oblige.

Is Abdul Rahman a child molester? Did he attack and burn mosques? Did he gun down old ladies in the open air market, or plant bombs at the Kabul airport? Perhaps he passed military secrets to the CIA, or consorted with maniacal activists to bring down the recently-installed government.

None of these. Abdul Rahman's seemingly unforgivable crime is that he has embraced Christianity and rejected Islam. His family has disowned and repudiated him. He is considered a mental and moral degenerate, a dangerous criminal traitor of the worst order--a "microbe", as the prosecutor in the case puts it--something to be exterminated and eradicated from the face of the planet.

One would surmise that President Bush, an avowed Christian, would jump to Abdul Rahman's defense. After all, Americans are paying dearly--both in taxes and irreplaceable lives--for two wars which were supposed to bring about a safer world and democracy in the Middle East. However, the at the White House press conference this morning, not one word was forthcoming from either the president or any member of the media about this disturbing situation.

The silence from the White House and State Department is not only deafening, it is damning. If Abdul Rahman is executed for his faith, we will have helped bring about the beginning of a worldwide bloodbath against Christians and other "infidels". Of course, Christians are being martyred all over the world every day, so what makes this a watershed case? Simply because the United States has invested so much to bring about a "democracy" which would deprive this man and others like him of the most basic of human rights--life and conscience. And guess what? Islamicists aren't even trying to hide their intentions anymore.


Why won't Afghanistan just deport Abdul Rahman? Why must Islam demand his death?

Read through this and then see if you have any questions remaining.

I just called both the White House and the State Department to express my outrage about the Rahman case, and am following up with hard copy letters and email to State and the Embassy of Afghanistan. I urge you to do the same.


White House comment line: 202-456-1111


U.S. Department of State
2201 C Street NW
Washington, DC 20520
202-647-4000

Ambassador Said T. Jawad
Embassy of Afghanistan
2341 Wyoming Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20008
info@embassyofafghanistan.org

To me, to me

Last night I dreamed I discovered a grandson I didn't know I had. His name was Christian. I saw him, cuddled him, was allowed by his other grandmother, who was raising him, to take him home for a while. I was telling him stories about his father, who died three years ago last Thursday.

Of course it was all a dream. There is no Christian, no living legacy of my son; but every day I see Jeremy and remember how he lived with such passion and vision. And every day I'm closer to being where he is, although it's obvious it's taking me a lot longer to get ready.

So happy birthday to me. This year, I'm not spending it as I did in 2003, on my way to bury my child. There are mundane tasks to accomplish, places to go, things to do. Not much will be birthday-ish, but that's fine with me.

I miss my son.

Circus Foximus

During the decline of the American Empire, in the year 2006, we have no need for gladiators, hungry lions, maidens tied to poles. We have Simon Cowell and Co., along with thousands of pathetic beings whose gag-awful singing will, sadly, live long after them. Such a spectacle it is.

I confess with all shamefacedness to watching the first three seasons of American Idol. After that, we pulled the plug on cable and even broadcast TV. Now I wonder--what in the name of all righteousness was I thinking?! Was my life really that devoid of meaning? Did I truly give over my irreplacable two nights a week to care about such vapidity? Did I honestly call fourteen times to vote for Fantasia?

My head is in my hands.

AI was my novacaine, existence was my toothache. Over a year later, the pain has returned--but so has clarity, intellectual pursuit, spiritual pondering, creativity.

I gave up my seat in the Colosseum and gained back the one Pearl of Great Price--my life.

Beyond the Wastes of Mundaneness

What will shock me out of complacency, and spending too much of my precious life posting on Internet message boards?

I recently rented and then bought the documentary Beyond the Gates of Splendor (2005, directed and written by Jim Hanon), the story of five missionary families in Ecuador back in the 50's. All five husbands and fathers were slaughtered by the very tribe they attempted to contact and help. Such a terribly sad story, yet replete with promise and hope through God's providential hand.

I just deleted most of my message boards. Time to get serious again.

Hack attack

So I innocently pulled out the old ATM card at the hairdresser's recently, swiped it through the machine, and awaited my receipt. It didn't go through. Annoyed, I dug out cash and paid. When the same thing happened at the supermarket, though, I panicked. What the--?

Had to wait till after the weekend to get to the bank and find out that my card had been replaced by the institution itself since the last time I used it. Seems there was an enormous credit card theft at an unnamed large Web site, so the bank cancelled my card--though when were they going to get around to contacting me about it is another matter.

Only big place I normally do business is Amazon. Who knows? The bank won't tell me who it was. Then, going through my bookmarks and checking sites, I noticed that the Walmart music download site is (gag) not secured. Ack! I've bought music there--how could I be so stupid as to not notice that, I who am normally so careful?

Caveat surfer.

The restau-Rants

Wait staff: Stop reaching across me to get stuff. If I'm through with my soup, I'll leave the bowl at the edge of the table. That's the reason I place it as far from your ever-so-efficient hands as humanly possible--I like to finish my soup later, to top off my meal. And no, it isn't okay to come take away the extra napkins I asked for before I've had a chance to use them, either. Your need to look busy does not trump the fact that I'm paying for this. And while I'm on the subject: Being available does not necessarily equal being intrusive. If I need something, I'll get your attention. Being interrupted every three and a half minutes by an overperky "Is everything all right?" during lunch is just annoying.

Fellow customers: Turn off the danged cell phones. You are not so important to the everyday running of society that your call can't wait 15 minutes. If it is, then have your meal delivered to your desk at the Daily Planet. At the very least, take the call outside, because I don't want to hear it. Oh, and since I know you care so very much, I thought I'd take this opportunity to thank you for allowing your kids to scream in my ear, run up and down the aisles, and wipe Jello on the table legs.

Bon appetit.

I guess people really read this

Let's peruse the Shannon's mailbox today, shall we?

It's blue! Official-looking! Marked "time-sensitive documents"! Yep, it's the "You, Too, Could be Creative Around the House If You'd Only Get Off the Internet Club" hitting me up for a subscription. Only had to partially rip one corner of the envelope to confirm my suspicions. I'm getting better at this.

Wow! Dimwit Valley Bank wants to send me my very own credit card--at 29% interest! They probably taped me wearing my "Just Fell Off the Turnip Truck" T-shirt at the spring hog-swillin'.

My catalog friends never forget me. They figure I'll always appreciate the opportunity to purchase a $400 cashmere workout hoodie, or a toilet paper holder that plays "Don't Fence Me In".

The local utilities company thanks me for choosing them. Never mind that they have an absolute monopoly. Like what was I gonna do, go out and cut peat?

A smiling tooth doing the cha-cha with a toothbrush reminds me it's time for a dental exam. Somehow it has escaped the notice of the dentist's office that a disembodied tooth just might not be the best mascot for oral health.

My daughter gets a magazine with the headline: "What Not to Tell Your Parents"--yeah, like 19 year-olds tend to tell their folks a lot anyway?

Open bag, insert recycling.