If you use Twitter, set your location to Tehran & your time zone to GMT +3.30. Iranian security forces are hunting for bloggers using location/timezone searches. The more people at this location, the more of a logjam it creates for forces trying to shut down Iranians' access to the internet. Cut & paste & pass it on.
Sounds like a fine way to help those seeking freedom in Iran. Let's give them a bit of a smoke screen. If you Twitter, please adjust your time zone.
hat tip to Fr Erik Richtsteig at Orthometer
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
On My Mind-the mental meanderings of me
Just a random assortment of stuff that I've had on my mind for the last couple of days. None of them were important enough for their own post, but I'm sharing them anyway.
My grandmother is a genius. She's a master gardener who somehow happened to have a grand-daughter who kills plants. It's true, I have a serious brown thumb.
Every year I try and have a garden and every year my plants wither in the summer sun without producing anything edible. But not this year! This year I was smart enough to call her and ask her advice on my poor tomato plants which were growing alright but hadn't produced a single bud much less a tomato.
Know what she said? Give them each a cup of apple juice every three weeks. Know what else? She was right. My plants are sagging under the weight of all their fruit. Hooray for smart grandmas! She also gave me her recipe for a beautiful lawn: Coke and dishwashing detergent. I'm spraying it on there tomorrow and will keep you posted.
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I'm living in a pickle jar. #1's dog has reached "manhood" and is marking his territory all over the house. The only thing I've found that gets rid of the pee smell for good is straight vinegar. I shampooed the carpets with it last night and again this morning. The pee smell is gone, but now it smells like a pickle factory in here. On the plus side, my sinuses are clear.
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#3 peed on the floor in his bedroom this morning to prove a point to his brother. His room smells like pickles, too. I think the fact that he is still breathing is further proof of my cause for sainthood. I told a priest friend of ours about it when he called and he said, "oh, they got in a pissing contest did they?"
Great, a funny priest, just what I needed.
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All of my military friends are moving this week. I was raised in a Navy family and know what it is to move all the time. I miss it.
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Thought of my dad on Father's Day and how he took care of me when I had the chicken pox when I was 5. My mom was taking finals, so dad took two weeks off to take care of me. He ran out of fun things to do with a sick five-year-old by the third day. He spent the next week and a half teaching me bar tricks like playing quarters and tying a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, and how to cheat at poker. They are all valuable skills that I look forward to passing on to my own children someday soon.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I'm learning to crochet from a book. I'm teaching myself. I'm slow and plodding at it now, but I look at my hands and remember watching my grandmother's gnarled hands fly when she would crochet. I think I'll send her my first afghan.
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I'm tired of being pregnant, but keep thinking that what I really need to do is look for the blessing in the discomfort. So, I have begun reading the blogs of people who are struggling with infertility. Reading about their heartbreak makes me feel bad about whining about heartburn. It puts things into a better perspective, as an added bonus I'm picking up a whole new vocabulary relating to the reproductive system. I only thought NFP'ers knew it all.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I want Mexican food. The real kind with the homemade tortillas and the orange grease. My husband is going to Dallas this weekend, what I wouldn't give to go with him just so I could eat.
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Once upon a time, we lived in a neighborhood with lots of rabbits. My children desperately wanted a bunny for a pet and so my brilliant Computer Guy told them that if they could catch one they could keep it. He laughed every time they chased after the poor things. Then a cat left a baby bunny on our porch, frightened but unharmed. The children broke into a happy dance while I called their father and said, "Okay, they caught one, now what do I do with it?"
My grandmother is a genius. She's a master gardener who somehow happened to have a grand-daughter who kills plants. It's true, I have a serious brown thumb.
Every year I try and have a garden and every year my plants wither in the summer sun without producing anything edible. But not this year! This year I was smart enough to call her and ask her advice on my poor tomato plants which were growing alright but hadn't produced a single bud much less a tomato.
Know what she said? Give them each a cup of apple juice every three weeks. Know what else? She was right. My plants are sagging under the weight of all their fruit. Hooray for smart grandmas! She also gave me her recipe for a beautiful lawn: Coke and dishwashing detergent. I'm spraying it on there tomorrow and will keep you posted.
------------------------------------------------------------
I'm living in a pickle jar. #1's dog has reached "manhood" and is marking his territory all over the house. The only thing I've found that gets rid of the pee smell for good is straight vinegar. I shampooed the carpets with it last night and again this morning. The pee smell is gone, but now it smells like a pickle factory in here. On the plus side, my sinuses are clear.
------------------------------------------------------------
#3 peed on the floor in his bedroom this morning to prove a point to his brother. His room smells like pickles, too. I think the fact that he is still breathing is further proof of my cause for sainthood. I told a priest friend of ours about it when he called and he said, "oh, they got in a pissing contest did they?"
Great, a funny priest, just what I needed.
------------------------------------------------------------
All of my military friends are moving this week. I was raised in a Navy family and know what it is to move all the time. I miss it.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Thought of my dad on Father's Day and how he took care of me when I had the chicken pox when I was 5. My mom was taking finals, so dad took two weeks off to take care of me. He ran out of fun things to do with a sick five-year-old by the third day. He spent the next week and a half teaching me bar tricks like playing quarters and tying a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, and how to cheat at poker. They are all valuable skills that I look forward to passing on to my own children someday soon.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I'm learning to crochet from a book. I'm teaching myself. I'm slow and plodding at it now, but I look at my hands and remember watching my grandmother's gnarled hands fly when she would crochet. I think I'll send her my first afghan.
------------------------------------------------------------
I'm tired of being pregnant, but keep thinking that what I really need to do is look for the blessing in the discomfort. So, I have begun reading the blogs of people who are struggling with infertility. Reading about their heartbreak makes me feel bad about whining about heartburn. It puts things into a better perspective, as an added bonus I'm picking up a whole new vocabulary relating to the reproductive system. I only thought NFP'ers knew it all.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I want Mexican food. The real kind with the homemade tortillas and the orange grease. My husband is going to Dallas this weekend, what I wouldn't give to go with him just so I could eat.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Once upon a time, we lived in a neighborhood with lots of rabbits. My children desperately wanted a bunny for a pet and so my brilliant Computer Guy told them that if they could catch one they could keep it. He laughed every time they chased after the poor things. Then a cat left a baby bunny on our porch, frightened but unharmed. The children broke into a happy dance while I called their father and said, "Okay, they caught one, now what do I do with it?"
Friday, June 19, 2009
Curse That Little Floating Baby in the Sidebar!
Some days he offers me hope that the end is near, today he brings the harsh reality that I still have 2 months to go.
True confession time: I am sick of being pregnant. My hips hurt from waddling. I snore loudly enough to wake myself up (I'm sure this is my husband's favorite part) thanks to my painfully swollen sinuses. I can't breathe well enough to do anything physical for longer than 5 minutes which is a blow to a girl who likes to run five miles just for fun. The baby kicks so hard that I can't sleep at night unless I lay on my back and then he's up in my chest so I can't breathe. Heartburn keeps me from eating after 4:00 in the afternoon which means I cook dinners I can't eat and then am starving by the morning.
In theory, I think that it's cool that pregnancy takes 40 weeks and that the number 40 in the Bible means "in the fullness of time." Can't we figure out some way to speed this up a bit?
Not that I'm in any way prepared for a newborn in my life right now. I'd just like to take off the belly like a stinky shirt and set it aside for the day. Just one day to breathe and actually be able to smell things. A day where I can walk up the stairs without having to pause to catch my breath. An evening of being able to eat dinner with my family and not having to lie down by 8:00, which would mean I could actually tuck my children in and kiss them goodnight.
So, Curse you, little spinning baby! Can't you count any faster?
True confession time: I am sick of being pregnant. My hips hurt from waddling. I snore loudly enough to wake myself up (I'm sure this is my husband's favorite part) thanks to my painfully swollen sinuses. I can't breathe well enough to do anything physical for longer than 5 minutes which is a blow to a girl who likes to run five miles just for fun. The baby kicks so hard that I can't sleep at night unless I lay on my back and then he's up in my chest so I can't breathe. Heartburn keeps me from eating after 4:00 in the afternoon which means I cook dinners I can't eat and then am starving by the morning.
In theory, I think that it's cool that pregnancy takes 40 weeks and that the number 40 in the Bible means "in the fullness of time." Can't we figure out some way to speed this up a bit?
Not that I'm in any way prepared for a newborn in my life right now. I'd just like to take off the belly like a stinky shirt and set it aside for the day. Just one day to breathe and actually be able to smell things. A day where I can walk up the stairs without having to pause to catch my breath. An evening of being able to eat dinner with my family and not having to lie down by 8:00, which would mean I could actually tuck my children in and kiss them goodnight.
So, Curse you, little spinning baby! Can't you count any faster?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Satisfaction
There are few things in life that are more satisfying than watching your child harvest produce from the garden that the two of you have tended together.
Today, #3 picked the last of our beets for this growing season. The beets which we planted back in the early spring, back when he wasn't sure whether or not he would like beets. He helped me prepare the beds and then looked skeptically at the gnarled seeds I poured into his hand. He was unsure that anything worth eating could come from something which looked so completely unappetizing.
When the first seedlings began to poke through the ground, he learned to identify them by their bright red vein and ferociously attacked any weed which dared to grow in their beds. We spent many hours this spring watering and weeding and me listening as he told the story of his 7 year old life. As the plants soaked up the water, he soaked up the individual attention.
This is my quicksilver child, always wriggling, twisting, going. He dashes about us in a blur, until we go out to the garden. Outside in the sunlight with the earth and the plants, he slows down. His speedy body becomes still and quiet as he carefully tends his charges and tenderly moves the earthworms he uncovers to a safer place.
He looked so proud this morning as he hefted the baskets of beets and toted them into the kitchen for pickling. He was beaming at the literal fruits of his labors. "The tomatoes are next," he announced with the practiced air of an experienced gardener. "They should be ripe enough in about a week."
Slow and steady and sure of himself, already growing to the size of a man in his own mind. These are the fruits of my labors in the garden with my son. His may be tasty, but I'll bet mine are sweeter.
Today, #3 picked the last of our beets for this growing season. The beets which we planted back in the early spring, back when he wasn't sure whether or not he would like beets. He helped me prepare the beds and then looked skeptically at the gnarled seeds I poured into his hand. He was unsure that anything worth eating could come from something which looked so completely unappetizing.
When the first seedlings began to poke through the ground, he learned to identify them by their bright red vein and ferociously attacked any weed which dared to grow in their beds. We spent many hours this spring watering and weeding and me listening as he told the story of his 7 year old life. As the plants soaked up the water, he soaked up the individual attention.
This is my quicksilver child, always wriggling, twisting, going. He dashes about us in a blur, until we go out to the garden. Outside in the sunlight with the earth and the plants, he slows down. His speedy body becomes still and quiet as he carefully tends his charges and tenderly moves the earthworms he uncovers to a safer place.
He looked so proud this morning as he hefted the baskets of beets and toted them into the kitchen for pickling. He was beaming at the literal fruits of his labors. "The tomatoes are next," he announced with the practiced air of an experienced gardener. "They should be ripe enough in about a week."
Slow and steady and sure of himself, already growing to the size of a man in his own mind. These are the fruits of my labors in the garden with my son. His may be tasty, but I'll bet mine are sweeter.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
13 Years and 8 Babies Later
Sixteen years ago, in August, we went out on our first date. It was bad. We really didn't like each other. I thought he was a snob (a cute snob, but still a snob)because he never talked and he thought I was obnoxious because I never shut up. Chinese food and the movie "The Firm" and I firmly resolved to never go out with him again. Why waste my time with someone I couldn't stand? Then he kissed me good-night. In that moment I knew that this horrible person was my husband as I had a quick mental flash of us 60 years later with our grandchildren all around us. I stayed up crying all night to my room mate about the horror of that thought, a lifetime with a man who wouldn't speak. She told me to go out with him and be sure I hated him as much as I thought I did. I'm so glad I listened.
As much as I disliked him in the beginning, his parents disliked me just as much. I was the antithesis of their calm and quiet family, a little person full of noise and energy. I am actually the only girl my in-laws ever told him not to date. That worked out well, didn't it? We moved to Oklahoma and stayed together because by then we knew that a girl who talks and a guy who listens is actually a pretty good combination.
And so I married him thirteen years ago today on a gray day in June, thrilled that his warm smile and dry sense of humor were mine forever. We were going to wait at least four years for babies until we had finished college and begun our careers, and then have a sensible sized family. He wanted one or two children and I wanted four. #1 came within the year; eight children (2 saints and 6 in training) later, it has become obvious that neither of us can read a calendar or count.
My sweet Nanna said to marry him at 6:30 because it is the low point on the clock, the time when both hands are looking down. Marry him at the bottom, she said, and it would only go up from there. She was right, it has. It hasn't always been easy, but it has definitely been better every day.
I think back to that giddy girl who married the strong and silent type and had no idea the life they had in store. We laughed when his grandfather teased us about having half a dozen children knowing that we would never have that many. He was going to do forensics and I was going to be a political lobbyist. We were going to travel the world before settling in together to raise our children. I'm so glad that none of that happened that way. I wouldn't trade a single one of those sweet babies for a trip to Europe.
I'm pretty thrilled with the way it's all worked out. Him a quiet Computer Guy and me a homeschooling mom with a blog and an opinion. Through all the years and the excitement of being the Computer Guy's bride, the only thing I know with certainty is that my mother was right on our wedding day when she said that "Marriage is spending the rest of your life in a house that's too hot with a person who thinks it's too cold." That's exactly what it is. Me with a single sheet and him with a pile of blankets, all curled up together.
Thank you to my sweet Computer Guy for being the cool to my hotness. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Can Someone Buy the Girl a Map?
Oh. My. goodness. Jessica Alba is in Oklahoma. Can you believe it? Should we all squeal like little girls now? Shouldn't we all be feeling proud about the fact that such a big star deigned to come to our little...Oh wait, I don't really care.
Or I didn't.
Until Ms. Alba started defacing Oklahoma property. That's right, she's being investigated for vandalism because she's just that cool, I guess.
Miss Jessica decided that our fair city wasn't decorated enough, so she went all around town pasting up posters on public and private property. She's trying to make Okies more environmentally conscious. Specifically, she wants us to be nicer to Great White Sharks.
Apparently people in Oklahoma are abusive to our native marine creatures. We need to be educated about all the ways we can be kinder to these majestic creatures of the sea. There is, of course, a problem with her theory. Have you looked at a map recently?
There are no oceans in Oklahoma. There aren't even any oceans close to Oklahoma. It is a 9 hour drive to the nearest beach.
I'm all in favor of raising awareness about the plight of endangered animals, but shouldn't you at least try to make it a tiny bit relevant? There are people in this state who have never seen the ocean except on television. What the heck so they care about Great White Sharks? The only time they've seen one was in that movie, Jaws, and that son of a gun was scary, and it wasn't even real.
I don't think we should tell her. Just think how embarrassed she would be if we pointed out that there are no sharks here and that we don't take kindly to strangers coming into our state and acting dumb and messing our stuff up. They may think that's cool in California, but here we just think it's criminal behavior. Silly us.
I'll bet she can't wait until her movie wraps and she can go back to "civilization" where being in favor of a cause is enough to make her a good person and win her the accolades of her adoring fans, instead of being stuck in "fly-over country" where we look at her as if she needs a short vacation in a padded room.
I'm not sure what they're spending their educational budget on in California, but it sure isn't Biology or Geography.
Hey, Jessica, you're too late. There are no sharks in Oklahoma. It must be the Global Warming.
Or I didn't.
Until Ms. Alba started defacing Oklahoma property. That's right, she's being investigated for vandalism because she's just that cool, I guess.
Miss Jessica decided that our fair city wasn't decorated enough, so she went all around town pasting up posters on public and private property. She's trying to make Okies more environmentally conscious. Specifically, she wants us to be nicer to Great White Sharks.
Apparently people in Oklahoma are abusive to our native marine creatures. We need to be educated about all the ways we can be kinder to these majestic creatures of the sea. There is, of course, a problem with her theory. Have you looked at a map recently?
There are no oceans in Oklahoma. There aren't even any oceans close to Oklahoma. It is a 9 hour drive to the nearest beach. I'm all in favor of raising awareness about the plight of endangered animals, but shouldn't you at least try to make it a tiny bit relevant? There are people in this state who have never seen the ocean except on television. What the heck so they care about Great White Sharks? The only time they've seen one was in that movie, Jaws, and that son of a gun was scary, and it wasn't even real.
I don't think we should tell her. Just think how embarrassed she would be if we pointed out that there are no sharks here and that we don't take kindly to strangers coming into our state and acting dumb and messing our stuff up. They may think that's cool in California, but here we just think it's criminal behavior. Silly us.
I'll bet she can't wait until her movie wraps and she can go back to "civilization" where being in favor of a cause is enough to make her a good person and win her the accolades of her adoring fans, instead of being stuck in "fly-over country" where we look at her as if she needs a short vacation in a padded room.
I'm not sure what they're spending their educational budget on in California, but it sure isn't Biology or Geography.
Hey, Jessica, you're too late. There are no sharks in Oklahoma. It must be the Global Warming.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
May God Grant Them Peace
All morning I have been praying for mercy for the soul of George Tiller and his murderer. To knowingly and purposefully take the life of another human being is never justifiable, it is always a tragedy.
I have already been asked several times by pro-choicers I know if I am saddened by the death of Tiller. This is a difficult question for me to clearly and concisely answer. I know my own feelings on the matter, but I also know how those emotions will be interpreted by people who are looking to find fault with those of us in the pro-life movement. I have examined my thoughts and emotions over this topic quite extensively overnight. I hope you appreciate the honesty.
Am I saddened by his death? This is hard to answer because I didn't know him. If he had died quietly in his bed at home I would not be sad. I didn't know the man. I can not grieve for him in the same manner I would for a beloved uncle or even a respected and beloved public figure. I cried when John Paul II died; I did not shed even a single tear for the death of Paul Newman. Not because one was any less human than the other, but because one held personal meaning for me and the other was simply someone whose name and image I knew. So, does his death itself make me sad? No. People die.
The more correct question, I suppose, would be "Am I saddened by the circumstances surrounding his death?" Yes. The circumstances are tragic. For a man, any man, to be murdered is a gravely evil thing. It is evil no matter the victim, no matter the circumstances. It was evil when it was Tiller doing the murdering, and it is no less evil now that Tiller is the victim. In a strange way, both Tiller and his killer are compatriots, both killing for the sake of convenience and personal political beliefs. Neither one more or less wrong than the other, they are perpetrators of the same crime.
My heart grieves today for the pain of Jeanne Tiller and her 4 children and 10 grandchildren. They have lost someone whom they loved. No matter how many times the media referred to him as "Tiller the Killer", they called him sweetheart and Grandpa and Dad. He was a human being created in the image and likeness of God and baptized into the same Body of Christ to which all Christians belong. He was theirs, but also one of our own.
Merciful Father, we humbly beg that you may have mercy upon the soul of George Tiller who was Baptized and Confirmed into the Christian faith. We ask that you grant him the same Divine Mercy which we would ask for our own sins and transgressions. Please be with his family in Kansas as the shock wears off and they must face the world without the one they love. Grant Peace, also, to the souls of those who were victims and Dr Tiller's own hands. Eternal Rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may Perpetual Light shine upon them all and give them Peace. Amen
I have already been asked several times by pro-choicers I know if I am saddened by the death of Tiller. This is a difficult question for me to clearly and concisely answer. I know my own feelings on the matter, but I also know how those emotions will be interpreted by people who are looking to find fault with those of us in the pro-life movement. I have examined my thoughts and emotions over this topic quite extensively overnight. I hope you appreciate the honesty.
Am I saddened by his death? This is hard to answer because I didn't know him. If he had died quietly in his bed at home I would not be sad. I didn't know the man. I can not grieve for him in the same manner I would for a beloved uncle or even a respected and beloved public figure. I cried when John Paul II died; I did not shed even a single tear for the death of Paul Newman. Not because one was any less human than the other, but because one held personal meaning for me and the other was simply someone whose name and image I knew. So, does his death itself make me sad? No. People die.
The more correct question, I suppose, would be "Am I saddened by the circumstances surrounding his death?" Yes. The circumstances are tragic. For a man, any man, to be murdered is a gravely evil thing. It is evil no matter the victim, no matter the circumstances. It was evil when it was Tiller doing the murdering, and it is no less evil now that Tiller is the victim. In a strange way, both Tiller and his killer are compatriots, both killing for the sake of convenience and personal political beliefs. Neither one more or less wrong than the other, they are perpetrators of the same crime.
My heart grieves today for the pain of Jeanne Tiller and her 4 children and 10 grandchildren. They have lost someone whom they loved. No matter how many times the media referred to him as "Tiller the Killer", they called him sweetheart and Grandpa and Dad. He was a human being created in the image and likeness of God and baptized into the same Body of Christ to which all Christians belong. He was theirs, but also one of our own.
Merciful Father, we humbly beg that you may have mercy upon the soul of George Tiller who was Baptized and Confirmed into the Christian faith. We ask that you grant him the same Divine Mercy which we would ask for our own sins and transgressions. Please be with his family in Kansas as the shock wears off and they must face the world without the one they love. Grant Peace, also, to the souls of those who were victims and Dr Tiller's own hands. Eternal Rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may Perpetual Light shine upon them all and give them Peace. Amen
"If anyone has an urge to kill someone at an abortion clinic, they should shoot me. ... It's madness. It discredits the right-to-life movement. Murder is murder. It's madness. You cannot prevent killing by killing." - John Cardinal O'Connor.
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