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"Abortion doctor shot dead at his Kansas church"
The party of Death--a/k/a "the right to life" has struck again in Kansas.
The National Organization for Women asks us to wear a white armband tomorrow, Monday, June 1, 2009, to protest domestic violence.
Gun violence and violence against women and children continue to be intimately connected in America.
Make your voice heard as we move closer to the looming dystopia we have been warned about in Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.
Noticing the abandoned books Claude snapped as she walked along the Seine, I was reminded of my found copy of "Les Anglais" by Andre Maurois. The book was sitting on the bookshelf in our basement laundry room. A 1935 edition (original 1927), it had been discarded by a local university, still had the library pocket at the back. A useful prop to illustrate our washing space and its sensibilities, shaped by the past fifty years in the life of Morningside Gardens.
Couple of years ago, the co-op changed vendors, updated many of the machines. Due to much unhappiness that the Extractor had not been equally honored, a new one was found. (The look of this one seems only slightly updated from the previous one and I could find none similar in a Google search).
Ron and I have had to come to a meeting of the minds on extracting as a useable
pursuit. Yes, it cuts down the time in the dryer but it shortens the life of sheets. We use if for towels, jeans.
One downside of the change was the removal of the functional and ugly bookcase. Again, much complaint brought a smaller unit on one wall. Not a chance anymore to contemplate my neighbors' tastes via the range of magazines/books/catalogs. We were delighted to have a second oversize dryer (right) added to the amenities.
Lydia at Writerquake will probably wonder why I've missed the chance to include here some of the well-preserved sepia photos in the book--sheep grazing and a Communist rally in Hyde Park (separate pages). I was surprised by two in particular--women undergraduates at Oxford and another of women carrying signs "National Unemployed Women March To London" (with the phrase "calme et la dignite" in the caption). Perhaps I'll scan some of them before I return the book to the laundry room shelf.
Maurois was well-acquainted with the English through working with them in World War One and spending time in England. Not able to read French, I miss what scholars describe as his bemusement and curiosity about Les Anglais. Some of how the French regard the English comes through in a contemporary way in today's NY Times article "The British Are Leaving."
It's been far too long since I'd checked in on Pandagon, seriously feminist, in-your-face blog. Amanda Marcotte's headline sums up what many of us fear about the swirl of stupidity that has only just begun from the Senate Repub old white guys --
She is on the mark about the opposition to Sonia Sotomayor, President Obama's well-qualified nominee for the Supreme Court.
One commenter imagines the following list of qualities that any god-fearing right-winger would require to find a woman nominee acceptable :
"So, just to get this straight - the heirarchy of wiminfolk for the conservatives goes like this
-(white) virgin
-(white) married with clown car womb (as long as they’re in a church)
-(white) married with 2-3 kids
-(white) unmarried with kids
-(white) divorced with kids
-(white) divorced no kids
-(white) never been married no kids has sex anyway
....Wait, should virgins be at the top? Or in the middle? Argh. It’s hard - such shifting sands."
Go there and read. We need to have a little lightness as we prepare ourselves for the stupidity marathon a/k/a Supreme Court selection in the Senate.
UPDATE: Some of today's newpaper front pages in New York City.
And our own Nick Bloom was contacted to join Brian Lehrer on WNYC the local NPR affiliate to talk about public housing in the City (link to the webcast). Along with a current resident of the Bronx housing project where Sonia Sotomayor grew up, the three had a good discussion on the value of this 1930s innovation.
We have missed another opportunity. It is not the first time. Year after year we shift uncomfortably in our seats when the day arrives to celebrate wars past. We do not have an answer other than our usual one.
The street below my window is quiet at 9 a.m. It's easy to hear the crows on my roof. I might celebrate the longed-for quiet. I am grateful.
Gratitude is not sufficient. Celebrating the lost lives of those who fought America's wars continues. Even as we know that lives were ended for those simply supporting this country's repeated missteps, our busybodyness elsewhere.
Pacifists could use Memorial Day in America to reflect on how we believe that warfare only brings loss and sadness to women and children and men and landscapes. And punishes those who have correctly oppossed this thinly-disguised screen to build capital.
Pacifists, those of us tired of exceptions for "good wars," what about this everyday strategy to end war--a program beyond the tee-shirt?
Flipping through images in my iPhoto file (favorite thing about my Mac), I come upon images from birthday lunch for my 75th last August. I meant to blog on how it felt to be "feted" by a group of strangers.
Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. Were the people my age or older? It was a mix at my table, mostly women but more men than I'd expected. Must have been 100 there for lunch at the Lenox Hill Senior Center. Got that? The invitation to celebrate this landmark day (pictures here from the event) came about because I had joined the Center back in 1998. And never returned.
Backstory. Deep into kitchen composting as an art form, I'd applied for a small grant from the Puffin Foundation. The idea was to form a group of seniors into a Kitchen Compost Troupe. We'd celebrate the 2001 closing of Fresh Kills, home of the world's largest garbage dump on Staten Island. Each of us would have nurtured my patented invention, "WormWare," world's smallest kitchen composter.
Of the several ways I devised to gather such a group together, I visited Lenox Hill Senior Center. I spoke with a social worker about making a future presentation on "Composting in Manhattan." She suggested that I have lunch that day and get a measure of the participants. Readers, I joined a senior center.
That was a jolt. It was very personal--unlike teaching a class in Baltimore at an "Eating Together" program in my fifties--this was about me at 66. Not ready, too soon, I thought. The grant came through but my plan changed after writing a second grant. "This Dirt Museum: the Ladies' Room," was an interactive installation at Queens Botanical Garden in 2001.
I never returned to the Lenox Hill Senior Center. Well, they were all the way over on the east side of town where I rarely go except to museums. Their knitting group was not as, how would you say it, "up-to-date" as the ones I attended. The food was very institutional and I felt uncomfortable about it's small one dollar price. This was not me. At that moment, aside from reluctance to see myself as one of them, I hit the social class issue. Senior centers in many cities have been established for people with limited resources. In New York, their financial support comes from non-profits working with the aging and the City Council.
Fast forward to 2008. After all my years of neglect--I did carry the membership card in my wallet for years-- Lenox Hill was gracious enough--to send me an invite to their monthly Birthday Lunch. Had I been asked in other years (I forget much these days)? I decided to take them up on their offer.
I really enjoyed myself, Ron too but he's less critical than I. Several of my lunch companions were working seniors. One woman in public relations wanted to connect with my westside Democratic club because she said it seemed more active in the Obama campaign than her eastside group. She also thought knitting Condom Amulets was amusing and a smart way to promote safe; the actress sitting next to her agreed.
Having heard that there was a national a move to "update" senior centers. In New York City the Mayor had big plans to make them more "health-oriented" and reduce their funding. On the way out I spoke with the two social workers running the program. Things were not good they reported. In December, Mayor Bloomberg was resisted in his efforts, with strong opposition by our Council President, Christine Quinn. Elsewhere from Wellesley, Massachusetts to Los Angeles, California, it's evident that denial about aging takes many forms in addition to my own reluctance.
Ron and I will soon move into a continuing care retirement community in Portland, Oregon. Besides accepting it to myself, I have come out to anyone who will listen that it feels right to describe myself as "elderly." Yes, more attitude adjustments lie in ahead.
[This post in appreciation of two this week at TGB on aspects ageism and especially the comment by Tamar at Only Connect that followed the first post.]
Alternative title for this post: It Takes a Village To Make a Sweater, or Can This Marriage Be Saved? This colorful cardigan for Eliana, our most recent grandchild, became a joint project by chance. I was having difficulty using size eleven needles to make Elizabeth Zimmerman's famous "Baby Surprise." At the height of the past year's shoulder discomfort, I could not manage 100+ stitches on a circular needle.
Why not encourage Ron, happily knitting hat after hat, to try an easier sweater pattern with the same yarn, a product of his own spinning. He was cautiously agreeable; pattern-reading has not been his thing. But I would help! Here's Eliana in a sweater I made for her mother forty years ago.
An added complication was that the blue and red yarns were spun very early in his learning this craft. That is, they are not too amenable to being knit. We got some great help from Betty Balcomb at Knitty City (wearing one of her own glorious productions). A bit of input from Close Knit in Portland when we were there this winter. But the project kept slowing down. Would we ever complete it in time for use before summer?
Biggest problem was the awful instructions for this medium-complex, cuff-to-cuff cardigan. I guess to keep the cost down, it was printed on both sides of one page--sort of a run-on style. Also, the designer is British and, though we speak the same language... knitters know what I mean. Finally, I had to give up certain knit niceties to accommodate Ron's distinctive style, although he was ready to rip and redo at several junctures.
With many stops and starts, we finally finished, sewed in our respective labels, and mailed it to Portland this week.
Handmade wood buttons down the front are from Russia via Peace Fleece. Even if you're not a yarn person, it's an inspiration to read about Peter Haggerty's successful experiment, started in 1985, to bridge cultures through commerce. From his farm in Maine where he and his wife raise sheep, he travels to connect and partner with shepherds in Russia, central Asia, and the Middle East.
The little yellow buttons at the collar points come from a trip to Toronto some years ago and are actually made in Canada. Rachel, Eliana's Mom, says there's still a chill in Portland, so our funky production should get a bit of use this season.
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