I'm Moving to the Peace Train

Well, the moving vans are here and I'm all packed up. I have made the decision to continue writing at The Peace Train, but will no longer maintain the Glenda in the Land of Oz blog.

I'd rather focus on one website and my committment to peace is there.

I also enjoy the community focus there as well as at The Blue Republic. My work against the war, against violence continues. I urge all you great bloggers to continue to carry the banner for peace and justice.

Come on over and read about the Codepink weekend of Peace and Uppity women!

And if you haven't joined, what are you waiting for?

Also, feel free to contact me over there. I will still try to get out and visit your blogs as often as possible!

Signing off, but not goodbye!

Guess Where I will be the next two days???

I am off on Friday and Saturday to a Codepink Women's Retreat with lots of cool speakers.

I'll be back on Sunday! I will hopefully be coming back with pictures and stories.

Until then, please visit the Peace Train, and look at all the new things we have added!
And while you are at it try our sister site, The Blue Republic, if you haven't been there.

And to amuse you...a quote!

"Napoleon's campaign included a rapid conventional victory over Spanish armies but ignored the immediate requirement to provide a stable and secure environment for the people and the countryside.

The French should have expected ferocious resistance.

The Spanish people were accustomed to hardship, suspicious of foreigners, and constantly involved in skirmishes with security forces.

The French failed to analyze the history, culture, and motivations of the Spanish people, or to seriously consider their potential to support or hinder the achievement of French political objectives.

Napoleon's cultural miscalculation resulted in a protracted struggle.

The Spanish resistance drained the Empire's resources and was the beginning of the end of Napoleon's reign."

Now, does this scenario sound familiar?? Could it be that Bushpolean has met his Waterloo?

Cheney Visit Cost Taxpayers $4,500

BOISE, Idaho (AP) - The tab from Vice President Dick Cheney's visit to Boise is in and city taxpayers shelled out 4,500 dollars for police expenses related to his trip.

Though the visit was only a few hours from the time the Vice President touched down at Gowen Field until Air Force Two took off, Boise Police racked up 92 hours of overtime, what with the massages and pedicures that The Rifleman required.

Cheney was in town to stump for Republican first congressional district candidate Bill Sali and let the taxpayers foot the bill in this frontier town. In fact, he came full dressed in his frontier duds.

The first thing he did was to ask the attending syncophantic reporters if there were any shooting ranges he could visit, as he was keeping in fighting shape in case his country called him to defend his country from Ben Laden in Iraq or Afghanistan.

He brought his friend, little "W" to carry wood and polish his boots. Then, he left for Cincinnati Thursday to help fill Congressman Steve Chabot's campaign coffers.

The vice president will attend a private fundraiser there. He said that since Cinncinnati was a civilized town, and had a real public library, he would shave and put on real pants for the party.

Attendees will pay $1,000 per person or $1,500 per couple and it costs $2,100 to attend the reception and get a picture with Vice President Cheney. Gee, I wish I had that kind of money.

But I sure wouldn't spend it getting my picture taken with Cheney. Already have a picture of me and Bush that I keep face-down and hidden in the closet from his days as Governor.

Stop the Femicide in Juarez!!

Since 1993, almost 400 women and girls have been murdered and somewhere between 70-4,500 remain missing in Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua, Mexico. I have been following the murders of these women for almost 10 years. Ciudad Juarez, an industrial border town next to El Paso has a population of around 2 million. I've traveled to El Paso and Juarez several times to speak at Border Conferences, once in 1998 and again in 2004.

While in Juarez, I met a woman named Esther Chavez who was trying to raise money to start the first rape crisis center in Juarez to help victims of violence. She was barely 5 feet tall and in her sixties. Esther heard the growing community alarm over the murders of over 200 women as well as the violence against Mexican women in general and decided to do something about it. She spoke out and brought global attention the problem of violence against women in Mexico.

Esther and her group of mostly women often walked the desert, looking for new bodies or remains of the dead, because the police either could not or would not do their jobs. Many of the uneducated young women were so poorly paid at the Maquilas (border factories) that the only place they had to stay was in the desert shantytowns, cardboard and wire homes with no water, sewage or electricity. Their buses dropped them off in the middle of the night on a lonely desert road. Sometimes the killers waited for them to get off the buses, sometimes they disappeared from a city street.

Of these dead and missing, many were killed by pimps, drug dealers, husbands and boyfriends. However, at least a third of the deaths remain unexplained and for a long time police had no suspects. Local authorities have dismissed the killings as a side effect to the city's mushrooming industrial sector, which brings tides of hungry migrant workers to the area desperate for work and money. Others have speculated that since mostly women are hired in the Maquilas, animosity against women by unemployed men has increased.

Most victims are slender, dark-haired girls between 14 and 18 years old who work in one of these factories. Many are killed on their way to and from work. Their bodies have been found - sometimes with their blue factory-issued aprons on -- dumped in the desert or next to the roads leading to the unlit squatter camps ringing the city. In some cases, the victims are mutilated and horribly disfigured. Many are strangled, then stabbed repeatedly. Adding to the homicidal maniacs the local heroin and cocaine distribution networks have made Juarez and its sprawling shantytowns one of the most dangerous places on earth.

While I was at this conference, I walked across the bridge with two other Latina women to Juarez. I noticed graffiti like paintings on telephone poles around the city. Each telephone pole was sprayed with a black figure of a woman or a cross, indicating places where women had disappeared in the city.

It was chilling to ride through Juarez, seeing so many of these posters.

Now there is what the authorities are calling a new break in the case. Edgar Alvarez Cruz, 30, was arrested on immigration violations in Denver and flown to the immigration detention center in El Paso, where he awaits extradition to Mexico sometime next week, officials said. Mexican officials said two other men, not identified, were in custody also.

The three men are accused of being part of a gang whose members raped and killed at least 10 of the women in Juarez, according to statements Thursday by U.S. Ambassador to Mexico Tony Garza. U.S. officials called Alvarez Cruz's arrest a "major break" in the cases.

U.S. and Mexican investigators stated that part of the overall investigation focused on drug dealers who reportedly raped and killed women during cocaine parties to celebrate successful smuggling operations.

Now, knowing that these men allegedly killed 10 of these many dead and missing women, who killed the rest? Why is this being touted as the big break in the case?

And why does this not make the news in the way that the murder of one small white girl does?

I tried to watch the news yesterday evening and all 4 major channels had talking heads speculating about the murder of Jon Benet Ramsey. Not that her death was not also horrifying, but let's give equal time to the other faceless, nameless women who are not white and have died under equally cruel circumstances. Why after 10 years, is this all we can come up with in terms of finding these murderers?

Safe Sex as a Fashion Statement

Condoms are in the news!!!


TORONTO (Reuters) - Condoms were very much in style as a fashion accessory at the International AIDS Conference in Toronto, showing up on strait-laced men, shy teenagers and African grandmothers.

"There's a great need to de-stigmatize condoms around the world, especially in Africa," said Franck DeRose, executive director of The Condom Project, which aims to get people comfortable about condoms, especially those living in countries where the little piece of latex is considered taboo.

To do that, the project has a program that gets people making their own condom art pin. It all starts with a craft table, packaged condoms, scraps of colored paper, candy and other double-sided tape.

DeRose said that creating wearable art out of condoms attracts people who normally wouldn't wear the prophylactics, let alone touch them or even utter the word.

"It opens the door," said DeRose. "We find that we're very, very successful."

Almost 400,000 condoms have been decorated and turned into brooches or pins around the world including India, Thailand, Senegal and Burkina Faso, he said.

Just this week alone, about 30,000 of the pins have been decorated at the conference, DeRose said.

People from different cultures and backgrounds wear them, trade them and even argue over safe-sex related topics while making them, including when to broach the subject with kids, DeRose said.

"We're not pushing it on people. They come to us and the information is there," said DeRose, adding his group teams up with the local information groups in the communities where his team visits.

"I don't think it's healthy or appropriate to change a culture. But we can change the risky behavior within a community."

DeRose, an artist from Washington, D.C., came up with the idea three years ago while talking about ways to get more people to wear condoms to fight the HIV epidemic. The program has since spread around the world.

In Glenda's Garden

I was out watering the zinnias late yesterday afternoon and noticed that there were 4 or 5 monarch butterflies, a hummingbird and numerous bees buzzing around in the garden,

If it hadn't been 103 degrees, I'm sure I would have appreciated that idyllic scene even more. There is also a honeybee in the purple ruellia, which proliferates somewhat like bamboo.

Many of the monarchs pass through Texas on their way to winter over in Mexico, where they can be seen lounging on the beaches with tiny sombreros.

You see, the problem is not getting into Mexico, but getting back out, as the border will be heavily guarded by the nonmonarchistas who claim that these butterflies are taking work away from American butterflies.

But you and I know that all butterflies work hard in this country no matter where they come from and the real ones profiting are the corporations, whom no one really likes to talk about.

Apple admits excessive iPod hours

File under, Hey, I love my Mac and my iPod as much as the next person, but...!

and creates the iCowpod,
boosting the economy as well as
the sales forecast for Apple Computer!

Think this is farfetched?

Apple admits excessive iPod hours

The iPod is the world's most popular MP3 player

"Apple Computer has said a report of labour conditions at its iPod plant in China found workers did more than 60 hours a week a third of the time.

Staff making the world's most popular MP3 player also worked more than six consecutive days 25% of the time.

Apple said the hours were "excessive" and said its supplier would now be enforcing a "normal" 60-hour week.

The California-based firm said its report found "no evidence of enforced labour" or use of child workers."

OK, does anyone here want to sign up for a "NORMAL" 60 hour work week? Because you know they would do it here if they could. So what is the real problem here?

A report in England's "Mail on Sunday"alleged the plant's workers make roughly the equivalent of $100 per month and often worked 15-hour days, showing photos of dormitories where workers, mostly young women, sleep 100 to a room, and of stark cement buildings from behind high chain-link fences that resemble what we in the West call prisons.

Is the problem that the working conditions are so bad, the hours too long? Is it that Apple allegedly was slow in investigating these claims, perhaps hoping that the furor would die down?

Is the real problem that China and many poor nations have a gross oversupply of non-skilled labour? Lack of education? So when the only choice for poor Chinese women is working in horrid factory conditions or working as a prostitute, what are we to do?

If we boycott the product, does it help these workers? If we all write and demand that Apple and other corporations begin to set better working conditions, does this make a difference?

Will corporations begin to treat workers in poor countries better when their eye is on the stock price and short-term gains? What creates change? Tell me, how do we solve this moral dilemma? What helps poor workers pull themselves up when there is no bootstrap?

Jon Benet Ramsy's Killer Caught??

Is it possible? Did they really catch the guy who killed Jon Benet Ramsey?? Hot DAMN!!!

Jon Benet was found, murdered in her family's home in December of 1996. She was just 6 years old. I was working as a therapist at a Rape Crisis Center when the news came out about her murder. I thought, as many did, that it had to be someone in the family or someone who knew the family. It usually is. But not always.

There are serial sex offenders, especially pedophiles who stalk their victims or become obsessed with a certain type of victim. A lot of my friends speculated that when the Ramseys made her into a sterotypical "sex symbol" child, they painted a target on her back. There were even rumors that the Ramseys were protecting her brother, and that he was the killer. No one really knew what to think.

Although I am still in the field, it is at a statewide level. These days I think a lot about prevention. Before we can work on preventing this crime, we need to have a better understanding about why people commit sexual assault.

Please tell me, if you will, your opinion: why do you think a person does this? What makes a person rape another person?

Madame Chiang Kaishek's Kimono

LeftofCenter and Lily asked me to tell this story over at The Blue Republic a while back, and I am reprinting it here for those of you who might wish to read this story.

This is the story of how I came to be in possession of what I believe is Madame Chiang Kaishek's kimono.

My grandmother's younger brother, a rogue and a rascal, was one of the most colorful figures I ever met. We called him Uncle Henri. He was born just after the turn of the last century in New Orleans in the French Quarter, the son of a Frenchman and and Irish mother. When I was a child, he lived all over the world, although he swooped into Texas for holidays and visits.

During World War II, he was a codebreaker and photographer in the Navy because he was gifted with a near perfect memory, one of the better genes that somehow missed me. He could remember the details from a newspaper article he'd read years before and summon up dates and names. The MoMA in San Francisco has a collection of his black and white photographs, as he lived there in his later years.

During WWII, he was on the deck of the Battleship Arizona when it was bombed in Pearl Harbor. Few survived that day. I have Kodachrome slides that he took of the ships and aircraft carriers and navy personnel in Hawaii right before the bombing. Because he was topside that Sunday morning, attending Mass, he survived. He said he helped the priest give Communion to dying soldiers before the ship went down.

He lived in Copenhagen and Italy some years in the 1950s, brokered grain deals between the Pope and Nassar of Egypt, but before that he was in China.

Shortly after the end of World War II, China was engulfed in a full-fledged civil war. It was won in 1949 by the communists, led by Chairman Mao, with the old leader, Chiang Kaishek and the remnants of the Kuomintang fleeing to Taiwan where they were protected from annihilation by a US naval blockade.

This was where my Uncle Henri came in. He was living in China by the end of the war. He worked for IBM, supposedly, but my grandmother said he was really in China as an American spy.

My Uncle Henri told me this part of his story when he was still alive.

He said that when Chiang Kaishek was routed by the Communists, he came to my uncle and asked for help. My uncle went to the American Embassy and somehow obtained a white Cadillac and gave it to Chiang Kaishek for his escape. My uncle said the General was so grateful that he gave him one of his wife's best kimonos.

I showed this kimono to my friend Hong once when she was over for dinner. Hong grew up in China and is an engineer here. She was quite stunned when she saw it. She said it was not a kimono that an "ordinary Chinese person" would have, the workmanship and silk embroidery is too elaborate. She also told me that it is not one that would have been made for mass consumption.

So here is the question...was my uncle telling the truth? Is this really the kimono of Madame Chiang Kaichek?

Keeping Austin Weird

You see, more of the weirdness I live with!

Austin FreakNEWS from the Austin Chronicle:

This was the scene during last week's First Thursday festivities, as neighbors mounted a singing demonstration in front of the South Congress Cafe, protesting the upscale Trudy's spin-off's prolonged refusal to comply with city code centering around an illegally built deck and fence erected atop a city sidewalk – all constructed despite four city stop- work orders.

The city plans to take Trudy's back to court after the business failed to meet the terms of a deferred adjudication agreement made following an initial lawsuit last year. Hard-hat-clad neighbors sang Sixties protest anthems, reworded to decry the eatery's injustices. "We're directing our collective frustration in a creative, South Austin way," said nearby resident Kathie Tovo.

Here's where it got weird.

At about the same time, a handful of fire-and-brimstone evangelicals arrived carrying signs depicting the damned engulfed in the flames of hell, and a dozen or so performers gorily made-up as zombies, advertising a new production, limped past the protest, completely bewildering passers by and creating a freaky scene of Village People meets Rocky Horror Picture Show. "This is so South Congress," someone said.

Just another day in Austin.

Tour of Texas, Signs of the Times

In honor of the fact that I have to drive to Dallas today and back tonight, I thought I would post some pictures of (mostly) rural Texas that I have gathered for your amusement, that you might understand better the climate that Bush was raised in and might even give you, perhaps, some small compassion for his mental impairment and emotional underdevelopment.

Cowboy funeral home.

Not a real speed trap, just a picture of one...perhaps the city budget was shy one police car.

Well, I really didn't have to see this!


Sign for the Knox City Golf Club.

Because Bar-B Que is messy.


We are proud that no child is left behind ...Conan the Barbarian, required reading in this school district.

Pralines, yum!

Almost a palace by Texas standards, entrance through the mouth of the shark.

There's a limo ride in your future at Budget Casket, because burying your loved ones is just too damned expensive!

Truth in advertising in Kyle Texas, just south of Austin.

Perhaps if the troops just drank more of this, they wouldn't have war fatigue.

Get in the swing, seriously.

Mosaic bug. This one's for Mary.

Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear...this is actually a bar in the middle of nowhere.

Pretty self-explanatory.


Ususally there is a gun shop inside as well.

This truck is actually the sign for Little Joe's baithouse.


You also can tell that Texans do love their flag motifs. The flag has the ability to show up on just about anything.

Friday Dog Blogging

When my small Boston Terrier gets stressed out (and it was around 105 degrees here yesterday) she sits by the back door and does yoga.

She likes to play with my granddaughter.

Sometimes she thinks she is an art critic.

She can also be quite dramatic, (I call it hystrionic) especially during a thunderstorm, although she is getting better. She has learned to "talk" about her discomfort and has done quite well in her doggie support group.
When she sleeps, you can hear her snoring though 2 closed doors.


She thinks she looks like a famous movie star.

What do you see?

Back by popular demand!

Guess what this picture is!!!

Here's an opportunity to improve your puzzle skills a bit!

Try and guess what this is!

Is this a person or a chess piece?

Is this a goblet or a face?


Is this a skull or a couple?


Do you see a young woman or an old woman?

Is this a white vase or two side views of Bush?

Angels in the Architecture

Hi, friends!! Come join the Peace Train!!

I was thinking about my maternal grandmother recently. This is a picture of her, standing with her younger sister, Marion, whom we knew as Aunt Teet. Aunt Teet died at 93, but was still walking 2 miles a day right before she died.

Although few people know this, My grandmother was probably responsible for ending World War I.

My grandmother had a steel will, a great laugh and a strong impact on my life. She was a hugger and a kisser. When I was a child she lived about two miles away from us and was a frequent presence. She was a good cook and often brought over desserts or came just to visit and talk. My grandfather, who had planted armies of red amaryllis around the entire house, often went outside to tidy up the flower beds.

Momo, as we called her, loved to sew and made most of my clothes. By the time I was 6, all I had to do was draw a picture and she would whip up a pattern and make whatever I desired, not that I cared much what I wore at that age.

I remember drawing a picture of myself sitting on the bank of a creek with a cane fishing pole. By my side there was a can of worms. I was a tomboy. I loved to go down to the "scramble tracks" as we called it with my brothers to find crawdads in the storm ditch by the woods. We'd spend hours there, playing at being pirates and having adventures. I was allowed to run wild just like my brothers.

I showed her that drawing and asked for a simple dress with that picture on the front. She nearly laughed herself silly. She told me with tears in her eyes that it would be very hard to find fabric with worms printed on it.

She made the dress, but we substituted another fabric, although I cannot remember now what it was. What I do remember was that she took me to J.C. Penney's and let me pick out the fabric I liked, which made me feel very grown-up and tremendously pleased with myself.


This is a picture of me and two of my five brothers when I was in about the 4th grade. She made my coat. It had a brown velvet collar.

Even as an old woman, Momo had a beautiful smile, with deep dimples and blue-gray eyes. Her skin was white as milk and as a young woman, her hair was a rich sable. Her sister, my Aunt Teet, once told me that when Alice was young, she was known as "The Belle of New Orleans" because she was so beautiful and had so many beaus.

My great-aunt Teet was not beautiful in the same way, but she was handsome and original-looking, which I thought was more interesting. She had a clever, frank and generous disposition and her eyes twinkled when she looked at me. Some people barely notice you when you are a child, but I liked it when their eyes looked into mine and saw me.

And I liked to look into grownups eyes and "see" them, which sometimes made them uncomfortable. Sometimes I made a point to look at grownups so they wouldn't underestimate me just because I was a child. I let them know I was watching them. It was my way of feeling that power of the stare and showing them that I knew my own worth, so they'd better not trifle with me.

But I digress. Teet was never jealous of her sister, in fact, she did not care for beaus. Or for being pretty. She was quite intelligent in a thoughtful way, a voracious reader and was hooked on the New York Times crossword puzzle, which she finished every night in bed up into her early 90s.

Aunt Teet and her partner, whom we called Aunt Susie, lived together for 50 years in Tulsa and were devoted to each other. They took trips around the world together and brought back fabulous slideshows for us to see of Hawaii, Paris, Italy, all exotic faraway destinations for a kid growing up in Texas.

My grandmother, Alice Madeline Leleu, was a devout but not overly devout Catholic. She collected angels before angels became acceptable icons among the Protestant sects. Her house, kept meticulously, was full of angels. She had big ones, small ones, paintings, sculptures and angel coffee cups. She even had pink ceramic mother and baby cow angels with wings and shiny gold haloes. In retrospect, she was probably somewhat obsessive-compulsive about all her enthusiasms, but I just thought she was fun.

The walls had special shelves that my grandfather made to hold her collection of over 2,000 angels. We always knew what to get her for her birthday. A trip to the dimestore and we brought her our small offerings. She prized our gifts with all the reverence she gave to the ones her brother brought back from Denmark or Italy, where he lived for a time.

But her angels weren't just for show. She was in relationship with them. She talked to them daily, asked favors and made deals. She saw them. When she needed a parking space, she would start talking to them when we were about a block away from our destination. She would said, "OK, angels, fly your little wingies and find me a parking spot."

She said you had to give them travel time to get the job done. Sure enough, there was always a car pulling out right near the door of the department store. I don't remember her ever not getting what she asked of them.

My grandmother was born in 1898 in New Orleans' French quarter. She lived on Canal Street in a house that was torn down many decades ago. Her father, a Sorbonne-educated artist, grew up in a 16th century chateau in the south of France. Her mother was of Irish descent, the daughter of an engineer who oversaw the building of the New Orleans canal. Alice met my grandfather Joseph when she was 19.

Joe, my grandfather, was in the army, the youngest of eleven children who grew up on a hardscrabble farm in Severy, Kansas. He was playing the trombone in the Army band when they met at a military ball. He was 32 and shockingly Protestant, but she was not deterred. World War I was in progress and my grandfather was about to get sent to the front.

It was love at first sight, she told me. They knew each other only 5 days when he proposed. He had met his match in my grandmother. They got a dispensation from the priest and were married immediately.

Her family scraped some money together as a wedding gift to pay the hotel for their wedding night. It was hurried because my grandfather was scheduled to leave the next day for the European front, to fight in the war. I remember my grandmother telling me that she talked to all the saints and to her special angels to spare my grandfather from the war. Her 5 French male cousins were all dead, killed early in the war, as was an entire generation of young Frenchmen and she didn’t want him to go.

She said that when she woke up the morning after her wedding, they heard a great clamor down in the street. There was yelling and singing and strangers were kissing. When they opened their hotel window to ask what was happening, strangers yelled up that the Armistice had been signed and the war was over. We used to joke that she made a deal with her angels to end the war so that her Joe would not be sent away, and maybe we were right. She loved her Joe until the day he died, some 50 years later.

And that's how my grandmother, perhaps with the help of her angels, personally ended World War I.

How To Eat A Jalapeno

I realize that many of you are not blessed to live in a place where nature provides one of God's great gifts, the jalapeno plant. Many of you from northern climes and other parts of the world may be wary of these potent peppers, and may have realized that the secret to Bush's rise to power is directly related to his intake of this lowly pepper. Well, that and stealing the election.

But I am here to tell you peacemongerers that the lowly jalapeno can give you the srength of giants and we must begin strengthening ourselves for the upcoming elections!

This small but potent pepper can fortify against the draconian influences of FOX News, Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Bill O'Reilly and others.

Jalapenos have the power to keep vampires like Condi away, as well as Hannity and Colmes.

However, they must be prepared correctly to get maximum effect.
The first thing, grow your own if possible and pick them fresh! One small bush will provide a lot of peppers! Here's mine in the garden.

Here's one way I like to eat them.

After washing the pepper, cut of the tops and slice longways. Some people wear plastic gloves, because the pepper seeds are hot enough to dissolve nail polish.


The seeds are quite small. Remove them unless you like that much heat.


Next, sautee in a pan with some butter, garlic, fresh parsley and some carmellized onions.


Put the cooked jalapeno mixure on top of a sliced, seeded avocado. Add cold tomatoes, chopped pecans, pinapple slices, even grated cheese for a salsa topping! Get a spoon and dig in! Bon appetit!

Iraq- Plans in Case of a Civil War

Adapted From Newsweek
Exclusive: Iraq-Plans in Case of a Civil War
Aug. 14, 2006 issue- The Bushco insists Iraq is a long way from civil war, but the contingency planning has begun inside the White House and the Pentagon. President Bush will move U.S. troops out of Iraq if the country disintegrates into civil war, according to one senior Bush aide who declined to be named.

Bush's position on a pullout of U.S. troops emerged in response to Newsweek's questions about Sen. John Warner, chairman of the Armed Services Committee. Warner warned last week that the president might require a new vote from Congress to allow troops to stay in Iraq in what he called "all-out civil war." But the senior Bush aide said the White House would need no prompting from Congress to get troops out "if the Iraqi government broke down completely along sectarian lines." (And how would they know?? What would be different?)

In sad response to this new contingency plan, Bush and Rummy joined Cher in an all-out show in Baghdad to win back the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people in a rousing rendition of "If I Could Turn Back Time."

If I could turn back time
If I could find a way I'd take back the war that hurt you and you'd stay

I don't know why I did the things I did I don't know why I said the things I said
Pride's like a knife it can cut deep inside
Words are like weapons they wound sometimes.

I didn't really mean to hurt you It wasn’t my fault, I know I made you cry, but baby

[Chorus:]
If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I'd take back those bullets and bombs that hurt you…

The Book List

Well, I was tagged by changeseeker to answer these questions!

(1) One book that changed your life? To Kill A Mockingbird, which I read when I was 12. It opened my mind as a southerner to facets and realities of racial injustice/inequity while I was still young.

(2) One book you have read more than once? The Hobbit by Tolkien

(3) One book you would want on a desert island? A survival book, perhaps The Black Stallion by Walter Farley because in the beginning it describes how to survive on an island.

(4) One book that made you laugh? I really must list oldies. The Little World of Don Camillo by Giovanni Guareschi or The Good Soldier Schweik by Jaroslav Hasek.

(5) One book that made you cry? Hideous Kinky by Esther Freud

(6) One book you wish you had written? Well, it will eventually have to be about the remarkable women in my family, my suffragette grandmother who attend Baylor University in 1917, (an unusual thing for a woman in Texas from a small town to do), the story of my French/Irish grandmother, who had 2,000 angels in her home and talked to them, and loved us fiercely, and my own mother, who graduated from college at 18, and became a translator, speaking 5 languages and danced in the ballet folklorico for several decades.

(7) One book you wish had never been written? Well, I am not one to censor books, as I think the reading public should vote with their pocketbook.

(8) One book you are currently reading? The Pulitzer-prize winning biography of Andrew Jackson, called the Age of Jackson by Arthur Schlesinger.

(9) One book you've been meaning to read? The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant

(10) And tag five bloggers to do this, too. This thing has gotten pretty wide, so I'm not sure if my five have already been tagged, but they are: Earl Bockenfield, The Fat Lady Sings, ThePoetryman, JuBlue, and Tnkrbell

Dining in Fredericksburg, Texas

I heard a lot of laughter coming from my director's office yesterday as I was heading down the hall. Boss Lady (BL) was laughing, hard. She was telling a co-worker about her dining experience in a small neighboring town called Fredericksburg.

BL is not a native Texan, in fact, she's been here quite a while, but some things still strike her as funny. The experience of eating at a Chinese restaurant in Fredericksburg, Texas struck her funny bone as being peculiarly Texas-ass funny.

Not that I have anything against Fredericksburg. In fact, it's a very pretty town. Situated in the rolling hill country west of Austin, it has small vineyards and peach orchards, wonderful limestone ranch houses and picturesque artist cottages built by the hard-working Germans and Czechs who settled parts of central Texas in the 1800s. It’s not too far from Johnson City, site of the LBJ ranch.

Apparently BL went into a Chinese restaurant in this small town for lunch. It looked Chinese in the traditional decor one comes to expect on the outside and was even run by Chinese owners. So far, so good. But the owners had made some small accommodations to the locals.

The first thing BL noted inside was the abundance of deer heads on the walls, which clashed starkly with the traditional Chinese decor. The other thing that struck her as odd was the presence of cream gravy on the menu. Apparently, many Texans found that they had extra rice at the end of the meal and wanted some cream gravy to top it off. Just their version of soul food.

Ah, Texas, gotta love it. Time isn't the only thing that gets distorted here.

The Time a Jew Partnered with the Klan for Justice

I published his back in March when I was just beginning to blog.
Since I had few visitors then, I'm guessing that few of you have read this. So I'm reposting what I think is a fascinating true story!

I swear this story is true. In her final years, I met and befriended a sweet old Jewish woman named Miriam, who is no longer with us in this world. Or perhaps she is, and I can just no longer see her. Miriam died about 5 years ago. She was 93 years-old when she passed from this life and I still remember what a big heart she had. She loved to tell stories of her childhood and parents and the people she knew and loved. The year before she died, I visited her in Corpus Christi, and we sat together on her sofa and talked. She told me this story, which I am now about to pass on to you.

When Miriam's father, Hiram, and her mother, Hannah, emigrated to this country, they entered through Ellis Island, like many refugees from all over the world. After being processed and checked for head lice and other contagious illnesses, they were allowed to pass through customs, and, mingling with the many other tired strangers, they headed for the train station.

They bought train tickets with their meager remaining money and headed south, having no other intuitive or directional compass. They did not know anyone in this strange new country, but they were determined to make a new life for themselves. When the train finally reached the end of the line, they found themselves alone, standing by the tracks in a small rural decaying Mississippi town.

Without anywhere else to go and very little money, Hiram and Hannah decided to stay in Mississippi and raise their family. It was a time of anxiety mixed with expectation and hope, each day taking their feet further along the path into the unknown and away from their past, but they had faith.

After they settled, they discovered that there was another Jewish family living there, also immigrants from Eastern Europe. The father of the other Jewish family hired himself out as a handyman. Times were tough, but they all got by, and were always able to put some food on the table.

This small Mississippi town was all-white and all Protestant, except for these two Jewish families with their strange traditions, odd way of dressing and thick accents. And although many in the town looked down upon these two families, they were tolerated because they had skills the community needed.

The Black families, most descendents of freed slaves, lived in their own community a few miles down the road, not being encouraged or allowed to settle near the whites. Catholic immigrants, especially the rowdy intemperate Irish and noisy Italians, were looked down upon with suspicion as well. These townspeople didn't especially cozy up to Pope-lovers either. There was a pecking order. The Southern culture shimmered with an inbred quality reminiscent of Narcissus, who saw his reflection in the mirror, and fell in love with himself. What was familiar was what was tolerated and encouraged.

Miriam's father was a cobbler, and after a time, his hard work paid off and he was able to open a small shoe store. They co-existed peacefully with their neighbors, maintained a humble profile and kept to themselves.

There was a bit of trouble once when Miriam was a teenager. She was given the title of Tri-County Beauty Queen, and was the most beautiful girl in the three neighboring counties.

Miriam didn't exactly brag about her youthful good looks, she was beyond that when we met, but I saw a picture taken on her wedding day, and she was quite lovely.

The town had never selected a Jewish girl as the County Beauty Queen before and some Klan members were not happy with the election results, especially those who had daughters of the right age. These men and some women saw Miriam's reign as an insult to white American womanhood, saw Miriam as taking this title from their own girls.

Some muttered that the coveted position of Beauty Queen was something that defined the town, and should be given only to white Christian girls. They felt her winning was as if something pure, some part of their tradition was now lost to them, as other Southern traditions had been lost in the Civil War. The Civil War always lurked in the background of their psyches, never to be forgotten, never to be forgiven. It was an invisible cord that both bound them together and strangled their ability to change and move forward.

When the radiant Miriam rode in the parade float down Main Street, triumphant and somewhat giddy, she was unaware of this ill-feeling toward her. In an instant, she said, she went from ecstatic to terrified, as the float was doused with kerosene and set ablaze by one of those unhappy hate-filled men.

The hem of Miriam's dress caught fire, being one of those ruffled Southern confections. She nearly burned, but for the quick-thinking efforts of a classmate, a young Christian man who grabbed a blanket and smothered the flames on her dress, leaving her with only minor burns.

But the fact of Miriam being set on fire for rising above her station is not the story I want to tell. This is a story about domestic violence .

Making a Deal with the Devil

One day when Miriam was a small child, years before the Beauty Queen incident, she was playing with marbles on the wooden floor of her father’s store. She was young, about 6 years old at the time, so this would make it around 1913, right before World War I. When the other Jewish family came into the store to buy shoes for their children, Hannah noticed that there was something wrong with the Jewish man's wife. His wife kept turning away and hiding her face.

Hannah quietly went over to her, to ask a question, and saw the dark bruises hidden beneath her headscarf. Her question died away and she said nothing, when, looking into the woman's eyes, she saw her shame. She knew what caused those bruises. Hanna knew, in the way, that women sometimes know these things, that her husband was beating her.

Hannah was disturbed. Jewish men were not supposed to beat their wives. It was wrong and made all Jews look like animals. Back in the old country, the extended family, the community and the Rabbi worked together to stop this sort of thing, but there were no Jewish relatives, community or Rabbi here, only these two families.

The pieces came together in Hannah’s head. She had visited the woman a number of times over the years, bringing food and other small gifts, as she knew they were poorer of the two families. In this farming community, poor was always a relative term.

The woman always made excuses not to visit her back, but neither Miriam, or, I suppose, her mother Hannah, took "no" for an answer, both being strong, determined women with a stubborn streak. The woman finally confided that her husband didn’t like her to leave the house and got very angry when she disobeyed him.

She told Hannah that she knew a good wife was supposed to obey her husband, so she couldn't leave the house without his permission. Besides, she added, it only made it worse, because he drank and took it out on her and the children.

Hannah knew she had to do something, but didn’t know what. She prayed for guidance. Then she talked to her husband, asking him to reason with the man, but Hiram refused. Hiram said it would do no good, the man was a brute. But Hannah persisted and kept pestering Hiram until he threw up his hands in resignation and decided to take drastic action if only to get some peace and quiet at home.

It was in the late summer when the local sheriff came into Hiram’s store. Hiram approached him because he knew the sheriff was a Klan member, if not the leader. In small Mississippi towns, there are many secrets and no secrets.

These were not good times for a lot of folks economically, and this man had five children. Shoes for five children cost a lot, relatively speaking. Hiram asked the sheriff if he would like free shoes for all of his children to help them start school. The sheriff, not a stupid man, understood that Hiram wanted something, and they talked. In fact, they came to an understanding and the sheriff went home that night with new shoes for his family.

A few nights later, there was a burning cross in the front yard of the abuser’s home. The Klan members called the drunk Jewish husband out into the yard and hit him a few times, not enough to really damage him or keep him from working, but hard enough to hurt and to mark him. The Klan leader, in full regalia, told him that if he ever hit his wife again, they would kill him and burn his body in the woods. They put the fear into him and left him trembling and crying.

And after this "come to Jesus meeting" he never hit his wife or children again.

And that is how Hiram stopped the cycle of violence in that family with a strange, unholy alliance with the Klan, using, as it was, the only available tool he had to work with.

Oh, MY! Follow the Yellow Brick Road!!

I had a wonderful surprise over the weekend. The Fat Lady Sings nominated moi for the Perfect Post Award. Yes, the One we all read and look up to, who is herself an icon for writing, that other goddess of blogdom! I was nominated for my post about Sojourner Truth titled, Are You Ready For Truth?

I am honored and flattered and feel a speech coming on, but will not get tedious with all the thank yous to the people in my life and in the blogworld who have been so supportive of me since I began writing publicly just last February. And a special thank you to TFLS for her recognition and support.

So hurry on over to the Perfect Post Awards site and read all these other posts that are ripe for recognition. Just follow the Yellow Brick Road!

MELtdown of the Week

Well, Mel Gibson has done himself in, at least with a certain part of America that has now begun to distance themselves from his anti-semitism.

As many of you have heard, he was drinking and driving. And there's more.

What happened when has was pulled over, goes something like this:

Ah. Now where to begin? According to REDIFF news:

Peppering his speech liberally with the F-word, Gibson began his tirade by threatening the cops, refusing to get into their car telling them that he 'owns Malibu' and will spend all his money to 'get even' with the police officer in question.

Then followed the racial slurs (pun inevitable) of an unbelievably anti-Semitic nature.

Suddenly venting fury on Jews, Mel abused them colourfully and said they were 'responsible for all the wars in the world.'

Turning to the cop, he asked, 'Are you a Jew?'

When not indulging himself in Jew-abuse, (read all the unprintable details here) Gibson used the choicest of profanities on the cops present, and highlighted the moment by insulting a female sergeant, yelling 'what are you looking at, sugar t**s?'

Well, the reaction has set in and the focus groups have spoken.

The ABC television network has cancelled a mini-series about the Holocaust it was developing with Mel Gibson, after the actor launched into an anti-Semitic tirade during his arrest for drink-driving.

So for those of you looking for a great example of the definition of irony, read no more.

He gets drunk, is verbally abusive, makes ethnic and religious slurs AS WELL AS SEXIST COMMENTS (which I've seen few comment on) and we are supposed to believe that it was the result of his drinking. Oh, my MEL-tdown, no you were carrying those 'tudes around with you when you learned them at your daddy's knee.

Hasta La Recount, Baby!

There's trouble brewing in Mexico. Remember Mexico, the country recently shrouded in turmoil over immigration law, and more recently, loud cries of election fraud?

In the recent attention to the war(s) in the Mideast, there has been less attention to news coverage of our neighbor to the south.

Here's a synopsis. The PRI, party of Vicente Fox, is out. Mexico recently held a close election, as close as the one we had a few years ago when Bush stole it from Gore.

And in a deja vu experience, once again it was the leftist, or liberal party left out in the cold, by an allegedly slim margin. No mas!!

The liberal forces, led by Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador have come up to fight for their election rights against the winning candidate, Felipe Calderon of the conservative ruling National Action Party, Calderon said yesterday that elections are won at the ballot box and not on the streets. Coincidence? How did Bush win? Because there sure was no demonstrating in the streets here, just a Hush! Hush! Let’s keep it civil and not make waves approach.

But Obrador has spoken up for the people! He has approximately 200,000 voters by some estimates rallying in the streets of Mexico City. They have closed off the business district, shut down traffic, and are demanding a recount! This is Lopez Obrador's third mass protest following the July 2 election in which he lost by 244,000 votes with more than 41 million cast.

Tapes have allegedly surfaced showing ballot boxes being tampered with by election workers favorable to Calderon. Is there a revolution in progress just beneath our noses?

"Secondary Blogtrauma"

I was cruising the bloghighway when I noticed a recurrent theme at many of my favorite spots.

It seems that bloggers are suffering burnout from the newest outbreak of war in the Mideast. People were describing themselves as stressed out, needing a break, saddened by the outbreak of war in Lebanon.

And it's no wonder as the glory of bombs and rockets producing civilian casualties have been paraded into living rooms across the country. Every major television station competes to show the most horrifying, most whatever-will-draw-the-viewers kind of programming on the invasion of Lebanon.

I've tried to avoid watching too much of this new invasion. I can imagine the newscasters lining up on the frontlines where the bombs are bursting, like they do when there's a hurricane blowing in, standing in the blowing surf and rain, their bravado only overshadowed only by their egos.

I see this as a blogtrend. An overload of TV, too many pictures on the net of burned, maimed bodies.

Its 2:30 on a Friday afternoon and I'm calling it.

So listen up! Here's the diagnosis, secondary trauma.

I am now officially coining the term "Secondary Blogtrauma." What we in the psych-o-biz sector call secondary trauma is what affects the bystanders who witness violence or death. An example of this could be those children who witness domestic violence in the home, or soldiers who see their buddies killed by IEDs.

Even watching death and destruction over and over on TV, such as the fall of the twin towers in 2001, often affects people to the point of feeling somewhat dazed and traumatized.

"Secondary Blogtrauma" is akin to what Harry Potter experienced with the Dementors of Ashkaban. Too much wartime coverage on TV "just sucks the joy right out of you, and you feel like you'll never be cheerful again."

So here's what you do. Turn off the news. Take a break. Rent "Young Frankenstein" or "What About Bob?" or your favorite mindless Chevy Chase comedy. Eat a balanced meal. Sleep at least 8 hours. Call a friend. Nurture yourself, whatever that means to you.

Remember, those who blog and run away live to blog another day.

And if your symptoms persist, don't call me in the morning. Peaceout.

Day in a Life

I was driving out of my neighborhood on the way to work, when I noticed how pretty the sky was. I pulled over and snapped a few pictures. The small rainbow in the top the sky picture just appeared. I did not add it, but decided a rainbow in Oz is always a good sign.



At work, I saw some birds outside in the tree and took a picture through my office window. I didn't realize there was a reflection from the flash, and guess what, there reflected in the glass was my own self-portrait, but no birds!

At lunch, I decided to go out and take some more pictures. It was hot outside, but I needed to get out of the office.

I got in my car and went to the Flightpath Coffee House to get some brew. They have good coffee, organic, shade grown, real coffee. It is a small, casual place, so named because it used to be on the flightpath for the old airport, before it was relocated south of town.



The Flight path Cafe was right next to Storyville vintage clothes Store, but I was in a hurry and kept going. I wanted to get over to the Elisabet Ney Museum, to see if it was open.


The Museum. was closed, but I took a few shots of the outside. It's an old home that houses the sculpture of Elisabet Ney, who sculpted in bronze in the 1800s. She was a woman pioneer in art in Texas.

The next stop was the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. I went to the local family-owned store around the corner from the museum. They have a cool mural painted on their store.


I needed a few other things not found there, so I drove down the street to Wheatsville Food Co-op, which has been around since the 1970s.


I passed by Amy's Ice Cream, home of hand-made, handpacked local ice cream. YUMMMM, but I needed to get get to the restaurant and didn't stop.


I was meeting a friend for lunch for his birthday. We both like sushi so we went to a place called Ichiban. They have a cool pond full of goldfish (carp) by the front door. The kind owner saw me standing there, snapping pictures of the huge carp. He threw some food into the water, smiled at me and left. The fish went into a fenzy, popping their heads out of the water.


I toasted my friend, ate lunch and went back to work. I walked up to the door of my office. It's always good to stop and smell the flowers and this canna lily was radiantly orange.


I worked for a while at the computer. I researched some legislation and answered a few phone calls. Then I started going through the Quark Bible. I'm learning some new software to update some manuals and brochures. Wow! I noticed it was almost 4p.m. Time to go home, as I had been there since 7a.m. The clouds were still gorgeous and I snapped a few more pictures. All in all, a productive and good day.

Sharia Law is No Picnic

I have been writing about the injustice of what Israel is doing to Lebanon. In the sense of fairness, let me rant about Sharia law for a few minutes. Here is a heartbreaking story of the execution of Atefeh Rajabi in Iran. And what happened to the pedophile who seduced and raped a mentally ill minor child, because children, and those who are mentlly incompetent can never give consent freely...............? This is clearly wrong to me. What do you think?

Iran: Hanged from a crane aged 16

Sunday, 23 July 2006

EXCLUSIVE JUSTICE IRAN STYLE: SICK GIRL EXECUTED BY JUDGE SHE DEFIED Her crime? She had sex with an unmarried man. By Susie Boniface The Sunday Mirror - It was exactly 6am and the start of another blisteringly hot summer day when 16-year-old Atefeh Rajabi was dragged from her prison cell and taken to be executed. Every step of the way the troubled teenager plagued by mental problems shouted "repentance, repentance" as the militiamen marched her to the town's Railway Square. The Iranian judge who had sentenced Atefeh to death was left unmoved as he personally put the noose around her neck and signalled to the crane driver. Kicking and screaming, Atefeh was left dangling for 45 minutes from the arm of the crane as the crowd sobbed and - under their breath - damned the mullahs. Atefeh's crime? Offending public morality. She was found guilty of "acts incompatible with chastity" by having sex with an unmarried man, even though friends say Atefeh was in such a fragile mental state that she wasn't in a position to say no. But Judge Haji Rezaii was determined she should hang, regardless of the rules of international law which say only adults over 18 can be executed, and that the courts have a duty to children and the mentally ill. The brutal end to Atefeh's short life has shone a new light on Iran's Shariah law, where adultery, theft and rape all carry the same punishment - death. Officially around 100 people - some just children like Atefeh - are executed each year. But human rights groups say the true figure could be much higher in a country where only half of the women can read, only one in 10 have a job and two-thirds are beaten in their homes. Life was never easy for Atefeh, who was brought up in the industrial town of Neka, 250 miles from Tehran and close to the Caspian Sea. Her mother died when she was a child and her father Ghasseem, a heroin addict, left her grandparents to bring her up. She suffered from bi-polar disorder, which led to severe mood swings from hyperactivity to depression. Worried parents told their children to stay away from her - something many regret now. "Perhaps we should have helped her instead," said Hamid. "I think the death of her mother had a devastating effect. Before that, she was a normal girl. Her mother was everything to her. After she died, there was no one to look after her." Mina, a childhood friend, said Atefeh was abused by a close relative. "She never dared talk about it with an adult," said Mina. "If she had told her teacher they'd have called her a whore. Tell the police? They lock you up and rape you." Atefeh first appeared in court, accused of having sex with an unmarried man at 14. Over the next two years she was accused of the same crime with different men. They denied it and were sentenced to the lash and then released. But Atefeh pleaded guilty and each time received 100 lashes and a prison term. Mina said: "Atefeh sometimes talked about what these 'moral' Islamic policemen did to her while she was in jail. She still had nightmares about that. Atefeh said her mood swings made it easy for men to take advantage of her, and that most of her lovers were in the security force." Two of them were members of the anti-vice militia. They encouraged other men to sign statements saying Atefeh had engaged in vice, and even claimed she had AIDS. It was when Atefeh appeared before Judge Rezaii for a fourth time that she lost her temper - and also her life. In a rage she tore off her hi jab - a headscarf - and told the judge she had been raped and it was his duty to punish her tormentors, not their victim. Rezaii told her she would hang for her "sharp tongue" and that he would put the noose around her neck himself. It became a personal crusade as he travelled to Tehran and convinced the Supreme Court to uphold his verdict. Two petitions by her friends, saying she was mentally unwell, were ignored. Her father produced her birth certificate proving she was 16. Yet the judges "decreed" she was 22. Atefeh also wrote to the Supreme Court: "There are medical documents that prove I have a weak nerve and soul. In some minutes of the day and night I lose my sanity. In a society where an insane person can be serially raped it is no wonder that a person like me is the victim of such an ugly act." The day before she died she wrote again, saying: "Repentance, repentance, repentance." In Iranian law anyone who shows remorse has an automatic stay of execution and a right to appeal, but she was ignored. A local pharmacist watched Atefeh's execution on August 15, 2004. "She looked so young standing there," he said. "Rezaii must have felt a personal grudge against her. He put the rope around her neck himself. I looked around and everyone in the crowd was sobbing and damning the mullahs." The family's lawyer has now filed a suit of wrongful execution against the judge and is preparing a murder case. Her life is also the subject of a secretly filmed documentary, Execution of a Teenage Girl, which will be screened on BBC2 on Thursday. One of Atefeh's teachers said the authorities wanted to make an example of her: "She wouldn't take injustice from anyone, but the mullahs equate these qualities in a girl to prostitution and evil. They wanted to give all the girls and women a lesson." Amnesty International UK director Kate Allen said: "The killing of Atefeh is a catalogue of the most appalling human rights violations. The public hanging of a child, believed to be mentally incompetent, totally beggars belief. To hang a child flies in the face of all that is humane." CRUELTY OF SHARIA LAW PENALTIES imposed by Iran's religious mullahs include: THEFT: Amputation of hands or feet for persistent offenders. ADULTERY: Death by stoning. UNMARRIED SEX: 100 lashes. CONVERSION TO RELIGION OTHER THAN ISLAM: Death. SODOMY: Death for adults, 74 lashes for consenting child. LESBIANISM: 100 lashes, or on the fourth occasion death. HOMOSEXUAL KISS: 60 lashes. RUBBING ANOTHER MAN'S THIGHS OR BUTTOCKS: 99 lashes - on 4th occasion, death.

Are You Ready For Truth?

This is a story from history that addresses race, women's rights, (and not just white women's rights), and the strength and ability to have a voice in a world where one grew up without one.

In 1848, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott, Martha Wright, Jane Hunt and Mary Ann M'Clintock organized the first Woman's Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, N.Y. There, they established the Declaration of Sentiments which spelled out the desire for women to share the same rights that men held.

At that convention, Sojourner Truth, a well-known former slave who tirelessly campaigned to end slavery, gave a riveting speech, "Ain't I A Woman?," in which she dashed all thoughts that women were too dainty or not smart enough to vote.

Sojourner Truth's life story was the basis for all of her speeches. She relied on her experiences as a slave, a woman, and an African American to serve as the arguments for her crusades

Part of the fascination with Sojourner Truth in her own time was due to her physical presence. She stood close to six feet tall and was thin and very darkskinned. Her dress was often Quaker-like, and she always wore a turban headdress

The most often quoted speech by Sojourner Truth, the one by which she is best known today, was delivered at the second annual Ohio Women's Rights Convention in Akron on May 28, 1851. Although there has been some controversy about interpretation, I still think it is a great story.

Source: National Anti-Slavery Standard 2 May 1863: 4.

Sojourner Truth

By Mrs. F. D. Gage

"Well, chillen, what dar's so much racket dar must be som'ting out o'kilter. I tink dat 'twixt de niggers of de South and de women at de Norf, all a-talking 'bout rights, de white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all this here talking 'bout? Dat man ober dar say dat woman needs to be helped into carriages, and lifted ober ditches, and to have de best place eberywhar. Nobody eber helps me into carriages, or ober mud-puddles, or gives me any best place,"; and, raising herself to her full height, and her voice to a pitch like rolling thunder, she asked, "And ar'n't I a woman? Look at me. Look at my arm," and she bared her right arm to the shoulder, showing its tremendous muscular power.

"I have plowed and planted and gathered into barns, and no man could head me--and ar'n't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man (when I could get it) and bear de lash as well--and ar'n't I a woman? I have borne thirteen chillen, and seen 'em mos' all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with a mother's grief, none but Jesus heard--and ar'n't' I a woman? Den dey talks 'bout dis ting in de head. What dis dey call it." "Intellect," whispered some one near. "Dat's it, honey. What's dat got to do with woman's rights or niggers' rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint, and yourn holds a quart, wouldn't ye be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?" and she pointed her significant finger and sent a keen glance at the minister who had made the argument. The cheering was long and loud. "Den dat little man in black dar, he say woman can't have as much rights as man, 'cause Christ wa'n'n't a woman. Whar did your Christ come from?"

Rolling thunder could not have stilled that crowd as did those deep, wonderful tones, as she stood there with outstretched arms and eye of fire. Raising her voice still louder, she repeated,--

"Whar did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had not'ing to do with him." Oh, what a rebuke she gave the little man. Turning again to another objector, she took up the defense of Mother Eve. I cannot follow her through it all. It was pointed and witty and solemn, eliciting at almost every sentence deafening applause, and she ended by asserting: "that if de fust woman God ever made was strong enough to turn de world upside down all her one lone, all dese togeder," and she glanced her eye over us, "ought to be able to turn it back, and git it right side up again, and now dey is asking to, de men better let 'em." (long and continued cheering). "Bleeged to ye for hearin' on me, and now ole Sojourner ha'n't got nothing more to say."

While I do not go along with the part about women owning a pint, while men own a quart, there's a lot to be said for her sheer courage in speaking her truth.

Zimbabwe Gets Behind Bush

Here's a line on some more of that precious freedom we are exporting to the world.

JOHANNESBURG, South Africa - Times are hard and getting harder in Zimbabwe, where people too proud to cry about hunger, joblessness and misrule could soon find it too dangerous to joke about them.

Parliament plans to debate proposals next month to empower the secret police to eavesdrop on mail, e-mail and phones without any court approval.

The government denies any sinister intent, saying it is putting its anti-terrorism legislation in line with international practice.

International practice? Yes, Bush always denies any sinister intent too.

Don't they mean U.S. practice? More big brother, less freedom as American electronic eavesdropping becomes the international standard!

Condi Flying on Her Broom to the Middle East

First off, a tip of the hat to both PTCruiser and Thepoetryman for submitting articles to the peacetrain.org this week . We are rolling and getting the website set up more and more every week! Please come visit and share your thoughts!

In other news, Condi Rice is postponing her trip to the Middle East to allow Israel time to break up some of Hezbollah's power.

Translation: kill more innocents, wreak more havoc, instill fear in the civilian population as well as Hezbollah. She's waiting, knowing more will be murdered while she sits this out for a few days.

She also wants to give Israel time to demonstrate to all of its neighbors that a well-armed and dedicated group like Hezbollah is no military match for Israel.

They want to make it plain to Syria and Iran what will happen to them if they ever get involved in a war, either by proxy or directly, with Israel.

How do I know all this? I read her blog! And you can too! Yes, as I have revealed previously, Condigrrrl has a blog! And notice in he blog pic that she truly has vampire fangs!!!

Want to read her blog entries? Go to: http://www.myspace.com/condigrrrrl

Alas, Condi has not been very good at making friends on MySpace. Now we know why. Shes a murdering vampire witch on a broom.

O Lebanon!

This post is dedicated to all the innocents dying and harmed in Lebanon at this time, the victims of Israeli aggression. An entire country should not be shelled for the actions of one group, Hezbollah.

Khalil Gibran, author of the Prophet, is without doubt the most famous of all Lebanese writers. Born in the 1883, he grew up in a poor household. When his father was imprisoned for fraud, his mother raised the children. When his father was released from of prison, she decided to emigrate to the U.S.

Gibran's father didn't want to go, so she took the kids and went by herslf. What an independent soul she must have been.

She made her living as a peddler. In Lebanon, Khalil had no education and could not read or write. In the States, he went to school and became known for his fiery essays and art.

At the end of World War I, the Treaty of Versailles partitioned the old Ottoman Empire, and placed Lebanon and Syria under the protectorate of France. After Syria and Lebanon achieved independence in 1943, both countries gradually came to accept their roles as separate national identities: Syria as the heart of pan-Arab nationalism and Lebanon as independent and sovereign but within the Arab world.

Three generations ago, Kahlil Gibran wrote a simple verse with the repeating line "you have your Lebanon, I have mine." In it, Gibran chided the politicians of his day who defined Lebanon by their intrigue and their vain boastings. To Gibran the real Lebanon was its prophets and poets, its beauty and the vitality of its daily life. He died in 1931 without seeing his homeland gain its freedom.

It is still a good read.

You Have Your Lebanon and I Have My Lebanon
(written after the first World War, in the 1920's)

You have your Lebanon and its dilemma. I have my Lebanon and its beauty. Your Lebanon is an arena for men from the West and men from the East.

My Lebanon is a flock of birds fluttering in the early morning as shepherds lead their sheep into the meadow and rising in the evening as farmers return from their fields and vineyards.

You have your Lebanon and its people. I have my Lebanon and its people.

Yours are those whose souls were born in the hospitals of the West; they are as ship without rudder or sail upon a raging sea.... They are strong and eloquent among themselves but weak and dumb among Europeans.

They are brave, the liberators and the reformers, but only in their own area. But they are cowards, always led backwards by the Europeans. They are those who croak like frogs boasting that they have rid themselves of their ancient, tyrannical enemy, but the truth of the matter is that this tyrannical enemy still hides within their own souls. They are the slaves for whom time had exchanged rusty chains for shiny ones so that they thought themselves free. (I love this line-Glenda) These are the children of your Lebanon. Is there anyone among them who represents the strength of the towering rocks of Lebanon, the purity of its water or the fragrance of its air? Who among them vouchsafes to say, "When I die I leave my country little better than when I was born"?

Who among them dare to say, "My life was a drop of blood in the veins of Lebanon, a tear in her eyes or a smile upon her lips"?

Those are the children of your Lebanon. They are, in your estimation, great; but insignificant in my estimation.

Let me tell you who are the children of my Lebanon.

They are farmers who would turn the fallow field into garden and grove.

They are the shepherds who lead their flocks through the valleys to be fattened for your table meat and your woolens.

They are the vine-pressers who press the grape to wine and boil it to syrup.

They are the parents who tend the nurseries, the mothers who spin the silken yarn.

They are the husbands who harvest the wheat and the wives who gather the sheaves.

They are the builders, the potters, the weavers and the bell-casters.

They are the poets who pour their souls in new cups.

They are those who migrate with nothing but courage in their hearts and strength in their arms but who return with wealth in their hands and a wreath of glory upon their heads.

They are the victorious wherever they go and loved and respected wherever they settle.

They are the ones born in huts but who died in palaces of learning.

These are the children of Lebanon; they are the lamps that cannot be snuffed by the wind and the salt which remains unspoiled through the ages.

They are the ones who are steadily moving toward perfection, beauty, and truth.

What will remain of your Lebanon after a century? Tell me! Except bragging, lying and stupidity? Do you expect the ages to keep in its memory the traces of deceit and cheating and hypocrisy? Do you think the atmosphere will preserve in its pockets the shadows of death and the stench of graves?

Do you believe life will accept a patched garment for a dress? Verily, I say to you that an olive plant in the hills of Lebanon will outlast all of your deeds and your works; that the wooden plow pulled by the oxen in the crannies of Lebanon is nobler than your dreams and aspirations.

I say to you, while the conscience of time listened to me, that the songs of a maiden collecting herbs in the valleys of Lebanon will outlast all the uttering of the most exalted prattler among you. I say to you that you are achieving nothing. If you knew that you are accomplishing nothing, I would feel sorry for you, but you know it not.

You have your Lebanon and I have my Lebanon.

California

I was driving to work this morning, thinking about the turmoil that is rolling across the middle east like a large grass fire, and listening to an old song, "California" being sung by Joni Mitchell.

"....Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won't give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had ......"

I started think about where I was as a young high school student when that song came out, and still, they still won't give peace a chance.

But I will not give up the dream, no matter how dark it looks in the world, no matter how cruelly people and nations treat each other.....will you? Because if we give up the dream, what do we have left?

So sing on, write on, keep breathing, chant, fight for truth and justice, because some days, it just doesn't come easy.

My Strength Is Not for Hurting

Check out part of the cool ad campaign by Men Can Stop Rape!

Working to end sexual violence- It's not just for women anymore!

What's on Your Mind?

The conflict in the Middle East is giving many of us pause to reflect on the continued destruction in that region, in terms of individual, group and regional destruction and loss.

Here are thoughts about peace as expressed by those wise sages throughout history.













A tip of the hat to beachblogger for the quote above.

A tip of the hat to time for the quote above.

Friday Cat Blogging- The Pallas Cat

The Rare Pallas Cat

The Pallas's cat is also known as a Manul. About the size of a large domestic cat, the manul is covered with long course fur, sandy to grey in color with white tips on the guard hairs which gives an overall 'frosted' appearance.

The legs are short and stumpy compared to the overall body size - the small broad head has high set eyes, and low set hair covered ears. The head has a striped facial ruff.

The tail of the manul cat is tipped with black and has darker rings toward the end, similar dark markings can also be faintly seen across the side of its back. The range of the manul extends from Iran through southern Asia to parts of western China. They are an endangered species with some zoos participating in breeding programs.