What year is it? 2006 ... a long way from 1968, doncha think? But have we evolved, or has our government gone back to the "good ole days" of spying on us?
James Carroll wrote a column in yesterday's Boston Globe, also reprinted at http://www.commondreams.org, entitled "The Politics of Pacifism Meets FBI Monitoring."
So it's true, it's not just the President who's spying on us, but his minions, as well. And they've been doing it (or rather, they've been CAUGHT doing it) for the last FOUR YEARS. But you won't find it in any news reports. No, No, NO! Because, after all, it's just one columnist's OPINION (a very well-respected columnist who backs up his assertions with FACTS, but, well, you know).
So now you know what really ticks me off. Besides the ugly business of war and all that war-profiteering going on, that is. Stepping on the toes of our hard won civil rights. Yeah, some of which were won through war, I know. BUT STILL!
Don't make all our past mistakes in vain. Let's not repeat history. If we didn't do it right the first time, then things ought to be done differently. And labeling pacifism a "left-wing political cause" is ... oh, let me be the first to say, it's UNPATRIOTIC.
Maybe the FBI should go back to investigating UFO's.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Climbing Back into the Saddle
OK, so I'm not as back as I thought I was. Still on the mend, here, as I try to regain both my strength and the upper hand in the household.
That might take awhile.
Everybody else around here recovered pretty quickly, and thanks to the tireless efforts of both my mother and my husband, the world did not come to an end. Although I did find it somewhat amusing that it took BOTH of them to handle my various tasks around the house, and yet they left some for me.
In the eternal wisdom of my mother, "You have too much to do."
Don't we all.
That might take awhile.
Everybody else around here recovered pretty quickly, and thanks to the tireless efforts of both my mother and my husband, the world did not come to an end. Although I did find it somewhat amusing that it took BOTH of them to handle my various tasks around the house, and yet they left some for me.
In the eternal wisdom of my mother, "You have too much to do."
Don't we all.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
I'm Baaaack
Wow, I didn't realize how long I had been away. Well, for those who have been in the dark, I've been recovering from my tonsillectomy. This is one of those things that's easy for kids, HAAAARD for parents.
I thought I had things all under control. In the days leading up to the surgery, while both boys developed colds and lovingly shared those colds with their father, I popped the Airborne like candy. It was actually kind of a treat, like drinking soda all day. Anyway, it got the job done, and I remained healthy enough to go through with the procedure.
Since my mother was flying up from sunny Florida to spend a week in confinement with my demolition crew, I thought the least I could do was start her off with a clean house. Cleaning is something that I just am no good at, I barely keep this place acceptable to my husband (who has had to DRASTICALLY lower his standards in order to live here). But since the last two times my mother came to help out she landed in a disaster zone, she was pleasantly surprised this time.
Everything was going pretty smoothly. The boys' colds had abated (dh was still pretty miserable, but coping), the house was clean, my mother even bought me my Last Meal ... PIZZA, (which, by the way, is No. 2, after chocolate) with plenty left over for the crew to reheat the next day. Even the boys ate well that night. Little Guy had two whole slices of pizza.
Which he promptly threw up all over me, all over the Big Chair, all over the BEIGE carpet (well, it was beige when we bought it), all over the end of the sofa (which I didn't notice until the next morning, eww), and a trail down the hallway to the bathroom, where he stubbornly refused to aim for the toilet. No, the floor was working just fine for him.
I'm sure my mother was thinking "I didn't sign up for this!" as she helped to clean up the mess. Things only got better from there.
He was sick throughout the night. Lucky for me (and my bed!) it was mostly dry heaves, since he had already thrown up everything he had ever eaten. But still, pretty hard to get a good night's rest when every cough, every whimper caused me to jump up and shove a bowl under his chin all night long.
But still, we stuck with the plan. In the morning, DH went to get "sick" supplies, and then we left for the surgery center, left my mother to care for one sick little boy, and one healthy (so far) big boy. (Sick Boy had no fever, so we were hoping it was just a case of overeating) Good Luck.
The surgery was quick and easy (I was asleep, real easy) and I was back home in time for supper, only I wasn't going to be eating any supper anytime soon. Mom had a pretty easy day, too. Sick Boy lounged around, didn't eat, drank his flat coke as directed by Dr. Gram. He was a very good Sick Boy. And Healthy Boy was good too, occupied himself with cartoons and computer games, read books with Gram, wrote in his Thursday Journal (the only school work he was required to do all day).
So in the early evening, as I was trying to get comfortable sleeping upright in my bed, with Sick Boy squeezing in beside me, DH totally passed out after his marathon (work all night, stay with me all day ... 22 hours), I heard the coughing start downstairs. Too late, Healthy Boy had just lost his supper (why did he pick now to finally eat?) and my dear mother was cleaning up another mess.
Since I was drugged up on pain meds, and clearly out of my brain, I went down to help. We eventually got Big Sick Boy settled into a makeshift bed on the floor of his bedroom (since the top bunk is NO PLACE for a Sick Boy). Mom took the couch to be away from Big Sick Boy and what was now clearly a HORRIBLE CONTAGIOUS DISEASE. I joined her, finding the Big Chair (totally Febreezed the smell out of it by now) to be more comfortable than propping myself against the wooden headboard in my bed upstairs. Little Not-as-Sick Boy squeezed in.
Big Sick Boy had a rough night. We ALL had a rough night. Well, not me, really, as I was pretty drugged. And Little Guy slept pretty well, too.
So now comes the part where DH tries to be me. And take care of me at the same time. Homeschooling Big Sick Boy was out for the day, so he was off the hook there, but pretty soon it was apparent that Mom was succumbing to the DREADED DISEASE.
She totally didn't sign up for this.
(sorry, this is getting too long ... to be continued)
I thought I had things all under control. In the days leading up to the surgery, while both boys developed colds and lovingly shared those colds with their father, I popped the Airborne like candy. It was actually kind of a treat, like drinking soda all day. Anyway, it got the job done, and I remained healthy enough to go through with the procedure.
Since my mother was flying up from sunny Florida to spend a week in confinement with my demolition crew, I thought the least I could do was start her off with a clean house. Cleaning is something that I just am no good at, I barely keep this place acceptable to my husband (who has had to DRASTICALLY lower his standards in order to live here). But since the last two times my mother came to help out she landed in a disaster zone, she was pleasantly surprised this time.
Everything was going pretty smoothly. The boys' colds had abated (dh was still pretty miserable, but coping), the house was clean, my mother even bought me my Last Meal ... PIZZA, (which, by the way, is No. 2, after chocolate) with plenty left over for the crew to reheat the next day. Even the boys ate well that night. Little Guy had two whole slices of pizza.
Which he promptly threw up all over me, all over the Big Chair, all over the BEIGE carpet (well, it was beige when we bought it), all over the end of the sofa (which I didn't notice until the next morning, eww), and a trail down the hallway to the bathroom, where he stubbornly refused to aim for the toilet. No, the floor was working just fine for him.
I'm sure my mother was thinking "I didn't sign up for this!" as she helped to clean up the mess. Things only got better from there.
He was sick throughout the night. Lucky for me (and my bed!) it was mostly dry heaves, since he had already thrown up everything he had ever eaten. But still, pretty hard to get a good night's rest when every cough, every whimper caused me to jump up and shove a bowl under his chin all night long.
But still, we stuck with the plan. In the morning, DH went to get "sick" supplies, and then we left for the surgery center, left my mother to care for one sick little boy, and one healthy (so far) big boy. (Sick Boy had no fever, so we were hoping it was just a case of overeating) Good Luck.
The surgery was quick and easy (I was asleep, real easy) and I was back home in time for supper, only I wasn't going to be eating any supper anytime soon. Mom had a pretty easy day, too. Sick Boy lounged around, didn't eat, drank his flat coke as directed by Dr. Gram. He was a very good Sick Boy. And Healthy Boy was good too, occupied himself with cartoons and computer games, read books with Gram, wrote in his Thursday Journal (the only school work he was required to do all day).
So in the early evening, as I was trying to get comfortable sleeping upright in my bed, with Sick Boy squeezing in beside me, DH totally passed out after his marathon (work all night, stay with me all day ... 22 hours), I heard the coughing start downstairs. Too late, Healthy Boy had just lost his supper (why did he pick now to finally eat?) and my dear mother was cleaning up another mess.
Since I was drugged up on pain meds, and clearly out of my brain, I went down to help. We eventually got Big Sick Boy settled into a makeshift bed on the floor of his bedroom (since the top bunk is NO PLACE for a Sick Boy). Mom took the couch to be away from Big Sick Boy and what was now clearly a HORRIBLE CONTAGIOUS DISEASE. I joined her, finding the Big Chair (totally Febreezed the smell out of it by now) to be more comfortable than propping myself against the wooden headboard in my bed upstairs. Little Not-as-Sick Boy squeezed in.
Big Sick Boy had a rough night. We ALL had a rough night. Well, not me, really, as I was pretty drugged. And Little Guy slept pretty well, too.
So now comes the part where DH tries to be me. And take care of me at the same time. Homeschooling Big Sick Boy was out for the day, so he was off the hook there, but pretty soon it was apparent that Mom was succumbing to the DREADED DISEASE.
She totally didn't sign up for this.
(sorry, this is getting too long ... to be continued)
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