Party Tomorrow

We've got the food ready. Tomorrow we'll do the Big Cleanup and then our guests should start arriving around 4 PM. I'm still a little hung up about my costume but I guess I will get it figured out. Jason wants to be Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. I bought him a long wig and figure he can turn it around or else just drape the hair over his face and wear it that way. It will probably tickle and he'll probably get tired of it before too long, but we shall see!

The food is just about ready. We're having:

Vegetarian Chili (in honor of Day of the Dead) & rice
Deviled Eggs (obvious, I hope)
Pepperoni, cheese and crackers
Chips, pretzels and dips
Putrified Pie (mostly sugar-free pudding pie, with a layer of chocolate covered by green butterscotch pudding)
Graveyard cake over Castrated Brownies
Halloween candy (candy corn and gummy worms)
Vampire Blood punch with frozen body parts
Soda
Coffe & Tea

We may also receive some Turkey Balls. The brownies will be happy to hear about that.

I've put up a miniature Day of the Dead altar with photos of our deceased loved ones: my parents, Bruce's parents, Richard, Janet, Beth, Rosanne, Nancy, and our late cat George. I also put up some skull decorations with various slogans like "Please DO feed the ancestors," "Dead Head" (on the bathroom door), "Abandon Soap, All Ye Who Enter Here," on one of Jason's bedroom doors, and a fire-breathing dragon saying, "Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste great with ketchup!" on the other. Tomorrow afternoon I will put the last one, "You are entering the Dead Zone," on the door to our apartment.

There are skeletons in the hall closets, one saying, "Shhh, I'm trying to hide!" and the other saying, "Shh, don't tell on me!" Another decoration is shaped like a tombstone and reads, "Graveyard Vote." Okay, so it is four days before Election Day and a little political humor is not inappropriate!

For goody bags, I've made up "Anti-Vampire Kits." They contain a head of garlic, several toothpicks (wooden stakes to drive through a vampire's heart) and a Blood Donor card to prove you've already given!

Tomorrow I will post photos!

Democracy is Dead in NYC

The City Council just caved in to Mayor Bloomberg and voted that he can run for a third term. They disregarded the voice of the people in not one, but two referendums where we voted for a two-term limit.

Honestly, I don't care if he gets to run again if it is done right: another referendum by the people. But this little power play completely circumvented the voters. We should now punish those who think democracy is not for us "little people." I want the list of all those who voted in favor of Bloomberg's ploy, and I'll make sure to put it up on this blog and encourage everyone reading it to vote AGAINST every one of these pathetic sycophants. And of course, let's make sure Bloomberg is soundly defeated.

I hear there was intimidation from Bloomberg's camp. Well, people who have principles know how to stand up to and refuse to be intimidated. Sorry, no excuses. Was a continuing seat on the Council more important than our basic democratic principles? People have given their lives for democracy, but giving up a council seat is too great a sacrifice? For shame!

As for those brave enough to say NO to this highjacking of the popular will, we should reward them by making sure they are voted in again, providing their term limits aren't up.

The Giver

I've just finished reading The Giver by Lois Lowry. I have to admit it was beautifully written and sucked me in from the very first page. I finished the entire book in one evening, all 179 pages.

So kudos to Ms. Lowry for her excellent, suspenseful writing. But the story line..well, the words "trite" and "overdone" came to mind. It seems to me that ever since I was a child I've been reading books about communities that instill mindless conformity and manipulate reality in order to keep the population under control. This is just another of those stories, even if the writing is outstanding.

I could name several books this one reminded me of. It's not as brutally coercive as 1984, but there's recommended physical punishment of young children and the elderly. There are endless rules that even restrict one's use of language. Jonas is scolded for his use of a vague, meaningless term like "love." One of the rules is to use language "precisely." Thus, exaggeration for effect, such as saying one is starving when really just hungry, is cause for reprimand. This reminded me very much of the manipulation of language through Newspeak in 1984.

Those who don't conform, die. That's a pervasive theme throughout many of these dystopian novels. Certainly it is central in 1984 and also in Logan's Run (where it is a capital offense to turn 30 years old without presenting oneself for immediate termination). "Release" is the euphemism for state-sanctioned murder here. But it is treated as something positive (similar to Brave New World, where children visited the hospices and were given ice cream on the day someone died), and the polite fiction that the "released" persons are sent "Elsewhere" is maintained.

The ugly secret is that not just the elderly are put to death (which is bad enough), but anyone who doesn't fit in, even the smaller of a set of twins or a baby who is fretful at night, can be "released" if the community decides this is necessary. Jonas discovers to his horror that his "father" (no child is raised by his or her biological parents) who appears to adore children, is capable of casually murdering newborn infants, all the while talking to them in the same cheerful patter as if he were nurturing them. Irony of ironies, his profession is called Nurturer!

Meanwhile, Jonas is being trained to become the next Receiver of Memory. This is an important position because the community has chosen to forget many things: love, family, strong emotions of any kind, any kind of suffering, and even colors and music, in order to remain safe and comfortable. They have given up way too much, it is abundantly clear. But Jonas, under his training by the former Receiver, now the Giver, is rediscovering the memories of ecstatic pleasure and unspeakable pain, and he comes to the realization that his community has given up too much. If he leaves, the memories he has received will be released and his community will have to experience and deal with them. They will therefore be forced out of their conformist complacency and made to face the realities of life again.

What happens at the end? It's not clear whether Jonas, escaping with little Gabriel, a baby scheduled for release because he cries too much at night (colicky babies beware!) finds a community living the way we do, with love, with family, with all the attendant pleasures and pains of existence, or whether he and the baby perish in the first real snow he has ever seen.

I also felt this book has its roots in the propaganda movies of the fifties. I saw similarities to movies like "It Came From Outer Space," and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." The people in Jonas's community have given up so much and are living in such color-blind and tone-deaf conformity to the "Rules," which govern them to the point where no one makes an independent choice of mate or profession, that they appear as soulless as the Pod People. Is Lowry striking out at "Godless Communism?" Probably not but her use of a Christmas tree in the loving family scene Jonas "remembers" suggests that part of her objection to the conformity of the community includes their jettisoning of Christianity in favor of rules that restrict their every action, every word and every thought.

I am sure we will have a great discussion because even though the subject matter is in fact overplayed and has been done many times before, the details of the story will give us plenty to talk about. This book is only 15 years old and I can't help thinking that Lowry borrowed her ideas from the dystopian classics. However, she certainly did do an excellent job of it.

Setting the Record Straight

I did not author yesterday's list of 5 reasons to keep working for the Obama campaign. They were sent to me in an email, which I have now discarded. The sender encouraged everyone receiving it to please post it on our blogs. They were clearly less interested in a byline than in getting the message out.

Top 5 Reasons to Keep Working for Obama

I'm making no secret of the fact that my family supports Obama for President. Bruce and I have done two phone-calling parties, and we are doing another on November 3rd. But I feel as if I should do more.

Especially right now that Sen. Obama has had to suspend his campaign to visit his gravely ill grandmother in Hawaii, this is not the time to rest on laurels.

TOP 5 REASONS OBAMA SUPPORTERS SHOULDN'T REST EASY
1. The polls may be wrong. This is an unprecedented election. No one knows how racism may affect what voters tell pollsters—or what they do in the voting booth. And the polls are narrowing anyway. In the last few days, John McCain has gained ground in most national polls, as his campaign has gone even more negative.
2. Dirty tricks. Republicans are already illegally purging voters from the rolls in some states. They're whipping up hysteria over ACORN to justify more challenges to new voters. Misleading flyers about the voting process have started appearing in black neighborhoods. And of course, many counties still use unsecure voting machines.
3. October surprise. In politics, 15 days is a long time. The next McCain smear could dominate the news for a week. There could be a crisis with Iran, or Bin Laden could release another tape, or worse.
4. Those who forget history... In 2000, Al Gore won the popular vote after trailing by seven points in the final days of the race. In 1980, Reagan was eight points down in the polls in late October and came back to win. Races can shift—fast!
5. Landslide. Even with Barack Obama in the White House, passing universal health care and a new clean-energy policy is going to be hard. Insurance, drug and oil companies will fight us every step of the way. We need the kind of landslide that will give Barack a huge mandate.

Exciting Times

There's an old curse that goes, "May you live in interesting times." Of course it doesn't make much sense because the person uttering that curse would presumably live through those same interesting times.

We're living through a very "interesting" time in the outside world, what with a hotly contested and historical presidential election, and with the economy falling apart around us.

But that's not what I meant. I'm talking about exciting times that are worthwhile and even fun. Today we helped out at a flea market for the Brooklyn Humanist Community. I have to admit I had misgivings at first and was afraid we would not have enough people to take care of the table. But it all worked out and we actually took in enough to increase our treasury by 26%. That moves us closer to our goal of incorporating as a nonprofit, so as the button I picked up at Fundraising Day in New York says, "501(c)(3), Baby!"

Tomorrow Bruce and I are doing another calling party for Obama. This is the first time I've ever gotten this involved in a political campaign. The stakes are very high. I don't want to see us living through another four years of the same policies that President Bush followed, which have led us into a costly, tragic and unnecessary war, and into a financial crisis that comes close to the start of the Great Depression in 1929. So for once we are contributing to Obama's campaign and taking an active role in it.

Monday I'm hoping to get the next grant proposal for the War Resisters League out in the mail, and on Tuesday I'm volunteering at The Hetrick-Martin Institute. Tuesday night is Simchas Torah and four of my cousins on Mom's side, the Greek side of the family, are going to the Greek synagogue on the Lower East Side for services. This will be my first time in a Greek synagogue for a service.

So it will be an exciting few days, and I'm looking forward to them!

Adventures in Phone Banking for Obama

Tonight Bruce and I made phone calls for Obama. At a book fair last month, I got some literature from the National Writers' Union and signed their mailing list. They contacted me asking if I'd be willing to make phone calls for Obama, and we offered to help out tonight and also on November 3rd for a last minute "get out the vote" push.

Tonight we called people who supposedly belonged to "Workers for America," to give them some information about Obama and find out which way they were inclined to vote. Undecided voters would receive a bit more of a spiel in hopes of swaying their decision.

For the most part the calls went fine. A few people hung up on me, but others were delighted, so that was no big deal. Some people professed never to have heard of "Workers for America," which made me wonder why they were listed as members. A couple of the calls were real doozies.

One woman was all excited when I told her Workers for America supports Obama for President. She squealed that she's voting for Michelle Obama because she is Barack's best asset. That was actually a great conversation. This woman isn't letting the fact that she just had a double mastectomy get her down. She's out there and participating.

Then there was the woman who became incensed when I said Barack Obama will fight for all Americans. She told me she was shocked that I could even say such a thing, and followed this up with, "You aren't even an American. I bet you're from Russia, you Communist!"

Uh, yeah, with this native Noo Yawk accent? I hardly think so. Nope, lady, the Russians are next door, but I'm not one of them. But, I can see Brighton Beach, otherwise known as Little Odessa, from my house!

The weirdest conversation I had was with a chirpy old lady named Alice. She was named well, because folks, this lady is from Wonderland all right. She told me that everything is wonderful, she and her husband have a business, they've always worked hard, and they have a lovely house..all her nieces and nephews went to college and have big houses and cell phones and what have you.

By this time I had a fair idea but I still wanted to know how this translated into a political philosophy. It sure was hard to get an answer out of this lady. On and on she babbled about how life is beautiful, and what's there to change, why is Obama talking about change?

Why would anyone want to change anything, life is just beautiful? Oh, war can be "unpleasant" (!) but you have to look at all the good things..they never thought America was bad.

Okay, so the economy is one big roller coaster scarier and more painful than Space Mountain in Disney World, and we've spent how many trillions on a war that was based on lies? But everything is great and there's no need for change.

Psst, Alice. I don't know what kind of drugs you are on, but can I have some too?

Halloween Party Coming Up

Because Halloween is my favorite holiday, I nudged Bruce to set our wedding date on Halloween back in 1987. That year it fell on a Saturday night, and I just knew it was the right time for us to marry.

After all, with all the ghouls and goblins in people's windows, and the grinning pumpkins on their lawns, it's hard to forget an anniversary card. And there's always a parade or a party to go to.

It's clear to me that I have a thing for costumes. Look at the events I enjoy the most: the Mermaid Parade, Circus Amok, Medieval faires, and Halloween. Each and every one involves people in costume.

This year, Halloween falls on a Friday night, which isn't so good for parties. People are tired after work. Oh, maybe not the 20-somethings, but when you get to the 50-somethings, yes. Saturday night, November 1st, is a much better bet. Besides, we can celebrate three ways: Halloween, our 21st wedding anniversary, and the Mexican holiday, Day of the Dead.

I enjoy the philosophy of Day of the Dead. Obviously, it's linked to Halloween because both center around All Saints Day. But although they both feature skeletons, the Day of the Dead is a cheerful celebration of the deceased ancestors. People put up beautiful altars with all their loved ones' favorite things. They go to the cemeteries and picnic on the graves, and then leave fruit and other goodies for their ancestors to feast upon. The skeletons are portrayed as being happy, enjoying the same activities they enjoyed in this life. In other words, the afterlife is very much a continuation of this life with all the same pleasures available to the "dead."

So this year we are throwing a party on November 1st (which, coincidentally, was also Bruce's Dad's birthday), and we will especially welcome Mexican foods. I'm debating what costume I will wear, but sorry, I'm not telling yet! You'll have to wait until after the party to find out. Naturally, there will be photos.

A Strange Day

This was a strange and frustrating day. It started out with Jason having a minor procedure on his toenail. When we got him home we decided to go to a calling party to get out the vote for Obama in the swing states. I signed up at the last minute but we proceeded to the party anyway.

At the Sheepshead Bay station we ran into an unexpected delay. Suddenly we noticed a number of Transit Police on the station. A Q train pulled in halfway and slowed to a stop. There were a lot of people waiting on the platform by this time, and we all looked onto the tracks to see what was wrong.

A very pretty Siamese cat was sitting quietly near the tracks. It didn't get up and dash away, which suggested it was either sick or hurt. The Transit policeman climbed down onto the tracks to try and retrieve it.

The cat was of course hurting and terrified, and it tried to bite and scratch the policeman. It was clearly injured because it could only scuttle away on damaged hind legs, but it still managed to put out its claws and try to defend itself.

The policeman was stumped. Someone handed him a canvas bag to try and capture the cat, but instead the cat clung to it. He tried to lift it up onto the platform but the cat let go and fell back to the ground, probably hurting its injured legs even more.

I called out to the policeman and told him to get the cat by the scruff of the neck when it struck out at the canvas bag. He did, and sure enough the cat was caught and pulled off the tracks. Its legs and tail were injured. I suppose it may have been hit by a train while jumping out of the way.

We got on the train then and went to the city. The building was a beautiful old apartment house on the West Side Highway. The calling party was supposed to take place in one of the penthouses. That would have been something to see! But unfortunately we signed up at the last minute and apparently the hosts decided it wasn't worth it to hold the party with so few people attending. So they went out, and we cooled our heels a little while and then gave up.

I'd also been invited to an introductory Esperanto class so I thought we would head to the general area and see if we could spot the right building. It was taking place at a Zaro's Bakery. Unfortunately, what I remembered just was not the right address. So we ended up walking up to 34th Street and coming home.

I wrote to a local Sheepshead Bay blogger and asked if he would mention the injured cat in his blog. The cat was taked up to the animal hospital on E. 62nd Street most likely, so I hoped that if he publishes this the owner may come forward. Siamese cats aren't strays. Someone out there must miss that poor kitty.

Here's hoping tomorrow will be more satisfying and productive.

Sundays at Tiffanys

Sundays at Tiffanys surprised me. I've read many books by James Patterson, part mystery and part thriller. They are definitely page turners. So I wasn't prepared for this sweet romantic tale about a young woman who had an imaginary friend when she was young, and meets him again as an adult. Apparently imaginary friends aren't so imaginary after all. They are similar to guardian angels, assigned to take care of children, but unlike angels that stay with you your whole life, imaginary friends leave when the child turns 9.

Most children forget their imaginary friends and go on with their lives but for some reason Jane does not. And then when she finds him again, in the flesh, she recognizes him at once. More than an imaginary friend, he becomes more and more human until it is clear that he is her one true love.

It's written so simply that I wondered if I had picked up a "Young Adult" book by mistake, but no. It was James Patterson, showing a completely different side of himself. Sundays at Tiffanys was a quick read and a good one.

Medieval Faire Photos

There were dragons. There were pirates. There were knights in chain mail and shining armor. There were men in kilts, ladies in medieval gowns. Minstrels sang, blacksmiths plied their trade, and craft vendors of all descriptions hawked their wares. It rained when we first arrived and again when we were leaving, but for several hours it cleared and we were able to enjoy the Ft. Tryon Park medieval faire.

We saw jousting and swordplay but what I liked best were the costumes. The Society for Creative Anachronism was there and we had a nice chat with them. Some people fashioned their own medieval costumes, like the man who painstakingly linked 16,000 aluminum rings together to make a suit of chain mail. There were people of all ages, from a 3 month old baby in a tiny jester's cap, to an elderly lady dressed like a queen.

There were enough dragons, carved, painted and tee shirts, to feed Jason's appetite. There was an artist who did "butt sketches" of people, seen from the back. I saw some fun tee shirts:

Come to the dark side, we have cookies

I sacked Isengard and all I got was this lousy tee shirt

Ninjas? Pirates? A Jedi fears not these things

The food was plentiful. For $10 we received huge portions of chicken breast, and two side dishes plus a huge piece of bread. The chicken was actually way too much to eat in one sitting. I ate about half, saved some between the bread (folded in half it still was big enough for a sandwich), and threw some of it out. I don't like to waste food but I wasn't going to stuff myself silly either.

We met a very young Robin Hood. He's exactly the guy we need now, with the mess our economy is in. Too bad he wasn't old enough to run for President!

Years ago I used to attend the Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo, New York. This event was free whereas the fair in Tuxedo is pretty expensive. Yet I didn't see that much of a difference, which made this a terrific value. Now that we've discovered it I'll make it a point to come back next year.

What a train wreck!

No, I'm not talking about a subway collision. I'm talking about Shattered Dreams, the book we are going to discuss at the next BHC book club meeting.

Warning: Spoilers Ahead!

It's about Irene Spencer, a woman who grew up in a polygamist cult right here in the United States. She was brainwashed into believing in "The Principle" as the most important of God's commandments: to be polygamous and bear as many children as possible. The rationale behind this seemed to be that the man who creates a huge family with 7 or more wives will be some sort of mini-god in the afterlife and will rule over some other planet, with his wives and children exalted along with him. Those who don't live the polygamous life, women that is, can't be pulled through the veil by their husbands, so they end up as "angels," lonely forever in eternity.

Using this as a justification, the children were indoctrinated to believe they must live in a polygamous marriage. And Irene followed the rules even though she did not agree, and was made miserable by "doing God's will." She ended up in a polygamous marriage of over 7 wives, more than 50 children altogether fathered by one man, Verlan LeBaron. Not only did she suffer the pangs of jealousy and loneliness (which these cultists claimed was a sin), she also endured back breaking work raising her own 13 children and often taking care of the other kids by other wives.

Because no one man can possibly support such a family on an ordinary salary, and Verlan was no Trump or Rockefeller, Irene and her c0-wives endured terrible poverty. They lived in places like Mexico and Nicaragua to avoid detection in the U.S. which enforces anti-polygamy laws more stringently. Often they lived without running water, without indoor toilets, in incomplete houses or even in refurbished chicken coops.

Even with the obvious suffering and the patent absurdity of trying to live this lifestyle and give one's children adequate love and attention, not to mention getting love and attention from one man who rotates his schedule to spend time with each wife, Irene was expected to put a happy face on it and pretend in public that she was thrilled to be living in lonely, degraded squalor for the sake of celestial glory.

Although she argued and tried to fight back as the humiliations grew worse and worse, Irene never quite got up the gumption to walk away permanently from the train wreck of a polygamous life. And here's where I am afraid I have to lose a bit of sympathy for her and begin blaming the victim.

If no one in her life had encouraged her to think outside the cage, I'd have to concede that her brainwashing was so complete that it might absolve her of the responsibility to take control of her own life. But that was not the case, and here's where I just don't get it. Her mother was made miserable in polygamy, and encouraged Irene to break away from it. At 15, Irene had a boyfriend named Glen, a man in his 20's, who loved her dearly and wanted to marry her -- monogamously.

Despite her mother's urging and Glen's adoration, she fell right into the trap. Personally, I think she dug her own grave and should have gone with Glen when she had the chance. Yes, her sister and brother in law (later her husband) intervened, but she had no backbone and no guts. She walked out of Glen's house where she'd been holding his hand and planning their future, and then meekly and stupidly got into the car with Verlan and Charlotte (his first wife and her half-sister), and ended up marrying Verlan.

Throughout all the deprivation, loneliness and poverty, as the humiliations mounted each time Verlan put another woman before her, Irene didn't gather up the gumption to walk away. She finally told Verlan she was going to leave him. But was she, really? We'll never know, because Verlan was killed in a car accident. If this wasn't a memoir, I'd call that a cheap use of Deus ex Machina to help her escape when she didn't have the courage to do it herself.

Oh, yes, part of her excuse was that in her cult, a wife was free to leave but the husband "owned" the children. What nonsense. Other than Charlotte, none of the other wives were legally married to Verlan. They could have picked themselves up and taken the children with them, and the "husband" would have had no legal recourse whatever. In fact this legalism was exploited by these families, who got the mothers and their children on welfare claiming to be "single mothers" who somehow got pregnant again every year.

And then when Verlan died, Irene went through intense mourning for "a wonderful human being." What wonderful human being, may I ask? Oh, he was brainwashed too, but in his case the brainwashing worked in his favor. But this was the man who would only make love to her once a month and not when she was pregnant or after menopause (though she was able to beg enough to get him to break with his principles just a little bit). This was the man who forced her to "give away" subsequent brides to him in the polygamous marriage ceremony. He even took her wedding ring and put it on the finger of one of his subsequent wives. So her deep mourning for him just doesn't ring true. He wasn't in her life often enough to warrant it, even though he was her "husband" for well over 20 years.

Irene escaped the misery of polygamy by an accident, and she later became a born again Christian. She is now in a monogamous marriage that she never would have had if her "husband" had lived. I'm glad she is living the life she always wanted and receiving all of one man's love, but she is no heroine. Yes, she wrote her memoir and she speaks out about the realities of polygamy but I would respect her a lot more if she had stiffened her spine all those years ago and married her first love.

September 11th

I had to wait a few days before approaching this subject. Every year it is like pulling a bandaid off a wound that hasn't fully healed, and it wells up and bleeds again.

People were going about their business. I went to HMI and did some volunteer data entry. I tried to put on the streaming video of the memorial ceremony but the computer's speakers weren't on and I couldn't figure out how to turn them on. So I gave it up.

After the volunteering, I ate lunch out, and then walked to Union Square, where I listened to a few minutes of the September Concert, an effort to fill the skies with music every September 11th. The music was pleasant but I didn't feel satisfied with that. Somehow the symbolic gestures just aren't reaching me the way they once might have. I remember people creating paper cranes for peace, and wondering back then just what effect on the real world this could possibly have.

September 11, 2001 was one of those days that stands out in my mind forever, not unlike the day JFK was shot a month before my 9th birthday. When it all actually happened I was sleeping. It was Jason's fourth day back at school after being homeschooled for four years. I was getting him accustomed to walking or taking the train to school by himself. So that morning I walked him halfway, and then returned home. I had a brief phone conversation and by 8:30 AM I lay down to take a morning nap.

While I was sleeping, the world changed forever. I had a dream while I was asleep, and I believe it had to do with the attack on the World Trade Center.

September 11th is also the anniversary of my Mom's death in 1995. I'd never had a visitation from her on the anniversary of her death, but this time she appeared in my dream, standing up and walking on her own without a cane or walker. She looked much younger than the almost-79 years she had accumulated at the time of her death, and she was cheerful and smiling. She wore a hot pink tunic and pants outfit she bought in the 1970's, that I still have today. Also in the dream, she hugged and kissed me, which had never happened before. I felt that she was telling me she was "in the pink," and that everything was fine.

But at a few minutes before 11, I was startled awake by the telephone. Bruce frantically shouted at me not to go near lower Manhattan. I thought he was going to say there was a big delay on the subways. Instead he said, "The United States is at war! The World Trade Center is down!"

I couldn't even take that in. "What do you mean the World Trade Center is down? How can it be down?"

After I hung up the phone I put on the radio and heard the whole horror story. It was mind boggling. Because the Twin Towers had the major TV antenna atop one of them, we could only get reception on one channel. Over and over I watched the airplanes crash into the towers and the towers bend over like limp spaghetti and collapse in flames. Outside, it was preternaturally beautiful, clear blue skies (except in the direction of Manhattan where smoke and haze hung over the horizon), sunshine, gorgeous September warmth. There was an eerie stillness because all air traffic had been halted. At first, they thought there was another plane missing. Or maybe it was Flight 93, and later they found the site where those brave souls took their plane down.

I listened to the radio until it was time to meet Jason at the train station, as we had arranged. Kids from the local high school were standing around joking as if it were an ordinary day. I wondered if they had been told or had any idea of what was going on. If they did, how could they stand there and joke?

When Jason arrived, he clearly knew the score. "The trains aren't running," he told me.

"They're not running into or out of Manhattan. But they are traveling in Brooklyn."

He told me that they'd notified the students. In fact, earlier in the day I called the school and asked if they were sending students home. The middle school office told me that they were trying to keep the day as normal as possible for the kids but that parents were welcome to pick them up. I'd decided not to alarm Jason further by picking him up. I knew Bruce was safe, though I didn't know how he was going to get home from Long Island City, since his usual route was through Manhattan.

It was primary day. I forget if I'd already voted, but in any case the primary was rescheduled for September 25th.

The shock and anger stayed with me, probably with most New Yorkers, for a long time. We fortunately did not know anyone who died in the attack, so I found myself mourning the buildings even though I knew the loss of life was far more important. Maybe I just couldn't take it in.

I still feel we should hunt down Bin Laden and his cronies. It won't make the world safe, but at least those particular bottom feeders won't be able to harm innocent people again. We belonged to the Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture at the time, and I was disgusted by the way many people there turned the anger inward, and directed it at the U.S. and its policies, as if we somehow deserved this. We almost left membership at that time, and in retrospect, maybe that would have been a good thing.

In any case, while life goes on, I do think the scars remain for me and for many of us. What I really want to see them build in the footprint would be a new set of Twin Towers, identical to the first, but fortified so that no airplane attack could bring them down. That would give the terrorists the finger..in fact two of them.

Chosen Forever

A few days ago I finished reading Chosen Forever by Susan Richards. It's her sequel to Chosen by a Horse which I haven't yet read, but sounds like a lovely and touching memoir. In Chosen by a Horse she wrote about Lay Me Down, an abused horse she adopted, and then fell in love with. Her relationship with this sweet mare went a long way towards healing her emotional wounds from a childhood of being ignored and unwanted.

In Chosen Forever Ms. Richards describes her experiences after her first book is published, when she goes on a book tour that tries her courage and brings her back into contact with old friends and family. She's also "chosen" once again by a confident older man who knows what he wants the moment he sees her. Ironically, she lives in a house he once owned, and she remembered him as being arrogant at the closing.

But she realizes that what looked like arrogance is confidence and belief in himself, two attributes she very much lacks throughout most of this memoir. Towards the end, though, she begins to relax and not be so frightened of reading before an audience, or worse yet, reading to an empty room.

And the man who has chosen her finally wins her over, and at last, she marries him. It's a happy, almost a Cinderella ending, and it is all because of Lay Me Down, the mare who chose Ms. Richards. One serendipitous event leads to another, and finally, leads to happiness.

One anecdote that stands out in the story is the episode where Ms. Richards is suddenly visited by six men, when ordinarily she hardly ever has visitors. They comment about the horses being in danger on the ice of her pond, and just after they say this, a horse she is boarding walks out onto the ice and falls through. Then the men rush out onto the ice and rescue the horse, saving her life.

The message she got from this was that she would receive what she needed when she needed it, and that people would be there for her. This was an important message that went to the core of her insecurities.

It's a good book, though at times I felt she was whining a bit about her tough childhood and her anxiety level when she had to read her work aloud. Now I'd like to read Chosen by a Horse and see if it measures up.

Sub-Prime Sublime

This year, Circus Amok brought us the tale of "Sub-Prime Sublime," which began with poor little Dorothy clicking her sneakered heels together and reciting, "There's no place like home," over and over, but she couldn't seem to make the magic work. Glinda explained to her that she has no home, and Dorothy wailed aloud as Glinda told her that her landlord's house was foreclosed, and therefore, Dorothy the renter was out in the cold too.

The Liberty Sisters, Sibyl Liberty, Statue of Liberty and Liberty Belle, invited Dorothy to join them on a quest for a particle accelerator. Various adventures ensued: rich snooty women jumped up in the audience demanding a huge glass tower to live in. Flying zebras danced around the stage, and Harry Potter crossed the Alps on a high wire. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac ran for the hills, and we heard a lecture on the history of racist credit exploitation. Dorothy and her friend tried to rob a bank, and a crazy Keystone Kops scene ensued.

There was no yellow brick road, but there was a particle accelerator at the end of the journey, and the spirit of Buckminster Fuller assured us that we would change from manufacturing weaponry to manufacturing livingry (his actual words in some of his writing), and all would be set right.

Circus Amok is always a gas. This was the second year we've seen them. They performed beside Astroland, which was enjoying its very last day before the greedy developers were to shut it down. Pretty ironic.

Last month when I was working at Neighborhood Housing Services I told some of the staff about Circus Amok and suggested they catch this year's show since it is so relevant to their work. I hope someone will. Who knows, they may even invite some of the performers to one of their events!

"Pit Bull in Lipstick"

Now, there's a gorgeous image of Sarah Palin, McCain's pick for his running mate, all right. I can only hope he's succeeded in shooting himself in the foot. Now, if he'd chosen Condi as his running mate, I'd be worried. But this woman is so huge a mistake that the word should be tattooed in inch-high letters across her forehead. The delegates may have been smiling - some of them - but they are far to the right of most Republicans, let alone the rest of us.

There are so many things wrong with this candidacy, it's hard to list them all. What's the big deal about being a hockey Mom? That and a cup of hot cocoa will qualify her to be a VP. If she's qualified, maybe I am too:

1. I stayed home with my son for 14 years and didn't run around seeking office. Where are the "family values" here?

2. My 19-year-old son hasn't impregnated any underage girls, and he's not about to enter a marriage that has a snowball's chance in hell of success. Note, I said "hell," not "Alaska." Apparently Gov. Palin didn't impart those "family values" to her kid very well. And guess what, teaching "abstinence only" sure didn't work. I think we should send that kid a case of condoms.

3. She's under investigation for some interesting and corrupt activities as governor.

4. Her views are to the right of Attila the Hun, but she's been chosen to try and woo the Hillary Clinton supporters away from the Democratic Party. How cynical. McCain must think women have no sense at all, and will vote for a woman, any woman, even a woman who opposes everything Hillary stands for, just to see a female in high office. In short, he thinks we are idiots. I pray we prove him abysmally wrong.

And isn't it just special to hear the Republicans scrambling to blow off the embarrassing matter of Bristol Palin's underage pregnancy, by saying it's a family matter? What total hypocrites. Just suppose Obama's daughters were a little older and one of them turned up pregnant. If a major network already called Michelle his "baby mama" instead of his wife, just imagine what they'd be saying if one of his kids was underage, unwed, and pregnant.

No, it is not just a family matter when the 17 year old daughter of a VP nominee becomes pregnant and then is (surely) elbowed into a shotgun wedding with her 18 year old "baby daddy." Not when the grandma-to-be is rabidly anti-abortion, pro-creationism, and thinks the war in Iraq is somehow ordained by God. And, not when other teenagers in less auspicious circumstances might point to her and to Miss Spears as role models. (If they can have a baby at 16 or 17, why can't I?)

And, let's not forget that this tidbit was only revealed because bloggers were speculating that Gov. Palin's 5th child was actually 17-year-old Bristol's out of wedlock child. Otherwise, I'll bet the grand old Republicans would have deep-sixed that information.

Now just let them talk about Obama's lack of experience. At least he's in Congress dealing with federal issues. Palin's been mayor of a town of 6,000 people. I've seen more people sitting on the lawn in Central Park just to hear the Philharmonic. And she's been governor of a state with less than 700,000 people...and some disturbing stuff about her behavior in office is coming out. McCain sure hasn't shown presidential-level judgment with his pick. Contrast that with Obama, who picked a VP with the foreign policy knowledge he's said to lack.

Voters should see through this cynical ploy to divert women away from the Democrats, and kick McCain and Palin's hindquarters straight to the nearest curb.

The Joys of Love

I enjoyed reading Madeleine L'Engle's The Joys of Love as an interesting first novel and period piece. Written in the 1940's when Ms. L'Engle was in her twenties, it describes a young woman whose passion has always been the theater. Now she's on a scholarship, spending the summer as an apprentice to a theater troupe, and her life is about to change.

Liz is in love with Kurt, the wealthy young director, and he pays some attention to her but is maddeningly attentive to other women too. Her friend Ben is clearly in love with her but she doesn't perceive it, is barely aware of him as a man even though she can tell him anything and she greatly values his friendship. She's got a best friend among the apprentices, Jane, and there are various other characters, the obnoxious Dottie, the lazy Bibi, and so on. In the background is Liz's aunt, who disapproves of the theater and is grudgingly providing the $20 a week for Liz's room and board, which is not covered by the scholarship.

The writing, to be expected from a woman who later won a Newbery medal for children's literature, is excellent, but the story seemed quite a bit dated to me, and also not so different from several other stories written at much the same time. I'm thinking of Marjorie Morningstar, the overly long saga of a young woman who believes she's destined to be an actress, but in fact will go on to live an ordinary life, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, where Francie falls madly in love with a man who hid the fact of his marriage in order to seek solace from a woman on his last leave before shipping out to the war, and later falls back upon a young man who is much better for her.

Warning: Spoiler


Similarly, in The Joys of Love, Liz's bubbly crush on Kurt bursts when he lures her to his room and tries to seduce her. She realizes she's being used, and flees. It's Ben who emerges as the suitable and loyal lover. This seemed to be a common "coming of age" theme in the forties. The man who wants sex is the bad guy, and the one who is waiting in the wings, loyal even though he's been overlooked, is the true Mr. Right.

While I felt this was a cliched ending, I did appreciate the writing and the characterizations. It was fascinating to read a book by the young Ms. L'Engle before she really won her writing spurs.

Only a Theory

A few days ago I finished reading Only a Theory: Evolution and the Battle for America's Soul, by Kenneth R. Miller. With my background in anthropology, the story of human evolution has always fascinated me. In fact, I'd read so many books on it as a child that I already knew the first half of my physical anthropology course in college.


Professor Miller leads us through a thorough, scientific debunking of the "intelligent design" scam. I won't give it the honor of calling it a theory. He demonstrates in a number of ways that evolution is the best explanation for the way life and its systems have developed.

The Intelligent Designers (ID as he calls it) claim that there are structures within the cell that are of irreducible complexity, and couldn't have developed step by step. But he shows that in fact, they may have other uses when they are not fully complete. Also: the process of blood clotting, thought by the ID devotees to require a precious layout of proteins in order to work properly, something that couldn't develop by evolutionary means, actually could, because there are animals that lack some of these proteins and their blood does in fact clot to close a wound.

Professor Miller also shows that we clearly have kinship with the great apes. Chemically it can be shown that whereas our closest relatives, the chimpanzees and bonobos, have 48 chromosomes, while humans have only 46, it's clear that a pair of chromosomes somehow became fused with another, reducing the number but not the corresponding genetic material. Further, while many other animals can create Vitamin C within their own bodies, humans have lost this ability and have to eat fruits and vegetables that supply this essential nutrient. So have the great apes.

Professor Miller gives the ID notion serious scientific scrutiny as if it were any other scientific theory, and finds it wanting. Rather than produce hard science to prove their point, the ID'ers simply claim that anything they can't explain is the work of "intelligent design," which boils down to a supernatural creator. Furthermore, their own proponents have admitted that they've not found any scientific proof for the idea of intelligent design.

But that doesn't mean it isn't dangerous. There have still been school boards trying with varying success to force public schools to teach kids an unproven idea, and arguing for "fairness" as if science depended on fairness rather than hard evidence of who is right and who is wrong. What's more, from the writings Professor Miller has uncovered, the underlying aim is not just to bring religious ideas into the public schools on the evolution issue, but to drive a wedge into the whole idea of rational, scientific research, and bring it down, replacing it with an establishment of religion and a "science that serves Christianity."

How long before school kids would be studying that the Sun and planets revolve around the Earth?

This is an excellent book for humanists and traditional religionists alike to read. Professor Miller also addresses the idea of a grand design in the universe, and finds it not incompatible with evolution. He counts himself a Christian but does not confuse religious beliefs with hard scientific facts. More power to him!

Pig Candy

Pig Candy by Lise Funderburg is a memoir about, "Taking my father south, taking my father home." Somehow just from reading that subtitle, I knew that the father in question was going home to die. I was right. Ms. Funderburg's father George's last years as he slowly succumbs to advanced prostate cancer are the subject of this book. But there's more to it, much more.

It's a book about growing up and being the adult child of a difficult, controlling and demanding father who nonetheless loves his daughters, even though he is highly critical of them. It's a book about being the biracial child of an interracial marriage in America, and about the social codes George grew up under down South. Those codes defined him as "colored" even though he was extremely light-skinned, and defined the way he was treated.

In the tiny town of Monticello, Georgia, George indulges his farmer fancies, buying all sorts of farm equipment, animals and so on. He's donated money for a park to be named after him, and suspects illegal delays in getting it built. His many enthusiasms show him to be a man with a zest for life that's not diminished until a stroke dulls his thinking and flattens his emotions.

The title refers to a special type of pig roast in a "Caja China" that turns the pork and the skin so sweet that it is called "pig candy." This is George's latest enthusiasm as the book opens, and he purchases a Caja China and a large pig with which to celebrate with his family. It represents George's lust for life, even in the face of his terminal illness.

Lise Funderburg brings her father to life again, describes him and the other family members as well as townsfolk they interact with, with a skill that reflects her journalist background. She has a keen sense of place as she conveys the farm and the town of Monticello in great detail. I enjoyed this book and recommend it highly.

Read more about Pig Candy here.

Summer Reading

I've been lazy and haven't written in 2 weeks. So before I get back into real posting, here's my upcoming reading list:

Only A Theory: Evolution and the Battle for America's Soul, by Kenneth R. Miller. If I take notes, this might be the basis for a future program with the Brooklyn Humanist Community.

Chosen Forever, a memoir by Susan Richards

Pig Candy, a memoir by Lise Funderburg

The Joys of Love, by Madeleine L'Engle, written in 1941 and published posthumously this year. Ms. L'Engle lit up my childhood with her prize-winning Wrinkle in Time, so I'm curious to read this early work of hers that has been a sort of "lost novel" until now.

I'm in the middle of Stephen King's Lisey's Story, in which one of the central characters has been dead two years, but is a "puffickly Huh-uge" presence. (That's one of his expressions).

Earlier this summer I've read a great deal of historical/paranormal romance (Highlanders from other centuries are apparently the hottest, though the deadest hunks in the known universe), and a number of detective thrillers by James Patterson, John Sandford, and the Kellermans. I also read Peony in Love which was also a sort of paranormal love story by Lisa See. A few months back the BHC Book Club discussed Lisa See's more famous Snowflower and the Secret Fan, so I was curious to read another of her novels. Peony in Love wasn't quite as good but it was still quite interesting, and the theme of women's writing and its importance, as well as disastrous failures to communicate, was the same as in Snowflower.

If anyone's read these books please feel free to comment.