Wit's End

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 00:24:00 +0000

Of Men and Mosques

New York is all a-twitter about the planned recreational center-cum-mosque planned in lower Manhattan, two blocks from the site of Ground Zero. My first reaction was that this planned construction was in poor taste; however, I realized my thinking it was in poor taste only was associated with the word 'mosque'.

If a church or a synagogue was erected on the same site, we would be calling it a 'shrine' to the victims of 9/11. Because it is a mosque, we consider it a slap in the face. I am sure many Muslims perished in the Twin Towers on 9/11 but they are likely the 'forgotten' victims. Their families may have been reluctant to draw attention to themselves and their grief because so much hostility has been directed toward the Islamic perpetrators.

We cannot blame a whole religion for the sins of a few extremists. There have always been extremists in history--we cannot condemn all Catholics for the Spanish Inquisition; we cannot condemn all Germans for the actions of the Nazis. We have extremists in our own ranks--Tea Party members who question the validity of our President's citizenship; vigilantes in Arizona that are profiling outsiders.

I lean toward a constitutional approach toward this issue and protecting First Amendment rights particularly those speaking to free exercise of religion and peaceable assembly. For legislators to trample on the rights of people to placate personal viewpoints is wrong. (I originally had written 'these people' meaning Muslims, but I realized that in doing so I was compartmentalizing them and not thinking of all people. It's difficult to not get led down a self-righteous path).

I've held my tongue over the past seven months...trying to figure out where to put this blog in my life. I've tried out other spaces but have come back to home.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 01:43:00 +0000

BlackJack.

21. My boy is 21 today. Oy.

In mommy-bloggerdom this would likely call for a reiteration of the birth story, in all its gorey-ous splendor. Ours had gorey and some transfusions. There was blood-letting (physically and spiritually) over the past 21 years but we made it. We conquered, we thrived.

Time dims pain; it really does. All I remember now is a beautiful baby boy...with a perfect head (he was breach and a C-section) and awesome blue eyes. He was content and peaceful then; he still carries a peacefulness about him now. On his first day home, he slept four hours at a time; now it's closer to fourteen. As long as he was fed, loved and kept warm, life was good. That is still his interpretation of how life should be.

Childhood wasn't easy. His parents separated and divorced in his 7th and 8th years of life. His mother moved to another town and wasn't a daily constant. (I still carry those scars and likely he carries his own). Nevertheless he grew into a teen and then into a man. And, what a man. Tall and strong but still with a soft side. A love for his little sisters---in reality only half-siblings but more to him than that.

This may be his 21st birthday but it is the anniversary of the most glorious day in my life. My first day as a mother. Who knew it could be this wonderful? Who knew three more would follow? Who knew that this, would be my greatest calling?

Winner, winner; chicken dinner.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 14:32:00 +0000

On a Lighter Note..

My father wanted me to be an engineer, but I knew that I lacked mad math skillz so I opted for a career in veterinary medicine. For people who like to live in safe building, it's a damm good thing I made the choice that I did....

Exhibit 1:

However, what I lack in mad math skillz, I make up in crafty skillz. All hail the mighty power of the hot glue gun.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 02:08:00 +0000

Death.

death

In my usual routine, I packed my lunch and my computer, tossed on a coat, turned off the lights and said good-bye to Opie. Yet this time there was no response. No head lift, no tail thump. Nothing. I touched her and she was. gone. And so was a part of me. She was an old dog, but I expected a longer good-bye. It was sudden. And complete.

My parents said good-bye to their dog, Molly, yesterday. They had to make the choice to euthanize her at 17. A good old age and a dog that lived life to the end. It is hard, but it is.

I struggle with how to compartmentalize this. Our absolutely beloved pets have died this month, but how does this compare to the loss of a child, a spouse, a parent. It doesn't, really. It makes me consider my own mortality. At 51, who am I? What can I get done in the time that I have left (be that a minute, an hour, a day, a decade)? What have I accomplished and what more can I? Is death the end? Or is my essence recycled again for yet another adventure on earth.

For that, I hope.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 02:07:00 +0000

Wherefore Art Thou, Gloria Steinem?

I am a child of the Sixties. A child of change (before Obama made the phrase popular). Raised in a traditional Sixties family, I saw my father go off to work each day in his suit, carrying his briefcase. My mother stayed home in our compact split-level on a quarter-acre lot, within an easy commute to New York City. Suburban bliss, the American Dream.

I remember the Vietnam War, Kent State and Janis Joplin. I remember Woodstock. In eighth grade, we petitioned the faculty at our school to allow girls to wear pants to schools (prior to that life had been skirts and dresses, although snowpants were allowed for inclement weather). When I was a freshman in high school, our “radical” librarian subscribed to MS. Magazine—to some this likely signaled the beginning of the end. Feminism had arrived. And I signed on.

I was never a radical feminist. I appreciate the difference in the sexes and in sexuality. I don’t want to be a man; however, I want the same advantages, academically and professionally. All I ever expected was mutual respect, across the board. I want everyone to respect each other. It’s easy, it’s the Golden Rule.

Dreams were shattered this week with an incident in my office. During a professional gathering, a colleague [male] told an inappropriate joke and personalized it by using one of the young (attractive) woman in our workgroup’s name as the main character. I have a sense of humour and have been known to tell a relatively lascivious joke to my intimate friends---but NEVER in a professional situation. I don’t think of myself as a prude.

As the aforementioned co-worked told his ‘old school-boys’ club’ joke, the room got quieter and quieter. People exchanged glances and shifter nervously in their chairs. When the joke was finished, they laughed politely. Our director was red-faced but said not a word. I steamed silently.

Like a pressure cooker, I finally reached the boiling point and spoke to our director, and he called a meeting with the ‘jokester’ for this morning. In the meantime, other women, who have more subordinate roles in our organization and much more to lose by speaking out, did not make their opinions known about ‘the joke’ and the situation. Even the victim didn’t want to stir the pot, or confront the jokester. There is still an atmosphere in most offices that speaking out is dangerous to one's career.

I’m devastated that women feel like they have to accept this behavior, make excuses for it and not raise flags. I’m worried that if they don’t speak up, life will move back to the 50’s. If someone is not involved in the fight for rights, do they then take those rights for granted? Somewhere along the way, we've stopped educating out daughters about civil rights; we've begun to assume they just have them.

And the jokester, a slap on the hand. He had to call the victim and apologize but his comment afterwards was that "she really wasn't bothered by it. I call bullshit.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:06:00 +0000

Words That End in -UCK

I have a few....

For the teachers....

Puck

Chuck

Luck

Muck

Tuck

Suck

Yuck

....And one very special one.

FFFFFFFFF

We are a month into 2nd grade with the Twinadoes. And I'm in tears almost every evening.

Spelling. We have spelling.

(Ordinarily, I LOOOOOOVE me some spelling. I can spell. I am noted for my spelling. I'm a walking dictionary. I know all the rules and I apply them. AND, I know the exceptions).

But 2nd grade spelling? Weeping.

I could handle the first week: side, slide, pride, inside.

Last week was more challenging: painted, mailed, opened.

This week: OMFG. ?Studied? ?Replied? Hurried?

In Kindergarten and First Grade the goal was to get the children to write unabashedly and to not correct themselves. The goal was expression. No spelling rules were taught, no drills were hammered into their brains.

Suddenly, in 2nd Grade, we're not teaching them 'study' 'reply' 'hurry' and teaching them to make the 'y' an 'i' and add -ed. We're not teaching rules, we're just teaching memorization.

Now, each night, I'm hauling out the 'whiteboard' and teaching school....rules, drills, and memorization. The Twinadoes are getting it; we're building skills and I'm learning patience.

But I think about all the kids in the school district that don't have me for a mother....that have single parents, or parents with undue stress from unemployment, or parents that have many more little kids, or chronic illness...or maybe don't even have a high school diploma. How do children in these family situations excel? Or even just make the grade?

How do we fix this gap in school curricula? Do we inspire young teachers to think differently? Do we work through our school boards to change curricula? Do we need to attack things at a state level?

.......confused.....

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:59:00 +0000

Time Passages

What a difference a year makes in the lives of your children and your relationship with them. A new college year has begun for my older children and, instead of needing me less, they seem to need me more.

Case in point: When G. entered her freshman year at her college, which is just 45 minutes from my home, she gave me strict instructions:

Don’t expect to see me until Thanksgiving.
Don’t ever drop in unannounced.
Don’t comment on my Facebook page.
Don’t expect to visit every week.

As an intuitive mother I realized that these were necessary steps in breaking away and learning how to fly. I wasn’t upset; I didn’t feel diminished or dissed. It was what it was.

G and her roommate with just a small portion of her stuff.

Fast forward a year. I took her and her Van. Full. Of. Stuff. to college at the end of August, on a Thursday, I think. She called on Saturday, texted me on Sunday and asked me to come take her out to lunch on Tuesday. On the following Sunday, we entertained G. and her roommates on the boat and a week later took them all out for G.’s birthday dinner.

Suddenly, I’m needed and wanted and it fills my heart. She is growing, blossoming and making life decisions. And she is including me in those decisions—I don’t make them for her, but I give her counsel. I hope it’s good counsel. I never had that with my mother. No sharing of feelings or chinks in the façade. I don’t doubt that my mother loves me and I, her but there is little honesty. I know my mother but I really don’t KNOW her. Who she is on the inside, who she was before being a mother, what she has achieved, what she has lost.

I want my children to have a complete picture of me---all my flaws and fabulosity. That is a good gift.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 01:04:00 +0000

What a Long, Strange ~~Trip~~ Summer It's Been.

Please pardon my absence, it's been a long summer that suddenly has been chopped off at the knees. My sentinel trees on my drive home from work are rapidly changing from greens to reds. I'm caught off guard. I have a son that is a junior in college, a daughter that is a sophomore and the twins are second graders. Michael Jackson is finally buried; Ted Kennedy died and some parents are keeping their kids home from school tomorrow for fear of their children hearing the President's address. WTF. I told you it's been strange.

I'll be happy to regale you all with stories of the summer's antics but rather than start that odyssey now, I thought I'd share with one of the most poignant moments of the past month. In my youth, I was not a tremendously huge fan of Ted Kennedy--I remember Chappaquidick and even as a ten year old, I was suspicious. Then he faded from my radar for a few years, only to rise as the Lion of the Senate in the past few years. Slowly, I developed an appreciation for the man; I was sad when he passed. Maybe because it was an end of the era--the Kennedy's are history, no longer the present. I watched bits and pieces of the funeral but luckily was there to see all of the prayers of intercession. Teddy got the final word in; you KNOW he spent months crafting these. He rocked us all from the grave. God bless him.

Our prayers for our country, and our world:

For my grandfather's commitment and persistence, not to out worn values but to old values that will never wear out. That the poor may be out of political fashion, but they are never without human needs, that circumstances may change but the work of compassion must continue. We pray to the lord.

For my grandpa that we will not in our nation measure human beings by what they cannot do but instead value them for what they can do. We pray to the lord.

For what my grandpa calls the cause of his life, as he said so often, in every part of this land, that every American will have decent quality health care, as a fundamental right, and not a privilege. We pray to the lord.

For a new season of hope that my uncle Teddy envisioned, where we rise to our best ideals, close the book on the old politics of race and gender, group against group and straight against gay. We pray to the lord.

For my uncle Teddy's call to keep the promise that all men and women who live here, even strangers and newcomers can rise no matter what their color, no matter what their place of birth, for workers out of work, students without tuition for college and families without the chance to own a home. For all Americans seeking a better life and a better land, for all of those left out or left behind, we pray to the lord.

For my uncle's stand against violence, hate and war, and his belief that peace can be kept through the triumph of justice and the truth justice can come only to the works of peace, we pray to the lord.

As my uncle Teddy once told thousands and millions, may be said of us in dark passages and bright day, and the words of Tennyson, that my brothers quoted in love that have a special meaning for us now. I am part of all that I have met though much is taken, much abides. That which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, strong in will, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, we pray to the lord.

For the joy of my uncle Teddy's laugher, the light of his presence, his rare and noble contributions to the human spirit, for his face that in heaven, his father, and mother, his brothers and sisters and all who went before him will welcome him home. And for all the times to come when the rest of us will think of him, cuddling affectionately on the boat, surrounded by family as we sailed in the Nantucket Sound. We pray to the lord.

For my grandfather's brave promise last summer that the work begins anew, the hope rises again, and the dream lives on, we pray to the lord.

Lord, hear THESE prayers.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 01:43:00 +0000

Impatient patient

[this entry has been written under the influence of vicodin, I'm sorry]

My right knee and I have had a love-hate relationship ever since I had some arthroscopic surgery 13 years ago to remove the remnants of my ACL and some fragments of meniscii. We survived nicely with the use of an external support for skiing until I fell down stairs at my parents' in February. Ultimately, I decided it was time to do something before I actually needed a full knee replacement. The picture above details how I spent my last week. Good times.

I can report now that I am up and walking without crutches, but will be in a brace (crotch to ankle) for another 5 weeks (more good times). I'm also coming out of the vicodin stupor...what a nasty drug. I don't understand how anyone could abuse it. Who thinks a high is worth constipation and nausea (TMI, i'm sorry).

I've watched every movie on Showtime, HBO and TBS; caught every update about MJ, Farrah, Billy Mays and Sanford as soon as they broke and followed everyone else's lives on Twitter and Facebook. Thanks for keeping me entertained, guys! (And for the record, Harold and Kumar is REALLY funny when you are jacked up on hydrocodone).

And, I've also thought about the healthcare system in this country (or rather the lack of it), especially after watching 'SICKO'. I'm lucky. I have two health insurance plans (only because either one alone doesn't cover our needs) and I'm fairly savvy about paperwork and medical issues. That said, I'm already overwhelmed with insurance issues...When do you need to call to get pre-authorization? Why is one office visit covered in full; but the next one isn't? How many recorded options does one have to sit through to finally get to speak to a real person? (these insurance companies are getting smart--pressing '0', even if they didn't instruct you to, no longer takes you to a human being).

I can't imagine the trauma of seeking care if I were poor, non-English speaking, or naive. I can't believe that I get one standard of care while another gets a lesser. (Case in point: I have unlimited physical ~~therapy~~ torture visits. My son (who had ACL surgery last December under his father's insurance) was only allowed four visits). Life was much better before we lived in a world run by HMOs.

We need single payer....anything else will just complicate this mess even more. I would be much happier if some of my premiums went to provide health care for another American, rather than to support some wonk at an HMO that can hold other people's lives in his hands.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 01:14:00 +0000

One Local Summer: June 14

On Wednesday, I picked up my first share from my CSA (community supported agriculture). For those of you unfamiliar with this concept, people who like farm produce invest in a farm before the growing season, and then receive ‘dividends’ in the form of produce for the rest of the gardening season. In the past I have always had my own garden….I’ve tilled it religiously with my little rototiller, planted, weeded, sworn at hail and burning sun and suffered through harvests of 6 peas and 40 thousand hundred and 12 tomatoes.

This year I thought I would take the monies I would normally spend in plants and also consider the value of the sweat equity of my gardening and buy this CSA share. I’m a bit skeptical of the whole process (will I get a bunch of crap we’d never eat; will there be enough for my share?) but I have to say I was pleasantly surprised on Wednesday afternoon. I stopped by after work and came away with collards, kale, lettuce and spring mix, garlic scapes, potatoes (from last year), haruki turnips (which I think will be lovely braised), strawberries, peas and wildflowers. Nom, Nom, Nom.

So this week’s fully local meal (in reality, there are local foods in just about every meal we eat) was:

RED BEANS (sans rice)---if rice could be grown in NY, it would have included that. As it was, I made a stew out of red kidney beans from Mary-Howell and Klaas Marten’s farm in Penn Yan, NY. In that stew was ham from Cobblestone Valley farms and andouille sausage from The Piggery. We sopped it up with some crusty sourdough bread from Le Banneton. The meal was accompanied by a simple salad of greens from the CSA and more of the Lively Run feta, topped with a homemade vinaigrette with herbs from the garden.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 14:40:00 +0000

SAD CLOWN

Normally, I find clowns quite scary. This one, however, is too cute for words.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

One Local Summer

This is my third year participating in One Local Summer, a group of bloggers that make it their goal to make a 100% local meal each week in the summer and then showcase their creations via their blogs.

To be fair, I try to make local foods a guest at our table frequently and try to include local ingredients whenever possible. In the summer, it is easy as there is an abundance of fresh veggies and fruits in Upstate NY; winters are harder unless you really feel you can eat squash, beets and applesauce at every meal. As much as I consider myself a locavore (emphasis on the loca), I still crave an avocado or twelve. And rice....oh, I love rice.

Eating local has a number of benefits. It has less of a carbon footprint. The spinach in tonight's meal did not travel here from Chile (no offense, Chile, I've visited and I LOVVVE your country); instead, it traveled about 6 miles. Eating local also keeps a local farm in business and keep money here in my community. The CSA (community-supported agriculture) farm from which I buy also employs people who live in my community. Local food is often safer. If there is some E. coli (unfortunately) in that head of lettuce I buy, it's likely only my family that will get sick. However, if one head of commercial lettuce is contaminated with E. coli, the consequences are greater. That head of lettuce is shipped to an industrial processor and washed with hundreds of other heads (think E. coli soup)...then those heads are chopped up and packaged in 1000 bags of 'salad mix' and distributed all over the country. In Scenario One, my family got sick; in Scenario Two, hundreds are at risk.

And really, the REAL reason we eat local: Flavor. You can't beat it.

So tonight's menu is:

All Beef hot dogs from High Point Farms

Spinach salad with local strawberries, Autumn Harvest bacon, spring onions, and Lively Run Feta

Sabol's potatoes smashed up and cooked with garlic and parsley from my garden and a few splashes of balsamic vinegar

All washed down with some CascaZilla ale

What's on YOUR plate this week?

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 17:16:00 +0000

Good Times

I'm just back from my weekly outing to the Farmers' Market. Stocked up on first-of-the-season strawberries, our weekly ration of sourdough and 'worker' bread (man, I really am becoming a Socialist, aren't I?) some potatoes, a silk-screened skirt and some handmade soaps. With a summer roll in hand, I decided to enjoy some of the local culture....

Music is always good at the Farmers' Market. This week's offering was some bluegrass-

Though most people drive, walk or bike to the Market each Saturday and Sunday, it's located on the inlet so you may also come by--

Your own personal Chinese Junk--

Or Dragon Boat--

And I noticed that not only were produce, breads and crafts marketed at today's Market, but people were also marketing themselves. The gentleman pictured below had inscribed his 'screenname' and 'Match.com' on the back of his T-shirt (sorry, for the bad picture but I didn't want to give him the impression that I was actually interested....). You have to give him a few points for originality!

Now I'm off to pick up G from her Driver's Ed class and meet the rest of the family for some boating (power, not junk or dragon).

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 00:41:00 +0000

Gotta laugh....Else you will Cry

I am really quite fortunate to work with a unique, diverse group of people that (for the most part) have everyone's best interests at heart and work harmoniously (some days) toward a common goal.

Some are a bit more difficult to get along with than others but we try. And if we can't quite get along, at least we can turn their foibles into blog fodder. [yes, I have now sunk that low in trying to find something to write about].

Take for instance, our resident Mrs. Malaprop. She's large, she's loud and she has tremendous regard for her talents. Meddling in everyone else's affairs is her favorite past time and she is quite accomplished at giving everyone instructions as if they were simpletons. C'mon, admit it. There is one in EVERY office. However, she's not the brightest bulb in the fixture and I had a good giggle when I was copied on this email she sent around this afternoon .... swallow now. I'm not responsible for whatever liquid you are sipping coming out your nose. The highlights are my emphasis (the grammar nazi), not hers

Dear XXXXXX,

Is there an issue with ______ being stored for a week or more? Would we loose sensitivity with testing? I realize that your schedule has changed, but in the future, could you please give us a few weeks notice. I have a client who is looking for his results from ____ submitted by last Wednesday because as of last week, that was still the procedure (WTF?). In my opinion, Mondays will be tough. In most cases, _____ will be sitting for nearly a week before tested due to the currier service with our _______ [clients]. Again, I understand your circumstantiates, but I question our customer service.

Thanks,

Madame Malaprop

For the record, this woman love, love, LOVES Sarah Palin and all that she stands for.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Fri, 29 May 2009 17:20:00 +0000

Foodie Friday

This past weekend was graduation at the esteemed institution at which I am employed and some of my best friends were graduating. Sarah has had a long row to hoe--mixing two children and endless hours in the laboratory to complete her PhD. We're all quite proud of her and are curious as to what her next adventure might be but I'm pretty sure it won't involve mice. For her dissertation work, she bred, fed, cleaned, killed and studied mousie bits so that the world has a better understanding of lactation biology. I am sure she would be thrilled to never, ever, ever, ever see another mouse again--I'm pretty sure Mickey and Minnie are included.

I volunteered to make a cheese and fruit platters for her party but I could not resist have some fun at her expense. It seems mice did make it to the party.....

This prompted some rather existential discussion on mice being one with the cheese and about these mice not having to worry if their cheese got moved in this current economic situation (ok, a few beers were involved in the discussion...)

Newman, the cat, got into the picture as well and created her very own LOLcats.....

Evidently, I have a bit too much time on my hands right now (and a whole lotta cheese...)

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Thu, 28 May 2009 18:26:00 +0000

Memememememe-Merrily

I stole this from Merrily's Facebook page. Her answers were hysterical. Mine will just be blog filler. Yeah...that happens.

Maybe I'll tag some people. You'll have to read all the way through it to find out.

Rules: It's harder than it looks! Copy to your own blog, erase my answers, enter yours, and ~~tag 10 people~~ tag a few suckers. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real. . .nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question. Have Fun!!

1. What is your name: Leendaluu (hmmm...that wasn't so hard)

2. A four Letter Word: lust

3. A boy's Name: Liam (as in, I lust after Liam Neeson)

4. A girl's Name: Lesley (which just occurred to my could also double as the boy's name--my bad)

5. An occupation: Librarian

6. A color: Lilac

7. Something you wear: Lingerie (see points 2 and 3 above)

8. A food: Linguini

9. Something found in the bathroom: Lotion (which would be lovely if #3 applied..to me)

10. A place: London (seems an appropriate venue for #3 to do #9)

11. A reason for being late: Lollygagging

12. Something you shout: L'chaim (round here, anyways)

13. A movie title: Leaving Las Vegas (I also lust after Nicholas Cage)

14. Something you drink: Liquor (Wine starts with a 'W', damm... and after the last 8 years I admit to having a phobia around the letter 'W')

15. A musical group: Lemonheads

16. An animal: Lion

17. Street name: Lexington Ave

18. A type of car: Lexus

19. A song title: Love Makes the World Go 'Round

20. A verb: liberate

And NOW....for the tags: Daryl, Natalie,and Jo --I'd tag Zerilda but she's busy with her Play-Doh

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Mon, 25 May 2009 01:25:00 +0000

In Memoriam

Today we reflect upon and honor those who have served our country so nobly. No matter what my opionion of the conflict was, these are the people who took up guns to protect my country when they were called upon. Right or wrong, they died for us. Which should give us pause in making our decisions and calling out our 'enemies', because the youth of America are those that we call upon to fight for us. They should not die in vain; we should consider our conflicts carefully. Lest my son or yours (or my daughter or yours), lose their life for an ill-defined reason.

Unfortunately, I have been the recipient of a YouTube video recently and have received it from a few sources. I'm sure it was sent to convince me of the error of my liberal thinking and to point out the dangers that lurk in the world for ~~Americans~~ Christians. So glad I'm no longer one because I am appalled at this 'Christian' thinking. Watch this if you can. I debated a long time about embedding it in my blog. It makes me reconsider the ties that bind...both ties of blood and ties of friendship.

My response to those that send me this video is the following:

Hey! That's food for thought. What if we did this... Let's round them all up and send them to a part of our cities, behind a wall. Then we'll take all their possessions and businesses. Once we've tired of them living in our ghettos, we'll send them via cattle cars to special camps. We'll give them showers and inter them in mass graves. The ones that we find really interesting, we'll conduct some medical experiments on. Sounds good, no?

Men and women died during the World Wars to protect us all from this sort of tyranny. Have they died in vain that now we can logically contemplate Muslim genocide. I'm sure if Hitler would have had access to YouTube in 1930, we would have seen the same video but with 'Jew' substituted for 'Muslim'.

I am so saddened by those that have sent me this....and have questioned the value of our ties. If this is the way they truly think, I cannot have a relationship with these people, at all. Nor will I expose my children to their way of thinking. Too many lives have been given in order to combat their way of thinking. I know I have the power to just hit 'delete' when I get these forwards but I would be no better than they if I didn't speak up.

NO MORE SILENCE.

When the Nazis came for the communists,I remained silent;I was not a communist.

Then they locked up the social democrats,I remained silent;I was not a social democrat.

Then they came for the trade unionists,I did not protest;I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,I did not speak out;I was not a Jew.

When they came for me,there was no one left to speak out for me.

--Martin Niemoller

Please remember those that gave their lives, and those that are still in harm's way and speak up for them.

Please, no more silence. Speak your mind and speak it proudly.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Thu, 21 May 2009 02:15:00 +0000

Fabulosity

So many days my job makes me want to scoop my eyeballs out with a dull spoon as I suffer through university policy and pedantic state mandates. It's a secure job but the thrill factor is often flat-lined.

But funded studies let me stretch my wings and 'fly away' into the real world of cows and milk. Today was one such day....it fed me. Physically and emotionally. It made me proud of whom I am and what I work for. It made me appreciate the people who grow our food, and the care that goes into it. I'll have a few diatribes next week about food, but today I thought I would lull you into complacency with some lovely pictures.

Today's forecast: sunny, 50% humidity, 72 degrees. Picture below: cows on the hillside across from the farm--grazing, ruminating and loving life.

As luck would have it, a cow was calving [in the perfect environment with neither a midwife or obstetrician present for most of the birth.]

However, we noticed she was straining a bit longer than normal and so the birth was assisted with a few gentle tugs. In seconds, the calf (a healthy and HUGE) baby boy was delivered and presented to his mama.

.

Mother and child reunion. Beautiful. It;s only a moment away.

Give me a herd of cows and I'll be happy forever.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Wed, 20 May 2009 01:46:00 +0000

BLISS

For the first time in a number of years (2, 3, 4?), all my kids are living in our house for the summer. I'm not sure which alignment of the planets made this possible, althought I think the recession played a small part. Our community still has part time summer jobs so that was an attractive draw for my college kids. That, and their mother's unrelenting schmoozing of everyone she knows so that her kids have jobs. Not fabulous jobs, but more about that later.

My house is delightfully busting at the seams and there is never enough food. And I love it. And A. and E. delight in tormenting their older siblings on a minute by minute basis.

Summer was officially kicked off last weekend. The boat was christened (with diet root beer) on one of our mighty Finger Lakes. It's going to be a great summer. Come join us (you know who you are!)....

At the beginning....summer seems to stretch out before you...You cannot imagine reaching the end.

We bow to the boat and the bliss it promises...

Every boat needs a really cool, self-assured dude....He OWNS the boat.

Opportunities are as endless as the horizon.... do we not live in the most beautiful country?

Lady of the Lake....

Ladies of the Lake...

Dry land, dry twins...ready for the next weekend!

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sun, 17 May 2009 21:53:00 +0000

Tits, Ass, Sex, Abstinence

Growing up there were no discussions in my parents' house about sexuality. Not a word. I learned about menstruation during a "special class" in sixth grade. The boys went out to play softball for an afternoon; the girls were shepherded into an upstairs darkened classroom where we watched a movie that used terms like "the curse" and "when my friend comes to town" and we were given booklets in sealed envelopes with the admonishment not to open them until we were at home and alone.

Embarrassed, I stuffed the package into a dresser drawer, under my pajamas and tried to forget about it. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me at a later date and I opened it and read the booklets. Further embarrassed and even more disgusted I shoved them back in the drawer, under additional layers of pajamas.

One afternoon, the following summer, I felt something wet and warm in my underpants. Blood. I found my mother and she handed me an elastic and a ~~mattress~~ Kotex pad and remarked: I guess we should talk about this. I countered with: I have some books they gave me at school and that's the last we talked about it. Ever.

There were no discussions on sexuality, on menstruation, on sex, on birth control. Nada. I'm sure my parents think, to this day, that all four of my children were conceived immaculately (not like Jesus though, more like Rosemary's baby).

I, however, took the opposite tack with my kids and words like vagina and sex and masturbation are not unfamiliar vocabulary to my daughters and my son. You all remember E.'s declaration to her sister a summer ago.

Yesterday I brought college kids Andrew and Greta back home for the summer from their Dad's house. We had a number of conversations on the way back but the one that tickled me most was Greta's relating of pregnancy statistics at her various college friends' high schools. She could discuss sex, virginity and birth control rationally and without embarrassment with her mother and her brother. And her brother could counter. I done good.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Thu, 14 May 2009 02:02:00 +0000

Walk like an Egyptian....

'cause you are in the land of de-Nial.

I spent the past three days in an attic full of stuff. Mind you this was an attic in Oklahoma in late spring, when temperatures average around 80 degrees. In attics it is a teense bit warmer.

My parents live in a 3000 sq foot home and easily have a 1000 sq foot attic. which is full of ~~shit~~ stuff. And since I am the ~~hysterical~~ pragmatic child, I volunteered to go sort through this torture chamber of childhood demons. I'm not incredibly sentimental. I save old family photos and hand made items but the camp stove on which we cooked many a hideous meal holds no appeal.

There were many arguments. Over old coffee pots that belonged to my grandmother (not a special coffeepot just ordinary fucking pyrex) and magazines and down sleeping bags that no one has slept in in 30 years. And they would be crazy to now. Fifteen years of National Geographic and three volumes of encyclopedias. So much stuff.

My parents are not really well. They need to downsize and they need to move closer to family. This they admit...but they cling to these stored possessions as if they are life's breath; truly they didn't know most of it was up there until I inventoried it.

So now I am the meanie, the shrew, the evil one....who is forcing them to part with their treasures (although they have untold treasures within the confines of their house as well). There is just so. much stuff.

[and now we are under a tornado warning. If there is a god(dess), s/he will hit this house dead on (while we hide in the bath) and move all this stuff to Tennessee. If that happens tonight, I will totally go back to church.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Wed, 13 May 2009 02:39:00 +0000

Permission

Once again I find myself back in Oklahoma at my parents' house. I didn't grow up in this house but apparently demons move along with childhood furniture. It's not that my parents are evil or unkind---really, they are lovely people. We just see the world through different spectacles. So while I was staring down a few of these demons, I closed up my blog. I really am in a quandary about 'whose' space this is. Is it mine because the words come from me? Or is it my family and friends because the tales often involve them? Should I censure my words to avoid family repercussions or should I express myself, so long as I do it honestly and without malice? I've chose the latter. Again. I just have to remind myself.

And, if I don't blog....where will I share the crazy A and E stories??? Take this one for example.

We've had some issues with A. She wants to be liked desperately and so she is easily convinced to participate in activities that are less than savory. She lives to get the laugh (I don't know which parent she gets that from...umm...both?). We had a call from the principal's office last week and J. had another one yesterday. Last week we had beautiful weather...70's, sunny and warm; this week's temps have dipped lower and it's been cloudy and damp. On Monday, A and her class went for a 'nature walk' to look (I guess for signs of spring). When they returned to the school, they stopped at the thermometer. Mrs. G. pointed out that the temperature was 48 degrees.

Mrs. G.: Class, the thermometer indicates that the temperature is 48 degrees. What do you think of that?

A (not holding back for an instant): That SUCKS!

[Kiddo, I agree. But I guess my next lessons need to be in appropriate language. It really could have been SO much worse.]

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 14:15:00 +0000

Beware the Ides of March

....because your mother will get freaky ideas in her head.

If you are a long time reader, you probably remember that I am a dismayed at my lack of ethnicity. I'm a German-Swedish-Welsh WASP from the Midwest. I spent much of my childhood in New Jersey and most of my friends were Jewish, Irish, Italian and Russian and boy, did I want to have THEIR holidays.

Part of my attraction to my husband are his Jewish and Russian roots. FINALLY, I have a surname that people have trouble spelling! I can make a mean latke and on days I don't bring out the crockpot, I can whip up a kick-ass matzoh ball soup.

Well, the twins are a little bit Irish (genetically), and so I really get into celebrating this 1/1,256th of their genetic code on March 17th every year. For a day in their life, everything is green. This year it was sparkly shamrock skirts (you can tell Ani is really thrilled with all this and is secretly wishing she was a WASP).

Anyone can have green beer, but not everyone would have green pea cupcakes! I snagged this recipe from VanillaGarlic (a pretty awesome food blog).

You begin with a bowl of thawed peas.....

Run them through the food processor and end up with "Whirled Peas". (World Peace....get it....yes, all by myself in my little kitchen, I achieved whirled peas).

Incorporate this product into a cupcake reciped and voila! You have the perfect St. Patty's Day cupcake and a clever way to get kids (and reluctant adults) to eat their veggies.

They really weren't too bad...kind of a grassy, earthy flavor and not too sweet. I think I would make them again but cut down on the sugar and leave off the frosting and serve them as a savory bread with soup (a la cornbread).

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 11:30:00 +0000

And I wondered why...

there weren't any recipes for Matzoh Ball Soup in a crockpot. I know now.

I'm a busy woman so I put some broth, a few carrots, celery and onion in the crockpot before I went to bed Wednesday night. I made some matzoh ball mixture and put it, covered, in the fridge.

On Thursday, I got up a little bit early so I could make the matzoh balls, remove the veggies, add the balls and turn the pot to low...all in anticipation of a delicious dinner that night.

EPIC FAIL.

I'm a scientist and a quasi-foodie. I know how things work in the kitchen. Why I thought that night would be different from all other nights, I don't know. Guess I was looking for a Passover miracle.

When I got home Thursday night, I had [inedible] matzoh porridge.

Atleast the cats had a nice Seder.

We had tacos.

noreply@blogger.com (Leendaluu) — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 02:12:00 +0000

She Doesn't Yet Realize She's Not Going to Poop For a Week.....

Ani and her class tried matzoh in school this week and had to write about the [cough, cough] experience. Ani's essay is below:

(for those of you who can't quite make it out, it says:

Annika

We had matzoh cracker today. It was hard and crunchy. It was also very dry.)

I could not have said it better myself. Bring on the sugary, soft Peeps!