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And so the Antiquities Act was born, but you can call it 16 USC 431-433 for short. This act gave the sitting president full discretion to declare a National Monument of any historic landmarks, structures, or objects of historic or scientific interest.
Theodore Roosevelt’s Antiquity Act language goes like this:
… any person who shall appropriate, excavate, injure, or destroy any historic or prehistoric ruin or monument, or any object of antiquity, situated on lands owned or controlled by the Government of the United States… shall, upon conviction, be fined in a sum of not more than five hundred dollars…
The Antiquities Act language has changed a bit since those early days, and twice there has been a reduction in presidential power for specific cases (Wyoming and Alaska now require congressional consent). The act has been used successfully 157 times by 16 presidents from Teddy to O’Boyfrend — but it’s faster to name the presidents who didn’t designate a National Monument: Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, and George The Father.
Even Doubleya named three marine National Monuments protecting coral reef ecosystems:
The National Monuments designation is often the first stop in converting the land to National Parks — and that is done with the help of Congress. An example of such a conversion is the Grand Canyon.
In the 111 years of the Antiquities Act, no president has ever stripped National Monument land established by a previous president.
The post National Monuments & The Antiquities Act: A Very Bossy Tutorial appeared first on i am bossy.
Hello! And welcome (back) to I Am Bossy. It’s been 1,087 days since Bossy last posted — and although Bossy never thought about her time away from writing as gone fishing, it seems others do not agree:
We all know Bossy hates change as much as discovering her post images now need to be 680 pixels x the side of Burj Khalifa, but a lot has happened in the three years since her esteemed council has gathered.
Bossy, who had been renting a one-bedroom view in a doorman-building on a running path adjacent to a river, instead decided to purchase a small sliver of brick with responsibilities:
In addition, Bossy’s job shifted. She is now working full-time for an institutional investment firm. Bossy has learned so much about bottom-up, value-oriented, quantitative global equities, she could write a book!
But luckily Bossy’s lack of financial acumen doesn’t impact her job, which is within the firm’s marketing department. Because Bossy has over four decades of experience in markets!
Bossy’s kids have also undergone a lot of changes since the last time Bossy posted. Bossy’s son is now a Justice on the Supreme Court — and Bossy’s daughter is a junior at George Washington University in the heart of D.C., where she majors in hiding from the presidential motorcade.
And of course, Bossy’s beloved Barack O’Boyfriend, who finished up his glorious second term with integrity and grace before walking hand in hand with his beautiful wife Michelle toward their civilian life — was replaced with Binge Eating Required.
So what else has Bossy been doing to pass the time? Redesigning this blog! It’s been 26,000 hours of, “please use this yellow, not that yellow,” and “can you edge the font toward the thumbnail photo never mind can you walk it back?” For her endless, cheery patience and superhero technological know-how, Bossy ultimately has her old friend Heather to thank.
Although the paint is still wet and a few rooms remain unfinished, let’s take a tour! You can sign up to receive email notices of new Bossy posts in the upper-right corner, where you can also click links to follow Bossy’s twitter account, instagram photos, facebook page, and that there ignored pinterest thingie. Bossy is treating this relaunch as an old-school blogger experiment, and as such is establishing an OG blogroll of sorts in the navigation bar. Bossy has over a hundred bloggers interested in joining Bossy in their own reinvention. Stay tuned.
Bossy has also been passing the time as a continued participant of an online dating site — or as Bossy refers to it: the discard pile. As a longstanding member, Bossy has befriended many of the men she has dated and even a few she hasn’t — and it’s always heartwarming to see when occasionally, like an orphanage, or a dog pound, someone gets adopted into their forever home.
So that just about brings things up to date! Please leave a comment and tell Bossy what you have been up to these last few years. With the Bossy reunion out of the way, it’s time to have some fun!
Hello and welcome to the New Walking Club! Our goal is fitness and we can’t wait to get started! Although we did wait to get started. We waited until December. But when it comes to getting in shape, the Walking Club offers endless opportunity! And in our case, endless opportunity ends January 1st.
Here’s how it works: the Walking Club will take place every Tuesday and Thursday, except for Christmas, and every month not December. That leaves eight whole Walking Club opportunities! Please note: we will not walk on rainy days or snowy days. Please note the forecast: Dec 1-2: Heavy rain; Dec 3-5: Heavy rain; Dec 6-13: Rain to snow; Dec 14-April: Stormy, rain and snow, snowy, rain.
In addition we will not meet on days when the temperature is below 35 degrees at 6:30 am. Please note: the average temperature at 6:30 am is 33 degrees.
We will meet at the trailhead gate that crosses the railroad tracks. Please note: We will not meet if there is a freight train parked at the trailhead gate. Please Note: winter freight trains park at the trailhead gate from midnight through June.
Sponsored by HealthyLifeNow. Or, you know, HealthyLifeNextSpring. See you then!
If you liked this post, read about how Bossy’s Core Ball exercise includes chocolate and a martini.
Or read Bossy’s tutorial on how to jog.
Or read about Bossy’s History Of Exercise.
The post Bossy’s Apartment Building Has A New Walking Club And Here Is Their Invitation appeared first on i am bossy.
Seasonal Depression — otherwise known as Seasonal Affective Disorder — is a depressive disorder occurring only specific times of year, such as winter.
Typical symptoms of Seasonal Depression include lack of energy, tiredness, sleepiness, and oversleeping with a side order of naps. Other symptoms include decreased focus, difficulty concentrating, and what was Bossy saying? Oh yes, Seasonal Depression.
People who suffer from Seasonal Depression often withdraw. Most often that withdrawal is from an ATM machine to pay for the wine that will combat the shift in mood because we all know booze is good for depression. In Backwards World.
Other signs one is suffering from Seasonal Depression include anxiety, weight gain, and anxiety over weight gain. Seasonal Depression is most common in women.
The cause of Seasonal Depression is often attributed to a disruption of one’s biological clock, which is responsible for our sleep patterns, cell regeneration, and the desire to have Ewan McGregor’s baby after watching Beginners for the fourth time this week because = Seasonal Depression!
The most popular cure for Seasonal Depression includes a light box placed on a tabletop a comfortable distance away — and you can type into this light box using the attached keyboard, creating your first blog post in the month since you put yourself to bed with Seasonal Depression.
And how are you, Bossy’s esteemed council? Please leave word.
If you liked this post, check out the time Bossy outran depression by watching Oprah.
Or see a photo of Bossy’s Great Dane Stella the day in 2009 when she was depressed about her sports team.
Last night Bossy watched the Ken Burns’ series on PBS, The Roosevelts, which is to say Bossy and her mother and her daughter were ignoring the show and talking about boys.
But when Bossy did turn her attention to the television, everything sounded vaguely familiar, as if Bossy had written a book about the Roosevelts herself. And then Bossy remembered she did write a book about the Roosevelts, dressed as a blog post answering the question: What if the Roosevelts were around today?
To help with that task, Bossy turned to Facebook.
You see, this was Franklin Roosevelt:
Franklin Roosevelt was a strong athletic man with an air of confidence and can-do charisma that stemmed from a sheltered, privileged upbringing. Partially responsible for shielding Franklin Roosevelt from distress or failure was his mother, Sara Delano:
Sara Delano married James Roosevelt who was recently widowed and nearly thirty years her senior. They had only one child, Franklin, due to a scare during childbirth. Her presence as a mother was always domineering, and Franklin learned it was easier to be stoic and keep his true emotions and thoughts hidden from general scrutiny.
For instance, when Franklin fell in love with his distant cousin, his mother wouldn’t know about it until the young couple announced their engagement. And the woman Franklin fell in love with was Anna Eleanor:
Anna Eleanor Roosevelt, or Eleanor as she was called, was unlike any other woman Franklin had ever known, in all her guileless brilliance. Both Franklin and Eleanor had emerged from well-to-do-backgrounds but had a special commitment to social responsibility. They forged a partnership both at home — raising five children — and professionally, with Eleanor acting as Franklin’s trusted confidante and advisor as he rose up the political ranks.
Eleanor was happy in her role as wife and mother. It allowed her to escape the great sadness she felt in her childhood, most of which stemmed from an alcoholic father who was a colossal failure compared to his brother, President of the United States, Teddy Roosevelt. In addition the always gawky and awkward and gangly and lanky Eleanor felt she could never measure up to the extreme beauty of her high society mother, Anna Hall:
Subject to fits of depression, everything in Eleanor’s adult life was going swimmingly until Eleanor discovered letters that proved Franklin was having an affair with her own social secretary, Lucy Mercer:
Eleanor was so devastated by her husband’s betrayal that she decided to stop having the sex she never wanted to have in the first place. For the rest of their married life, Franklin and Eleanor would sleep in separate bedrooms.
And speaking of things going swimmingly, it was in a lake, just a few years later, that the always virile Franklin Roosevelt contracted polio at the age of 39. In constant denial regarding his paralysis, Franklin received daily physical therapy and for a time retreated to Warm Springs, Georgia, where the mineral springs were known for their restorative power.
But Franklin didn’t recuperate in Georgia alone. No. By Franklin’s side was his near constant companion, his secretary Margaret Alice:
Marguerite Alice “Missy” Lehand was wildly in love with her boss. Having never married, she not only acted as secretary to the President, but devoted herself to fulfilling all the duties of a wife, like entertaining. Entertaining Franklin.
Eleanor was well aware of Missy’s constant companionship and supported her relationship with Eleanor’s husband since Eleanor herself was busy representing Franklin’s political platform across the country, being the more able-bodied presence compared to her husband, who never went out in public in the wheelchair he needed almost constantly.
But Eleanor didn’t mind her autonomous role as Franklin’s go-to guy, because Eleanor had a go-to guy of her own. And that go-to guy was a woman. Lorena Alice:
Lorena Alice Hickok was a journalist who met Eleanor at the Democratic National Committee headquarters where she was researching a story. The two forged an immediate friendship, where friendship equals they sent each other love letters.
And it was this cast of characters who, among a nation of others, were responding to Hitler’s march across Europe, leaving a swath of destruction behind him.
Will Franklin Roosevelt lead his country into war? Will he sleep with his secretary Missy? Will Missy have an emotional breakdown when she finds out Franklin was elected for a third term? Will Eleanor put her tiresome mother-in-law Sara in her place?
Mere hours before daybreak and an appointment that would have decided things for her, Stella shut off her own light. She did it with grace and dignity, on her terms, at the Bossy family house with her people lying on the floor around her.
Ironically it was a woman named Kitty who was responsible for Bossy’s Great Dane. It was 2005 and the Bossy family had just lost their aging dog to cancer. This prompted Bossy to launch what she calls the research process, even though Bossy’s mom refers to it as good as done.
Bossy had always wanted a giant dog, which are hard to come by in mutt form, although the Bossy family tried. One such try was from a shelter approximately three miles past Jupiter. Her name was Heidi, and her dubious heritage was described as Great Pyrenees, a guess that was supported by the promising size of her 8-week-old paws.
The wrinkle in this story revealed at Heidi’s first veterinary appointment. “Actually she’s not eight weeks old, she’s four months old,” the vet said. This meant Heidi wasn’t large for her age, but small for her breed. And her breed wasn’t Great Pyrenees, but rather Setter.
But back to 2005. Bossy had long admired Great Danes, who are known for their calm quality. A mellow dog matches Bossy’s lifestyle, where lifestyle equals napping.
And so Bossy busied herself with researching how she could acquire a Great Dane sometime in the distant future when the Bossy family felt ready to get another puppy. And the distant future took five days. The reason it took five days is because the family was on a camping trip, and thought it more stable to acquire a puppy when not living in a pitch of nylon.
Once home from camping, Bossy scoured the globe for a reputable Great Dane breeder. Bossy was already well versed in dog breeds and their historical functions, generalized dispositions, activity levels, varying temperaments, skeletal structures, and the potential problems within each of these categories. When Bossy was a child she would carry around a dog-eared edition of a Dog Breed Encyclopedia, spouting the traits of her favored dog du jour. Bossy would deposit crocodile tears on the notes she scattered for her parents which issued threats such as, “I am huving a nirvis brake down, can I pleze huve a dog?”
In short, Bossy speaks breeds — which is why she was quickly referred around the breeders’ tightly woven network until finally locating a litter of puppies in a neighboring state. And those puppies were brought about by Kitty, a nurturing grandmother of both humans and Great Danes, generously sharing her house with both across several generations.
And that’s how it came to be that Bossy and her mother and her daughter climbed in Bossy’s Honda and drove for seven hours to select their puppy.
Actually, Bossy and her mother and her daughter weren’t so much tasked with selecting a puppy, as selecting a collar. Bossy had been given the pick of the females, which were identical except for the color of the collars that flopped loosely around their sweet baby necks.
The thing about selecting a puppy is a puppy often selects you. While Bossy flung herself at Green Collar Girl and Red Collar Girl, administering temperament tests and logging the critical results as a nurse would an Apgar score, one particular puppy’s affinity for Bossy and her mother and her daughter became plain. “Who’s this who keeps returning to our chairs?” Bossy’s mom finally asked.
It was Yellow Collar Girl.
Sixteen hours later, Yellow Collar Girl became Stella, and she was loaded into the back of Bossy’s Honda for the drive home. As her tribe of Danes disappeared in the rear view mirror, Stella surrendered her past in one elongated sigh much like a 1940’s film star, before collapsing in a heap for the remainder of the ride.
Once home Stella was introduced to her new extended family and the house she would occupy for the next nine years. When the neighborhood tour did not include the pond she left behind, she lifted her long snout and voiced her disappointment with a deep lilt resonating upward from her toes. “Oh man,” Stella said.
This is how the Bossy family found out Stella could talk, which she did in perpetuity. And for those sentences too complicated, the Bossy family would happily articulate on Stella’s behalf, imitating her compelling intonation. Stella enjoyed the constant soundtrack of her own voice as provided by her family, and she would whip her head around to learn exactly what it was she herself was thinking.
Never showy regarding those ignoble dog tricks that earn a smart distinction, Stella quickly learned everything that was expected of her and executed those things without fail. She was trained to walk off leash although wore one on neighborhood walks for the benefit of those passersby who would gawk, mistaking her for a deer.
Left alone in the front yard, she would lounge and sniff and run circles around the tree without benefit of a dog fence, despite the sidewalk pedestrians who would beckon to her, and despite the proximity of street and all manner of enticing wildlife that always lingered on the other side.
Stella was an agreeable housemate, shrinking her size to fit any situation. For the entirety of her life she cherished two toys, both carried constantly, and neither, nine years later, the victim of a careless puncture.
She never complained about the endless march of boring pellet food she would scrape around a steel bowl kept the height of a second story apartment, and she would lap her tepid water in a deafening, comically prolonged way as though draining the Bering Sea.
When the Bossy family sat for their own meals, Stella would dutifully stand between her two kids, resting her head on a trestle under the farm table, like a horse in its stall. Stella enjoyed being a part of all aspects of the Bossy family industriousness, where industriousness meant lounging around sofas.
The only thing short about a Great Dane is their lifespan. In the same accelerated way a Dane matures physically and mentally in their first year – increasing their weight 100-fold – so does old age arrive too soon.
In her final months Stella was as healthy and sound as her early days, albeit slower and requiring intervals of epic sleep. But in her final weeks the body that served her so well became difficult for her to lift and negotiate, and she began the retreat of the elderly, turning her attention inward.
The Bossy family was determined to spare Stella a tortured exit. The texts and phone calls flew back and forth among the Bossy family, detailing the subtle vagaries of her good days and tired days in an effort to help decide her fate.
In the end, the Bossy family made Stella an appointment for a Saturday morning.
On Friday afternoon she was eating heartily and enjoying a stroll around the back yard, which confused the family decision. Bossy drove to the family house in order to analyze things and spend the night spooning Stella. In the brief hours between late afternoon and early evening when Bossy arrived, Stella began a swift decline. No longer able to stand on her own accord and clearly uncomfortable, talk turned to lifting her into a car and not waiting until morning. The only consideration was Bossy’s daughter, who was not home and had not said goodbye. Suddenly Stella, who was lying in a heap in the center of this impossible conversation, cleared her eyes, stood up, and walked over to her foam mattress renamed in her puppyhood baby duck bed.
Stella, in her final hours, navigated her death in a way that spared the Bossy family of anxiety-producing decisions, anxiety-producing logistics, and anxiety.
Stella waited until Bossy’s daughter came home, slipping in and out of sleep, occasionally shifting her crumbled limbs while her family quietly surrounded her. Stella didn’t so much take her last breath as expel the air she no longer needed.
Bossy calculated that Stella was a few months shy of her first birthday when Bossy began this blog. For over six years there wasn’t a post generated by Bossy that wasn’t overseen by Stella, who would stand for hours next to Bossy’s typing elbow.
Stella had a sense of her role here, providing an endless source of fodder and being an eager participant whenever the camera emerged.
So thank you, dear Bossy’s council, for being avid and loving supporters of Stella these past years. Truly. Bossy’s Dane wasn’t just Great, she enjoyed significant internet reach and Google presence.
Farewell, Stella. You were a force, a big silly, a dear girl, our comic relief. Your voice will always be in Bossy’s head. And we will miss you.