As heard on a conference call...

As heard on a conference call...

"I can speak to the general particulars."

ULTIMATELY, lamentation leads to a greater, healing closeness in the divine-human bond. The cause of sorrow may not recede. The trial that evoked the cry may not end. The cry itself may yield no pathway of escape from harsh reality, nor should it be expected to. Lamentations come always from the lips of those who face the harshness, not from those trying to turn away. Still, as the cry pours forth, it opens wide the spirit of the one who issues it. And in this opening the greater closeness grows.

Stephen Doughty
TO WALK IN INTEGRITY

What should I do?

What should I do?

I have a small problem. Really, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even a problem. But I perceive it at as a problem and I don’t know what to do about it.

The problem is my Grandma. This isn’t my mom’s mother – the one who is fighting cancer right now. No, this has to do with my dad’s mother. The problem is, I have to do something… anything… and I’m not sure what to do.

My grandma is in my closet. I really want to get her out of my closet, but I don’t know where to put her.

You see my grandma didn’t want a funeral. She always wanted to be a doctor, but never could be. So, she decided to donate her body to medical science. She was a cadaver for a gross anatomy class at Columbia University in New York City. When she made out her will, she contacted Columbia. At that time, the school just disposed of the bodies when they were done using them. So, she made no previsions in her will to deal with her remains.

When my grandma died, my dad was very unhappy about sending her body off to be sliced and diced by first year (I think that’s when they take gross anatomy) med students. But he wanted to respect his mother’s wishes – so off she went.

Life went on. Life was good.

Then one day, almost a year after she died, a small box arrived in the mail for my dad. It was from Columbia. At first he thought it was some kind of “thank-you” gift and he started to open it. There were cardboard boxes inside of boxes. Before he got to the final surprise, he realized the school had sent back the cremated remains of my grandmother.

He didn’t know what to do with her, so he stuck her on a shelf in the closet and decided he would consult with his brother.

At the time he was in the middle of a messy divorce from my mother. Then he moved out of the family home and it was sold. Then I got pregnant and life was consumed with baby plans. Then he got cancer. I don’t know if he ever did consult with his brother, but when I went to close down his apartment so he could live with me… I found grandma on a shelf in the hall closet.

As I tossed the still unopened final cardboard box in to one of the big moving boxes, I realized this was now my problem to deal with.

By the time I was closing down my dad’s apartment, we all knew his cancer was terminal. My only uncle and aunt came down from Canada to visit my dad one last time. Right before they came, my dad had a really bad reaction to one of the medications so he was in the hospital to be stabilized. The four of us (five really if you count a 21 month old Elizabeth) were sitting around in my dad’s hospital room. He was dozing off and I was struggling to make conversation with my uncle. If you count that visit and my dad’s subsequent funeral, I’ve only seen them five times in my whole entire life. After awhile it gets hard to make idle chit-chat with someone you don’t know. But then I had a stroke of genius… I decided to ask them what to do with my grandma. It’s was his mother after all.

I told them that I had grandma in my closet and I didn’t know what to do with her. I explained about the change in policy at Columbia and how this brown box just showed up one day.

They looked at me with blank faces. Then they looked at each other, faces still blank. We all sat silent for several minutes.

“Well,” my uncle said slowly, “we live next door to a cemetery. Maybe we could take her home and dump on the cemetery property.”

“No,” my aunt said. “That’s against the law.”

“To bad.” I said. “I was thinking about taking her to Grandpa’s plot on dumping her there. But all I know is he was buried in Queens. Do you know where he is?”

“Nope.” my uncle shook his head. “I don’t remember, besides its illegal.”

We sat silently for a while. We were all shifting in our chairs often.

“Hey,” my aunt said cheerfully, “Miriam always loved tomatoes. I could put her some of my potted tomatoes.” My stomach flopped. My uncle scrunched up his nose. “Hey, it’s just a dead, burned up body. Carbon and ash. That’s all it is.” my aunt was defensive.

“True.” My uncle was shaking his head. “And she did like tomatoes.”

We sat silently for a while longer.

“So, Liz,” my uncle was looking at me. “What do you think of the tomato idea?”

“Ahhh… well, she’s your mother. Obviously my dad can’t weigh in on this decision, so I think it’s up to you.” I had already decided I would never eat a tomato they served.

It was settled. They decided they were going to take Grandma back to Canada with them and put her in their potted tomatoes. But, no. This plan fell apart. You see, this was less than a month after 9/11. I didn’t know where Grandma’s death certificates were. They decided it was too risky to take a cremated body out of the country when security was so high. I didn’t completely understand their logic – I really think they just got cold feet on the tomato idea… but then again, everyone was so paranoid right after 9/11 I guess anything was possible.

So, Grandma is still in my closet. She has moved with me five times since she came to live with me. I still don’t know what to do with her. At least she’s not a demanding guest.

The paths of charity are over roadways of ashes; and he who would tread them must be prepared to meet opposition, misconstruction, jealousy, and calumny. Let his work be that of angels — still it will not satisfy all.

-- Clara Barton

God

God

By Tori Amos

God, sometimes you just don't come through
God, sometimes you just don't come through
Do you need a woman to look after you
God, sometimes you just don't come through

You make pretty daisies, pretty daisies love
I gotta find what you're doing about things here
A few witches burning gets a little toasty here
I gotta find
Why you always go
When the wind blows

God, sometimes you just don't come through
God, sometimes you just don't come through
Do you need a woman to look after you
God, sometimes you just don't come through

Tell me you're crazy maybe then I'll understand
You got your 9 iron in the back seat just in case
You heard you've gone south
Well, baby, you love your new 4 wheel
I gotta find
Why you always go
When the wind blows

Will you even tell her
If you decide to make the sky fall
Will you even tell her
If you decide to make the sky fall

God, sometimes you just don't come through
God, sometimes you just don't come through
Do you need a woman to look after you
God, sometimes you just don't come through

Cool Beans!

Cool Beans!

Guess what I discovered! Now, I don't mean to brag or anything, but I am the 507th most popular reviewer at epinions.com. This is especially funny since I haven't written a review of anything since June of 2003.

Miriam's Cup

Miriam's Cup

Several new Passover seder rituals are being adopted by Jewish familes to honor the role of Miriam, Moses's sister and the Prophetess in the Exodus, and to highlight the contributions of women to Jewish culture, both past and present.

A second cup, called Miriam's Cup, is being added to the Passover dinner table along with Elijah's Cup. Miriam's Cup is filled with water and symbolizes the miracle of Miriam's well, which sustained the Israelites during their long journey in the desert.

She saw him.

She saw him.

Monday she went to the doctor. She had a fever and she could feel fluids draining in her ears. The doctor looked in her ears and her nose with the tiny, bright light. The doctor sat down at her computer and made a few notes.

“How are things going for you lately?” the doctor asked. “How is your daughter? Your mother?”

“Things are OK. My mom’s gone now.” She said.

The doctor started to write out a prescription. “You were right, it’s an ear infection.” Without looking up from her pad, the doctor said, “Are you sure things are OK? Have you thought about hurting yourself?”

She bit the corner of her lip and shook her head slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

It was a beautiful early spring day. Walking into the drug store, the breeze and warm sun felt good to her. She headed straight to the pharmacy in the back of the store. Brightly colored, cheerful Easter candies and toys lined the isles.

She waited patiently for her turn to drop off her prescription. She made a mental list of other things she needed to pick up – a Philips head screwdriver, AAA batteries, toilet paper, and kiddy vitamins. When it was her turn she answered all the questions about her identify, address, and insurance, then went to get the rest of the things.

Her arms were full with all the stuff she wanted to buy, but her prescription still wasn’t ready. She wandered over to the Easter isles to see what goodies she could get for her daughter’s basket. The selection of Easter toys was bountiful. The Easter Barbie was sweet. There were piles of candies in Barbie and Bratz packaging. The faces of the stuffed bunnies were full of joy. And to her surprise and delight she found the much coveted Floam – a toy advertised on TV ad nauseam but never before seen in real life.

As she was sorting through the stacks of Floam to pick just the right colors, she heard a voice calling to her. Every muscle became tense. She held her breath and closed her eyes. “Hey, how are you doing?” The voice called to her again. She closed her eyes tighter she started praying, “Make him go away, make him go away, make him go away, please God, make him go away.”

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. How are you?” He was behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but he was close enough that she could smell him. She could feel the heat his body was radiating. She quickly turned around and pressed her back against the shelves. The edges were cutting into her skin. She clutched the batteries and toilet paper close to her chest. Without realizing it she turned the screwdriver so the point was facing outwards. She held its handle tight as she rolled it around in her hand.

“How is your daughter? Hey, and your mother, too… right?” The man was so bubbly and happy to see her. She pressed backwards into the shelves. She curled her shoulders around the package of toilet paper and hunched downward. If only she could turn into a small spec of nothingness. “Did you ever close on that townhouse?” he asked. “I’m dying to come over and see it. You know, you never did tell me where it is. So, when can I come over?” He only paused a second for her to answer. “You know, I bought a place to. It’s over in Annandale.” He started to go on about the details of his new place. She could hear his voice, but it sounded very far away. The words did not make sense to her. She kept staring at his chin. It was very square for a chin. His good mood made her uncomfortable.

She realized he was asking again if he could come over to her house. He wanted to set up a date. He was demanding an answer. She wanted to scream out. She wanted to yell, “When hell freezes over, you God-damned rapist!” Her throat was constricted. Her mouth was dry. The room was spinning. She heard herself whisper, “I don’t know. I’m really busy.” There was no point in saying anything else. He had called her a few days after their last evening together. She had asked him why. He responded, “You said ‘No sex'. We didn’t have sex. What’s your problem?”

He asked again. He said he wanted to come over to see her house. He said he had to see how well she had decorated her bedroom. All she could do was shake her head and hold tight to the screw driver.

“You know, you’re so beautiful.” He said. “I have never met anyone as loving and as beautiful as you. I really want to come over sometime.”

She tried to swallow, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had a fever. There were dark circles under her eyes. She was pale and her hair unwashed. “Beautiful?” she thought. “I’ve got to go.” She heard herself saying. She stood there hugging her toilet paper and feeling the sharp edges of the shelving still cutting into her skin. She wanted to go, but she was afraid to turn her back on him.

He stared at her for several seconds. His mouth was slightly open as if he were going to ask a question. But then he turned and walked away. When she couldn’t see him, she went to the pharmacy counter. She stood with her back pressed up against the counter scanning the store. She waited there the last several minutes for her medications to be ready. After she paid, she walked out with a very determined gate and her head down. She didn’t want to catch anyone’s glances.

When she got home she went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub. She thought she was going to cry. She needed to. She wanted to. No tears would come. Nothing felt real. She didn’t feel real. She made a fist and started to punch her thigh. She felt nothing. She hit. She slapped. She punched. She pinched. A bruise started to appear. She felt pain. She felt real. She felt fever and exhaustion. She went to her bed and fell asleep.

PRAISE GOD!!!

PRAISE GOD!!!

I just got a phone call from the social worker who is handling Elizabeth’s father case. The news is so good I can hardly stand it. They will be transferring her father to the half-way house as early as Friday! How did this happen you ask… Well, Maria (that’s the social worker) negotiated a deal with the state appointed legal guardian for Steve’s mother. The guardian agreed to use some of her funds to pay for the half-way house until the SSDI kicks in. Also, Maria’s supervisor drove Steve to the social security office yesterday and helped him fill out the paper work to get the SSDI started.

This is SUCH a relief. I really didn’t want him to be homeless – for his own sake and for Elizabeth’s sake. Praise God!

I am so grateful for all the helping professionals that finally pulled this off. Also, I’m sending out a big – THANK-YOU! – to all of you that have been praying about this. I know it made a difference.

Will it ever end?

Will it ever end?

I had been given a guarantee by the social worker at the hospital that Elizabeth’s father would not be sent to a homeless shelter. Last night during Elizabeth’s weekly phone call with her dad, he mentioned that they were talking about sending him to the Market Street Mission. Today I called the social worker who promised me he would not be homeless. She said he is currently in the acute ward. In other words, he can only stay there a short time. She also said that he had been accepted into her first choice half-way house. However, he needs some income to go there. Because he never bothered to apply for social security disability benefits, he has no income. According to the social workers it can take six months for SSDI to start paying out. He can’t stay on the acute ward six months and he can’t go to the half-way house until the SSDI starts. They are going to start the process to have him committed in an involuntary ward. It’s a drastic measure, but the only way they can keep a roof over his head until the SSDI starts. However, there is a chance he won’t get admitted to the involuntary ward because he presents as very high functioning. So, in the end, there is still a chance he will be on the street.

I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could just wash my hands of this and turn my back. But he is still a human being in need and Elizabeth is the only person he has left in the world… At least she will know that someone tried. I did the best I could while still protecting her.

The Best Book I Ever Read or a Further Tribute to International Woman’s Day

The Best Book I Ever Read or a Further Tribute to International Woman’s Day

Check out Trauma & Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence - From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. This is the best book I’ve ever read on the subject. Here are just a few quotes:

Page 2: When the victim is already devalued (a woman, a child), she may find that the most traumatic events in her life take place outside the realm of socially validated reality. Her experience becomes unspeakable.

Page 28 For most of the twentieth century, it was the study of combat veterans that led to the development of a body of knowledge about traumatic disorders. Not until the women’s liberation movement of the 1970’s was it recognized that the most common post-traumatic disorders are those not of men in war but of women in civilian life. The real conditions of women’s lives were hidden in the sphere of the personal, in private life. The cherished value of privacy created a powerful barrier to consciousness and rendered women’s reality practically invisible. To speak about experiences in sexual or domestic life was to invite public humiliation, ridicule, and disbelief. Women were silenced by fear and shame, and the silence of women gave license to every form of sexual and domestic exploitation.

Page 30: Feminists redefined rape as a crime of violence rather than a sexual act. This simplistic formulations was advanced to counter the view that rape fulfilled women’s deepest desires, a view then prevailing [the mid-1970’s] in every form of literature, from popular pornography to academic texts. Feminists also redefined rape as a method of political control, enforcing the subordination of women through terror. The author Susan Brownmiller, whose landmark treatise on rape established the subject as a matter for public debate, called attention to rape as means of maintaining male power: “Man’s discovery that his genitalia could serve as a weapon to generate fear must rank as one of the most important discoveries of prehistoric times, along with the use of fire and the first crude stone axe. From, prehistoric times to the present, I believe, rape has played a critical function. It is nothing more or less than a conscious process of intimidation by which all men keep all women in a state of fear.”

Page 32: …the subordinate condition of women is maintained and enforced by the hidden violence of men. There is a war between the sexes. Rape victims, battered women, and sexually abused children are its casualties. Hysteria is the combat neurosis of the sex war.

Page 61: Combat and rape, the public and private forms of organized social violence, are primarily experiences of adolescence and early adult life… The period of greatest psychological vulnerability is also in reality the period of greatest traumatic exposure, for young men and young women. Rape and combat might thus be considered complementary social rites of initiation into the coercive violence at the foundation of adult society. They are the paradigmatic forms of trauma for women and men respectively.

Page 72: Traditional legal standards recognize a crime of rape only of the perpetrator uses extreme force which far exceeds that usually needed to terrorize a woman, of if he attacks a woman who belongs to a category of restricted social access, the most notorious example of which is an attack on a white woman by a black man. The greater the degree of social relationship, the wider the latitude of permitted coercion, so that an act of forced sex committed by a stranger may be recognized as rape, while the same act committed by an acquaintance is not. Since most rapes are in fact committed by acquaintances or intimates, most rapes are not recognized by law.

Women, Work, and the Ways of the World

Women, Work, and the Ways of the World

If you read some of my friend’s blogs (Lady of Light, A Ton of Something, and more tonnagge) you’d know that yesterday was International Women's Day. I guess I’m out of touch with the holiday calendar, because the only special holiday that I remember (aside from the nifty ones for which we get of work) is March first. This just happens to be, and I’m not making this up, both my ex’s birthday and National Pig Day. But anyway, International Women’s Day was spent discussing topics of interest to women… for example pay scales and sex discrimination. Well, I want to weigh in on this subject. I’m not going to debate stuff here. It makes me too angry to debate it. I’m just going to share a couple of true stories. These stories are mine. They are not things that happened to a friend of a friend or even a friend. These are things that have happened to me. They’ve all occurred in the last 15 years – since before that I wasn’t working.

I do want to pause here and put out two little disclaimers. (1) None of these events have occurred at my current place of business. Given that I work for a place controlled by the “Menopause Mafia”, they have other work place issues besides sex discrimination. However, since I’m drawing a regular pay check and I want to continue to do so… I think it’s best to not air their dirty laundry in public, regardless of the topic. (2) I feel very passionate and sometimes even still hurting about some of the stories I’m about to relay. I hope my language isn’t offensive to anyone. Frankly, this is the toned down version. It’s just that we’ve hit on a sore spot here…

So the first story I will share with you occurred when I applied for a job at Bear Sterns. I was dating my ex and he worked there. He got wind of an opening in a department next to his. He took in my resume and hooked me up with an interview. I went in for the interview. I took the written c programming test – which I passed in much less time than was allotted and they were all convinced I had failed it because of how quickly I passed it. Then I went in for an interview with my would-be boss’s boss. That went well so, I went in for the lie detector test and the drug screen. Things were looking good. I had to go in for a final interview with the boss of the department who was the internal customer of the programming services I would be providing if I got the job. The interview seemed to go very well. I answered all of the guys questions and he seemed well pleased with my technical abilities and personality.

The next day I got a call from HR. I was told that I didn’t get the job. They said they didn’t know why or some other lame thing. The ex started to poke around to find out the real deal. Now remember, at this point we were not married. We weren’t even engaged. I’m not sure if the folks at Bear Sterns even knew we were dating. So, they were pretty honest with the ex. They told him that I didn’t get the job because the boss of the internal customers didn’t like the look of me. He said I was lady-like enough. At the time, I was pretty bitter because this would have been at least a 20K jump in my salary… and with the bonuses that Bear Sterns gave out at the time… it could have been even more. I’ve long since gotten over it, because I never would have meet the woman who was to be my business partner and I wouldn’t be in VA now if I’d taken that job. But still, this jack ass made a hiring decision because of the way I looked! Pretty disgusting if you ask me.

The reason I was looking for a new job in the first place was that I really needed to get away from a huge pig. This guy was the manager of a department for which he knew nothing about. He was the second most clueless person I’ve ever worked for (and the first was a coke addict.) He had gotten the job because of his “good ol’ boy” network of Viet Nam Vets. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting down Viet Nam vets. Heck, I’m not putting down vets from any era. I am unhappy when an unqualified person gets a job simply because they are friends with someone… regardless of the origin of the friendship.

So this guy had surrounded himself with a bunch of brown-nosing, kiss-ass, yes-men (and women.) Needless to say, this very important project was going down the tubes very fast. They were in trouble. The software was full of bugs, behind schedule, getting worse every day, and mission critical. I had a rep as being a good tester and being able to turn around bad projects so I was lucky enough to be assigned to this loser. As I said, the boss had surrounded himself with yes-people. When I tried to point out problems or issues on the project I was always met with sarcasm and anger. When ever I disagreed with the big-guy (and I think my friends recognize that I’m pretty diplomatic in these situations) he would just turn around and tell me that I was being disagreeable because it was my time of the month. If you believed this guy, I was bleeding for six months straight. The sad part was that this guy wasn’t just being defensive about my new ideas. This guy really believed that women belonged at home bear-foot and pregnant. Sick. Sick. Sick!

But I’ve saved the best for last… When I moved into FDA regulated industries, I was tasked with setting up a department to do software validation. I did a pretty good job of it. The work had been divided in two. I was responsible for all the software in three business units. There was another department that was responsible for the software in one other business unit. This guy got hired in to company after I had done all the heavy lifting. He was a mechanical engineers, so everyone he hired was also a mechanical engineer. Some how, they got assigned to software validation for the one business unit I wasn’t responsible for.

These guys were clueless. They didn’t even know where to begin. My area was running pretty smoothly and I’m a kind soul, so I spent a lot of hours tutoring them and helping them learn what they had to do. But they didn’t always follow my advice or if they did they didn’t do it right or something. It seems they were always in some kind of pickle. Meanwhile my department just kept on keeping on with no problems or issues.

So FDA comes in for an inspection. First they look at the other business unit. Usually, an FDA inspection lasts 2 – 3 days for the entire firm. A week if things are bad. They spent 13 weeks looking at the one business unit. It was a long and difficult period. Then, they got to my stuff. I spent a day and a half – maybe two days with the inspectors. At the end they told the director of Regulatory Affairs that everyone in the company should follow MY lead.

As a result of that inspection the firm received a very long and very serious Form 483 (that’s what the inspector uses to write down all the issues they find during the inspection.) FDA followed up with a very serious and very nasty warning letter telling the company that if they didn’t clean up their mess in the software development arena they were going to shut down the entire firm. It’s important to note here that my area did not have one single Form 483 observation and my work was never mentioned in the warning letter.

As you can imagine all hell broke loose at work. People in the other business unit were running around like idiots trying to fix their problems so the place didn’t get shut down. During this time, one of the jerks who made the mess in the first place let his salary slip. Turns out he was making MORE THAN TWICE my salary. I did some snooping and I discovered that ALL of the CLUELESS MECHANICAL ENGINEERS were making six figures. I was outraged. These guys had taken a well defined and smooth running operation and were about to get the entire place shut down and they were making a boat load of money doing it. I confronted the guy who hired them. He did some song and dance about how they were older than me and all of their mechanical engineering knowledge was transferable so they deserved to make more. BULL CRAP!!! All of it!!!

Then just to add insult to injury when raise time came around – these jackasses got huge raises and got a measly 2%. I was so outraged I confronted my boss right then and there. Do you know what they had the balls to say to me? I was told that the other guys got higher raises because they had to work so hard to correct all the observations on the warning letter. If they hadn’t busted their butts, the place could have been shut down and they needed to be rewarded for their efforts. HA! I said, “But wouldn’t it have been better if they did their job right the first time so we didn’t get a warning letter?”

“Well, yes.” The boss said.

“So, shouldn’t I have been rewarded for doing my job right the first time as proven by the fact that I didn’t have ONE SINGLE OBSERVATION on the warning letter?”

“Well, you do make a good point.” The jackass said. “But frankly, the raises have been finalized and communicated to staff so there really isn’t anything I can do now.”

You know, they say that living well is the best reverence… within three months I had a new job with a big fat pay raise! HA! HA!

But the fact is, there is still discrimination out there. People do judge you based on your gender. Frankly, if Elizabeth decides to use her looks to get the salary and the positions she deserves because she earns them by working hard… then I’d be damned proud of her. I would never want her to use her looks or her gender to get something she didn’t deserve… but what the heck, people are using every advantage they can to get ahead. If she’s going to be a pretty, smart blond… then more power to her if she shakes her thing to get that promotion that she really deserves for her brains and ability.

Oh, and there are a whole bunch of other stories from when I owned my business. Let’s suffice it the say that Elizabeth's middle name is Franklin. This way, if she ever needs to hide her gender, she can always sign documents “E. Franklin”. It was very, very important to me that she have a male middle name so she could have every advantage in the business world.

I feel like I’m rambling now… and there is so much more I want to say… but I guess you’ll just have to ask me about it some time.

How do you know if you’re depressed?

How do you know if you’re depressed?

You might be depressed if:

1) You’re afraid to sleep because the nightmares will come.
2) All your free time is spent sleeping anyway ‘cause that’s all the energy you can muster.
3) You suddenly gain or loose weight and you’re not sure why.
4) Your ability to concentrate is so diminished that an episode of Cheers can’t hold your attention and trying to watch Law & Order is unthinkable.
5) The thought of playing Centipede or Tetras doesn’t give you a boost of excited anticipation nor do you run to play the games.
6) You start to think that going to Divinity School or getting an MSW is a good idea. (Note: If the course catalogues and admissions paper work starts to arrive in your mailbox, you should consider giving away your belts and shoe laces and locking up the kitchen knifes.)
7) Going to work doesn’t seem all that important.
8) You blow off really important commitments and meetings and the only thing that worries you is just how much you don’t care that you’ve just screwed yourself.
9) You don’t feel the need to talk to people either in real life or on the internet and yet you feel very sad that part of life is missing.
10) You’re sitting in an important meeting and instead of paying attention; you’re scribbling a check list to determine if you’re depressed in the margins of your agenda.

NAMING FEARS

NAMING FEARS

PERHAPS the monsters know something I don't know.
Perhaps they could be guides to explore those secret, hidden places deep inside.
Perhaps I could learn from them.
Perhaps we could get to know one another ... just a little.
Perhaps they even have names.

If I'm going to be with these monsters, O God, I need the assurance of Your presence.
You know my fears.
Nothing is hidden from You.
If I decide to meet these monsters, O God, please stand beside me ... and hold my hand.

-- Susan Gregg-Schroeder
IN THE SHADOW OF GOD'S WINGS

OH NO! Somebody help me!

OH NO! Somebody help me!

I just took this test to see what my EQ is. (That stands for Evangelical Quotient.) I can't believe it... I scored 85 (maybe 90 depending on one question.) Someone's gotta help me. This is kinda scary! I guess the evangelical half-life is pretty bad.

I wanted to use this picture for my post last night, but I forgot. Oh well... here it is now!

Did you know, you have a protected right to own a dog?

Did you know, you have a protected right to own a dog?

Ah... or is that a right to assemble? Gee, I'm actually a little sick to my stomach right now. More Americans can name two of the five Simpsons than can name one of the five rights guaranteed by the first amendment?

I just came across an article on MSNBC that reports only one in four Americans can name more than one freedom guaranteed by the First Amendment while more than half of the 1000 adults surveyed by phone could name at least Simpsons.

In fact, 22% could name all five Simpsons. When it came to naming all five First Amendment rights, one ONE in 1000 could do it.

Oh, but it gets better... about one in five Americans surveyed actually believed that the right to own a pet was included in the First Amendment. And let me ask you this. How many TV shows have you seen where someone pleads the fifth? I wonder what all those actors are pleading to. I always thought it was the right against self-incrimination. But according to 38% of Americans, that right is actually included in the First Amendment.

Hmmm... I can't help but wonder if I was reading the right version of the Bill of Rights when I was in school.









By the way, in case you're wondering the answer is "Freedom of speech, religion, press, assembly and petition for redress of grievances"