Of thee I dread

We all have those things in our lives that we dread. Death and taxes top most lists. I could list certain political figures but as I have recently been advised- and you know who you are, Cheryl - that I should tone down my political ranting, I will leave certain world leaders off this list. Anyway, for reasons we will get to later, I was recently reviewing my own inventory. My personal list includes:

The telephone ringing unexpectedly in the middle of the night. I know, I know, it is almost always some drunk woman fuzzily punching in numbers at a bar - "Whaa do ya mean? Yurrr not Bob?" - until that one time you pick up the phone and your life is changed forever.

Dentists. Full stop. Once you've had a needle full of novocaine snapped off in your gum, there's no middle ground concerning dental work anymore.

Stepping on the scales at the doctor's office. They are always, always, a good five pounds higher than my scales at home. No matter which doctor's office it is. Obviously this is a vast medical conspiracy to which no one - and I'm talking about you, New York Times! - is apparently willing to investigate.

And now we come to my most recent addition to the list. Tuesday morning. Not just any Tuesday morning, but this coming Tuesday morning. That's when Ben, my eldest, will walk out the backdoor, get on that yellow school bus, and in many ways motor out of my life.

I only recently came to this melodramatic conclusion. For the past few weeks I have been happily awaiting the start of school. After all, the endless rounds of trips to the park, bike rides, and sticky popsicle sticks were beginning to take their toll. I was actually happy - imagine that! - at the thought that this summer might be over. And then I suddenly realized that with the start of this school year, Ben will be gone. All day. Every weekday. No more rainy day morning trips to scope out Toys 'R Us, no more last minute excursions to visit the zoo. And that this will continue until he graduates and leaves my home forever.

Wow. The first real step out into the big world and away from Mommy. Preschool was just a bump on the shoulder compared to this. This is like a punch in the gut. I know it is the most hackneyed thing to say, but it's true: my little boy is growing up. And he's excited about this whole new adventure in his life, can't wait to go.

I, on the other hand, am a wreck. I need a drink. Where's the blender? I think a round of frozen margaritas would be quite nice before the summer is truly over.

iCards

iCards, originally uploaded by kimhs.

August Vacation

Go, Mama, go!

CRAWFORD, Texas (CNN) August 7, 2005 -- A mother whose son was killed in Iraq says she is prepared to continue her protest outside President Bush's ranch through August until she is granted an opportunity to speak with him. Cindy Sheehan's 24-year-old son -- Army Spc. Casey Sheehan of Vacaville, California -- was killed in Baghdad's Sadr City on April 4, 2004. The Humvee mechanic was one of eight U.S. soldiers killed there that day by rocket-propelled grenades and small arms fire.

My response to this news story is very simple: three cheers for Cindy Sheehan. Just last week I stated my own desire to find a way to protest this senseless war and somehow get people motivated into anti-war protests as they had been in the sixties. And look who pops onto the news horizon this week: another mom, a mother willing to take the proverbial bull by the horns - the double meaning is intentional, folks - by staking out the Crawford Ranch of our beloved President Bush.

The Republican right - in particular their henchman behind the mikes on talk radio - are frothing at the mouth. How dare she! How dare a mother use her own tragedy to try and gain public sympathy for her anti-war crusade! She doesn't really want to talk to the president - that's just a democrat ruse - she wants to stop the war! I hear she's even been speaking with - gasp - Michael Moore!

Duh. I hate to say this, Republican - fill in the blank - Senator, but you're absolutely right. That's exactly what she's doing and, I'm smiling as I write this, she seems to be succeeding. Oh, and by the way, perhaps you'd like to put your own child in the line of fire before you seek to criticize a woman who has lost the most precious gift life can give and wishes to vent her feelings on the subject.

And Mr. President, I have some advice for you. You look like a pussy when you ignore a grieving mother camped out at the end of your driveway. Invite her up to the house and talk to her. You're in a no-win situation and you've got to make the best of it. After all, I know how you Texans hate looking like pussies.

So where have all the protesters gone?

Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Sigh. I have a sudden longing for tie-dye and the warm, fuzzy goofiness of hash brownies. Of course, I was only seven when hordes of hippies overran Yasgur's farm over there in upstate New York and my personal experience with hash brownies occurred in the back of Ms. Raymond's English Lit class in 1977. But those are just details. My heart and soul were there with those kids on the streets of Chicago in '68. In fact, my activist nature really was much more suited to the sixties than the Studio 54 Me decade of the seventies. Lucky me to have been born into the wrong decade.

Anyway, I'm going to make up for all that now. I - yes, me - the woman who struggles to find the energy to clean her house - am going to protest. And much like the sixties, I am going to be protesting a senseless war perpetrated by the American government against a foreign power. It's sad how quickly this War against Terror has just disintegrated into War, plain and simple. And a guerrilla war at that. Instead of small men in black pyjamas attacking and then disappearing back into the Southeast Asian jungle, you have young men in arab headdress nabbing people off the street in Baghdad and throwing them into the back of beat up Ford pick-ups. The difference is that now the video of their beheading ends up on the internet within 24 hours.

But where are the protesters? I know that the lack of a draft makes this war less emotionally charged than Vietnam, but we still have young men and women dying every day over in Iraq - and for what? Where are the kids in the streets with the signs? Where are the musicians with those powerful lyrics that led kids out of their university classrooms and out onto the quad?

Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We're finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming
Four dead in Ohio

Are we just more cynical now than we were forty years ago? Was this summer's Live 8 concert just a pale retread of Live Aid because the world is so different now? Young people today do not need to leave their homes to connect with the world - they can do that online. All those rites of passage can be had through the internet: itunes for the music, chat rooms to find a cute guy/girl, and porn sites for everything else.

What a sad statement - that our kids would prefer to live in a virtual world rather than get involved in making the real world a better one. I hope that it isn't true. But either way, I'm not giving up. I am going to protest. I'm not sure how, I'm not even sure how many people will be involved, but I'm going to do something.

Now where did I put that leather fringed vest?

There's something happening here,
what it is ain't exactly clear,
There's a man with a gun over there,
telling me that I've got to beware.

I think it's time we stopped, children, what's that sound,
everybody look what's going down.


"The 14 Marines killed in Iraq Wednesday and the six killed Monday all belonged to the same Ohio-based battalion. The Headquarters & Services Company, 25th Marine Regiment, 3rd battalion is headquartered in Brook Park, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland.

The Wednesday attack, in which a roadside explosive detonated beneath the Marines' amphibious vehicle, is the single most deadly improvised explosive attack on U.S. forces since the war began." - NPR, August 3, 2005