Obama: SLN and Nobel in One Week

Last Saturday I watched Saturday Night Live with my teenage son. I was sort of shocked to see a skit where Obama sits in the White House Oval Office and essential denies doing anything wrong because in fact he has done nothing - that was the focus of the humor, how little he has accomplished in office so far.  As an Obama supporter I was taken aback, but also I realized that maybe there was some truth in the skit, as there always seem to be on SNL.  I was disappointed in myself for not being "ready" for the blast he got, for not being more aware of what hasn't been done maybe.  I haven't been following domestic issues in part because I got tired of the prolonged health care debate.  Poor excuse I know. So my task now is to be more aware and objective.

On to the "good news" (at least for me!) - Obama has been selected for the Nobel Peace Prize.  I lived in Alfred Nobel's house in Oslo as a teenager in the '70's.  It was a beautiful home and  as the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded in Oslo every year I was privileged to even attended the event when Henry Kissenger was awarded the prize. I feel a deep connection to the prize and it's meaning. The consideration of the hope and inspiration Obama has given the world is what is being considered here I believe, not that he has ended a war or significantly effected change in the form of peace in a given country.  I do think he deserves it because, like Martin Luther King, he symbolizes hope and change. I just hope he continues to really effect change so that SLN doesn't have material for the next 3 years.  We shall see.

Afghanistan, What Next?

We have spent the better part of the last 7 years fighting against the Taliban in Afghanistan, where they have been for much longer then us.  We have known that this was a key place for Osama Bin Ladin to train his terrorist yet our numbers and full out effort haven't been placed there.  In my opinion the American focus on Iraq has burned out our energy and commitment to fighting the true terrorist, the Taliban. I believe our time there can be compared to going on a diet, sticking to it all day, but eating chocolate in quantity every night. Doesn't really make sense does it?  

I understand the U.S. military's  need to win over the "hearts and minds" of the Afghan people  in order to gain confidence and collaboration from them.  The Taliban is so entrenched that unless people view the U.S. as a true ally the average Afghan can't be expected to befriend the American's, risking their lives by making the Taliban angry. We need the village warlords and elders who can choose to cooperate with the Taliban to see the U.S. as an asset to their people. From my vantage point however, it is going to take a lot more soldiers in Afghanistan to manage the violence of the Taliban while similtaneously  winning the hearts and minds of the people.  We have the dual responsibility of protecting people from the Taliban's destruction of the roads, hospitals, schools, jobs and other necessities for those in both rural areas and cities.

What is the point in deploying less then the necessary amount of troops, and loosing more young soldiers then any one family can bare?  If we are going to fight the Taliban and "restore order and democracy" then we should have started in Afghanistan where we knew the terrorist were definitely training, not Iraq. What a waste of lives and resources.  Ironically, I'm not an advocate of war, really, but if you are going to be involved in one, give it your best shot so that those out there aren't sitting ducks.

Yom Kippur

Forgiveness and atonement.  Finding compassion in one's heart even towards those you could never be friends with or follow.  That's a tall order, a good goal to strive towards.  Self righteousness feels so good when you feel you KNOW you are right, yet it is still important to think of the position of those you believe are wrong.  I know I get so wrapped up in my passions around politics and social justice issues, I often have to remind myself to listen openly as well as share my thoughts.  

Colonel Muammar al-Gaddafi Does NY

Well, we could of used the shoe-throwing Iraqi journalist at the United Nations today.  The Libyan president, Muammar Gaddafi, spoke for an hour and a half apparently. How can it be that such a crazy man has been in power so long.  Poor Libya, poor Libyans! 

I heard on BBC World News this morning from a report given by a Libyan Professor from the University of Texas that Gaddafi doesn't care about the content of his speeches (big surprise), but rather that he causes a "sensation."  When he travels he is said to bring his bedouin tent to "sleep in," fully equipped with electricity and satellite TV.  This time he set it up on property owned by Donald Trump, unbeknownst to Trump.  Ah it only gets better!

Gaddafi had lots of criticism of the U.N., demanding investigations into all the wars since World War II.  He did compliment Obama, calling him "Our Son" and expressed the hope that Obama would be president for life. Heck, why not Muammar, you are, right? He shared his belief that the Swine Flu was a conspiracy, concocted from some government lab (I'm not sure I got this part right or which government lab), and, I do have this right, that the Israeli's are behind John F. Kennedy's assassination. Mother of Sweet Jallalabad.  

NY is home to  the United Nations, so as a country I guess we couldn't possibly arrest the man and charge him for the crimes against humanity he has committed over the years, but there is no reason he couldn't be checked into Bellevue Mental Hospital for an extended stay is there? He could even bring his tent.

The Lucky Life of an American Abroad -Rome

When I was a senior in high school my father was posted in a communist country, so I went away to a boarding school in Rome.  It was an international school, so the students were from such places as Israel, Libya, England, The United States, Norway, Sweden, The Netherlands, Botswana and of course Italy.  The school was a day school but had about 50 boarders, I was one.  The teachers were also from all over the world, and the "house parents" that lived at the school were exceedingly cool and fun even if they were authority figures.

When I arrived I was terrified and self conscious, only to be magnified by the fact that Al Italia had lost my luggage so I wore the same clothes for a week.  But, no matter, I was embraced nevertheless, which was amazing to me!  I can remember this wonderful fellow classmate, an American whose parents worked in Saudi Arabia, she took me all over Rome on a "tour."  That was the amazing thing about that school, the students were stoked about living in Italy, and were so into the art, history and cultural aspects of being there, so we all together took advantage of everything Rome and the surrounding areas had to offer together.  It was socially cool to want to see and do things Italian.

Some of the teachers were  Americans who had been in Rome a while and had found their new homeland so to speak.  One history professor who maybe came from the midwest (?) taught Islamic History.  He showed us slides (dating myself) of his trekking through Iran.  We saw detailed pictures of mosaics and intricate tiles, mosques and smiling people, which all made for a "I want to go there!" mentality.  My Italian teacher wasn't quite 5', adorable to my 5'11''.  I was and still am an atrocious linguist, barely passing Italian and going on to college I must admit.  She'd gaze up at me after class and say "you hava' to worka harder!"  No kidding.  

I remember one day a group of us took a picnic to the Villa Borghese  park in the center of the city, then went to walk around the Coloseum just for kicks.  We'd take the tram to the coast, or to Assisi where St. Francis lived and preached.  As the year went by we continued to make memories; group dinners at trattoria's, playing basketball against The Geneva Giants (they won), coffee at piazzas, parties at our Roman friends homes, running early in the morning around the Circo Maximo, studying late into the night for finals. We had no idea really of how privileged we were.  In the years to follow I came to appreciate more and more I realized how unique and wonderful my experiences had been, how lucky I was.

As the time neared for graduation I remember thinking I wanted to prolong my life in Rome, I didn't want to return to the U.S. after having lived overseas for the past 6 years. I'd actually only lived there for 3 years of my life. I was an American but I wasn't up on what that meant.  The years after were tough.  College was a come down after my high school years overseas.  The flip side of the romance of being an American abroad, is when you return home other American's aren't so interested in hearing about your experiences, they can't relate, and I understand why, it's just too foreign.

I guess as I watch my own child prepare to leave home in all ways, becoming an adult, I wonder what will her memories be of this time in her life? Will she ever experience being an outsider in another country and be able to celebrate that experience with other peers as I was so fortunate to do many years ago?  I certainly hope so.

Unamuno - What Makes A Saintly Person?

I'm working with a student who is reading college level Spanish literature and Unamuno, a Spanish writer from the 1920-30's, writes this story about a Priest who practices in the mountain village that he grew up in.  He is kind, helping people in all walks of their life. When they are dying he holds their hands and comforts them, assuring them of the angels and peacefulness of heaven.  The catch is he doesn't believe there is an afterlife.  He essentially believes it is more important to give his congregation the comfort of their faith and help them be happy in this, then acknowledge his own disbelief in heaven and hell. 

His daily acts in his life lead him to being beautified - translation: nominated for sainthood.  The reader is left wondering, should he be made a saint? He does selfless wonderful things all the time, but lies in so doing.  What do you think? 

Imagine if Cinderella Was a Fraud

Having adopted older children,  I have learned a lot about attachment disorder.  This is a disorder found in children who have lived in orphanages for long periods of time, or who have been abandoned or abused in their lives.  This disorder presents itself in a child not able to trust adults, attach emotionally to a significant adult parental figure.  Often a child with attachment disorder is very manipulative and sneaky, cleverly able to "triangulate" the mother and father, setting one up against the other by behaving very differently when with one or the other. To the public however, they present as the ideal child. Their public behavior can be model.  The longer the child with attachment disorder is with a family the more pronounced the disorder can become because attachment should be occurring over time and the stress of resisting it creates a great deal of stress on the child. Distancing behavior, such as stealing, lying, hurting others and random emotional outbreaks are some of the common behaviors found in a emotionally detached child.  It is hard to imagine any child behaving a such a deceptive way.  If you've seen the horror film "Orphan" there are elements that ring true, even though on the whole it is a terrible film.  Living with a calculating child is very counter-intuitive as a parent and at times scary as hell. Again it is hard to fathom unless you are in a house with a child with attachment disorder.  On the other hand, the reason the child has attachment disorder is because they were neglected, abused or institutionalized, so they aren't to blame for their abandonment and how, regardless of how unhealthy, they have learned to manage their feelings.

Without going into the personal details of what happened in my own family, the experience got me to thinking about stories that are part of our childhood experience that explore the theme of orphaned and mistreated children. There are many of these tales; Pinocchio, Harry Potter and Cinderella for example.  The plot often is of a sad and abandoned child who is eventually "saved" by new parents or a caring adult.  Many of us believe that love heals all things, including an emotionally fractured childhood.  I certainly believed this to be true, but this was before I lived with a mentally ill child.  I still believe love can heal, but it takes more then love at times.

As I said I started thinking about the orphaned characters and the awful step-parents in some of these stories.  The possibility occurred to me that if the details were skewed in Cinderella so that the step mother and sisters could become the victims and Cinderella could in fact be the deceptive person then you might have a somewhat accurate representation of what some adopted parents are experiencing living with their attachment disordered children.  In this rendition of the tale, Cinderella would be taken in by her "adopted" family. Her sisters would share everything with her, include her in their social lives and see her as very much a member of the family.  Initially, as valuable items such as cell phones, game boys, jewelry and money belonging to individual family members and people at Cinderella's school begin to disappear everyone suspects that Cinderella is the culprit.  People are sympathetic towards Cinderella given the deprivation she came from it is understandable she would covet other people's belongings.  

Over time however, weird things begin to happen in Cinderella's house.  The cat gets hurt repeatedly, and there are tacks placed where her step-mother sits and will walk, Cinderella lashes out at a sibling unprovoked and clocks them in the head with a wooden carving.  The family becomes alarmed and initiates some much needed therapy.  Cinderella manipulates the therapists into believing the family isn't caring for her properly, that she is alone and sad. Other people who have known Cinderella's family for years realize that this cannot be so and see some of the strange things happening around the house  Friends witness some of the bizarre and hurtful behavior and realize that the image Cinderella hopes to portray is a fraud, and she in fact is the meanest of them all.  Of course this is a fairy tale, nothing ever happens this clearly, but you are getting the jist of my rewritten fairy tale.  Again, doesn't it feel counter-intuitive to even believe this?

So while that "Orphan" movie was over the top and creepy and unreal on many levels, parts of it seemed familiar, not just to me but to other parents I've met and talked to with older adoptive children who have attachment disorder.  One mother described waking up with a note pinned to her PJ's that was left by her teenaged adopted child with a hand drawn picture of herself being stabbed to death, red blood dripping off the knife.  Another family told of the carefully drawn picture of the snake, fangs drawn and also dripping in blood found in the father's "Things to Do" notebook with a message saying "I love you mom and dad" written next to the snakes open mouth.  So, while Harry Potter had a terrible go of it sleeping in the hall closet and dealing with Dudley his adoptive brother, and I wouldn't want to be Cinderella ever, there are cases when what appears to be isn't always what it is.

Love, Cooking and of Course, EATING!

When I first met my husband there were several things I liked about him immediately.  He wasn't afraid to talk politics, we shared similar views on many things and when we didn't there was plenty of food for thought.  At the time we were living in Washington, D.C. and Reagan was in office, so we complained to each other, shaking our head about the state of things.  Another thing I liked about him was his Dutch-ness.  He is from The Netherlands and if you've never been there you are missing out on a treat. It is truly charming, the green flat landscape dotted with windmills and farms, the little cafes and restaurants and winding streets in the cities, the old and young people zipping around on bikes, the row houses along canals.  The Dutch have a sense of self righteousness. They are proud of the bravery of Anne Frank and the Dutch who helped in resisting the Germans, and also of their social system that protects people from dying on the street.  The Dutch people have a good sense of humor but also can lack in tact in my opinion, which can be charming and aggravating at the same time, my husband is no exception here.  On one of our first dates every time I tried to make a point and my now husband didn't get he'd ask "And so what?"  At first I felt like smacking him but as the evening and the wine flowed on I was glad to have someone be honest about not understand what I was trying to say.  

The thing I found most charming about my husband when we first met was not his accent or his politics, it was that he loved to cook.  After returning from teaching in Africa to D.C. that same year, and then earning a whopping $10,000 a year working at a city Catholic school I was eating a hell of a lot of mac and cheese, cheap and filling.  Fine dining wasn't in the picture at that time. To be invited to his house and served an amazing dinner, oohlaalaa. I would be treated to delicacies of fine seafood or meat in delicious sauces and wines and fresh strawberries with whipped cream not out of a cool whip container, I was in heaven.  

The ritual of cooking and then slowly enjoying a fantastic dinner with good conversation has continued to be a part of our lives even with 5 kids.  In a time when so much of our life together is full of stress, decision making and the same issues all families must deal with, it is a luxury and a pleasure still to sit down and enjoy a well made meal, and of course look across the table at my sweet husband.  I can't say I often experience "The Joy of Cooking" but there is something heartening about cooking on a cold rainy Saturday, like today, and watching the ones you love eating and chatting together around the dining room table, enjoying the warmth and love of one another's company. 

Talk About The Old Boys!

Obama gave a 52 minute speech last night addressing the realities of the proposed health care reform versus the untruths being spread about it by those opposed to it.  I am biased, I admit it right out. I believe that proper health care is a human right, as is education.  We have public universities and still the private colleges and universities are surviving, why wouldn't private insurers do fine along side publicly funded health care insurance for those who really need it? Seems like a good idea to me.  The system is definitely broken and so now is the time to fix it.  

Really though I am not writing about the health care issue, I am writing today about what I saw of the old boy system during that speech last night. As the camera panned out to show Obama's view of the audience, you could see this sea of (republican) men mostly, arms crossed and faces scowling, shaking their heads at Obama.  More then a few of these "gentlemen" disagreed in such an ugly way, behaving like spoilt children, one even yelling out "you lie!" Makes you wonder who the hell elected them.  

What I saw beyond bad white male behavior was racism at its worst. Honestly I saw men who hated being addressed by a black man, they were furious.  As a woman I've seen this response to women in power who are a threat, so it is not new to me.  The old boy institutional racism, where white men could always count on their seat at the table, that institutional strong hold has been shaken to the core with Obama's election victory.  Every time those guys looked at Obama last night they were reminded of it. Certainly their concerns about the health care bill go beyond Obama and back to their political careers, the indebtedness of some to the insurance and pharmaceutical lobbyist no doubt.  I just was appalled at the overall immature and blatant hostility exhibited by these representatives.  If they feel entitled enough to act this way while on television no less, then I wonder how safe Obama really is as he travels and talks to the public.  He leads by his example, I just wish everyone would follow with the same dignity.

A Word from Our President: Work Hard in School

As an educator I was often looking for positive "outside the school building" role models for our students. Some of the inside the school building models were not always the best to be quite honest. Working with students of color during this past presidential election was one of the most interesting and exciting experiences I have had over twenty years in the field.  Over and over the kids would say that if Obama could do it any one of them could.  Most children have hope, but the quality of hope with his election spilled into possibility and affirmation for my students.

So as the school year starts up kids all over the country were supposed to hear from Obama, in the pre-recorded message about doing your best, being mindful of civic responsibility and I am keeping your head in the academic game. I understand there were also lesson plans involved that were taken back to appease critics.  The far right have made an issue of Obama trying to brainwash our kids, saying he was using his speech as a tool to spread his political propaganda. OOOhhhh K.  

The idea that our president is trying to brainwash our children to do well in school, as this is the central focus of the speech, must be frightening to those who don't want our kids to well right?  God forbid students should hear from the leader of their country that they should try hard, ask when they need help, be respectful to teachers, and be good citizens.  How this is turned into a political issue is beyond me.  This symbolizes the worst kind of pettiness from the far right in my mind.  Our children, meaning all of students in the U.S., need to know they can succeed and should be reminded of the qualities they must possess to do so.  The greater the variety of sources they receive this message from the easier the job of teachers and parents becomes.  

Teddy, Massachusetts and a Sense Giving Back

We took our children to the JFK Library on Boston's south harbor last week. We waited in line to sign the condolence book for Edward Kennedy and then toured the museum learning and remembering  JFK and his family's history.  We left before Teddy's casket arrived, but still experienced an emotional and historical event I hope my children will recall as they grow up.

Standing in line waiting to sign the book, people began talking about their own connection to Kennedy. It was amazing to hear individual stories of how his office helped everyday people from this state get through life's hardest times.  It explained the huge outpouring of love and grief felt in Massachusetts. 

As I watched the funeral on T.V. and listened to the selected biblical readings I was impressed once again with the whole focus being on "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  Certainly Kennedy wasn't a flawless man, we all know that.  I guess what came to mind for me was the explicit and implicit messages he received through the Catholic church and his own family that stressed the idea of "to whom much is given much is expected,"  and then what this looked like in the form of his life's work. 

That an era has ended with his passing is very sad, but I also wonder if there are more like him and those of his generation to follow?  I have no answer to this, I just wonder.

Off to College compared to New Years Eve

I heard screaming from my neighbors house, a daughter, college-aged yelling at her mother and the mother responding, the fight escalating.  The topic seemed to be centered around the young woman saying she would not return to college, and the mother trying to convince her she must. I didn't think "Wow, can't they get their stuff together enough to not involve the whole neighborhood?" I genuinely felt absolute empathy for both of them. Of course the understanding on my end has an element of feeling you shouldn't throw stones if you live in a glass house, but this girl did go off to college a year ago and I honestly wonder if it isn't going very well. The mother, who I only know to say hello and chit chat, nothing more, is lovely and her children important to her.  The daughter I've watched from afar leave for high school daily, books in hand, then pack for college, return for holidays and finally return home for this first summer back. She looks unhappy, the daughter does.  

While college for many is a liberating experience from family and a new lease on making friends, redoing who you are and want to be in a brand new place, for some young people it can be paralyzingly difficult.  Going off to college there are so very many expectations of you, to say nothing of the price tag attached to the whole thing.  I think it is an amazing time of life, a "rights of passage," but also for this emerging adult there is an element of expectation for them to have an amazing wonderful time, and if they don't it can translate into a sense of failure. 

Going off to college and the build up before reminds me of New Years Eve, one is expected to have a crazy, fun, love filled, joyful, happy time on that night,  but what if you don't? Like going of to college the build up is intense for New Years Eve.  Just as one is asked over and over, "What college are you going to next year?" one might be asked "What are your plans for New Years Eve?" And if you don't have any, or do and the evening is a flop does that serve as a predictor for the entire year? Isn't your favorite New Years memory related to the fit of the environment, the people and where you were at in your own head at the time?

In returning to the yelling  from my neighbors, I wish I knew this young woman well enough that I could tell her, with all confidence, that college is certainly important, but if one place makes you unhappy that doesn't mean another won't be just fine, it is about finding the right fit.  The more open one is to learning and growing the easier it is to do just that and you just have to believe in  yourself and the possibilities out there. And finally, Mom loves you so much she just wants what will make your life fuller in the end.

Moses, I Feel Your Pain

First, I'm not particularly religious but find Moses intriguing. Why? Well, Moses frees the Israelites, leads them across the Red Sea and through the desert. All along there are those that doubt him and complain bitterly, even though he's freed them from slavery. He goes up the mountain to talk with God and comes down  carrying the big heavy tablets with the Ten Commandments on them, sees his people dancing around a golden cow, and says to himself, according to me, "Are you kidding me?!!!! I quit!" Of course he didn't, but I'm sure he felt like it. Sometimes in life we feel like quitting and it is the absolute wrong decision, as it surely would have been for Moses.  There are times in my life I feel desperately like quitting too. I wonder what a modern day therapist would have told Moses to do if he'd been in a session complaining about how little he is appreciated and how hard his job really is.  The therapist might say, "You have to think of your long-term health and well-being Moses, maybe you should find another job?" 

Like Moses, mothers, in general, pour our heart and soul into our kids and while there are numerous moments that make it well worth while, there are also those that don't. How do I know that mothers feel this way? Well for one thing you should have heard the conversation between the secretary and two mothers of teen patients in our pediatrician's office today. Their teenage children were clearly driving them nuts. One said her son suggested he live at home the first year of college and she said she couldn't fathom going through another year like the one he had just put her through.  Of course, like Moses, quitting parenting really isn't an option, not the right one anyway.  On occasion though, I myself feel like Moses coming down from the mountain, instead of heavy tablets I might be carrying laundry or bags of heavy groceries.  Looking up as I walk into the kitchen I see every possible dish out on the counter, leftover from an afternoon snack.  Perhaps two children are screaming at one another and I say to myself, "Are you kidding me?" I definitely have felt Moses' pain. 

To See or Not To See - That is the Question

The NY Times had a little article discussing the way people rush through art galleries, snapping pictures but often not lingering or actually enjoying or even seeing the art. It wasn't a scientific study but rather an observation by a museum goer at the Louvre.  He compared today's museum goer to the tourist of the 18th century who prepared for their trip by studying languages and reading books before going off to really explore art.  Now people, according to the writer, use their digital cameras or cell phone cameras to take pictures of paintings instead of actually looking at the originals.  Perhaps this also reflects a deeper absence of the discussion in society about art not just as beauty to behold, but as a refection of history, religion, social or political concerns.  If you don't stop to look at any of it how would you know?

I have been fortunate enough to be at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston  a few times over this past year, a luxury for me, I am serious it is.  Part of the reason we moved to this area from the beautiful mountainous West where we had been for 9 years, was to expose our family to more diversity and "culture." Since moving here we have tried to go with our family to the MFA and create a sense that observing art is a natural and fun experience to be had by all. The fact is it can be expensive for many and you have to be vigilant if you want to take advantage of free admissions etc.  and the actually getting there can be heard up and down our streets as a child or two yells out, "Not the art gallery! How about the children's museum?" Often with our children I create improvised scavenger hunts, for example; How many pictures have animals in them in this gallery? At least I get the feeling they are actually looking at the art and they seem to enjoy it.  I was really pleased the last time we went to see the kids actually pointing out Greek Gods and the Egyptian looking statue in Sargent's wall murals, that made me feel like some of the previous not so joyful visits and pushing them to even go to the MFA were finally paying off.  They were getting the looking, really looking can reap an enjoyable experience, or at least a stimulating one. 

But to be honest, those were my younger kids.  My sweet adolescent son has told me that he hates art galleries, a very broad statement that can only be appreciated when sitting across a table from the speaker.  We looked through an exhibit one Sunday comparing 3 Italian Renaissance artists, and I found him with his cell phone (texting, not even taking pictures!) on a bench near the exit of the exhibit.  When I asked him how he felt about the art, he said he found it kind of scary! The truth is some of the pictures on second glance did have some mighty fierce depictions from biblical stories.  How to transform this lack of seeing the historical, social, religious, political or just plan asthetic  wonder into meaning for him, or for anyone, involves making it applicable to something they can connect it with I think.  My son couldn't connect the biblical dots so to speak.  

 I think interaction with people and art has taken on a new dimension in our technological world.  Kids text more then they talk at times, viewers click more then look. I guess I wonder; Do you go to a gallery to say you've been, or to be changed on some level?  I myself have found great joy and have felt profoundly touched when, for example I was at the Van Gogh museum, without kids, in Amsterdam.   Looking at some of his paintings, knowing from reading that a specific one was done while he was hospitalized for mental illness gives one an insight into not only the source of his art but his soul.  I hope My own kids can experience this and not find themselves clicking instead of seeing art.

Ockam's My Guy

Who the Heck is Ockam?

My Man studies the Sun.  I don't mean he tans himself endlessly, nope, this guy makes calculations that can tell you when we're going to experience, not directly, solar flares. He doesn't talk about his work too much with me because I start to glaze over and ask dumb questions and that isn't good for a marriage.  Occasionally we find ourselves laughing hilariously as he talks and I nod and we both know full well he lost me at atmospheric magnitudes. The man is brilliant, and I don't think I'm a slacker, but in the area of solar physics I'm fuzzy at times.

This morning my man used a theoretical idea he called Ockam's Razor, in relationship to a paper he had written. I thought to myself, hey, shaving, I'm in, this I get. I should do it more then I do, but I'm a shaver. Now if you've never heard of Ockam that's OK, let me enlighten you. Ockam was a monk who lived and shaved in 13th century England, who, according to the Sun Man, was a philosopher.  Ockam's Razor essentially tells us that the simplest solution is the best!!  I'm sure there is more to it, but I don't want to overwhelm you. Imagine someone from 700 years ago being remembered for telling us something I've been saying for years to myself!  This got me thinking, what if I come up with something so original that in 700 years from now they will call it Kathleen's Spatula, or Kathleen's Floss?

 

At this moment in time I cannot think of one thing to get myself in the history books, but when I do blog readers, you will be able to say, I read her way back when.

PS: I adore my husband the Sun Man.

Happiness vs. Goodness

I've been reading a lot about lately about the cultural focus on individual happiness rather then prioritizing being a good person. How the virtue of being good in our country has been over taken by our desire to be happy. Parents will say, as I have, I only want my kids to be happy, not thinking that their child's happiness might be at the cost of their learning restraint, to put others first, and thus sometimes not feeling happy.  People are so sure that it is important to be happy that'll they'll spend their last dime, or charge it, in order to purchase something they are sure will make them feel happier. Anti-social behavior can be rationalized by considering one's own benefiting rather then the good of the group. But there are times when doing the right thing can mean sacrificing and not being happy.  Does being good ultimately lead to being happy in the end anyway? Maybe one can fill fulfilled by being a good person, but not necessarily be happy. If we don't experience personal strife then how do we really know what true happiness is, we have nothing to compare it too? 

Beer and Cheer for Racial Profiling

I can't help but think that if a white man the same age etc. as Professor Gates was seen "breaking and entering" his own home and got questioned by the police as Gates did, he would have at least an equal amount of righteous indignation and semi-out-of control anger as Gates displayed.  It is hard to imagine for most white folks, and white men specifically, the continual burden of being looked at as a potential criminal or thought of as "questionable."

I am white but have adopted black children (and white children, I have 5 kids). I had a recent situation where my black son was surrounded by a small group of white girls at his camp and accused of stealing a pink Game Boy that went missing at LAST YEAR'S camp!! 52 weeks later they decide to accuse him of something he would never do.  How does this relate to Gates? My son experienced his first encounter with racial profiling.  Well, as his mother I felt true anger, not just in defense of him, although that was certainly there, but deep down social political rage. I felt betrayed for him.  

Out in the parking lot of the camp are lots of cars with Obama stickers on them.  That day I kept thinking what subtle messages of racism did these girls get from their parents or the media for example, that would encourage them to feel justified in questioning a black boy like that? How did they come to feel entitled enough to justify that kind of behavior? Were any of the girls parents Obama supporters, and if so where is the disconnect in what they believe and what their children do?  I know this sounds harsh, but racial profiling can be as blatant or as delicate as can be, nevertheless it is most certainly alive and well in the U.S.

Kisumu

Today I want to share a story, a memory of an experience I had teaching at a rural school in West Kenya as a young woman. I hope I can bring you there for a little as you read.

Ojolla Secondary School,
Darajambili, West Kenya

I can remember arriving at Ojolla with heavy bags and brimming enthusiasm. What did it matter that there were 50 students in a class and I was going to teach African Oral Literature? At 24 I could do anything I thought.

Really the teaching was relatively easy. It was the rats in my hut, the black mamba snakes, malaria and dysentery that provided the, “What the heck am I doing here?” factor.

But the students, the girls, their beautiful hues of brown, honey, cinnamon, ginger, mahogany and chocolate. Their kindness and humor. The evening voices, singing acapello – songs carried across the grassy hills. Watching them sit in small groups doing one another’s hair. The view of Lake Victoria shimmering in the distance, imagine this was the source of the Nile? Laughter and the respectful greeting of Mwalimo, teacher.

But who taught whom? Ruth Mbeyo died of cholera, fifteen years old. So sick she ran away from school to get home. She must have known she had more then the malaria the Headmistress had casually diagnosed her with. 

Her funeral was held at her family’s farm. Before we reached the rural home by foot you could hear the drums beating and the women wailing. I was sad, but honestly I was frightened: frightened of the site of Ruth’s dead body, the continual crying, the crowds of relatives and friends outside the simple cement house. Would the parents turn on my school’s leader and blame her for their daughter’s untimely death? Wouldn’t I have?

At night back in my own hut I couldn’t sleep. The final burial scene etched into my heart. As Ruth’s simple coffin was lowered into the red earthen hole dug in her family’s yard everyone sang a joyful song, throwing handfuls of dirt on top of her box in the ground. The song ended with the crowd waving one last goodbye.

July 29, 2009 1:05 PM 

Everyday Thoughts on Parenting, Politics and Life

Good Children, that is what Mototo Mazuri means translated from Swahili.  I want to share thoughts, questions, stories, ideas in this blog.  Everyday concerns from the international, local, home front and the heart.  I look forward to sharing with you.