An American Tragedy

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I hope none of my readers has killed anyone in their zeal to find Christmas gifts this year. Can you believe that story about the Walmart greeter getting trampled to death? I can't say I was surprised, but I certainly was disgusted. Someone told me that the remaining crowd was angry that they couldn't get inside to shop, and had to be told "No. You've already killed someone. We're closed."

I avoid that store unless I have a very compelling reason to be there. My cousin in Iowa sent me an idea recently that I'll share just in case you must shop at Walmart in the near future. It's Walmart Bingo, but you'll have to make your own game cards because I'm not clever enough to copy it from her e-mail message to this post. Here are the things that go on your Bingo card:

• child without shoes
• woman with hair curlers
• someone with an eye patch
• "rat tail" hair style
• obese person using scooter
• Rebel flag tee-shirt
• white girl with 3+ multi-racial children
• someone using an oxygen mask
• kid riding a bike in store
• frozen food item left to melt in random aisle
• dirt diaper left in parking lot
• someone using a voice box
• (free space) person oblivious to the fact that they are in your way
• bearded woman
• teardrop tattoo
• child over 5 drinking from baby bottle
• someone buying beer and diapers
• entire family wearing NASCAR apparel
• man under 30 with no teeth
• somone missing a limb
• someone giving away kittens
• someone with puke or blood on their clothes
• unattended crying children
• pregnant woman with visible "tramp stamp" tattoo
• someone with unbearable body odor

I haven't started my Christmas shopping yet. I'll probably do most of it on the Internet. Some folks enjoy the holiday crowds, but I'd rather eat ground glass. I'm the new Scrooge.

On a lighter note, I took my first ever Yoga lesson today. It was very enjoyable and relaxing. I'll probably wake up sore tomorrow, but I'm looking forward to the next lesson. It's too good of a deal to pass up because there's no charge. My sponsor is a Yoga instructor and a Feldenkrais healer, and he is giving free lessons prior to our Saturday morning AA meeting. Sweet!

Castaways

Thinking back to your childhood, what changes did you go through in a four-year span? Four years is a long time in the life of a child. I remember thinking after each Christmas that Santa's next visit would take forever. Meanwhile, without even realizing what was occurring, I was going through amazing changes from one year to the next.

The growth of a child doesn't wait. It cannot be put "on hold." I've always thought it strange that I don't remember my infancy, when my mental and physical development was at its peak. Living each hour was an explosion of experiences that refined my motor skills, vocalization capabilities, cognitive thinking, and ability to interact with the world around me.

As I learned the basics of moving, talking, eating, and controlling my bowels and bladder, my parents also taught me how to interact with other people. They taught me to use good manners, obey rules, consider the safety of myself and others, and share my toys. My parents were the stewards of my development. I am grateful that I had such loving and responsible guardians.

I feel a bit unsettled today. I'll tell you why, and maybe you can help me out by sharing your comments with me. I had mixed feelings when I heard about Florida's State Supreme Court decision concerning gay adoption. For those of you who may not have heard, a judge ruled that the state law blocking gays from adopting children is unconstitutional.

Why do I have mixed feelings? First of all, I am happy about that decision. The state, though, intends to appeal it. They think it is horrifying. They cite studies that show that gays are more likely to abuse drugs and alcohol, and that gay relationships are less stable than heterosexual marriages. I am sure that we will be treated to newscasts of outraged citizens bitterly denouncing the judge's ruling.

Where are these people when it comes to opening their homes to foster children? For years the state of Florida has been using gay households as dumping grounds for the "undesirable" children in need of foster care. Does the kid have mental, physical, or behavioral problems? Are they "too old" to adopt? Diseased? Ugly? Halt or lame? Stick those kids on the list for queers. Hell, they'll take any scraps we throw them. We'll save these shiny-looking kids for the choosy heterosexual foster parents.

Let me be clear. I think these kids are valuable. But the state of Florida does not. Otherwise why would they have allowed these two children to live in foster care for four years with gay men, when the state's position is that their home is unfit and dangerous for adoption?

Here's an interesting quotation pulled from a news article:

John Stemberger, chairman of a successful drive earlier this month to pass a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in Florida, called the ruling
"classic judicial activism" and predicted it would be reversed on appeal.
"Everywhere in the law where children are affected, the standard must always be what is in the best interest of the child," said Stemberger, an attorney in Orlando. "What is stunning to me is that when it comes to dealing with gays, that standard goes out the window. Children do better with a mother and a father."

Oh, really? How many children does Mr. Stemberger foster in his pleasant home? In the landmark case the children are ages 4 and 8, and have been in the care of Martin Gill and his partner since 2004. That's a lifetime for one child, and half a lifetime for the other.

When I was a teenager, over half of my close friends were being raised by single parents, resulting from unsuccessful heterosexual marriages. Of the others, two lived in homes with unhappily married parents. One friend broke down in tears one afternoon and told me that her parents' marriage was horrible; her father had slept on the couch in the den for years and was an alcoholic. From the outside, she seemed to be from an all-American home, but the emotional turmoil inside that home had her marrying the leader of a religious cult within a few years. Having a mother and a father coexisting under the same roof did not make her "do better."

Awhile back I saw a documentary about two gay men, both nurses in a pediatric AIDS unit, who took five children into their home that no one else wanted. They fed them, clothed them, educated them, hauled them to after-school activities if they lived long enough, kept them on their individual daily medicines, disciplined them, and loved them. One of the fellows gave up his career to provide at-home care to these sick children. The film is We Are Dad, and here is what one viewer had to say about it:

By chance I had the honor to see We Are Dad. It totally changed my mind regarding adoptive gay parents. I grew up with the (wrong) notion (given to me
by the adults around me) that gay parents couldn't provide a healthy medium for a developing child to be raised in. Come on! How many nuclear families screwed up their kids. And these two gay guys are the best. After seeing it and pondering about it I am a lot more inclined to be all for gay marriage and adoption by gay parents. I am really glad I saw this factual film. It opened my eyes, mind, and heart. I recommend to anyone to see it. You will have more facts with this documentary on which to base your opinions so you can also give it established on some ground and not only on discrimination and narrowness of mind like I did.

Florida should put its money where its mouth is. If they think gays make unsuitable parents, then don't use them as foster parents. Let the straight Floridians take on the burdens from broken heterosexual relationships. Instead, the state says that gay households are unfit for adoption, but sees no hypocrisy in funneling its unwanted children into them for foster care.

Now, with this recent court decision, it will be interesting to see how Florida, and the rest of the nation, reacts.

Virginia Byways

I'm so grateful that gas prices have dropped, because one of my favorite things to do is hop in the car with a friend and explore the two-lane highways of Virginia. Richmond is geographically convenient for day trips that will let you be at the Atlantic Ocean, Blue Ridge Mountains, Chesapeake Bay, Colonial Williamsburg, or our nation's capital in less than two hours.

Spurred by Suzanne's wedding, I finally bought a digital camera. I love it! It's just a basic model, a Panasonic Lumix, but it has a lot of features for $150.00. Some of the available settings for taking photos I will probably never use. In addition to what I would expect (portrait, scenery, sports), I can select soft skin, food, party, candle light, baby, pet, sunset, starry sky (the van Gogh setting), fireworks, beach, snow, aerial, and underwater. Some of these options have come in handy, but I usually use the point & shoot setting.

I thought I'd show you some photos from a few recent jaunts.

Jeffrey & I took a ride up to Montpelier, the home of James Madison. Montpelier is an estate in the foothills with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains - the frontier, back in Madison's grandfather's time. The original house was a modest frame structure, built by Madison's grandfather. Madison's father built a handsome brick Georgian house in 1764, which James Madison enlarged with two separate expansions. In the early part of the last century, the plantation was purchased by William duPont. The duPonts slapped pink stucco over the original Flemish Bond brick, and added wings, rooms, and bathrooms until the twenty-two rooms numbered fifty-five.

In 1983, heiress Marion duPont bequeathed the property to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and a colossal restoration project began in 2003. All of the duPont additions were dismantled, and the pink stucco was painstakingly removed. Now the restoration is nearly complete, and it is a marvelous place to visit. I'll probably write more about Montpelier, but I'd better get on with the photographs before I get too distracted by the Madison story. The picture below shows the front of Montpelier, and the one below that is the view from the veranda atop the west wing. Note the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.




A few weeks later, Sheldon & I piled in the car and headed to Madison County. We passed very close to Montpelier, and headed northwest. Our goal was Yoder's Market, operated by Mennonites on a country road. It's one of those places you wouldn't find unless someone clued you in. I love going there to buy baking goods. This time, my items included raw sugar, dried cherries, pitted dates, baking cocoa, dark brown sugar (which makes the dark brown sugar from a grocery store look sand-colored), macaroon coconut, and various spices. Sheldon bought a slab of Amish butter, and a bag of dried hominy, and some other items. He also bought sticky buns, which we ate in the parking lot. The market is on farm-like land, and there were goats in a side pasture that came dashing up to the fence, sensing that Sheldon was an easy mark. Sure enough, Sheldon purchased several handfuls of food from the modifed gumball machines beside the goat pen.



Our ride happened in the nick of time to see autumn leaves. Although some trees had peaked, many were still boasting brilliant reds, yellows, and ambers. The day was sunny and invigorating. After we shopped at Yoder's, we drove to Madison Courthouse and ate at the Pig & Steak. Isn't that a fabulous tell-it-like-it-is name for a restaurant? Remember your favorite Vegan this season with a gift card from Pig & Steak.

After lunch we drove down through Charlottesville, past Jefferson's famous Rotunda at the University of Virginia, and south to Scottsville. Along the winding road, we stopped to admire a simple hillside, pictured below. By the time I got my camera out, a cloud had obscured the sunlight that lit up the bright yellows, but it is still a nice picture which shows the rolling hills surrounding Charlottesville.



Scottsville is a pleasant town of about 550 people that sits on the edge of the James River. It was the westernmost major commerce point in the region during the 1700's. Before the train came into use, agricultural goods from the Shenendoah Valley were brought to Scottsville to be transported by water to Richmond and the sea. Hatton Ferry, just west of Scottsville, is one of two operational poled ferries in the nation. There are several beautiful old buildings in Scottsville, including the charming little church shown below.



This past weekend, it was time for another Sunday drive with Jeffrey. This time I aimed the car to the east, and we drove to Virginia's Middle Peninsula. We roamed around West Point, Urbanna, and Deltaville before coming to the road's abrupt end at Stingray Point. The name was coined in the 1600's when Captain John Smith was stung by a ray while fishing. It was a life-threatening injury, but he was saved by Indians who brought a natural remedy from a nearby creek. As a way of expressing our thanks to the natives, we proceeded to take everything that was dear to them, consign them to barren, unwanted land, and turn them into alcoholics. Happy Thanksgiving to all Native Americans! Pack some Manifest Destiny in your peace pipes and smoke it!



The picture below is from the bridge into Urbanna. This is a quiet town, unless you attend the annual Oyster Festival. The Urbanna Oyster Festival is wildly popular, for reasons that bewilder me. Friends of mine had a river home nearby, and invited me down for the festival each year. One tent was famous for its oyster fritter sandwiches, and I watched with fascination as the cooks scooped the batter-fried oysters out of the bubbling vat of oil, squeezed about a quart of steaming fat out of each fritter, and slapped it between two slices of white sandwich bread before handing them to my friends. The bread soaked through with oil immediately, and my friends had to eat rapidly. Oil smeared their lips and fingers. They encouraged me to eat, but I demurred. About fifteen minutes later, they complained that their stomachs felt like lead.


Along the highway, we passed a street sign. The inclusion of rural areas in the Enhanced 911 system requires that every household be assigned a definite street address, so roads previously known by route numbers now have names. Below is one we found interesting.



I know, I know, but it was startling to see as we were zooming down the road. I had to turn around to take a picture. There's a street in Ashland, a town just north of Richmond, that has a name that is as bad - if not worse. Lickinghole Road. I kid you not. You can run it through Mapquest if you don't believe me.

Home again, home again! That concludes today's glimpse of Virginia, with the exception of a snapshot I took one morning this week. Below is Lee Circle on Monument Avenue. Thanks for dropping by, and Happy Thanksgiving!

The Holiday Meal (redux)

It's that time of the year when everything seems to go faster and faster. I have a list in my head of all the things I'd like to accomplish during the holidays, but I'm taking a realistic attitude toward everything. If some items do not get crossed off the list, the world will probably keep spinning. Most holiday stress, even though it is fueled by merchants and media hype, is self-induced. I'm going to take a look at the things I am happy to have, instead of the things I lack.

I hope everyone takes time to relax during the upcoming days, and spends some time with love ones. In the spirit of Thanksgiving cheer, I'm dusting off an older post. Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!


Debbie carried the last steaming dish into the dining room and positioned it on the beautifully laid table. She beamed at Don, noting with approval that her husband had already carved half of the turkey. Her children, Corey and Chelsea, were just seating themselves, and Steve and Susan were placing their napkins in their laps.

"This looks good, Mom," said Corey. "I'm starved!"

The mingled aromas of roast turkey and dressing, fresh rolls, candied yams, and pumpkin-spice tapers hovered over the assembled family. Everyone looked freshly scrubbed and well-dressed, and the polished silver gleamed in the mid-afternoon light.

Another Holiday Meal with the family.

"Shit!" cried Don, a streak of blood splashing from his thumb to the off-white carpet as he staggered toward the kitchen. "Are you trying to kill me with them damned sharp knives?"

"Sweetie, do you need help?" Debbie called after her husband. "Here, Susan, will you start passing the vegetables while I check on Don?" Debbie hurried into the kitchen, and Don's slurred curses were muffled as the door swung shut behind her.

"Here, y'all, just pass me your plates and I'll load them up," declared Susan, grabbing a plate from Chelsea's place beside hers. "We need to fatten you up, Chelsea! But, you know, I think your face looks a little bit fuller than last time I saw you."

"Oh, God! Really?? Am I fat?" Chelsea bolted from the table.

"Gimme her plate. I'm hungry," Corey yelled, reaching out a pudgy hand to take Chelsea's brimming plate.

"Boy, you look like you done started Thanksgiving way back in January," sneered Steve. "Say, is that eye-shadow you's wearin'?"

"As a matter of fact, yes it is, Uncle Steve. But don't worry, I didn't steal yours, or the panties I found in your man-purse...oh, sorry, satchel," retorted Corey.

"Er, I'd better check on Chelsea. See if she needs help," sputtered Steve, heading toward the bathroom, where the sound of retching could be heard.

"Steve, you stay away from that girl," shrilled his wife Susan, frantically.

"Here," Corey grabbed the plate from a distracted Aunt Susan along with two extra rolls, and lumbered off down the hall. "I'm eating in my room."

Debbie's tearful muffled voice came through the kitchen door, "Don, put down that damned bottle. You promised! Give it to me now!"

"Stay away from me, Uncle Steve! I don't want you to rub my back!" Chelsea screamed from the bathroom.

Susan, alone at the table, looked around sadly. "What was that weird looking stuff in the green beans?" she wondered. "Didn't Debbie know that Rachel Ray said you should never try anything new or different at a Family Holiday Meal?"


I hope your Thanksgiving dinner fell somewhere between Norman Rockwell Advertisement-Unreality and Totally Dysfunctional Family Ordeal.

Facts In Five

I still enjoy playing board games, and I loved them when I was a kid. My grandfather & I played Uncle Wiggily every day when I came home from kindergarten during his last visit to Virginia Beach. My friends and I played Monopoly, but I don't remember ever finishing a game. Every family had its favorites: Parcheesi, Sorry!, Checkers (regular and Chinese), The Game of Life, Clue, Scrabble.

Television provided fertile ground for game seedlings, but most died before the show went off the air. Here are a few shows that sprouted board games: I Dream of Jeannie, Gunsmoke, The Addams Family (and, of course, The Munsters), My Favorite Martian, Man from U.N.C.L.E., The Brady Bunch (and Partridge Family), Dragnet, Gomer Pyle, Get Smart, 77 Sunset Strip. There were many I'm leaving out; if you had a favorite, feel free to tell us about it in a comment.

Popular culture inspired quite a few game crafters. In 1962 a game appeared called The Kennedys, and the box showed a creepy Mt. Rushmore-like illustration of Kennedy heads in a mountain. All but two are dead now, and that count could have changed as I type this. Mystery Date was another pop-culture game, and I secretly wanted to join the girls down the street when they played it.

In 1891 you could play The Errand Boy, which sounds like the title of a gay porn movie. Or so I've been told. There was a board game called Grandmama's Improved Game of Useful Knowledge offered by the McLoughlin Bros. in 1887. I guess it was a precursor to Trivial Pursuit.

My own grandmother developed a mania for Aggravation in her later years, and would ensnare visitors to play it with her at her kitchen table. She could play it for hours. My mother would mutter that the game had the right name when Grandma called her to the table. Grandma's arthritic hands would have fared better with Trouble's Pop-O-Matic dice rolling system of gaming technology.

On one of our family trips to Iowa, my cousins Scott & Steve introduced me to Facts in Five, a timed game of knowledge from the bookshelf game series by 3M.

Hmmm.

Five.

That reminds me of something...now what is it?

That human beings and other primates have five digits on each hand as well as five toes on each foot?

No, that's not it.

Possibly, I'm probably thinking that No. 5 is the name of the iconic fragrance created by Coco Chanel. Or that in radio communication, the term "five by five" is used to indicate perfect signal strength and clarity. Perhaps, at the back of my mind, I'm pondering how five is the atomic number of boron. Or...The Jackson Five???

Probably, though, I'm thinking about my buddy Scott, and that his five year sobriety anniversary is tomorrow, November 18. I'm really thrilled for him. He's a good friend in sobriety, and his website is a daily source of inspiration and gratitude. And he's smark with a paintbrush, as you can see here.


You can click right here if you'd like to wish him well.

I wish you a Happy 5th, Scotty! It's quite a milestone, and that's a fact.