Via Shakesville, Reason # 3582668 for Why I Won’t Vote For John McCain.
From a man who cheated on and later divorced the wife who waited through the many years he was a prisoner of war. The mother of the two sons he adopted and the daughter they had together:
Mr. McCain, who with his wife, Cindy, has an adopted daughter, said flatly that he opposed allowing gay couples to adopt. “I think that we’ve proven that both parents are important in the success of a family so, no, I don’t believe in gay adoption,” he said. [New York Times]
Proven? Who’s “proven” this? As a single, straight mom, I call bullshit.
Are gay parents somehow less equipped to give a child a loving home? Are straight parents somehow more equipped?
Yep, evil liberal blogger that I am, I failed to produce a post honoring mothers and motherhood and all those who aren’t mothers but step in to fill the breach. I’m sure it’s because I’m an anti-family, abortion-forcing, pants-wearing, male-hating feminazi. (Yes, I got an email cursing me for my failure to post and accusing me of just that. And no, it wasn’t from my mother. 🙂 )
Or it could be because I spent part of the day cleaning the house in preparation for my trip to Ohio this week, (I leave Wednesday.) and part of it reading several books from the TBR pile that’s been building up, instead reading blogs and other such.
It was a lovely Mother’s Day. I reaped my gifts from two of my three children (all of whom shall go unidentified to protect the guilty party who forgot what day it was and didn’t come home till after midnight) – a beautiful pot of narcissus and a card that made me cry from one child and an amethyst geode from another who knows her mother’s love of rocks and crystals. I also received pink and white pansies in coffee mugs from my niece and nephew, and a neat little book, “Who Else But A Mother?” and another card from my mom. In addition, I was treated to breakfast Saturday morning.
But for all those who were irritated by my failure, this one’s for you:
I was lucky enough to grow up in a family that believed in equality for all people long before it was socially acceptable.
My grandmother treated everyone as equals far before it was the right thing in the eyes of society or the law. In fact, in her early years, that was considered the wrong thing to do, even the “un-Christian” thing, because segregation and oppression of other races was “God’s will” for the white “superior” race.
My mother was thirteen when Dr. King stood at the Lincoln Memorial and told the world about his dream, almost eighteen when he was killed in April 1968. She listened to his words, felt their impact all the way to her soul as a result of her mother’s example, and over the years has tried with every fiber of her being to help that dream become reality.
Some people grew up with pictures of Jesus or the saints or a president in their living rooms; we had Dr. King.
I had memorized Dr. King’s “I Have A Dream” speech by the time I was nine. (And trust me, you ain’t seen nothing till you’ve seen a skinny little white girl from the rural farm country of WhiteBread Center, PA giving Dr. King’s speech to an attentive audience of dogs and younger siblings. Complete with Dr. King’s dramatic oration.)
Today, I believe we are striving ever closer to the day when that dream is a reality. But it is not here, and it won’t be until each of us plays our part.
We must teach and inform and – most importantly – act on our belief that each and everyone of us is an equal member of the human race regardless of our color, our gender, our orientation, our ethnic background, our religious persuasions, our nationalities, or any of the millions of other ways in which every human being is different from every other.
The dream can be reality, but only when all of the people in all of the lands all over this earth learn one thing: there is no “us and them.”
There is only “we.”
Sorry for the serious lack of posting. I just couldn’t make myself give a damn about politics and other bullshit.
I should care. I should care about the failures of the Democrats, the obstructions, hatred, and nonsensical positions of the Republicans, the complete and utter lack of caring about the poor and the weak and the needy.
I should be posting three and four times a day, ranting and raving.
But the truth is … I’m tired. I’m just tired and overwhelmed with outrage fatigue, and – quite honestly – depressed. Children die because bureaucrats in an insurance company, safely removed from the consequences of their decisions, decide they aren’t worth saving. Aren’t worth attempting to save.
People are going hungry, going without heat, going without necessities like expensive prescription drugs, struggling to hold on to their homes in a still-collapsing housing market and a tightening rental market, working two or three jobs to provide the basics of food and shelter and clothing and heat – in the so-called “richest nation on earth.”
Where’s the hope? Where’s the light at the end of the tunnel?
When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light,
for your life and strength.
Give thanks for your food and the joy of living.
If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself.
As I said last year, I think it’s a great idea to have a day set aside to be thankful. Despite what so many of the Christianists think, one doesn’t need to be Christian to be grateful for the blessings in our lives.
I do have a problem with the Pilgrim nonsense, however. Let’s get real: these people came to escape religious persecution and then turned around and persecuted those who didn’t believe exactly as they did.
Thanksgiving isn’t about Pilgrims and Indians, at least, not in my house. Thanksgiving is simply the time to be grateful — to a deity or not — for the friends and family still with us, to remember those we’ve lost, to be thankful for the roof over our heads, the clothes on our backs, and the food in our tummies when so many are going without. This has been a difficult year in my home, but we have so much more than so many of our fellow citizens. We have been blessed.
So, here’s part of my “Blessings” list – the idea for which I stole, in part, from Strategerie:
- My children – R, P, and M – the greatest of my blessings.
- My mom and step-dad – always there with sound advice and lots of humor.
- My sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephew who all bring joy, laughter, and fun to my life. Remember: it isn’t a party until someone says, “Do you remember…?
- My friends, real and online – for being there.
- And, last but never least: my Gabbly pals — also known to my children as my invisible friends — jeff, EPU, Cy, Strat, Gari, eva, proudprogressive, Shez, Caitin, and leinie.
An Iroquois Prayer
We return thanks to our mother, the earth, with sustains us.
We return thanks to the rivers and streams, which supply us with water.
We return thanks to all herbs, which furnish medicines for the cure of our diseases.
We return thanks to the corn, and to her sisters, the beans and squash, which give us life.
We return thanks to the bushes and trees, which provide us with fruit.
We return thanks to the wind, which, moving the air, has banished diseases.
We return thanks to the moon and the stars, which have given us their light when the sun was gone.
We return thanks to our grandfather He-no, .., who has given to us his rain.
We return thanks to the sun, that he has looked upon the earth with a beneficent eye.
Lastly, we return thanks to the Great Spirit, in whom is embodied all goodness, and who directs all things for the good of his children
Like others who have lots of little people in their lives, I’ve been wondering just what in the world to buy them for
Christmas … the holidays.
The one and only, very bestest, gotta-have-it toy my niece wanted – pulled from the market. Same goes for the items I’d been eyeing for my nephew and another niece.
I’m not about to buy some piece of Chinese-made lead-coated junk, so … what to do?
Ah – I heard that! Books, absolutely. I’m the book-aunt in my family. No event goes by without some book as a gift, and I frequently give books for no reason at all.
But, kids – being kids – like toys and want toys, and even if I don’t buy them now, I’m going to have to buy toys at some point in the future.
Which is why I was thrilled to find this:
Still Made in USA – a great resource list with links to companies whose products are, obviously, still made in the US. With product categories like: Toys and Games, Kitchen and Dining, Bed and Bath, Appliances, Apparel, Tools, Home and Garden … everything you could want or need — produced in the US, by US workers, under US standards — can be found through this site.
Under Toys and Games, for example, you’ll find companies such as:
K’nex – celebrating its 15th anniversary – K’nex building sets were a favorite of my boys when they were younger.
ImagiPLAY – “Toys with Integrity” – Earth-friendly and Child-safe toys
Skullduggery, Inc – plaster craft kits in a variety of themes: race cars, fossils, etc.
Shrinky Dinks – You remember these! Kids can create a wild variety of different objects with shrinkable plastic.
Wiffle Ball, Inc – Home of the original Wiffle Ball.
Greenleaf Dollhouses – dollhouses, furniture kits, birdhouses and more
Magic Cabin – soft dolls, dress-up clothes, arts & crafts, books
And that’s just a sampling. Enjoy looking around the site and finding great, safe toys, games, crafts, and more for kids of all ages – and stuff for you and your home as well!
I shall now consider this my good deed for the day – which means … chocolate for me!
La Lubu at Feministe details the hell she went through after her daughter was born at 25 weeks gestation, weighing just one pound, ten ounces. From the neonatalogist’s practiced speech and her daughter’s health crises to being pink-slipped by her employer and fighting to retain her insurance coverage while fighting for her daughter’s life.
[…] A couple of weeks later, the honeymoon period ended. Her bowel was perforated, she went into sepsis, acquired the aforementioned NEC and a particularly gruesome complication—Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation, or DIC for short. Known as “Death Is Coming” to experienced medical personnel. I did not know how bad DIC was at the time; when I tell her NICU story to medical people, and tell them she had it, their jaws tend to drop and their eyes bug out. Surviving DIC isn’t the norm. I held her little hand and quietly sang songs to her, mostly Etta James and Koko Taylor, but some vintage Elton John, Rolling Stones, even some Mary J. Blige. Just, whatever I could think of at the time. I told her what sunsets looked like, ‘cuz her pod was facing west, but the windows were too high for her to see. I told her, just in case she was wondering why the light changed during the day as it moved into night. I tried to describe the taste of salsiccia and stuffed shells to her, piping hot rigatoni with rich, spicy sugu and fresh grated parmesan on top. What the wind felt like on the face and in the hair. All the places we would go and see when she got healthy and got outta there. I wanted to give her something to fight for. And just like on that first day, her respiratory and heart rate, and her oxygen saturation rate would improve as I spoke. It was a battle, and at one point a nurse told me point blank that if I was thinking about getting her baptized, perhaps I’d like to call a priest. Continue reading