Nursery Rhyme Nuptials

What a week at the Supreme Court.  One day we're down, the next day we're up.  Here's a ditty to celebrate the rulings on same-sex marriage.  Sing to the tune of "Jack and Jill" from Mother Goose Rhymes.

Joan and Jill
Went to the Hill
To see if they could marry.
Joan found out
There was no doubt
And so could Tom and Harry.

Life Lessons From the Garden

The news is too much these days, as we lurch from one screaming headline to another.  I prefer thinking about plants.  Here are some observations that have occurred to me over the years, as I've dug up weeds and divided bulbs, moved plants and thinned overgrowth.  You could consider these lessons about life, along the lines of All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten or Tuesdays With Morrie.  Here goes:

1.  Sometimes you have to cut off part of a plant for the whole to thrive.

2.  Sometimes you have to move a plant out of the spot--I mean--sunlight.

3.  Sometimes you have to move a plant to the other side of the yard.

4.  Sometimes you have to accept that plants will die no matter what you do.

5.  Sometimes you have to let the wind and the bees and the rain take over.

6.  Sometimes you can't dislodge a weed from the rock that protects it.

7.  Sometimes you can't tell the difference between a baby flower bud and a dying flower head.

8.  Sometimes you can't get a plant to grow straight.

9.  Sometimes you can't keep the deer away.

10.Sometimes you can't imagine what your efforts will yield.

Sky Over Chapel Hill

"The soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through."

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Deen Cuisine

It's hard not to move when Michael Jackson sings "Billie Jean," especially in this video as he performs the first moonwalk.  I thought of this song yesterday when I read that Southern cook Paula Deen had been dropped from the Food Network.  Anyone who cooks a cheeseburger sandwiched between two doughnuts deserves her own song.  Sing to the tune of "Billie Jean":

She was more like a cooking queen on the TV screen
I said don't mind, but what do you cook? I am the one
Who will eat all this junk that's prepared.
She said I am the one who will cook what I want on this show.

She told me her name was Paula Deen and she caused a scene
'Cause every head turned with eyes that dreamed of being the one
Who would eat all this junk that's prepared.

People always told her be careful of what you say
Don't go around making racist jokes
And Matt Lauer asked her to come down to his show
But she was too tired and cancelled her plans
Hey, hey, hey

Well, Paula Deen was dropped for good
She's just a girl who cooks with lots of bad stuff
Like sugar, cream, and fat
She cooks really bad stuff
With sugar, cream, and fat.

She cooks really bad stuff
With sugar, cream, and fat.

On Being Real

Sometimes when I see this rabbit outside,

I think about the Velveteen Rabbit and wonder what the "real" rabbits in our yard think of this sculptured imposter.  For as the Skin Horse in Margery Williams' The Velveteen Rabbit tells us, "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

I think my stone bunny is Real.

In Suburbia

On my morning walks in our neighborhood, I often notice sounds more than anything else. 

Here's what I don't like:

1. Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, and all varieties of yard noise makers

2. Car alarms

3. Unidentifiable animal sounds

4. Footsteps behind me

5. Dogs barking

Here's what I do like:

1. The calls of the mourning dove

2. The thwack of newspapers hitting their driveways

3. Airplanes overhead

 4. Children's voices

5. My dogs barking

Can't Stop Singing 'bout Those Unborn Babies

The House Judiciary Committee approved a bill this week, sponsored not surprisingly by the Republicans, called the Pain-Capable Unborn Child Protection Act.  What are these people thinking, if they're thinking at all?  Here's a song that might explain their mindset.  Sing to the tune of "I've Been Working on the Railroad":

We've been working on abortion
All the live-long day,
We've been working on abortion
Just to pass the time away.
Can't you hear the liberals moaning
Heaping on their endless scorn?
We'll pretend we cannot hear them
As we save the unborn.

Women don't you know?
Women don't you know?
Women don't you know that we're in charge?
Women don't you know?
Women don't you know?
Women we're in charge of you.

Someone's getting pregnant right now-ow
Someone's getting pregnant we know-oh-oh-oh
Someone's getting pregnant right now-ow
Someone who just couldn't say no.

We're singing
We'll save li'l embryos
We'll save li'l embryos-ohs-ohs-ohs
We'll save li'l embryos
Forgetting 'bout their mothers' woes.

Gastrolinguistics

When I recently had an episode of what seemed like acid reflux, I consulted the next morning with my primary care physician--the internet.  Lots of sites popped up with descriptions of symptoms, treatments, risk factors, and the like, but what interested me most were the words themselves--ugly and unpleasant.  As I've written before, the medical profession seems especially taken with nasty words.  Here are some new definitions for the words that constitute the world of acid reflux and its more serious counterpart, GERD (gastroesophageal reflux disorder):

GERD--A nickname for Gertrude

Acid reflux--A series of repetitive LSD trips

Dyspepsia--The act of dissing Pepsi in favor of Coke

Regurgitation--The recitation of Gregorian chants

Lower esophageal sphincter--the part of the sphinx where the human head meets the lion's body

Hiatal hernia--a shell necklace made by indigenous Hawaiians

Dysphasia--A phase of the moon when the earth is most distant from the sun

Barium swallow--A species of aerial-feeding birds native to the barrier islands of Virginia and North Carolina

Esophageal manometry--A measuring device used to determine the age of Aesop's Fables

Endoscopy--A close examination of "Endymion," a poem by John Keats

Who's Got a Secret?

I know I should be upset by the latest reports of government surveillance overreach, but I'm not.  Maybe I'm simply tired.  Maybe I've grown accustomed to the lack of privacy in our electronic world.  Maybe nothing surprises me anymore.

After all, as I'm typing this entry, advertisements pop up on my screen for products similar to ones I've recently bought.  Kroger sends me coupons for favorite groceries.  My medical records are online at Duke, no doubt available to lots of people who work there.  Privacy, if we ever had any, is a thing of the past.

Most of all, though, I think my reaction to this news is governed by my trust in President Obama.  If this disclosure were taking place under President Bush's watch, I'd be outraged.  So because it's happening now, does that make it OK?  No.

But I'd still like to hear a more nuanced discussion and analysis of the surveillance, rather than big headlines and angry denunciations.  I'd like to hear from knowledgeable, impartial experts, rather than from reporters--who aren't necessarily national security mavens.

Then maybe I'll form an opinion and not feel so worn down by the constant, instantaneous chatter of the press.

Wedding Plan Blues

"Wedding Bell Blues," written by Laura Nyro and produced by "The 5th Dimension," spent 3 weeks in 1969 in the #1 spot on the U. S. pop singles chart.  I thought of it this week when I was in the thick of wedding plans for my daughter Madeleine, referred to below as "Mad."  Here goes:

Mad, I love you so, I always will
I look at you and see the child born in May
Oh, but what a trip it is to plan your wedding day.
I am on the phone now making arrangements
Keeping track of details and all the payments
But nothing will stop me worrying 'til you marry him, Mad

I love you so, I always will
And in your voice I hear a choir of carousels
Oh, but are we ever gonna hear your wedding bells?
I am the one who is reading contracts and packets
Stealing myself to the sales pitch and to the rackets
But nothing will stop me worrying 'til you marry him, Mad

I love you so, I always will
And though devotion rules my heart I take no bows
But Mad are you ever gonna take those wedding vows?
Oh, come on Mad
Oh, come on Mad
Come on and marry him, Mad
I got the wedding plan blues
Please marry him, Mad
I got the wedding plan blues.

From the Garden. . .

The Leaning Tower of Yucca.

Mommy Bores

How much longer do we need to hash out the so-called "Mommy Wars"?  An article in yesterday's New York Times by Stephanie Coontz, "The Triumph of the Working Mother," argues correctly for more support for families whose mothers work outside the home, but in so doing the author employs the usual language of alienating one group of mothers from another.  The sub-title of the article says it all: "Those who stay at home report more sadness, anger and depression."

Why can't we recognize that what works for some doesn't work for others--and that this is OK?  Why do we have to keep proving that one side is better than the other, when no such dichotomy exists?

I will be glad when we no longer read such articles, whether they argue for or against staying home with children.  Or maybe I'll just wait for Daddy Wars, when men write endlessly--and always in a defensive tone--about why they do or don't work outside the home.

These are wars that nobody wins, so there's no point in fighting.  Give it up, and advocate instead for jobs for anyone who wants one and good, affordable childcare for all.  Those who choose instead to stay at home deserve the same respect as everyone else.

House at Chris Corner

Kenny Loggins wrote a lovely song called "House at Pooh Corner," which he performed in 1971 with Jim Messina.  (If you don't know it, click here for a delightful rendition--and a trip back in time.)  I thought of this song when I saw images of Barack Obama and Chris Christie at the Jersey shore again this week.  The two of them remind me of Christopher Robin and Pooh, who are celebrated in the song.  Unlike the original tune, my version is sung entirely from the point of view of the Pooh character, that is, Chris Christie:

Mr. Obama and I walked along
the New Jersey coast just this past week
Now that we're buddies we see eye to eye
On disasters and FEMA relief.
But I've wandered much farther this week than I should
From my GOP roots--it's my old neighborhood.

So help me if you can I've got to get
Back to the party that voted for me
You'd be surprised how the GOP feels
I'm now a traitor for sure
They'd like to show me the door.
Before the days of Mr. Obama and Chris.

Barack the Prez always knows what to do
When the people get hit by a storm
He came to Jersey with help and advice
And he always makes good on his word.
So I sent him away with a new teddy bear
He's my friend, after all, which I know is so rare.

So help me if you can I've got to get
Back to the party that voted for me
You'd be surprised how the GOP feels
I'm now a traitor for sure
They'd like to show me the door.
Before the days of Mr. Obama,
Before the days of Mr. Obama,
Back to the days of Chris.