My Niece's Mom

It's Mother's Day here in the US, and instead of my own mother (who was a great gal and fantastic parent, by the way), my thoughts turn instead to another mom with whom I share DNA.

A lot of people, including herself and her family (including myself), underestimate my sister. Looking at her today, you might see a somewhat flighty, middle-aged, Pollyana-ish, empty-nester suburban mom cushioned from the outside world with a protective layer of pets on whom she dotes, who's a bit obsessed with her looks and weight, and whose deepest thoughts rotate around the number of miles she runs on the treadmill. 

But the big sister of my childhood memories was an extremely talented violinist, the only girl on the boy's high school soccer team, a brave person who'd run off a cliff with the aid of only an oversized kite, and the only (one of the first) female in the aeronautical engineering program at her university. 

In retrospect, she was a trailblazer with regard to women's equality (the equal rights amendment was brand new), but she never thought of herself that way, she just did what she wanted to do, feet first, with extra gusto. Oddly enough, possibly because of her enthusiasm, or maybe her unassuming, non-competitive demeanor, what were almost certainly maverick moves by her were pretty much unnoticed by others while she was in the midst of it all.

Females didn't hold her up as an example for others, even though she was one of the first females to embrace pursuits so recently in the male-only domain. To the males around her, she was just one of them in some ways, so they didn't view her as a groundbreaker, which could be seen as both positive and negative. Her male counterparts may not have recognized her accomplishment, but they also didn't feel threatened by her, so they were largely welcoming and there wasn't a lot of the bitterness that can exist today. 

Even today she underplays her achievements, saying that she barely passed her undergraduate program, or claiming that she is no longer capable of those things. But that person still exists, she's just changed her focus. If there is one thing I wish for my sister on this day, it's that she knows that she is still more than capable of great things if she puts her mind to it. 

A Happy Place

Days are lengthening as the northern hemisphere is nearly midway in its tilt toward the sun. Sunnier days and warmer temperatures encourage this middle-aged gal, whose thoughts have turned to ... income taxes. Yes, this middle-aged gal is boring. And yes, it's tax season here in the US, so work has ramped up in the accounting office. I'm not normally a tax person, but everyone in the office does some kind of tax work from January through April. I could thank Congress for a tax code that is convoluted and changes from year to year for the extra work, but really wish that work were spread out a bit more evenly through the year!

The gardens are currently full of weeds. Granted, that's nothing new, although one of my friends visited last spring and weeded the front yard for me. Friends are, indeed, a good thing. The chard is still everywhere, and the artichoke plants are large and lush. A few fava bean plants have poked their way out of the ground, and a San Marzano tomato seedling is already in-ground. That's one of the favas, with the ubiquitous chard in the background. Hopefully, it will overshoot the chard soon.

We put out a little table under the wisteria and added a few potted plants (that little sago palm is the only survivor of about ten babies I propagated from the mother tree). This spot gets nice morning sun, making it a pleasant place to sit while injecting our coffee in the morning. We're also thinking about installing a flower box in that window to the left and moving the table farther to the right. In a few weeks when the wisteria blooms, it should be an even nicer spot to contemplate the world, although maybe not so great for meals with falling petals and buzzing bees.

There are a lot of day-off projects to do this year, but for now, it's nice to have this little spot for relaxing.

Saying Good Bye

Somewhere in the mid-1990s, a little band of stray cats took up residence in my garden. I gave them food and water, and one at a time, was able to put them in carriers to bring to the vet to be "fixed" and vaccinated. The last little guy (for some reason, they were all male) showed up almost a year after the rest, toward the end of his kittenhood. More skittish than the others, he wouldn't let me touch him directly. I had to pet one of the other cats, then he'd sidle up next to the other cat and rub against it, and then I could pet him as long as he didn't look up and see I was touching him.

During Brighter Days in 2006

He never really lost his general distrust of people (probably a good thing, being an outdoor cat), but over time we reached an understanding that I could, for very short periods, scratch his head, and he became comfortable enough to follow me around the garden at a safe distance and meow at me as I worked. I named him Joxer the Mighty, after a tv character who was also a bit of a chicken, but he became my Booboo kitty.

One by one, my feline brood passed on or disappeared and Booboo was the last of the bunch. A friend who rescues cats brought another outdoor cat, Chuck, to keep him company. Things went well until this summer, when Booboo had a tumor removed from his leg. The tumor was not biopsied, but I suspect it was cancerous. Not long after its removal, Booboo lost a lot of weight.  And then he lost his strength, began walking unsteadily and his fur lost its lustre.

Supervising in the Garden, 2007

I decided to bring him indoors when the temperatures dropped and the rains came. Even in his weakened state, he made a couple of runs at the door to try and make it back outside. But in spite of the fact that I was giving him all the food he could eat, it just went right through him, and though I didn't know it at the time, tumors had developed around his abdominal area, and he was probably starving to death. He was in such bad shape, even Piglette didn't growl at him when he took a kibble from her bowl last night (she chases Gigi for even coming near her bowl).

Thin, but still on his feet, November 2012

When I woke up this morning, I found him on the floor, unable to move, and scrambled to bring him to the vet so that he wouldn't suffer. In retrospect, by the time I found him, he was probably beyond suffering, and I'm second guessing my decision to take him to the vet. Maybe it would have been better to wrap him in a blanket and make him as comfortable as possible so he could have passed on at home. I guess I'll never be sure.

Schools or Prisons?

I read this article about where the public education system is headed:

http://www.publicintegrity.org/2012/09/21/10950/perps-or-pupils-safety-policy-creates-friction-new-york-city-schools

If you live in New York, or a city where this type of system exists or is being considered, I strongly encourage you to contact your city council and school board members to speak out against it, and encourage your neighbors to do so, as well. 

Firstly, schools should be educational institutions, not preparation centers for creating inmates. Police officers (or agents, in this case) are not trained to help kids learn and grow, they are trained to pursue, subdue and incarcerate criminals. In addition, constant police presence and overarching authority over school officials tells students that they are viewed primarily as criminals, and treating kids like criminals doesn't make them better students. 

When kids act up, as they often do, the knee-jerk reaction of someone trained to be an officer is different from a professional trained as an educator. If that officer, who does not understand the ramifications of his or her actions on the long-term development of the child, has authority to override the decision of the educational professional, we lose the kid. We already suffer from brain drain. Americans used to take pride in "thinking outside the box" and innovating, but we now have to import inventors from Asia, the area of the world we once scoffed at for being stringent and constricting. 


Secondly, the schools are not as bad as those who would wish to maintain control would make it seem. The officer interviewed in the article states:

"we have students who don’t want to abide by the rules and regulations"

What he fails to comprehend is that kids test boundaries, it's part of growing up. Sure, you have to dole out punishment on occasion, but you also need to recognize and acknowledge the good and make corrections as necessary, and for eff's sake, you don't punish an honest mistake! No matter how bad things are made out to be, the majority of kids, even at the worst schools, are NOT counterfeiters, smugglers and explosives fabricators. I have been on inner city school campuses and they are not the war zones he makes them out to be. The vast majority, even some that other adults have labeled as "bad", have just been regular kids.

Thirdly, we have become too quick to allow, and even welcome, institutional invasiveness and authoritarianism into our lives in the name of security in this post-911 world. As mentioned in the article, part of the reason this system passed so easily is because some bad incidents allowed feelings of fear to have a disproportionate amount of weight in the decision making process. While those incidents were horrifying, it's necessary to step back and take a wider view. Rather than openly accept such stringent protocols, it will be better in the long run to develop ones that are more appropriate to the situation at-hand.

We need to think first about our students' long-term development and whether we want to raise automatons and fodder for our jails, or productive members of society who will be proactive in keeping this world a healthy, viable place to live. Again, if you live in a city that has these types of protocols in place, or is considering implementing them, please do take a little time to voice concern to your council and school board members.

Bayfront Cleanup

I am not a morning person, but Bertha had asked me to volunteer for this year's Bayfront Cleanup. Bertha has known my dad since childhood, and if say no to Bertha, it makes my dad look bad, which is why I'm now on the board of my neighborhood association. And it's why I tumbled out of my soft, warm bed at 7:30 this morning, still horribly in need of it, then stumbled through the house to feed the animals, threw on the first articles of clothing my fingers touched, splashed some water on my face, used the toilet and was out the door at 8:00.

An hour later, after signing in, wolfing down a free donut and coffee, finding Bertha and the rest of the contingency from my neighborhood, and grabbing gloves and plastic bags, we were in a van headed toward the creek. The portion that runs under a nearby street is an ideal spot for a homeless encampment: a fairly large covered ledge that's sheltered from street and rain; running water (granted, it's cold and none too clean); and public access is blocked by a fence. So it came as no surprise that it actually is frequented by the down and out.

When we arrived, the ledge in the photo above was so covered with bottles, napkins and other trash that the cement underneath wasn't visible. There was also a queen sized mattress.  The photo was taken after a few trash and recycling bags had been filled and dragged up to the street for pick-up. One of the recent inhabitants was (possibly still is) a woman and her children.

Farther downstream, a dam had formed by a couple of branches entangled with quilt, jacket, hose and a couple garbage bags full of items that had been intended for a charity shop. The bags had been taken from donation bins, rummaged through, and the remainder left in and along the creek. We spent what felt like forever untangling, unearthing and dragging the wet, muddy, HEAVY items out of the creek. Those are some of the things we pulled out above before we bagged them up. And guess what? My boots aren't water proof, so I was soaking in microorganism-infested creek water! Next year I'm bringing my own heavy-duty, long gloves and wellies. Unfortunately, we ran out of time and bags and some items were embedded too far in the silt to remove without tools, so a lot of trash stayed where it was. Developing public access to the creek could solve a lot of the problems along it.

Find of the day? A makeshift bong made of plastic bottles and electrical tape. Sadly, when the mayor announced prizes at the after-cleanup lunch for unusual and interesting finds, the bong didn't even receive a mention.

Miss Piggly Wiggly stayed home, because I didn't want to have to clean her up after the clean up. She's just here for Martina.