Random Thoughts

Westboro Baptist Church has stirred up my hatred since the first day I heard about them – their hatred, their protests, their tax-exempt status as a church, their seemingly untouchable civil liberties…   I have long said I wanted to picket their leader, Fred Phelps’, funeral with a sign that simply said “God Hates Fred Phelps”. So when I read that they were coming to my town, Arlington, VA, practically in my backyard, I knew I needed to go.   Their hate filled website confirmed the picket schedule – November 12 th (Veterans Day) – 7:40 am Yorktown High School, 8:50 am the Pentagon, and 10:00 am Arlington National Cemetery.   I knew I wanted to counter-protest, but I also wanted to not let them get to me.   To not let them spark the hatred in me, in everyone, that they are so adept at kindling.   I lost a night of sleep worrying about what I should write on my signs.   It seems silly to lie in bed awake thinking about something like that, but I did not want to volley their ha

New Boots I saw the small, handwritten ”Estate Sale” sign hanging crookedly on a neighbor’s fence Sunday as I drove past.   There were a few articles of clothing hung on the fence, too.   “I would like to walk down there and check that sale out,” I thought, and I also hoped it was a generic use of the term “Estate Sale”, meaning “we are selling some of our things because we just have too much” and not a “the owners of this home and have died and we are cleaning it out forever”.   Late in the afternoon David and I walked to the sale, only about 5 houses down from ours.     As we entered the yard, I saw it was FULL of women’s shoes.   There were bed sheets laid out on the ground and shoe upon shoe was displayed.   Two African American women stood outdoors – one trying on a shoe.   “Wow!” I said, “Someone sure loves shoes!”.   “They were my mom’s”, answered one of the women.   “And yes, she sure did love shoes.   There are lots more than these!   We took some, and there is a big b

If you haven't watched the video associated with this blog yet, you can see it at:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XChb49oUa2o “project VOTE” came from an idea, a feeling, a discomfort I had with noticing how many people are saying they are not going to vote in the upcoming presidential election.   Wait - let me back up. Elections are important to me.   Democracy is important.   I don’t know why really – politics are not something I remember as being central to my upbringing.   My family didn’t really discuss politics.   I don’t remember going to a polling place with my parents (though maybe I did?).   I don’t remember dinner conversations about political issues or candidates.   My first memory of elections is when I could vote in the 1984 presidential race - I was excited to cast that first ballot.   Fast forward a couple of decades.   I now live near the capital of our country (“one stoplight from DC” as all local real estate ads in my neighborhood say).   “Local” polit

I am I cried. I am, said I. And there was no one there – not    even   the   chair . Neil Diamond.   Ahhh.   When my parents invited us to go to a Neil Diamond concert with them in the early 90s, that’s the song that played in my head.   “THE CHAIR song” I called it, and the lyrics above are how I heard it.   Of course, I also hummed “Coming to America”, but it was "The Chair Song" that drew me in.   It was the one I remembered playing over and over on the 8 track player in the big wooden record player/8 track player combo piece of furniture in our formal living room.   So, while Neil Diamond wasn’t on the top of my age 20-something playlist, I figured it would be a fun night and a good adventure with my parents. So all night we sat with them in the auditorium, which was packed with “old people” their age, as I secretly waited for the song I found so funny and unintelligible.   Was it a love song to a chair?   A chair anthem?   What WAS it exactly??   My parent