The Throat unmasked

One of the country's most fascinating mysteries has been solved: we know who Deep Throat was. As a journalist, you'd think I'd be incredibly excited by this revelation, when actually I'm more annoyed I hadn't yet gotten around to reading "All the President's Men." Now I won't be able to enjoy all the speculation! Of course, that won't keep me from reading every different angle on the story tonight and probably starting the book soon, despite the behemoth my Bible study/book club friends have foisted on me for next week ...

Another book

A friend recently wrote something very powerful about faith. I encourage everyone to read it, though most people that would read my blog probably already agree. But what he wrote got me thinking about another book I'd like to read: "God's Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It," by Jim Wallis. I'm very socially progressive in my faith, though I seldom act on it other than donations. Maybe this book would help give me the kick I need to find a cause to devote myself to and really make a difference. A lot to ask of a book, but then I at least need to be asking more of myself.

What a friend we have in Jesus

Toddlers are highly amusing creatures, espeically the ones like mine that have vivid imaginations. Lately, Abbey has been turning anything and everything into an imaginary friend. She occasionally talks to Sarah, who thankfully exists as an actual little girl at her preschool, and frequently her hands, which can lead to hysterical conversations: "Time for bed, mommy hand. Good night, mommy hand. Say good night, Abbey hand. Sleep well." And she then proceeds to shove both her hands into my sandals, which are now cribs and heck if I'm allowed to wear them for at least an hour. The mommy-Abbey phenomenon also happens with cookies, sandwiches, sticks ... anything that can have different sizes. Daddy, nana, pops and grandma version of things also have frequent roles.

But by far the strangest imaginary friend would have to be our Lord and Savior. She's been playing with Jesus a lot lately. I'd heard her chatting in general a couple of weeks ago, but then last week they were having quite the game of one-on-one basketball, though aparently Jesus cheats. I guess He made up for it the next day, though, when He helped her scrub the tub while I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. Funny, my house doesn't look like there's been divine intervention ... Now, how do you correct theology like that? I can't tell her to stop talking to Jesus because, who knows, maybe she's having actual visions? Maybe He's had pity on an only child and given her a playmate. And I've always argued that you can't tell exactly when faith starts, maybe this is the beginnings of a 2-year-old's understanding of the God she's been shown at preschool and in songs, where Jesus is your friend and he loves you and is always there. Not a bad beginning. Plus I'm not sure she'd grasp the whole "God doesn't cheat, sweetie." Heck, it's hard to understand that as an adult sometimes!

But at least she's got a good chance at a college scholarship, with a coach like that ...

Out of the mouths of screaming politicians

Lately, there has been precious little said in the political world about religion that I can back wholeheartedly, and vice versa. But a political junkie I know found some wonderfully sane words on faith from Howard Dean. All I can say is amen, Brother Dean.

Stuff I wish I could get

The downside of being a journalist with an academic husband is that, while the conversations are stimulating, there's not much money left over for non-essentials -- which has somehow come to include books, music and good food, something I swore I'd never let happen. But someday, surely, the purse strings will slacken and I can begin to whittle away at my wish-lists. This will no doubt grow and fluctuate, and suggestions are always appreciated!

Books: (Yes, I know I can get some of these from the library)
"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," Dave Eggers
"The History of Love," Nicole Krauss
something by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
a first-edition "Anne of Green Gables," Lucy Maude Montgomery -- or at least a really old one

Music:
"Mignonette," The Avett Brothers, plus their live CDs
"Break syndical," Les Cowboys Fringants
"Notre epoque," Tarmac
"La Vallee des reputations," Jean LeLoup (not sure about this one)
probably more by Louise Attaque
the past two Coldplay albums
Anna Nalick sounds intriguing

Travel:
mountains in general
Arcadia National Park
D.C. for the Newseum and Holocaust Museum
California wine country
Grand Canyon
Prince Edward Island
British Columbia
Copenhagen
Bretagne
Provence
Tuscany
Andalusia
Barcelona
Ireland

Other:
warm pain au chocolat from the boulangerie in Lillers
Italian cappucino
a ride on the Underground or Paris Metro
Magnum Double
Kinder Bueno

On my own happy little cloud

I have always been a very good girl. I have never used any substances stronger than caffeine and alcohol (unless you count the Percodan from my c-section), and I never particularly want to. But this morning, while scanning PBS for something to half-watch while exercising, I stumbled upon Bob Ross and realized that if I'd ever smoked pot, I would have watched The Joy of Painting while doing it.

The instant that afro-bedecked face hits the screen, something in my mind shuts down. I become slightly numb, lulled by his gentle, almost whispering voice into a mesmerized state. I watch slack-jawed as he dabs the titanium white mixed with yellow ochre and sap green to the shapeless shadows on his canvass, magically creating either "happy little" or "big old" trees out of thin air. It's amazing, the flick of the wrist that creates relections, the slash of the knife that creates purple mountains. And the magic roll of paint on the edge of the knife that can "bounce along" and create rocks where before there was just an amorphous blob of brown.

So what if all his paintings are of the same mountains and lakes and glens and would seem generically impressionist even at a Motel 6? I'd forgive Bob anything for that happy, fuzzy feeling in my brain for that half an hour.

"We don't make mistakes here, we just have happy accidents. We want happy, happy paintings. If you want sad things, watch the news. Everything is possible here. This is your little universe." -- Bob Ross

Reconnecting with nature

I got outside this weekend! It wasn't so much as a hike as a nature walk (can't do much more strenuous with a 2-and-a-half-year-old in tow), but it was so lovely to get out with a bunch of trees and the sound of water.

I headed over to Landsford Canal State Park for the morning with my mother and daughter, partly in hopes of seeing the Rocky Shoals Spider Lily. The flowers were just coming out of the water, not yet blooming, but it was still a very nice park. There's not an overwhelming amount of historical or botanical explanation, but who really needs more than a few paragraphs when you can walk along next to the Catawba River, far from any evidence of humanity other than the worn path?

The Catawba is a very shallow, rocky river, which actually makes it all the more picturesque. Loads of rapids and little waterfalls ripple the current, and dozens and dozens of turtles had climbed aboard the rocks and fallen trees in the river to sun themselves — I've never seen that many in one place. It was a cool day with a steady breeze, and the fresh spring green blanketing the forest floor added to the refreshing feeling of renewal. One of the more surprising natural discoveries were these gorgeous trumpet flowers that grew in vines high up in the tree canopy. The flowers were burgundy outside and an orangey-saffron yellow inside. I took a sniff when Abbey proffered her little treasure, expecting to get a whiff of a normal light perfume, and was stunned when it actually DID smell like saffron. Very spicy, pungent. Not unpleasant, just striking and not at all what I anticipated. I walked along smelling a blossom for several minutes.

Of course, the greatest joy of the day was watching Abigail discover the woods for the first time. We've been to lots of city parks, but this was her first forest, and she was fascinated. She wanted to throw sticks in the Catawba, touch the water, smell flowers, "rake" leaves with a stick, kill "dragons" also known as fallen trees, toss prickly gum balls, find waterfalls, climb on the old masonry walls of the locks ... It's so eye-opening to see the world again for the first time through a child. Pure joy in nature. Though of course it was a bit nerve-wracking keeping her from the edge of the banks and from wandering into untold clusters of poison ivy ...

A trip into Euro-analysis

The following stems from an e-mail sent by a friend:

"I ran across this on the Rick Steves sight. I'm not sure I buy into everything the author had to say, though he made very valid points. If some of you's folks have a smidgen of free time, it's an interesting topic."

Good-ness, where to begin?

Well, for one, I think this essay has to be read keeping in mind that Rick Steves makes his livelihood convincing people Europe is a wonderful place to visit, especially when accompanied by one of his guidebooks. He's also from Oregon and works for Public Broadcasting -- not exactly a card-carrying Republican, I'd guess.

But that said, he makes several valid points. Now, I'm a francophile and lean left-of-center, but I think there are things that are genuinely better in Europe, most importantly the concept of quality of life. The overt materialism of the United States often disgusts me. The obsession with bigger-better-newer can be nauseating (sorry, Ty). I get agitated when I see someone idling in their Expedition in a Target parking lot on a gorgeous spring day, windows rolled up and a/c on. A car that already only gets, what, 10 miles to the gallon, and they're idling. And I bet they complain about the cost of gas. Yes, gas is expensive in Europe. But they all drive tiny cars -- and after you've been there for about a month, they seem perfectly normal and adequate. Houses are smaller, closer together. They're also built out of quality materials, according to regional guidelines that instill a sense of place, not just vinyl siding. And Europeans simply own less stuff. They wear their clothes more often and everything is interchangeable (what doesn't go with black?). What they spend their money on is time. As Brad loves to say, you can have either time or money, not both. So Europeans eat leisurely dinners. They walk around pedestrian shopping streets -- even just to walk, not necessarily shop. They sip wine and tiny cups of espresso, just enjoying their evenings. And most people go home for lunch with their families during the week. What better quality time with your kids? The importance of family in Europe is incredible -- true "family values" extending beyond the nuclear, taking care of the elderly.

And the wonders of mass transit!!! Subways, busses, commuter trains! You don't HAVE to have a car! Don't get me started on my nostalgia for SNCF (French rail system) bells and announcements!

Now, for where Steves was painting a rosy picture. Europeans still love their celebrities. Often American celebrities. Maybe it's not quite as rampant as Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie-Paris Hilton-Jessica Simpson crap, but it's definitely there. And American brands are everywhere. Even team logos. I remember a kid wearing a Georgetown hat. I asked him if he knew of the school and he just looked at me. They may not understand the symbolism, but they love the symbols.

And socialist doctrines aren't always a success. Steves waxed poetic about the French 35 hour work week, but that just got killed because it was costing the economy too much and the government wants to try the other way around to see if that sparks more development. Not that the French are all about efficiency now. The buses in my region were on strike for three weeks and I had no way to get to one of my schools. And my school said, That's okay, we'll see you when the strike is over!

But God-love the European concept of paid family time! Three months maternity leave! (In Ukraine, I think it's a year) And they keep you in the hospital for a week so you actually have time to rest and recover before you have to start the sleep deprivation, not just a baby mill that cranks you out a day after you deliver! And vacations ... I'm a bit bitter about that as I face two weeks a year for the next five years, all while working weekends, but then that's partly my fault for choosing journalism. My sister gets obscene amounts of vacation, and it's just the standard five weeks. She's always talking about having to take vacation days at the end of the year to use them up, trotting off to interesting corners of England every few weeks.

All in all, an interesting essay. Not all Europeans are gung-ho about the EU (hence the rise of jerks like Le Pen), racism is growing. And I've seen the ugly side of government subsidies after working in vo-tech high schools, like a student that actually told me that when he grew up, he just wanted to go on unemployment like his dad. So Europe isn't all a bed of roses. But I do think a lot of their priorities are in the right place.