Itsy Bitsy Writer

You Never Know What You're Going to Get

2011-11-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

I think I've mentioned before on this blog that I'm big on adoption.

If not, there's a good chance that you've gleaned that from the fact that every other post I write is about adoption.

When it is done right, adoption is an amazing thing. There are children that don't have families getting matched up with families that have room (or MAKE ROOM) for another child.

Where adoption starts to annoy me is when it's oriented more toward finding 'the perfect kid' for a family.

I'm on a few adoption mailing lists and, right now, there has been a slow down in one of the more popular international adoption countries. There is post after post about how long people have been waiting. 10 months. 12 months. 14 months. Don't get me wrong, that's a LONG time. And I'm sure it's hard. You've got that child in your mind constantly (and that's before you even get your referral). Once you've got that referral and you've seen your child's face....well, forget about it. You now have a kid....your kid....sitting in an orphanage or group home or foster home or wherever but they aren't in your home and that's tough.

I get it.

It sucks.

Let me tell you something else that sucks.

The photo with this post - it's not a generic stock image.

Her name is Monique (well, no it's not, but that's the name I'm allowed to post - her real name is very cute though, trust me).

9 years ago she was found in some bushes in West Africa.

A tiny baby. Abandoned.

She spent the next 9 years growing up in an orphanage.

You've been waiting 9 months for your kid?

She's been waiting 9 YEARS for her family.

I'm sure that older child adoption isn't for everyone. But, I'm also pretty sure it would be for a whole lot more people if we didn't let our fears get the best of us.

And what's up with that? Being afraid of a little kid? I know quite a few people that have said, "Well, it would be nice to adopt an older child in theory but you just don't know what you'll get."

Well, let me tell you what you will get - A child that has suffered more grief and loss in nine years that most of us will suffer in ninety. A child that will simultaneously be grateful to have a family and terrified of having a family. A little girl that will make you laugh with joy, scream with frustration, cry with exhaustion and smile with contentment.

A beautiful daughter of God, made in His image, beloved by Him

That is what you will get....if you say yes.

It's a long shot, but, I have committed to spreading the word for about "Monique". If you are interested (or know of anyone who is interested) in making this special girl a part of your family, please let me know. You have to be married (minimum of 5 years) and be at least 30. Please pass my contact information along to anyone that might say yes. [thejessicarudder at gmail dot com]

Guess Whose Family Found Them?!?

2011-11-02T12:03:00.000-07:00

If you are my friend on Facebook (which is quite likely since only about 3 people read this blog) you've probably seen me harassing....err....encouraging people to donate to the adoption grant fund of this handsome fellow:

This little guy has spent the past 12 years locked away in an orphanage.

Hidden.

Forgotten.

And, let's be honest. Mistreated. Grossly and unjustly mistreated.

He was born into a family in an Eastern European country that doesn't think much of those children that aren't 'perfect'.

Like many 'imperfect' children in this country, he was left at an orphanage shortly after birth. Problem solved.

After 12 years of getting barely enough food to survive (and even less loving touch), "Tommy" is no longer an orphan!

He's got parents (the Berman's) a new name (Kelten Drake), a new brother from the same orphanage (Teagan Chance - who is not quite as ill, but, only because he's 4 instead of 12 so he's suffered fewer years of neglect) and 7 brothers and sisters waiting at home (5 of whom are children with special needs also adopted from Eastern Europe) .

As I mentioned previously, adoption from Kelten's country is not cheap. His family is still working to pull together the $17,500 they need to complete Kelten and Teagan's adoption. If you are inclined to help, you can donate through the "Chip In" on my page (in the right side bar). If you donate $10 or more, you should go to their blog "A Torch for Teagan" and let them know you donated so they can enter you in their drawing for a 32 gig ipad2.

If you want to help other children like Kelten, I suggest you go to Reece's Rainbow and choose a child of your own to advocate for. It can be as simple as praying for the child (being a Prayer Warrior as they say) or you can try to raise funds for the adoption of a specific child. Never fear that the child you choose to pray for will not find a home. If God can find a home for my 12-year-old, 22 lbs little boy with Down syndrome I guarantee you He is big enough to find a family for any child you pray for too!

The Taste of Bittersweet

2011-10-18T16:51:00.000-07:00

My favorite chocolate, by far, is milk chocolate. All my life I've loved sweet milk chocolate. Semi-sweet was fine as long as it's bitterness was masked by some sugary cookie dough. That was as bitter as I could go.

You see, I love sweet, not bitter. Actually, I love sweet, sour and salty....but not bitter. Bitter is just not a flavor that I have ever learned to enjoy.

My life preferences are very similar to my taste buds.

I enjoy moments of all 'flavors' except the bitter moments. I spend a ridiculously large amount of my life avoiding interactions and events that have the potential to cause pain. Unlike many people there was no tragic event in my life that caused me to withdraw into the safe and familiar. It seems to be one of those in-born personality traits - this hyper caution - the type of traits that you think must have been given to you by God so that you can over come them and grow into a better person.

Except that I haven't put much effort into growing beyond myself. I like the safe and familiar.

"It's who I am." I say. I wear this caution like a ribbon won at a grade school field day, as if it's something to be proud of. My sister is the brave one. My brothers are the reckless ones (each in his own way). That leaves 'the cautious one' for me. If I gave it up I just wouldn't be me any more.

It's an excuse though so I don't have to leave my comfort zone. When I wished to be taller, I never claimed that my short stature defined me. That wasn't who I was. When I wanted to learn Spanish (which I only managed to do partially), I didn't think I'd become a different person. When I pray to become a kinder, more patient person, I'm not worried about losing the essence of myself.

Why then would the caution be 'who I am'?

The truth is that it's not. But wishing to be taller, learning Spanish, trying to be kinder - those are things that can be done with relatively little risk. Learning to be risky, to step out in faith, to do the things you feel called to do even if you don't yet know how you will do them - well, it involves a *bit* of risk.

Earlier this year, I was drawn to a pair of 9-year-old children on a Waiting Child list. Their parents were deceased and their siblings could not afford to care for them. So into an orphanage they went.

And they waited.

And they waited.

And they waited......

Because they were 9 years old, not 9 months old. Because they were not both girls. Because one of them had a scary disease.

In international adoption there are waiting lists 2+ years long of people hoping for baby girls as young and as healthy as possible. In domestic adoption, people will wait 4+ years for a healthy infant. Meanwhile, 'old' children - children older than two, that is - sit on waiting lists, watching babies come and go...wondering why no one wants them.

As I looked at the information available on these two kids, I felt a stirring in my heart. Something telling me that these were my kids. That I should be their Mom.

Now, before you go thinking that I'm a sap that falls in love with every kid I see, I have something to confess. I have been looking at waiting child lists since 1998. In all that time, I have 'fallen for' only 4 kids. A boy named Brandon that I tried to convince my parents to adopt when I was a senior in high school, a girl named Jasmine that I tried to get my parents to adopt when I was freshly graduated from college and the twins.

The difference with the twins is I wasn't a young student any more. I was a grown up. A married adult with a home and income of her own. This time I could be the one to adopt - I didn't have to convince anyone else...

...oh yeah, remember where I said I was a married adult. As it turns out, when you're married, the husband gets at least a *little* say in whether or not to adopt two 11-year-olds.

And, since I'm not a mind reader, I had no way of knowing if he would be on board, so I said nothing. It's safer that way.

But I couldn't get them out of my mind. Day after day, for a whole month, I couldn't stop thinking about them.

So I decided to risk it. I put together a power point about how awesome it would be and how well they would fit into our family and how easy it would be to get the money in place. (What? Don't you talk to your husband through such emotionally connected mediums as Power Point?) I gave my presentation and closed with, "Let me know if you have any questions."

Two weeks later when I followed up, he told me he thought I had been joking. Yep, I had managed to 'risk it' in such a safe way that it came across as a joke. Did you hear the one about the girl that wanted to adopt a couple of pre-teens? Hahaha.

So I kept bringing it up and bringing it up and bringing it up. I wish I could say I was engaging in open discussions about what was best for our family; however, I almost always started on the defensive. These were 'my' kids (ummm...I mean 'our' kids) and no one was going to get in my way. Most of my attempts at 'discussion' were either offhand jokes that no one would take seriously or full on assaults that any one would run for cover from.

Needless to say, the only thing I really succeeded in doing was picking multiple fights. One of them in Panda Express! Who fights in Panda Express?!? Sweet fire chicken is about love! Broccoli beef is about peace!

So I resolved to stop bullying my husband. Which is to say that I stopped arguing and started praying for the perfect things to say that would help him change his mind.

At the same time, I also stopped praying that we would be able to adopt the twins and started praying that their family would come for them soon. Now, if we're honest, I'd always quickly add, "and if it's your will, I'm perfectly happy for that family to be us", but I did mean what I said. They had been in an orphanage for about 17 months at this point. They needed a family that was ready to come for them.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I logged on to the waiting child list and saw the worst...

Their picture was gone.

The taste was bitter.

But it was also the best...

Their picture was gone!

The taste was sweet.

My prayers had been answered. A family had committed to them. If my information is correct, these two amazing kids will be coming to their new home in January. My hope was that they would find a home before the start of the second year in the orphanage and they will. They are going home with a family (orphans no more!) two months before the two year mark.

And it's great. And it sucks. And I cried. But I also smiled because, like I said, it's great.

So, I put myself out there and I took a risk. And it would be easy to say that I failed because I don't get to have these two children as part of my family. However, I did learn quite a bit about myself. Some of it was not so flattering, such as the fact that when I have an emotional investment in a discussion I default to comedienne or bully. I need to find the middle ground where I can actually have an honest discussion, rather than just advocating for my position regardless of any concerns raised by the other party. Especially when that other party is my husband! Some of it was useful, such as my spreadsheet analysis of 29 (29!) individual insurance policies for a family of 4 taking into account necessary medical checkups, labs and monthly medicines. I kind of rocked that data. And, no, I won't do the same for you unless you're paying me $100/hour because flipping through insurance contracts to read all the small print so you make sure you aren't missing any details is hell on earth.

Like I said, I stepped outside of my comfort zone. I took a risk. I got hurt. But I also had the chance to pray two beautiful kids home.

It was definitely bitter. But also sweet.

I still prefer the milk chocolate (in food and life), but bittersweet's not so bad.

Capture Gratitude: 1 - 5

2011-10-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

The optimist says, the cup is half full.

The pessimist says, the cup is half empty.

The child of God says; My cup runneth over.

~Anonymous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1: Love Notes Consisting of Silly Animals Drawn on Hands

2: Dragon Fruit Brought in by Friends Who Discover You've Never Tasted It Before

3: Coming Home from Work to Find that the Grocery Shopping had been Done and the Toilet Paper had been Replenished

4: A Beautiful Example of Friendship and Fatherhood (and Videos of the Cutest Nephew in the World)

5: Technology That Allows Me to Watch My Friend's Wedding Live in India Even Though I'm Thousands of Miles Away

If anyone wants to join in the weekly Capture Gratitude there is a link up at Mandie Joy's blog.

Rocking Extra Chromosomes

2011-10-04T16:42:00.000-07:00

Did you know that October is National Down Syndrome Awareness month?

Yeah, me neither.

But, now that we both know, there's something I want to share with you.

All over the world, where tests are available to identify in advance if a child has been blessed with an extra chromosome, parents frequently make the choice to terminate their pregnancies.

As if that weren't bad enough, in many parts of the world children that aren't born 'perfect' are often abandoned by their parents - hidden away in mental institutions. Many of these institutions fulfill their duties and care for the children. Sadly, many do not.

Tommy is one of the children that wasn't lucky.

The picture above was taken shortly before he turned 12. Nope, that's not a typo. TWELVE.

He is 12 years old, weighs 26 pounds and fits in a baby walker. The saddest part is that at 26 pounds, he's one of the 'healthier' children in this particular institution. There are a couple of girls (9 and 10 years old) who are 10 lbs.

The children here are given barely enough food to survive and that's it. They are not fed enough for their bodies to grow and they certainly aren't given much stimulation. It's very likely that the time Tommy spent in the baby walker for his photo was the first time he'd been out of his crib in days (if not longer).

The good news is that there are amazing people that are ready (and eager!) to adopt the lost little boys and girls in Tommy's institution.

The bad news is that the families that commit to these children often face seemingly insurmountable odds. You see, although these children are not deemed to have enough worth to be fed or held or read to or let outside, the price that must be paid to adopt them is very high. Many of the places with the worst-off children have the highest ransoms for rescue.

The cost of adopting Tommy could be $30,000 (or more).

$30,000!

Rumor has it that a family is currently working to commit to Tommy's adoption. I don't know this family (or their financial situation), but, it would be great if we could make sure that money does not become an obstacle for them.

For anyone interested in helping out, Tommy has a grant you can donate to at Reece's Rainbow (a great non-profit that helps fund the adoption of children with Down Syndrome and other special needs). The money donated will be kept in a fund to be used by the family that commits to adopting Tommy (for adoption related expenses only).

http://reecesrainbow.org/tommy-11-11

Let's celebrate Down Syndrome Awareness Month by helping Tommy come home!

Bad Days Put into Perspective

2011-09-29T17:24:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been having a lot of bad days. Not horrible days. Just bad ones.

The list of things that make the days bad are not unique. They're the standard list of laments given by most people my age (at least most people my age working in an office):

My work is not interesting.

I'm not passionate about what I do.

I don't love where I live.

I've plateaued at work (and can't imagine continuing to do this for the next 40 years).

The husband and I aren't in sync on the timing of starting a family.

My office mate is noisy.

I want to be healthier but I don't want to give up my copious daily amounts of soda.

It's not as if the entire list weighs me down every day; however, on most of the recent days, at least one of them will pop up and make me grumpy.

Occasionally, when I'm in the midst of feeling sorry for myself during one of these bad days, I find articles like this:

http://blog.worldvision.org/stories/the-mystery-of-suffering/

It's written by a person that has been doing relief work in Somalia and contains the two pictures below.

I can't help but tear up every time I see the photo on the left. I can't help but smile every time I see the one on the right.

It's amazing what a few dollars worth of food can do. Not only do they look healthier, they look happier. Well, she looks happier. He looks like he's about to mug the camera guy. :)

It's hard to feel sorry for myself while looking at such a stark reminder of what a bad day really looks like.

Of course, this doesn't mean that I'm off the hook. Their suffering doesn't exist as a prop that allows me to feel better about myself. I don't think it's a message from God that I should shut up and be content with what I've got and where I'm at. Instead, I see it as a gentle reminder that 'bad' is relative and that things are fixed by taking action.

Now, if I just knew what action to take, I'd be all set.....

Project 2,996 - Harry Blanding Jr. - 10 Years Later

2011-09-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

As part of Project 2,996 I agreed to post a memorial in my blog on 9/11 for one of the 2,996 people that lost their lives on September 11, 2001.

My apologies to Mr. Blanding and his family for any inaccuracies in this memorial. I have done my best to get things right and properly honor this man.

Harry Blanding, Jr.
Harry's biography is, I'm sure, similar to that of many of the other people that died on 9/11. It is remarkable precisely because of how ordinary and American it is. He's the guy that graduated high school (Middletown South Class of 1981), went on to college (William Paterson College in New Jersey), married his sweetheart (Debbie) and started a family (Hayley, Jay(?) and Benjamin(?)). On 9/11, he went to his job at a claims analys for Aon on the 92nd floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. He had made plans that day to have lunch with Tamika, a former coworker he hadn't seen in years. After the first plane hit, he called his wife and described what was happening. Then he told her had to go and he hung up. He was one of 176 Aon employees that didn't come home that day.

Harry left behind his wife Debbie and their three kids (ages 4, 2 and 1 at the time) and both of his parents Harry Sr. and Dorothy at least one sibling (Alex, his brother), a cat named Hugo and a dog named BJ. Although they knew he worked on the 92nd floor, his family initially held out hope that he would come home. On September 12, 2001 at 8:20pm, Debbie posted the following message on the Red Cross disaster site, "Harry Blanding!!!!!! We're looking for you!" Every time a car slowed in front of the house, they hoped it was Harry - that he had recovered from an injury-related amnesia and had returned home. His family never gave up on him and didn't accept his death until much later when his DNA was identified.

In all the comments I searched about Harry, the thing that almost everyone mentioned was his friendly smile. Some even referred to it as "that famous Harry smile". He was well known as an easy-going, fun guy. Friends and family talked of Harry helping them out of tough situations and being there for them when he was needed. He coached a little league football team even though his children were not old enough to play. He loved being a part of his community, helping children and working out. Little league seemed to satisfy all of that. He was also active in his church (Pleasant Valley Presbyterian). Many of his friends spoke of his faith and his commitment to his family and his values.

Staying fit was a large part of his life. He was 5'9" and a muscular 205lbs. He would wake up at 4:30am to head into Manhattan early so he could work out at the gym before work. He'd work out at home after work as well. Debbie said she would often joke around with her husband about working out so much. Harry always said, "When I'm 90 years old, I'm still going to be running 5 miles. I've got to stay in shape for the grandkids!".

On one site, I found posts from his daughter Hayley on a 9/11 memorial site . It looks like she posted them in 2005 and throughout 2006. She speaks of missing her father. Of celebrating another Christmas without him. One post mentions that people at school were being mean to her and that she wished he were there. Another speaks of a family taco night where she ate the first taco whole and then broke the second one into taco salad "just like you!!!". From Hayley I learned that her father was a fan of the New York Yankees and the New York Giants. She also talks of her brothers and upcoming birthday parties - evidence that life goes on, but never quite the same.

Family, friends, and others whose lives have been touched by Harry have been remembering him today on legacy.com. If you read through the posts there, you can see how greatly loved and missed this man is even 10 years later.

Perhaps most heart-breaking of all is the message from his daughter Hayley which reads (in part):

"Tears come in my eyes as I think how I won't have anybody to walk me down the aisle at my wedding or have the special father-daughter dance. You won't be at my high school graduation or be there when I achieve my dream of being on the stage. My children will never know their grandfather and when I come home for the holidays, the only parent I will be greeting is my mother. People who receive the luck of having a father don't get it and I understand."
Harry's children are now 15, 13 and 12.

This year Harry and Debbie would have celebrated their 19th wedding anniversary.

Howling at the Moon

2011-04-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night...

...but, I didn't notice because I was tucked safely into my nice, dry hotel bed.

I'd later find out that the weather was so nasty that many of the early 100 mile starters dropped after a 'mere' 26 miles. By the time I toed the starting line at 10am on Saturday, the foul weather had retreated. It was a beautiful day to run.

At the start we were given the option to begin running directly up the trail (with no penalties) or we could race around the perimeter of the field first and then begin the run. The 100 mile folks (that's right, as an early start 100k runner I had the privilege of starting with the speedy, late-start 100 mile runners) chose to head up the trail as quickly as possible. I don't know if this is because they were feeling the pressure since they were starting in last place and chasing people that had (in some cases) a 12 hour head start, if it was because the 100 milers had the extra obligation of carrying a rock to a memorial at the highest point of the course or if it's because they were party poopers. I figured the extra 5 minutes I took to run around the field would not make or break my ability to finish so I took off at a leisurely pace around the field wearing a rainbow beanie on my head. Why, you might ask? Because I was told to wear it until I was passed up by a faster 100k runner and I do what I'm told. Once my lap around the field was done, I headed up into the mountains.

Oh yes, did I mention the mountains? I had a chance to meet them the day before at packet pickup. Josh made fun of me because I got more and more nervous as we approached. This is only because the closer we got the taller they got! I had, of course, looked into the elevation change on the race website. I understood what 19,000 ft of elevation gain meant intellectually. I just didn't realize what it looked liked. If you asked me what I disliked most about my first 50 miler (Dick Collins Firetrails 50), I would tell you that the only thing I didn't like was the hills. Why did I turn around and sign up for a race that had 3 feet of climb for every 1 foot of climb that Dick Collins had? I.....don't.....know. In any case, the mountains were tall and all of my training was at sea level along a nicely paved beach path.

I knew I was out of my element but I wasn't sure what to do about it.

That's when I noticed the two guys running ahead of me. They were running at a pace that felt comfortable to me. More importantly, they were talking about this race as if it was not their first time running it!

I started shadowing them like a feral animal. I didn't want to get so close that they'd notice me. However, I panicked every time I lost sight of them. You might think it was silly to panic, but, you don't know how easily I get lost. The average person would not be able to get lost on a path that has no turn offs while following 10ft behind another person. I'm above average.

I guess I was following too closely because one of them turned around and asked if I wanted to pass.

"No! I'm fine." I tried to say it cool. In truth I blurted it out and probably sound half crazed, half panicked and half confused. Yes. Coyote 2 Moon is the type of race where you can have 3 halves and it still makes sense.

We ran in silence for a few more minutes when they turned to me once again. "Do you want to join us?"

"Sure." This time I was cool....but I was quite excited on the inside. One of my main goals was to meet ultra-runners and possibly make friends. I had run an entire 50-miler and had managed to not have a single meaningful conversation with any of the other runners over 11 hours and 9 minutes of running. I did talk to a very nice guy with a dog. The German shepherd's name was Loki. I don't think I ever asked the guy what his name was. Clearly, I'm socially inept. Coyote 2 Moon seemed like the kind of race where you can't escape making friends even if you try. Now, I had permission to run with two "Mooners" for the next 60+ miles...It seemed like even I couldn't mess up the bonding. My other main goal was to survive. Running with them seemed like it would help me achieve that goal too. Win-Win.

We exchanged names. They were Jack and Justin. I (of course) am Jessica. I appreciated the symmetry of the names and decided from now on I will only run with people that have J names. It did occur to me that beggars can't be choosers, so, I don't know how firm I will be in this new rule, but, for now, it stands.

The cool thing about running with Jack and Justin is that they seemed to know everyone on the trail! Every runner we passed or that passed us would pace us for a while to chat. Even the super fast people, you know, the kind of people that have sponsors and 20hr times on courses the rest of us take 40 hours to run would say hi. One extremely fast lady named Jen (or Jenn) with the most impressive calves I have ever seen spoke to us many times as she came and went. The 100-milers run a slightly different (and longer) course than those of us running the 100k so I was never quite sure how far into the race she was at any given moment. I think she was about 60 miles in when we were about 20 miles in and she looked fresher than I did at the starting line. That's the kind of runner I dream of being as I wash a chocolate chip cookie down with a swig of Coke.

The next few hours have all kind of blended in my mind. We ran up...and up....and up....and, just when I thought we couldn't possible run up some more, we would round a corner and discover that, yes, we needed to go up just a little (ha!) bit more. At night it was eerie to see the glow of the headlamps and flashlights of other runners bobbing around about 200-500 ft above my head. At different times the guys I was running with would cough, clear their throat, spit and do other things that runners do. Jack mentioned that they were really noisy and I was being extremely proper. Of course, this is only because he hadn't seen me wipe my runny nose on my sleeve every 5 minutes over the course of 14 hours.

The bulk of Coyote Two Moon has been filed in my mind as a series of grueling climbs and descents broken up by amazing views (my favorite was being on top of a ridge watching small snowflakes float up from the valley below) and fantastic aid stations staffed by the best people in the world. The folks at the aid station go out of their way to get you fueled up and entertained. There were disco wigs, animal costumes, shots offered for bonus minutes (though this tee-totaller had to abstain) and food! My aid station rule is to eat anything that looks good. Pre-race I'm always dreaming of the sweets. During the race though I always end up grabbing the savory foods. I ate one of the best grilled cheese sandwiches I have ever had, a PB&J a tasty quesadilla and some soup. I also drank Coke at every aid station. Coke during a race makes me super happy.

Things were going smoothly until Cozy Dell aid station at mile 30.3. As we got into the aid station, the sun went down and the rain came up. I sipped some broth, chugged a cup of Coke and rested a bit. At this point I did a 'gut check' to make sure that I was ready for the next leg of the race. You see, I had been warned. There is no quitting on the ridge! If you get yourself back up there you'd better be ready to get back down. I decided to continue. I had plenty of 'run' left in my legs. I was warm. It was raining lightly but I had a rain jacket.

I began the 6.6 mile 3,400 ft of elevation climb towards the Gridley Top aid station. I wish I had taken a moment to consider that light rain might get heavier or that rain at 1,000 ft might be an altogether different animal at 4,500 ft. I would still have made the decision to continue; however, I might have pulled my Moeben sleeves out of my pockets and put them on for a bit more warmth. Hindsight and all of that....

As I'm sure you've already guessed, the gentle drizzle did not remain a gentle drizzle. It turned into a downpour. The downpour turned into icy slush being blown sideways into my face. I pulled the brim of the propeller hat down at whatever angle the slush was coming in at to gain whatever protection I could. As we climbed up higher the icy slush turned to snow. Lots of snow. By this time everyone on the trail started to look like refugees in a disaster movie, faithfully moving forward having heard rumors of a safe place up ahead. I considered stopping to put on my sleeves for extra warmth but I didn't want to stop moving and I certainly didn't want to unzip my rain jacket so they stayed in my pocket.

At some point I got separated from Justin and Jack. The legs that had seemed so fresh down in Cozy Dell were now rebelling at the continued climb. I would 20-30 feet then stop and rest. I saw someone coming up behind me and moved to the side. Then I realized that I had misjudged his pace. I kept going then moved to the side when I thought he was about to pass again. Again I had misjudged. I did this a third time. I think he might have thought I was losing my mind because instead of passing me he suggested that we stick together until we get to the top.

"I'm concerned I'll slow you down." I didn't mind dying out there on the mountain but I was going to feel really bad if I took someone else down with me.

"That's o.k. In conditions like this it's best to stick together. My name's Jeffry." That's when I knew it was meant to be. As I said, I only run with J's.

I did not realize how cold I was until I arrived at Gridley Top and stopped moving. It's the coldest I can remember being in my life. I was completely soaked. A giant bunny took my gloves and put them over a stove to warm them up. Then she rubbed my hands to get the blood flowing. It hurt! But, at least blood was still flowing. By the way, I wasn't hallucinating. This particular aid station was full of giant barnyard animals. The kindest barnyard animals I have ever met.

I started shivering. Not the delicate shivers of a 90lb woman on a 75 degree day. These were full-body shivers coming from deep in my gut. I got put in the small tent they had that provided shelter for people in the worst condition. Some were curled up in a ball of pain. Others had been stripped down and put into sleeping bags to warm them up. I was offered a dry sweatshirt (provided from the extra gear packed by the Gridley Top volunteers - as I said, they were amazing). The bunny reappeared and handed me a water bottle full of hot water. I sat in the tent, clutching the water bottle, trying to get the shivering under control and all I could think was that I had been specifically warned not to complain about being cold up on the ridge. It was not my proudest moment. A man that I would describe as a gruff teddy bear (not because he was in a bear suit but because he was simultaneously gruff and yet comforting) told us we could stay as long as we needed to get better but then we needed to get the hell out. Having already messed up with the 'dress warm enough' direction I wanted to at least excel at the recovery so I thought warm thoughts.

My race was over. Of course, when your race is over on the ridge you still have to get back down to Gridley Bottom before you can catch a ride back to the starting line. So, 'over' still involved a 5.8 mile descent through some rocky and rooty technical trail. I started the descent in a group of four but we picked up more people as we descended. About 20 minutes in we were passed by some of the fast 100 milers who were heading back up from Gridley Bottom - still in the game. About 40 minutes later we were passed by them again as they headed back down - the race had been canceled.

In the end, I succeeded in my goals of surviving and of making friends with some ultra runners. I lost my head lamp - a faithful friend that brought me down off the mountain but didn't manage to make it back to the hotel. And, I gained one rainbow beanie which remained on my head even through 40 mph gusts. I covered 43.8 miles (which is the 2nd farthest I've gone in a single run) and had the time of my life.

First Blood

2011-03-11T16:13:00.000-08:00

On Saturday I went to the Santa Monica farmer's market. It was the first time I'd been in over 5 years. This is, of course, in spite of the fact that when I first moved to Santa Monica I was sure I'd go every Saturday.

In any case, I bought a lot of cheap and 'exotic' veggies. They weren't actually too exotic, but, they were a bit less standard than broccoli (a small squash, yellow carrots, turnips and bok choi). Josh had requested mixed veggies for dinner that night and I thought it would be fun to make a different mix.

For the most part, things went rather smoothly. Smoothly, that is, until I got to the squash. Squash has a hard outer shell. Squash also has a round outer shell. This makes 'outer shell' removal a bit tough.

I started with my trusty paring knife, but, it was not getting the job done. This is partly because a paring knife is not designed to remove the hard shell of a squash and partly because I have not sharpened my paring knife in quite some time.

This is the point in the story where I get the brilliant idea to try the small, serrated knife from my knife set. I thought some sawing action might make things easier. I also thought that since the knife had not been used at all it would still have it's factory sharpness and that would make things easier.

I was right on both counts. Not only was I able to get the shell off more quickly but I was able to 'saw' in a curve so I was losing less good squash.

Then, the knife slipped. Although the tip of the knife was moving in slow motion, my thumb was not fast enough to escape its clutches. I watched the knife start to slice through my thumb and did the only thing I could - I closed my eyes as tightly as possible.

"Oh....That's not good."

That's what I said as I clutched my thumb tightly inside my fist and rushed to the bathroom. I'd like to pretend my senses are so amazing and my apartment is so clean that I was able to get there with my eyes closed, but, I was peeking a bit. I'm not sure why I didn't just open my eyes fully, but, I couldn't. Perhaps I was afraid of seeing the wound - as if seeing that it was deep would make it need stitches rather than it just needing stitches because it was deep. In any case, I quickly walked to the bathroom through tightly shut but sort-of open eyes.

"What happened?" I could hear the alarm in Josh's voice in spite of my very calm "That's not good" followed by my blind rush to the bathroom.

"Ummm...may have cut my finger. No big deal."

Yep, no big deal. Except I still hadn't looked at the cut. I had no idea if it was gushing blood or shallower than a paper cut. I unclinched my fist long enough to wrap the thumb in toilet paper (still without looking) and then tightly clenched the thumb again.

"Let me see it."

"Nope."

"Let me see it."

"I can't. If you look at it, it will start hurting."

He tried to explain that's not how these things work. He's not as smart as he looks sometimes. This is EXACTLY how these things work. At least that's how they work for me.

"I'm going to go get a bandaid and some anti-bacterial wipes and then you're going to have to let me look at it.

I laughed. I knew I was being silly. "O.k. I know it's not bad. I just can't handle looking at these sorts of things. Cuts that is. If I had fallen and scraped my knee bad, I wouldn't have a problem. Cuts are different."

I figured I was settled enough to let him mess with things since I was able to joke about it.

That's when I started to feel very light headed. And I started sweating. And I got nauseous.

Really nauseous.

"I think I'm going to puke."

He laughed.

"No. I'm sorry. I wish I were joking. I think I'm going to puke."

"Oh...o.k. Do you want me here."

"No thanks. I can puke on my own."

He left and closed the door behind himself.

I kneeled over the toilet shaking violently.

I started heaving. One heave. Two heaves. Three heaves. Ha! Ha! Ha! (which only makes sense if you grew up watching the Count on Sesame Street).

I didn't actually throw up though. I just went through all the motions.

Then I laid on the bathroom floor trying to cool down.

The whole time my thumb was clutched tightly in my fist and my mind was pretending it wasn't part of the spectacle.

Seriously, Jessica? This is how you react to a tiny cut? I'm ashamed to know you.

I told my mind that didn't make sense since it was me. Then I wiped the cold sweat off of my face.

I got up and walked out of the bathroom. Josh commented on my color (which, was apparently a lovely shade of green) and asked if I was o.k.

I held my thumb out, looked away and told him to do his worst.

He looked at it, poked and prodded it, washed it out and bandaged it up. Other than when he was applying the antiseptic wipe, I didn't really feel anything.

"How bad was it?"

"A little bit deeper than a paper cut. It had already stopped bleeding by the time you let me see it."

The moral of this story? Don't bring me to a knife fight.

Speaking of knives, I suggested to Josh that we get rid of the one that cut me. He told me I was being vindictive.

"No I'm not. I know how these things go. Now that it's had a taste of human flesh....none of us are safe."

Needless to say, I was over-ruled and the knife is still there.....waiting!

Psalms 1 through 150

2010-07-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

I had a bit of a funny experience in church on Sunday.

The lesson in Sunday School was on the book of Psalms. One of the ladies (who must really, really like the book of Psalms) seemed to dominate the conversation (and that's being gentle).

I know she was trying to share, but, I'm not sure that speedily quoting the entire length of a long psalm, going so quickly that it's hard to understand what you're saying, actually invites the Spirit in. Honestly, for the life of me, I have no idea which Psalm she was quoting as she never stated it's number. She just started quoting it really quickly in the middle of the lesson.

Anyhow, while the presentation might not have been the best, I do think that it's cool that she has a favorite Psalm. Other than Psalm 23 I can't honestly claim to be familiar with any of the Psalms. Of course, I'm sure that I'd recognize them when I read them ("OH! Is that where that phrase comes from?") but I don't _know_ them.

So, I've decided to read (and perhaps even ponder and pray) Psalms 1 through 150 and determine which one is my favorite. I don't currently have any plans to memorize my newly crowned favorite as I'm not big on rote memorization, but, I will report back here on which one I've decided upon.

I think you guys should do the same. And, by 'you guys' I, of course, mean Lil and Mom since they are the only people that read this blog. Of course, if anyone else happens to be passing through and wants to do the same, I certainly won't mock your post....unless you pick Psalm 69 because, well, c'mon!

If Lil Cuts Her Hair.....I Cut My Hair!

2010-07-14T09:33:00.001-07:00

I've been wanting to spruce up my hair for a while now.

Lil's blog post about her haircut was exactly the impetus that I needed.

It's not exactly the best photo, but, what do you expect for a photo at the end of a work day taken on an iphone by a husband that is sick?

The cut was fairly simple. She just took the dead ends off my length, put in a little bit of layering to give it some 'motion' and then, of course, added the bangs.

I also had it colored because the washed out, sun-bleached, 3 different colors look just wasn't doing it for me anymore.

Interestingly enough, far more people have noticed the color than have noticed the bangs.

I'm hoping that the bangs do not annoy me when I'm all sweaty from running. Tomorrow morning will be my first run since the hair cut, so, I guess I'll know then. If it is problematic, I'll finally have a use for the Census 2010 sweatband that I got in my LA Marathon freebies bag.

I'm Officially an Elite Athlete

2010-07-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

That's right! I said, "I'm officially an elite athlete."

Bold words coming from someone whose fastest mile is 7 m 45 s?

Perhaps.

But, I do train alongside Olympic athletes, so, I must be elite myself.

That's how it works, right?

Here's the tale:

I was doing my speed work on the track at Santa Monica College (which they graciously open to the public, probably because the public paid for it since it was built for the L.A. Olympics).

Other than me, there was one other guy working out on the track. He stayed off to one side and was doing high leg sprints back and forth. There was another guy watching him that I assumed (and still assume) was his coach. I figured he was a member of the Santa Monica College track team and didn't give it another thought (except to make sure I stayed out of his way on my laps).

As I was packing up to leave, the people that had been working out on the football field (it's in the middle of the track) came over to the guy and started asking him if they could take a picture with him. One guy took off his shoe and asked the guy if he would sign it. He was very gracious about all of this and did not hesitate to sign the smelly track shoe.

I was done packing up and started to head back towards my bike. Someone else leaving at the same time saw one of his friends and said, "Dude, do you know who that is?" The guy didn't. I was hoping the first 'dude' would illuminate him so that I would also learn who the celebrity was. Luckily, he did. "Dude, it's Tyson Gay!!!!"

I had never heard that name so I Googled it as I walked to my bike. Apparently Tyson Gay is an Olympic level sprinter that is supposed to be the sprinter that has the best chance of beating Usain Bolt (who I have heard of, but only in the context of him being very fast and winning races).

So, there you have it.

I train with the man who may become the fastest sprinter in the world. I must be awesome!

Of course, his fastest 100m is 9.69 seconds and mine is 22.8 seconds, but, that's because I'm a distance runner.

Book 'Im, Danno. He's 181 Days Old!

2010-06-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

This is my nephew River (and Tsaggui! - who is not my nephew at all). The little bean was a few weeks old when this picture was taken in mid January.

As you can see he was adorable, tiny (though not for his age) and had a head full of fluffy hair.

As of today he's SIX MONTHS old!

So, what's different about being 6 months? Well, if you look closely at this picture you'll see that he's taller than his dad now. He's still got that same head of hair though it's thicker and fluffier. Oh yeah....he's also got more rolls than a bakery. That's a good thing at this age though.

I wish I could be there in person to give him a giant birthday pinch (followed by a birthday hug and birthday kiss), but I can't.

Instead I wore the "World's Best Aunt" shirt that I got from River as a gift. All day, when people have read it, I've taken the opportunity to tell them how awesome he is and that it's his half birthday.

I think I'll eat a slice of cake tonight in his honor.

The Most Wonderful Dad in the World

2010-06-22T13:04:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I had two separate people tell me that I should keep my blog more up to date so that they would know what's going on in my life. I'm assuming they think that there is more going on in my life than just eating cereal for breakfast, putting in 8-9 hours of work, eating cereal/pasta/chicken/etc for dinner, sleeping and running (not at the same time). I suppose they'd be right because I am also learning to play the piano and I watch Josh practice Kendo 2-3 times each week. That pretty much sums up my current (not-so-interesting) existence. Unfortunately for me, someone's big sister happens to update her blog regularly, so, it's making me look bad.

So, to avoid looking bad, to post something timely and also to avoid boring you with details of my life, I present to you a post about my dad, Hal (don't call me Harry) Fields a.k.a. The Most Wonderful Dad in the World.

* He's put in over 20 years with the same company to put food on his family's table as well as to demonstrate to his kids that work isn't always glamorous, but, it's a lot more fulfilling than mooching off of other people.

* He used to run really slowly so a very tiny girl could go jogging with her dad. 20 years later, he again ran really slowly so that a somewhat less tiny girl could run a marathon with her dad.

* He spent hours refreshing his knowledge of Chemistry, Algebra, Calculus and other subjects so that he would be able to help his kids learn the things that they weren't quite understanding in school.

* He looked the other way as various stray animals and people were brought into the home over the years which made for a much more interesting and fulfilling childhood.

* He mastered the art of making pancakes and tuna boats so there would always be something tasty to eat on the rare occasions that mom was out of town.

* He fixed cars, tvs, washers, dryers and other mechanical items around the house even though it was fairly obvious that he didn't exactly enjoy spending time on repairs.

* He flew ~2000 miles, TWICE, to give away 2 different daughters in marriage. In spite of the long journies to get there and the fact that he doesn't like dancing, he danced at both weddings (including a lively jig to Cotton-eyed Joe).

He is, The Most Wonderful Dad in the World.

Mobile Capitol

2010-04-16T09:35:00.001-07:00

Wow - aren't I the prolific writer. A post every 7 months isn't that bad, is it?

Today I was thinking that it would be useful for a country to have a mobile capitol. Or, perhaps more accurately a rotating capitol.

It wasn't practical at the time our capitol was set up, of course. By the time everyone got word that they were supposed to meet in Maryland instead of Delaware this year, they would already have needed to be there a month ago.

However, now, you can call/IM/fax/text/etc and within 6 hours a person can fly from anywhere in the country to anywhere else in the country (with the exceptions of Alaska and Hawaii, sorry guys).

What if, instead of having a fixed capitol we had a rotating capitol? This 4 years it's in Houston. Next 4 years it's in Fargo. Then it's in Kansas City. Then Los Angeles. Every one of these places have empty office spaces that can be rented for 4 years while Congress conducts its business.

The advantages, as I see it, are that our leaders will no longer be able to get comfortable in a single place or way of thinking. D.C. has become it's own gigantic thing with the entire city focusing on feeding (and feeding off of) the government that meets there. Long time politicians will no longer be able to ignore 'flyover' country or other areas that aren't their cup of tea because they may be living there in a few years.

Of course, there are drawbacks. Security for one. D.C. is used to being the capitol and an entire security mechanism is built up. If they moved the capitol around, new security procedures would have to be put into place. The 'little people' would also have to deal with the politicians more often. Sometimes it's nice that I only have to worry about seeing them on T.V. (and that can always be turned off).

Obviously this is the seed of an idea and not a fully formed plan. Still, I think it's worth considering.

Project 2,996 - Harry Blanding Jr.

2009-09-11T08:45:00.000-07:00

As part of Project 2,996 I agreed to post a memorial in my blog on 9/11 for one of the 2,996 people that lost their lives on September 11, 2001.

My apologies to Mr. Blanding and his family for any inaccuracies in this memorial. I have done my best to get things right and properly honor this man.

Harry Blanding, Jr.

Harry's biography is, I'm sure, similar to that of many of the other people that died on 9/11. It is remarkable precisely because of how ordinary and American it is. He's the guy that graduated high school (Middletown South Class of 1981), went on to college (William Paterson College in New Jersey), married his sweetheart (Debbie) and started a family (Hayley, Jay(?) and Benjamin(?)). On 9/11, he went to his job at a claims analys for Aon on the 92nd floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. He had made plans that day to have lunch with Tamika, a former coworker he hadn't seen in years. After the first plane hit, he called his wife and described what was happening. Then he told her had to go and he hung up. He was one of 176 Aon employees that didn't come home that day.

Harry left behind his wife Debbie and their three kids (ages 4, 2 and 1 at the time) and both of his parents Harry Sr. and Dorothy at least one sibling (Alex, his brother), a cat named Hugo and a dog named BJ. Although they knew he worked on the 92nd floor, his family initially held out hope that he would come home. On September 12, 2001 at 8:20pm, Debbie posted the following message on the Red Cross disaster site, "Harry Blanding!!!!!! We're looking for you!" Every time a car slowed in front of the house, they hoped it was Harry - that he had recovered from an injury-related amnesia and had returned home. His family never gave up on him and didn't accept his death until much later when his DNA was identified.

In all the comments I searched about Harry, the thing that almost everyone mentioned was his friendly smile. Some even referred to it as "that famous Harry smile". He was well known as an easy-going, fun guy. Friends and family talked of Harry helping them out of tough situations and being there for them when he was needed. He coached a little league football team even though his children were not old enough to play. He loved being a part of his community, helping children and working out. Little league seemed to satisfy all of that. He was also active in his church (Pleasant Valley Presbyterian). Many of his friends spoke of his faith and his commitment to his family and his values.

Staying fit was a large part of his life. He was 5'9" and a muscular 205lbs. He would wake up at 4:30am to head into Manhattan early so he could work out at the gym before work. He'd work out at home after work as well. Debbie said she would often joke around with her husband about working out so much. Harry always said, "When I'm 90 years old, I'm still going to be running 5 miles. I've got to stay in shape for the grandkids!".

On one site, I found posts from his daughter Hayley on a 9/11 memorial site . It looks like she posted them in 2005 and throughout 2006. She speaks of missing her father. Of celebrating another Christmas without him. One post mentions that people at school were being mean to her and that she wished he were there. Another speaks of a family taco night where she ate the first taco whole and then broke the second one into taco salad "just like you!!!". From Hayley I learned that her father was a fan of the New York Yankees and the New York Giants. She also talks of her brothers and upcoming birthday parties - evidence that life goes on, but never quite the same.

His children are now 13, 11 and 10.

This year Harry and Debbie would have celebrated their 17th wedding anniversary.

2009-06-16T17:36:00.001-07:00

These are dresses where I like the style or the idea of the dress (not necessarily every part of the dress, but, some of it) but it would require alterations. Or, we could take the picture of the dress to a seamstress and say "Make this, but with cute sleeves and no plunging neck/back lines."

Bridesmaids Dresses Under Consideration

2009-06-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

I like the style of these two dresses. The first one looks very Greek and the second one just strikes me as being very "Lil". Obviously, either one of them would require some altering to be up to church standards, but they'd both work for Lil and Bean.

Happy 10 Week Birthday, Bean!

2009-06-04T17:23:00.000-07:00

I know it's not official until tomorrow, but, the little Bean is finally 10 weeks old.

That means she's 25% of the way through her development!

In the past 7 days, she's increased in length 50% - growing from 1" long to 1.5" long.

Lil, you should be excited....I hear the mood swings start kicking in this week. ;)

Babies on the Mind

2009-05-04T11:40:00.000-07:00

So, there is a slight chance that I'm more obsessed with babies and pregnancy now than my sister who's actually pregnant.

Now, I'm guessing that's not actually the case, seeing as Lil and Bear have been trying to get pregnant for about 2 years (I'm under the impression 'trying' involves frequent trips to cabbage patches to see if they could find a baby....). Still, it's been on my mind a lot. I keep going to websites to see how far along in development the baby is and to calculate the baby's/babies' due date.

Firstly, pregnancy junk is very confusing because different people are using different scales. Apparently, the most common "how far along are you' calculations start 2 weeks after your last period. In other words, on day one, the first day you're actually pregnant, you are technically 2 weeks into your 40 week pregnancy. Does that make sense to you? Doesn't this mean that someone like me who is not pregnant at all is, by this scale, pregnant 2 weeks out of every month? I know that's being a little facetious, but, it's annoying to put in a conception date of April 9th and have it tell you that your sister is 5 weeks pregnant when you can clearly count 26 days from April 9th - and, unless they changed the definition of a week, 26 days does not 5 weeks make.

Anyhow, I finally figured out that the pregnancy calculators add in that 2 weeks at the beginning but the 'how far along is your baby' information counts from the day of conception. At least, I think that's how it works.

Then, I found a nifty widget to go on my blog that handles all the thinking for me. The downside is that it says "We're having a baby". My options were "We're" or "I'm". Neither one of those is great, but, I figure it would be very 'hand that rocks the cradle-ish" if I went around saying I'm having a baby, so, "we're" it is. If it gave me the option, it would have said, "Lil and Bear are Having a Baby" as that's the truth of the matter, but, that wasn't an option and my attempts to edit the code on the HTML level were not successful.

The widget is cool. It has a countdown to the due date (which is neat, of course). Even cooler is the fact that it has a 3-d image of the baby at it's current stage of development. If you click on the image, it takes you to a page with more detailed information. Apparently, right now, the baby/babies are about the size of a poppy seed. Think about that when you're munching on your poppy seed bagel tomorrow morning!

Sometime this week, little tiny baby ears & eyes will begin to form. So, if you have any cussing you need to get out of your system, do it now. After this week, 'they' will be listening to everything you do and say. Don't F-it up!

Aunt Jessica

2009-04-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

I found out yesterday that I'm going to be an aunt.

After two years of trying (and, no, I don't want to know what that entails), my sister Lil and her husband Bear are going to be having a baby.

I've been trying to figure out how old the little bean is, but I'm not entirely sure how this works. I found the following information:

Day 1 - conception takes place.
7 days - tiny human implants in mother’s uterus.
10 days - mother’s menses stop.
18 days - heart begins to beat.
21 days - pumps own blood through separate closed circulatory system with own blood type.

If you take the pregnancy test because you missed your period, that would mean that the baby is at least 10 days old, right? It could also mean that the baby is a bit older than that too...I think.

In any case, sometime in the next two weeks, my very first niece or nephew (or nieces or nephews or niece and nephew) will experience the very first beats of his/her/their tiny little hearts.

Then they're going to grow some feet and start kicking to enact the revenge their grandmom has long hope for!

I've Never Cared for Tea

2009-04-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

I took the time this past Wednesday April 15th (well, it was 'this past Wednesday' when I first started this post) to participate in a Tax Day Tea Party held on the pier in Santa Monica. Santa Monica, affectionately known as "The People's Republic of Santa Monica" in Conservative circles is not well-known for having a large population of small government fiscal conservatives. Really, it's not known for having many conservatives at all, due to the 'friendliness' of the local variety of 'progressive' that thinks that vandalism of your car is an appropriate response to a McCain/Palin bumper sticker and that getting you fired is the best way to deal with your support for something like Proposition 8 that they disagree with. Top that off with the unseasonably cold weather (only 68 degrees!) and the ridiculously strong wind (about 20 knots) I did not expect to see much of a turnout. Given the circumstances, I was pleasantly surprised that 300-400 folks showed up to protest the way our politicians (of all stripes) squander our money.This protest didn't seem to be as well organized as some of the other ones that people I know attended. There was no one scheduled to give a speech. Things certainly weren't being planned or directed from anyone on high. The main organizer was a guy whose big issue is getting rid of the Federal Reserve. His big organizational tool was the website MeetUp.com. I only found out about the Santa Monica protest by doing a specific Google search for "tax day tea party protest santa monica". Beyond the MeetUp.com posting, there was no advertising or press regarding the protest. I'm sure this depressed the attendance a bit as only people already aware of the protests were going to do such a specific search to find one near them. The reality of the lack of organization involved makes it especially funny every time I read a writeup about the Tea Parties that mentions how they are centrally organized and funded by 'right-wing billionaires'. I've yet to figure out if the people saying those things truly believe what they are saying or if it is simply a tactic they are using to discredit the movement (small as it is) regardless of whether or not what they are saying is true.

I had trouble deciding which statement I most wanted to make, so, I ended up making three signs for the event. I figured that there would be people there that hadn't brought signs and I could give my other two to them. The first sign I made (and the one I carried during the event) said "Justice? 20% of Earners PAY 80% of Taxes". For quite some time, the people in this country that are for wealth redistribution have couched their rhetoric in terms of "Social Justice". Fiscal conservatives (yes, in spite of the GOP's out of control spending the past 8 years, fiscal conservatives do still exist), Libertarians and other people that believe in property rights have allowed them to make the 'higher moral ground' argument while we are stuck with less sexy (but, I believe, more well founded) arguments based around property rights and whether or not handouts have the effect that the people inacting them intended. I'd like to see Conservatives begin to fight back directly against that "high moral ground" argument as I don't think there's any justice in taking the fruits of one man's labor to give it to another man. Where I come from, that sort of thing is called stealing. Unfortunately, I don't think my sign did the best job of getting that message across, still, for a first attempt, I'm not too unhappy with it.

My other two signs were a bit more straight forward. One said, "My Congressman Went to DC and All I Got was Crushing Debt". It is meant to mimic those "Somebody who loves me went to [some fun place] and Got Me this Shirt" t-shirts that people are always buying for children. My other sign got a lot of comments (passed alo ng to me by the guy that ended up holding it). It said, "Congress I am NOT your ATM". I chose to focus on Congress quite simply because they are the ones that make tax laws as well as spending bills. While the President does submit a desired budget, it's Congress' duty to decide how tax money will and won't be spent and how that tax money will be collected (a flat tax for everyone, a nationwide sales tax, a graduated tax with a high rate of 10%, a graduated tax with a high rate of 39%, etc). Of course, a President can veto a spending bill, but it seems to be a rare thing for that to ever happen and I don't see the point in taking President Obama to task for something other Presidents rarely do. Would it be great to see him decide that deeper debt is not the solution to a problem created by debt? Absolutely! But, ultimately, it's Congress that makes the call and Congress that needs to be held accountable for the mess they've created.

We did have some party crashers show up. Four ladies from code pink arrived in a bubblegum pink PT Cruiser (sorry, Mom, your car is still cool). For all of you out there with that sick feeling in the pits of your stomachs, you (and your dinners) can rest easy - they kept their shirts on the whole time. They came and stood directly next to me with a sign made of a pink sheet with black electrical tape which said "Human Needs Not Corporate Greed". I'm not sure what it is about the fair children of the 60's, but, they seem to think that a slogan just isn't a slogan unless it rhymes. That's not entirely true, they do have 'Make Love, Not War". I suppose the formula is a slogan must either rhyme or promote sex in some fashion. In any case, they tried to crowd me out but I was in a fightin' mood so I stepped back in front of them (as did the other woman the were crowding). A man in a business suit attempted to engage them in a dialogue but it was fairly clear that he was too agitated at them because of who they were and they were too interested in yelling at him for money being spent on the wars for any actu al discussion to take place. Whether or not it was intentional, they had brought the 'seeds of discontent' with them and were turning an otherwise jovial atmosphere into a frustrated atmosphere. I was a bit annoyed at them for this and my cattiness got the best of me (being sweet is not something those who know me have ever accused me of) and I told the man, "Sir, I wouldn't worry about them too much. They're just feeling left out because no one comes to their protests anymore so now they've got to crash ours." It certainly wasn't a nice thing to say, but, it did seem to stop the argument and we went back to waving signs at the passing cars. The Code Pink ladies were no longer getting attention in our group, so they moved on. You can tell how serious they were about trying to get their message out there (as opposed to getting more air time) since they moved across the street and set up right in front of the TV crew vans....with their banners pointed AWAY from the street....towards the vans. *sigh* You can sort of make them out in the photo to the right of the white van....a little splash of pink. Well, we may not be as media savvy as them, but we certainly weren't going to give them free reign to frame our protest the way they chose, so, within minutes, that corner was also filled with Tea Partiers. For a while I was feeling a bit bad about that...I thought, if they're really interested in protesting taxes, regardless of their thoughts on other items, that's something we can agree on. Then I remembered that, on their own website, they called for Code Pink members to "crash" the Tea Party in Santa Monica because the parties were "all about getting less funding for government. Let’s show up with a better message: STOP funding wars and Wall Street, and start funding the needs of the people– health care, education, and a green economy. Join us as we crash their party." In other words, they weren't with us on this one either. They don't want lower taxes and less government spending...they want the same or more money to be spent, just on different things. I hope I'm not the only one that finds it at least a bit funny that one of the things they were upset abou t was spending on Defense considering that's one of the few things that the Federal government spends money on that is Constitutionally mandated to the Feds. I'm sure that a savvier Code Pink member would bust out the General Welfare clause and use it to justify government spending on pretty much any and every social program they can dream up. However, given that the Founders specifically rebutted that interpretation of the General Welfare clause in the Federalist Papers, I think it's safe to say that it was not intended for those purposes.

As for the rest of the protest, well, you can tell that we were an un ruly mob by looking at the photo of the concerned police officers. The main thing they had to do was remind people to stay on the sidewalk. Occasionally, someone would step off the sidewalk into the bus lane in order to take pictures, but, a friendly reminder from the cops and everything was once again on the up and up. As I mentioned above, my tea party was fairly easy going. Most of the people driving by either ignored us or honked in support. I know that there's a joke about people always thinking that folks honking are honking in support rather than honking because they think you're an idiot, and, I can't say for certain they were supporting us, but, they were also grinning, waving, and giving us thumbs up, so, I'm fairly certain most of them were on our side. Hopefully next time they'll be at our side rather than just on our side! Not everyone who drove by approved, of course. We did get flipped off by one old black woman and two middle aged white women. One chick in her mid-twenties, covered in peircings and wearing lots of black eye liner so you know she was emotional and 'deep' did feel the need to yell "F^#K all of you! I hope you all....." I don't know what the end of that thought was because the light turned green right as she started screaming and the guy driving took off asap. One thing I learned is that men (at least the men that were driving by) seemed to be much more tolerant (or at least able to stifle their anger) than the women driving by. Not a single man yelled or gestured in anger though I'm sure there were plenty that drove by that disagreed. Speaking of men, one Gary Busey drove by in a Lexus honking and giving us the thumbs up sign. I don't know if he hates taxes or loves parties (or both), but it was nice to see his big toothy grin flashing in our direction. If you've got Gary Busey on your side....well....you've got the biggest teeth in show business on your side. And, in show business, that's all you need.

All in all, it was a good experience, but, I don't think it accomplished much. This is not to say that it doesn't have the potential to accomplish more, but, right now, I think the result has been more street theater than anything else. Here's what I'd like to see happen:

1) Unify around a single issue - I'm not saying the tax issue doesn't have multiple facets that you can bring out in the protest, but, I am saying that the side issues need to be left to a different forum for now. I get that you think the Federal Reserve was created by Satan. I agree with you that abortion is murder. I don't think a lot of Obama's decisions are that great either. Guess what?!? Tea Parties aren't the place for it. Focus on the amount of money Congress is spending, what they're spending it on and whether or not that is something the government should be spending money on in the first place. Everything else is just a distraction.

2) Have a plan - occasional protests are nice, but, they aren't going to affect any change. This may not have been the case at other Tea Parties, but, at least at the one in Santa Monica, no one really seemed to have a plan for what to do next. The people involved should focus on local issues and candidates as that's where you have the opportunity to have the greatest impact. We can't say that we believe in Federalism and then ignore every election except the one for President. Run for offices like City Council and School Board Member. Find and support candidates for State Legislatures that share your fiscal outlooks. These people serving in the local offices are gaining experience to serve in state/nationwide offices in the coming years. If we get fiscal conservatives elected locally, we'll have a larger group of experienced fiscal conservatives to run nationally.

3) I don't really have a three, but, I don't like lists of two.

Flying and Fish (But Not Flying Fish)

2009-03-31T13:48:00.000-07:00

I flew to a new airport today. Well, the airport's quite old, but it was a new experience for me.

It's Pacoima-Whiteman Airport (almost every airport has a hyphenated name) but everyone calls it Whiteman. This throws me off because it always makes me think of Whiteman Air Force base (which is in Missouri). Since I know the base I'm thinking of is in Missouri, I start to think that I must have Edwards Air Force base and Whiteman confused and that it must be Edwards in Missouri and Whiteman in California. But, I know that the one in California is far away from LA, so I think I'm flying really far.

Here's the reality:

Whiteman is an AF base in Missouri.
Edwards is an AF base in California.
Neither on of them is an airport that allows civilian general aviation aircraft to land.
Pacoima-Whiteman is often called Whiteman and is a small airport inside of Burbank Airport's airspace.
The fact that it's fully engulfed in Burbank's airspace makes it a giant pain the butt for me to fly.

Still, I got experience at a new airport and, one of these days, I might have enough confidence to leave the Santa Monica area in a plane by myself (but not today).

As for fish, Mr. Bubbles has not been doing a good job of keeping his tank algae free. I told him he'd end up with a roommate if he didn't keep his tank clean, but, I really don't want to torture him like that. He's a solitary fish and he likes it that way. I wouldn't want another fish to take his favorite hiding space (in his log) or steal his food from him.

I suppose I could do what I'm supposed to do which is change out 1/3 of the water every 2-3 weeks, but, like Mr. Bubbles, I'm lazy.

Third Option: Accept that algae is a plant and welcome it with open arms into my tank.

Problem solved!

Blog Confusion

2009-03-25T14:32:00.000-07:00

If you've been here before (which not many have), you've probably noticed that the layout changed.

Apparently, there was something wrong with the way I set up my previous layout and, suddenly, I had ugly notices from photobucket all over a messed up blog layout telling me that I'd exceeded my bandwidth and that I needed to upgrade.

I'm not sure what it all means, so, in the short term, I'm just going to revert to one of Bloggers' free layouts so my blog is readable and I'll figure out what to do later.

Crash! Boom! Kapow!

2009-03-25T14:01:00.000-07:00

Last December (December 6, my parents' 34th anniversary, in fact) Josh and I were in an accident on the 405.

We were on our way home after going to his parents' house to watch the USC/UCLA football game. We were in the far left 'fast' lane going about 60 when the car in front of us dove into the right lane. The reason? An old woman's tire had gone flat and she had stopped her car in the fast lane and not put on any emergency lights (or even her brake lights) to warn people. We couldn't swerve to the right because there was another car there, but Josh was able to get the car stopped since he always leaves plenty of space between our car and the car in front of us.

There were, what seemed like 2-3 seconds but were most likely a few milliseconds, where I remember hearing the squeal of brakes, looking into the mirror on the passenger's side at quickly approaching headlights and chanting, "Please don't hit us from behind...please don't hit us from behind."

I'm always nervous when we have to stop quickly in traffic (which is much more often than you might think on CA freeways). Josh gets frustrated because he thinks I'm worried he'll hit the car in front of us. In fact, my fear was always that someone else that was following a little more closely than he does, driving a little more quickly than he does, or paying a little less attention than he does would not react in time. For a good five years, we were lucky.

Not this time.

We were rear ended by a large SUV that had managed to slow down to about 45 mph by the time they slammed into us. Josh saw it coming and started pumping the brakes to get the car stopped again which was no small effort as our little Saturn was now stopping itself, the large SUV, the Nissan sedan that rear ended the SUV and the mid-sized car that rear ended the Nissan. He was still able to stop the whole pile of twisted metal before we hit the old lady's car which was great as she was out of car, standing between our car and hers, looking at her flat tire.

The Saturn was a little trooper and crushed up nicely around us but left both of us without a scratch. It's a bit surreal to stand on the shoulder of the freeway and listen to two highway patrolmen discussing how it's a miracle that there were no major injuries or fatalities while they look at the wreckage of the car you were just in.

Anyhow, I was finally able to snap a picture of it before the charity came to pick it up and I thought I'd post it here.

Farewell, little buddy. You did a great job taking us camping, taking us to the beach, and, most importantly, keeping us safe.

Friday Grab Bag

2009-03-20T10:59:00.000-07:00

A couple night ago, I had a dream about President Obama. Not the creepy dreams that the middle-aged women are having about him leaving his wife and hooking up with them. It was actually a hybrid of a work dream and an Obama dream.

In the dream, it was the present time and I was at work talking to my boss. I told him that I had a vague memory that we had interviewed Obama for a job a few months earlier and I asked him if it really happened. He said that we had indeed interviewed him for an account manager position back in September. I was extremely confused at this since the guy was running for president at the time, it seemed unlikely that he'd be trying to get a job at our company. My boss agreed that it didn't really make sense and said that he hadn't been a good fit for the job, so it's a good thing he won the election.

When I woke up, it still seemed so real that I was a bit confused. I knew that it was completely ridiculous to think he took time off from the campaign to apply for a job in SEM, but it still seemed real. Then my head cleared up and I realized it was all just a dream.

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There is a controversy brewing over the upcoming Disney cartoon "The Princess and the Frog". The cartoon features Disney's first black princess (Princess Tiana) but, apparently, the prince (Prince Naveen) isn't dark enough to please the masses. Many people are complaining that he's white (I guess, for these people, mixed race couples are a bad thing). I personally think he looks more olive-skinned/middle eastern.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1162718/Disney-feature-black-princess--critics-complain-falls-love-WHITE-prince.html

It might seem like they're just hopping on the whole "First African-American President" bandwagon (and the article does make it seem that way), but, Disney animated films are planned years in advance. They began this one in 2006 which wasn't exactly pre-Obama but was during the time that a Hillary Clinton presidency was considered inevitable. If they were pandering, they'd have done "The first Disney princess that only wears pant suits".

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I haven't watched television in about 2 weeks.

Normally this would be a good thing. In this case though, it's because I signed up for Netflix. We were spending more per month on movie rentals than what Netflix costs, so we figured we might as well try it. What's killing us is the older t.v. shows and movies that we can instantly stream.

I've spent the last couple weeks watching Season 1 of Dead Like me and catching up on Discovery Channel specials like "Engineering an Empire". It's been great.

On the other hand, I miss the fact that we watched less t.v. when the picture was all blurry.

2009-03-11T17:45:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/11/world/europe/11castrate.html?pagewanted=all) about a debate currently happening in Europe regarding castration for sexual predators and came across the following quote:

Whether castration can help rehabilitate violent sex offenders has come under new scrutiny after the Council of Europe’s anti-torture committee last month called surgical castration “invasive, irreversible and mutilating” and demanded that the Czech Republic stop offering the procedure to violent sex offenders. Other critics said that castration threatened to lead society down a dangerous road toward eugenics.

I wonder if the Council of Europe's anti-torture committee considers voluntary sex changes to be "invasive, irreversible and mutilating" as well? I won't even touch the inherent contradiction in their fear that voluntary castration can lead to eugenics at the same time that they embrace abortion as a "reproductive right".

Welcome to the Blog

2009-03-02T16:26:00.000-08:00

I've been reading my sister's blog for a little over a year now and have been impressed with (and jealous of) her ability to write meaningful posts on a regular basis.

I have no delusions that I will be able to keep pace with that on my own blog.

Still, it seems like a nice way to let people know what's been going on in your life and post things that have been on your (my?) mind - so, why not. After all, starting a blog is completely free...that's why all the great blog names were scooped up years ago and consist of one (and only one) post that simply says, "Testing". Luckily, Lil is awesome at naming things so she was able to find a cool name that hadn't been taken yet. Well, it's been claimed now, so, for all those that come after me looking for their cool blog name, "Nyahhhh nyahhhh nyahhh".

Now's as good a time as any to mention 'the rules'. At times, I might post an opinion that you disagree with, (whether it be something silly like the best flavor of ice cream - ROCKY ROAD - or something of a political/philosophical nature - the heavy stuff). Feel free to point out where you think I'm wrong. I'm more than happy to look at the other side of things (or the other sides....don't want to be accused of any false bifurcations here); however, I'd appreciate it if you did it in a rational manner. There's no need to 'scream' at me and tell me I'm an idiot. Even if we ignore that it's an ad hominem and adds nothing to the conversation, the fact is that I don't deal well with angry, unreasonable people (I'm also not great with angry, reasonable people, but they're a bit better). I'd love to have an intelligent discussion on anything posted here but am not looking to get preached at or beaten over the head with anything.

On the other hand, if you agree with me, you should feel free to tell me how awesomely smart I am. (Kidding! Of course).

That's pretty much it for the rules.

I look forward to seeing you around!