Categories
Just Shelley

Just a simple Sunday drive

Today was an odd day. It was cold, hovering in the low 20’s (that’s F for the C among us). It was also snowing but too cold and too dry for the snow to stick. Instead, light fluffy flakes of white were falling all day but the streets were bare. The sun would even pop out among the clouds every once in a while.

I decided to drive to my river spot to see how high the river was, forgetting that today is Sunday, and Watson Road–what used to be old Route 66–is always a mess on Sundays. Monday through Saturday, drivers will move right along at 45-50MPH, which is about 5-10 miles over the speed limit. Come Sunday, though, and traffic just crawls along. This has driven me crazy for the entire time I’ve been here in St. Louis. Every Sunday, sure as bugs in August, every driver on the road, but me, is moving at or below the speed limit.

However, I’ve finally figured out the reason for it. Church.

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You see most people in our area are Christians and go to church every Sunday morning. I figured the rest of the day, then, they’re in this state of godliness that, among other things, alters their normal behavior. If you go into a store on Sunday, you’ll be greeted with a benevolent smile by everyone you pass. If you go to the parks, adults and children play happily together with nary a squabble. Even the dogs running out with their humans seem on at their best, keeping to the business of running rather than marking every static item in their path.

The drivers, then, are just following this ambiance of godly goodness. This means no honking, no rude passing going at a higher speed, or running a light without even a hint of amber color. And especially, no breaking the speed limit.

Luckily everyone seems to be able to scrape off this godliness come Monday morning or I’d have to move to a more sinful city. Like Washington DC.

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At the park I sat with the window open and the cold air blowing in, watching the water flow past. Though not a walk, it was close enough to restore my equanimity disrupted by nefarious digital forces and various other Things that always seemed to come from my computer.

The river was fairly high and moving fast, but nothing that I hadn’t photographed before. However, the cliffs surrounding the park had small icicles hanging from every crack and crevice so I was able to get some photos.

Coming home I remembered this time to drive in the right lane not the left and thus avoid the pothole from Hell, otherwise known as Destroyer of Cars. Another side effect of the odd warm/cold weather that can occur in St. Louis in the winter is potholes that can seriously intimidate even SUVs. However, none are as bad as Destroyer and as you approach it, you’ll see car after car swerving to the right to avoid it.

If you forget though, and are driving along lost in revery, a bone crunching jar will be your reward. I really need to take my car in for it’s 30,000 mile service. It hit Destroyer twice last week, and hasn’t been normal since.

It was nice to get out today. Cold, though, and dry. I was glad to have my nice insulated nylon winter coat on when I walked from the car to the townhouse. It was also nice to open the door to the townhouse, to feel the warmth rush out. My cat, Zoe, also rushed up to greet me and I reached down to give her a stroke.

*ZAP!*

I’m sure Zoe will be just fine in an hour. Or two.

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Categories
Just Shelley

Necessity

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I was supposed to be on crutches this week, but couldn’t afford them so am using my hiking stick to lean on. I was supposed to not put weight on my one foot, but I have to get up and down the stairs to get food and water, so I don’t have a lot of choice.

I am not supposed to wear my shoes for a while, but I have to go to the store today. And maybe while I’m out I’ll even go to my favorite river spot, look at the water, and listen to music.

I am injured and therefore have certain rights, such as being able to stay in bed and have a loved one wait on me, bringing me soup, fluffing my pillow, and telling me ‘poor baby’ at frequent intervals. (Properly appalled looks at the bruising on the foot and leg are also appropriate behavior in said loved one.)

But I don’t have the luxury of a loved one to care for me in my injured state. Necessity is forcing me into assessing my injuries from the fall last week, deciding which pain really isn’t endurable, and which one can I live with. Doing so, I’m finding that taking away the state of ‘being injured’ takes away some – not all, but enough – of the effects of being injured. And I get by.

In a way, the hacker last night, with his deliberate attack on me – not generic blogger me, but me – was an injury, and my first reaction was to pull back and just say, no, not playing any more.

But if I really wasn’t playing anymore, I wouldn’t do anything differently today then what I did yesterday. Turning off comments this morning, was about equivalent to me staying in bed and getting lost in the nice purpleness of my foot. Being a victim.

So I’m turning comments back on. But I am taking no measure that I wasn’t going to take yesterday anyway before the attack. A little tweak here, a simple little tweak there. Some good precautions, but no extraordinary measures – that’s just as much a dancing to the tune of the beast as turning off the comments.

So comments back on – and if the crapflooder takes down the weblog, so be it. I’ll survive. You’ll survive. All god’s chillen will survive.

And maybe I’ll even bring back a photo from the river for you.

Categories
Political

Reacting against symbols

This last week Dean Landsman wrote about a business meeting with a person, a long-time associate and friend, who during a heated discussion resorted to religious epithets. Dean wrote:

What shook me was the attitude as much as the epithets. I haven’t dealt with this sort of bigotry in over thirty years. And all this time, the nearly ten years I’ve been jovially interacting with this fellow (sending ribald or funny e-mails, sharing jokes, hanging out at professional meetings, and so forth) this was never even near the surface.

Calmly sitting at my desk and looking out at a pleasantly sunny day, it’s easy to wrap my mind around the complexities of the world we live in and to be able to see beyond the angers to a the core of what we can be. Yes this person said this, but here’s why. And yes this person did this, but there’s more to the story than first appears.

However, when faced with troubling times, when filled with doubt, fear, or uncertainty, our minds seem to shut down our ability to differentiate between stereotypes and reality, between symbols and people. Dean’s associate’s stress leads him to focus not on the deal, not on Dean, the man he knows, but on symbols associated with Dean – reducing the situation to a primitive state and then reacting based on this. To Dean’s horror and, understandable, confusion and hurt.

Yesterday, Israel’s ambassador to Sweden experienced a reaction similar to Dean’s associate – shocked at an art exhibit featuring a photo of a Palestinian suicide bomber in a pool of blood red water, at a conference on genocide, he reacted by throwing an exhibit spotlight into the water, temporarily damaging the exhibit.

His reasons for doing so was that he considered the exhibit a glorification of the suicide bomber in defiance of the pain of the families of the dead victims of the attack. However, according to text associated with the exhibit, the art didn’t seek to glorify the actions of the bomber; rather it sought to open the doors to a discussion about why acts such as this happen. You don’t have to condone these acts in order to want to understand them, and hopefully, find a permanent and peaceful end to them.

Unfortunately, the artist used a symbol almost guaranteed to generate reaction. But then, that’s what artists do, agree or no.

It doesn’t end by destroying art, but begins by not reacting violently to symbols. It begins by not reacting, and that’s not always easy. Or as Dean wrote:

I have decisions to make as a result of this. I will take my time, consider my options, and come to my course of action after some deliberation. At this moment the thought is to complete the one deal, and never associate with this fellow again. But it isn’t that easy.

Its never that easy. Broad strokes don’t do the job, that’s just talk and showboating.

In real life there are harder choices.

Categories
Political

Why I won’t pester the folks next door

You may or may not know that I live in Missouri. What you also may, or may not know, is that Missouri is right next door to Iowa, the state currently with a big red bullseye painted on it because of the Democratic Caucus this coming Monday.

I’ve been reading about folks heading to Iowa in order to get people out to support their candidate. In particular, now that the candidacy for Democratic nomination isn’t as clearly defined, the effort expended on Iowa, and I can only imagine, New Hampshire must be overwhelming to the folks that live there.

I thought about going to Iowa to attend one of the caucus meetings; outsiders can attend they just can’t participate. I thought about taking photos, interviewing folks and publishing my views of the meetings – being on the scene and reporting all that’s happening.

And then I woke up from my dream that I was employed by the New York Times.

Contrary to my earlier views on the matter, I’m rather pleased that there is such a contest going into the primaries: he who ends up on top of this heap will have honed whatever political weapons he has by the time he survives to make it to the Democratic candidate position. Where once I supported Dean, now I’ll support whoever survives. If it’s Dean, well great. If it isn’t Dean? Well, that’s just great, too. I want a strong candidate heading into the general election, running against Bush – not one that limps into the candidacy.

I think all of the top Democratic candidates now are decent people who will go into office, make mistakes, learn from them, and go on. None will run from a fight if forced on us, but none will seek one out. And none will discard entire segments of this country in order to support corporate interests. We’ll get back our air and our water, and maybe even a little of our dignity. Whoever will follow Bush will walk into a mess, but I think all the major candidates will deal with it the best they can.

When I vote in Missouri’s Democratic primary, I’ll vote for one person – but all the candidates have my support until we have only one.

One person, one party, one purpose.