Monthly Archives: August 2012

August 18, 2012 · 0:00

Give ‘Em Hell, Henry!

He’s been a hero of mine for more than thirty years.  A short little guy who I’m pretty sure was bald in high school.  But over the years I’ve watched him fight.  He’s fought tirelessly for a cleaner environment, a safer world, and for all kinds of tools, programs and systems to help improve the health of Americans.

I’m speaking of course of Representative Henry Waxman (D-CA), past and future Chairman, currently Ranking Minority Member (head Democrat) of the House Energy and Commerce Committee.

Representative Henry Waxman (D-CA) (Roll Call photo credit)

Energy and Commerce isn’t just any crummy old Committee.  Nope.  E&C has jurisdiction over a zillion things that touch our lives.  Energy (fossil fuels, wind, solar, alternatives), environmental issues (Clean water, clean air, pollution controls on cars and trucks), interstate commerce, the internets (Al Gore was on E&C when he really was instrumental in the start of what became the World Wide Web.  So he is actually the father of all blogs, too — thanks Al).  E&C is a seriously powerful committee.  And when I was a young professional, well, I was an Energy and Commerce Committee groupie.  More about that some other time.

Early on, Henry became my hero.  And not just because he is incredibly funny.  He’s also incredibly smart and quite crafty.  Isn’t it nice to know that sometimes heroes just keep on keepin’ on?  Henry?  Congressman Waxman?  Yup.  He’s like that.  He’s still my hero.  He doesn’t disappoint.

You see, today I read that he, along with Rep. Frank Pallone, Jr. (D-NJ), Ranking Member of the Health Subcommittee, released a treasure trove of information to help Americans sort stuff out for November’s election.  But it’s simple, clear, and easy to use.  That is especially helpful, don’t you think?  You’ve got to admit that all of these Medicare/Social Security/Vaginal issues are getting confusing.

But now, now thanks to Henry, now we can sort out just what the Ryan plan will mean closer to home.  Because they just released a compilation of what the Ryan Plan will mean in each and every congressional district in the United States.  These were put together by an assortment of independent, government and academic thinkers who have analyzed the Paul Ryan Medicare Changes to see what it will mean to you and me.  Yup, everybody can now see just exactly what GOP Candidate for Vice President Paul Ryan’s Medicare plan will mean to them and the people in their own little congressional districts.  As in right here at home.

The Paul Ryan Medicare Plan; How will it affect your district?


So go ahead.  Check it out.  Click on it.  It took me forever to figure out how to do that, too.  Humor me.  What would these changes mean in your district? In your life?

My thanks to Joan McCarter of Dailykos.com for her post (http://www.dailykos.com/story/2012/08/18/1120987/-House-Democrats-spell-out-Medicare-Medicaid-impact-of-Romney-Ryan-plan).

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August 16, 2012 · 0:00

Hot Diggity Dog!

I grew up poor and white on the Gold Coast of Connecticut in Fairfield County.  Yes, I grew up surrounded by beautiful mansions of the very rich.  My family?  We were really poor.  One bathroom, share-a-bedroom poor.  No heat those first few winters-poor.  Clothes that weren’t hand-me-downs were bought at Barkers, the local discount department store.  Way before saving money and Targét became cool.  Barkers was decidedly not cool.

The Gold Coast. That house on the left behind the trees has a ballroom. Literally. They held Cinderella balls there. Or Gatsby balls. They didn’t invite this guttersnipe, though.

We never complained.  Not that we didn’t want to, but it did no good.  Once, my sister Judy complained:

“None of my friends have to buy their Easter dresses at Barkers,” she began to whine.  She stopped when she saw that Dad had overheard her.  She knew what was coming.  So did I.

“Well,” said Dad, “you’ve never gone to bed hungry, have you?”

Judy and I exchanged looks.  It was coming.  The hot dog story.  That was the reason we never moaned aloud about our penury.  We knew we’d have to hear the hot dog story.  Again. And we’d have to figure out what “penury” meant.

“When I was your age,” Dad continued,  (Judy and I tried not to look bored)   “When I was your age,” he repeated, “the Depression was on.  My Dad, your grandfather, who built some of the houses around here, couldn’t find work.  No one was building.  No one was hiring.  No one was paying for anything.  No matter how hard anyone was willing to work, there was no work.  No way to feed the family.”

“There were seven of us.  And I remember being hungry.  Going to bed with an empty stomach because I made sure that my mother would have half of my share.  Whatever we had.  One night I remember I had to go to the store to get two hot dogs.  That night, there were two hot dogs and some beans for dinner.  And that was a feast.  For seven of us.”

The story never had the impact on us that Dad intended.  It made us roll our eyes.  It made us certain that he was exaggerating.  It made us feel embarrassed that he was even more poor then than we were now.

Of course we didn’t go to bed hungry.  We lived in America.  Duh!   Kids don’t go to bed hungry here!  Jezum Crow!

But you know, our friends were oblivious to the idea that there were things that folks like us couldn’t afford.  They didn’t understand why we weren’t jetting off to the Caribbean or to Europe or to Disney the way they did.  They didn’t understand that we couldn’t be in the school play because we couldn’t afford the special (very expensive) skirts that became the von Trapp children’s outfits that were supposed to come from Maria’s drapes.  That we couldn’t even bear to ask our parents for it.

Lack of money was something that our friends simply had never experienced.  They weren’t intentionally callous, they just didn’t get it. It was like trying to explain music to a someone who had never been able to hear.  Possible, but challenging. And it took a lot of work.

Now I tell you this story so you know that I have been surrounded by rich people.  So I’m familiar with just how completely oblivious folks can be if they have never had to live on nothing more than two hot dogs and some beans.

Today, I would give anything to have Dad deliver his hot dog lecture.  And I know just who needs to hear it.

You see, today I read an interesting article about Ann and Mitt Romney, and how poor they once were.  Yes, it’s true.  Mitt and Ann were once poor. Ann said so in an interview in 1994!

I was astonished.  Aghast.  I wished I had a couple of hot dogs to offer them. (Sadly, they now have a “no dogs” policy.)

Ann tells the gut-wrenching story about how they once lived in a basement apartment with no carpeting.  They had to eat tuna and pasta.  They didn’t entertain.  They struggled.  They had to sell stock to pay the bills!

Yes, the poor Romneys.  [Hanky, please!]  All they had to live off was the stock that Mitt’s Dad had given him for his birthdays.  Stock that had started at $6 per share but ended up at over $90.  And, hard swallow here, Mitt and Ann were chipping away at the principle!  Eating their seed corn!  Whatever would become of them?

Imagine that.  Just imagine having to sacrifice so much.

So I totally get how big-hearted they must be.  How they understand the plight of the working poor, how they understand the sacrifices needed to achieve success.

Because all you really need to do to succeed in today’s world is to get stock from your parents.  Duh.

Mitt and Ann in rags. Very formal rags.

Related articles:  http://www.samefacts.com/2012/01/income-distribution/mitt-romney-and-ann-the-students-struggling-so-much-that-they-had-to-sell-stock/

*     *    *

As a kid, I really did feel like I was poor.  But I wasn’t.  As an adult, I learned that there really were poor people, people who went to bed hungry and whose children went to bed hungry.
I also learned that “The Poor” does not include folks who live by selling bits and pieces of their stock portfolio.  There is a big difference, and it’s not just in perception.  It’s in reality.

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August 14, 2012 · 0:00

Forward, Crush!

One idiom that I’ve always found, well, odd, is this:  “That’s the greatest thing since sliced bread!”

Huh?

To me, going back to unsliced bread after years of Wonder Bread was a revelation.  It has taste!  It doesn’t dissolve in water!  It is something on which I could actually subsist.  Well, with a little water thrown in.

Sliced bread?  Mostly I think of that white spongy crap, although nowadays the mega-bakeries are trying to actually make bread that tastes good.  But there is a ways to go.

Me, I don’t bake bread; my husband did back in the day when we had time and smaller waistlines.  Me, I bake other stuff.  My carrot cake recipe is to die for (with so much butter that is literally true) but I don’t make it very often because, well, when we celebrate birthdays we would prefer not to expire before the next.

But I do like to cook, and mostly it is from scratch when I have the time and energy.  And while those are often in short supply those days, well, I do enjoy whipping up a meal without opening a box, without opening a can, and without pulling something pre-made out of the freezer.

Someday when I retire, I expect to do more cooking, more experimenting with world cuisines, the way I used to when I was home with my son when he was a child.  We had a blast, made messes and cleaned them up.  Discovered delicious and not so delicious dishes.

But sometimes a girl must draw the line.  And I found the exact location for that line today in the Williams-Sonoma catalog.  Because today Williams-Sonoma has gone too far.  Or it wants me to go too far.  Or maybe they just think that I have unlimited counter-space.

Today, they not only want me to make absolutely everything from scratch, but they want me to grind my own grain with which to make it.  And there are different types of grain grinders to choose from!

There’s your conventional hand-crank grain grinder for those looking for a workout. (Williams-Sonoma Catolog)

Or for the ones who want full convenience while grinding their own grain, there is this one:

The fully-electrified version so that you don’t have to do anything yourself, which, of course, kind of defeats the purpose if you ask me.

Why not choose them all!

But you know, still I wonder.

My ancestors were farmers, and even they didn’t grind their own grain.  They took the grain they grew to a mill where it was ground for them by the miller.  That was considered progress from the days where my ancestors’ ancestors had to pulverize the grain on rocks, scrape it up and figure out how to get it into the crock pot.

I’m just worried that the next step in being the perfect chef will force me back in time even further.

I fear I will have to revert into a hunter-gatherer.  Otherwise I will not be able to keep up with the neighbors.  Sigh.

Good thing there is a magazine that’ll help me get there.

Yup, it’s back to the land. I just need my glossy mag and my loaded mag.

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August 9, 2012 · 0:00

Ghosts

She didn’t really seem the type, so I am really surprised that my sister Beth has begun haunting me.  She was always a quiet, fairly unassuming person. Yes, she could be a pain in the ass, but hey, we’re related — what would you expect? But haunting?  Isn’t that beyond the pale?

Saturday is the 3rd anniversary of my eldest sister Beth’s passing.  And it took her that long to start rattling her chains.  Yes, it started today.  And I’m the one she’s rattling them at.

It started today because today I attended a funeral.  And the funeral was at Arlington National Cemetery.  That woke Beth up.  It made her realize that I failed her.  It rattled her.

You see, Beth was a nurse.  She switched back and forth between working in the neo-natal intensive care unit and the psychiatric unit of hospitals across the country.  Two specialties and a variety of hospitals helped her keep fresh.  But nursing was her identity.  Ever since she was a little girl, well, she was going to be a nurse.  There was never a doubt in anybody’s mind.  And that is because she wanted to be like her hero, Tantelise, my namesake.

Tantelise (pronounced Tant-a-lease) was our great aunt on Dad’s side.  And from the stories I’ve heard, she was a seriously cool woman.  She lived near us when I was really small, but died when I was only three, so all I really know are a few second-hand stories.  Beth heard them first hand, and modeled her life on them.

Of course, Tantelise was a nurse.  She was, in fact, one of the founding nurses of the International Red Cross, which, at least according to family lore, came into being in the early 1900s.  Tantelise had incredible stories about nursing the wounded, the soldiers from the trenches, the victims of the gas, the amputees.  None of the stories I heard (second-hand) made me want to become a nurse.  But they captured Beth’s imagination.

In about 2004, Beth called me up and asked for my help.  The idea had been brewing in her mind for years.  Since I was in the DC area, well, it was pretty much up to me.

“Lease,” she said, “we need to get a memorial to the WWI nurses in Arlington National Cemetery.  We need to get Tantelise in there.”

(Google Image)

I immediately thought it was a stupid idea.  And of course I was right. But it was so important to Beth that I agreed to help.  I chatted with our cousin Betsey, keeper of the family junk; Betsey was equally unenthusiastic.  But I told Beth I would do what I could.  After all, I work right next to Arlington Cemetery.  How hard would it be for me to make some calls, go and talk to folks and be told by non-relatives that it was a stupid idea?  I figured it would be pretty easy to shut Beth up with strangers on my side.

But of course making phone calls, well, it ain’t what it used to be.  Because in the olden days, you know, 15 or so years ago, someone answered the phone when you called.  Yeah!  Imagine that!  Humans!  Sadly, that doesn’t happen so much any more.

So when I made my calls, I got to run around the phone circuits.  I found no live people in Arlington National Cemetery.  At least none that could help get me what Beth wanted.  I gave up fairly easily, actually.  I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere.  And I tried and failed to convince Beth that it was a stupid idea to try to get Tantelise memorialized in Arlington.

Why didn’t I work harder?  Why did I give up so easily?  Why was it a stupid idea to begin with?

After all, Tantelise and her fellow nurses were truly heroes.  They crossed the Atlantic to Europe to nurse European troops hurt in battle.  They went at their own cost.  They risked their lives.  They did it in long, hot, itchy wool skirts.  They helped an unknown number of men, many of whom would have died had those nurses not been there to help.  Many more died somewhat more easily because there was someone to hold their hand, to wipe their brow, to say “I’m here.  You’re not alone.”  They helped the soldiers in the way nurses throughout the years have helped their patients, by being there with them.

The work of this group of nurses was so deeply appreciated that, when it came time for them to return home to the U.S., Kaiser Wilhelm himself suspended U-boat traffic to allow these nurses safe passage.  Imagine that.  He suspended a vital part of the war for them.  Out of respect and appreciation for the work they had done, he ensured that they would survive.

This was NOT going to happen to the nurses. (Google Image of the sinking of the Lusitania.)

So why is it so unlikely that Tantelise and her compatriots would have their names in Arlington National Cemetery?  Why shouldn’t their service and sacrifice be recognized?  Why shouldn’t Beth’s idea come to pass?

Ummmmmm … They were working for the wrong side.  Oops.  Yes, Tantelise was nursing the German soldiers.  She was a first-generation German-American, and she went to Germany in the years before the U.S. entered the war.  She went when it wasn’t at all clear that the U.S. would enter the war, and if so, on which side.  When the U.S. did enter the war, well, that’s when Tantelise and her fellow nurses were given safe passage home to their country, America.

It is a story of heroism, of sacrifice, of nobility.   And of course, a story of choices.

Sigh.  I may make a few more calls, but, you know, I’m still pretty sure I will be still unable to get Tantelise and her colleagues recognized.

But there is an upside.  At least I’ll have my sister around again.  And I’ve missed her.  Go ahead, Beth.  Rattle away!

Me, Judy, Beth in 1995

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August 5, 2012 · 0:00

One More Time!

You know, this isn’t rocket science.

GUNS

+

HATEFUL RHETORIC

=

THE DEATH OF

INNOCENT PEOPLE

There is only one common sense solution to end the carnage.  Gun Control.  Sensible gun laws.

And it also is damn time some of these irresponsible politicians, and yeah, I’m talking to you Palin, and you Bachmann, and you Steven King, and a whole host of other primarily in the GOP) stop preaching hate and pretending you stand for freedom and the American way.  You don’t.  You are evil.  Go to hell where you belong.

This rant was inspired by today’s shooting in Wisconsin.

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