Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Gratitude for a Fresh Start

The cleaning crew arrived today to do their magic on my humble, messy abode, and GRATITUDE is what bubbles up in my heart right now.

Gratitude for both Tammy and Kaliah being affable and competent as they make order out of my usual chaos.

Gratitude to Summer for selecting cleaners she and I can trust with my 'hiding in plain sight' stuff all over the house.

Gratitude to Kaliah for picking up the proffered jute rug at precisely the designated hour, and cleaning the dust and grit that was left on my living room floor once her beau hoisted the rug into their truck.  She is a sweet heart, and this was her last day as part of the crew, as vet school beckons in September.

Gratitude for the short oasis of calm they have granted me until my stuff starts popping up on every flat surface, once I liberate it, piece by piece, from the drawers it was hastily shoveled into before the cleaners arrived this afternoon.

Gratitude.  That's a good start to a new month.  💙

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

How about, View from the Couch? Day 35 of Post-Achilles Surgery

I am exactly 5 weeks post Achilles surgery, and try as I might, I cannot stop whining about how this enforced house arrest just sucks.

It isn't just that I am stuck here in my house for long days and long nights, for a week or more at a time... my local friends have come several times and hoisted me up and down steps for dinner, doctor's appointments, lunch.... a taste of freedom, much appreciated.

And it isn't that I am suffering malnutrition or the monotony of my own cooking. No, once again, my Tribe has feted me with everything from chicken soup and chicken salad to a huge roasted bird, chicken cacciatore, Italian Stuffed Olives, Halloween Treats, you name it.

Nor am I cut off from friends and family. My friends have stopped in a regular intervals to make sure I haven't killed the pups or burned the place down, or just to chat and catch up. Bring books from the library. Take them back when done or due. 

And some of my best buddies, God knows, are looking down the tunnel at health circumstances more troublesome than me and my Achilles. And still, they come over, sit and chat and for those hours, all is simpatico.

My personal hell with all of this post-Achilles surgery recovery is the physical toll it has taken on my frame. The heel wound, not healing properly, which necessitates tedious contortions 2x a day to cleanse it, dry it, disinfect it and then dress it. A 3rd hand would come in so handy. Or maybe a hacksaw....?

Aside from wound care, everything that needs to get done, does get done... laundry, cooking, dog "walking,*" etc. But it gets done in 10X the normal time, with me wrangling my Knee Rover into tight spots, backing up, inching forward, backing up, turning, backing up, inching... or depending on my very short fuse, picked up and placed in the direction I need to go. Over. And over. And over. And over again, all day long, all night long. Go sit on the couch to watch TV while having dinner...? oops, left my glasses in the bedroom. Want wine with dinner? Single trips for THE GLASS. Another for THE BOTTLE. Another for the DINNER PLATE. Don't forget salt and pepper, or do without it. And silverware! More tedious maddening maneuvering of the Knee Rover.

But perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this, all of this house-bound experience, is, I'M BEING FOLLOWED!

Every move I make, there is a presence in front of me, or behind me, and it is my aging Corgi, Fritty-Girl. Hip dysplasia has rendered her back legs useless, so I am intoning (some might call that SCREAMING) "MOVE, FRITTY!!!" seemingly all day and all night. Every move I make she positions herself, like a sphinx, guarding/blocking my path.

And her sad condition dictates her glacial pace at getting out of the way of the rubber tires of the Knee Rover.  So we stop. We start. We Backup. Always on the move, haltingly...

By 11pm, I am mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted, my shoulders and hips are screaming at me from the daily overuse and my spirit is bruised from the various indignities of the day.

But this thing, it isn't life-threatening. It isn't terminal. This too shall pass. But not soon enough for me.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

My first post

Long time no see...

I think I abandoned this space when I discovered Facebook. The time track seems about right. And isn't that a sorry excuse to abandon one's stated passion, one's raison d'etre for being on the planet in the first place?

But the hoary truth is that the blog - the daily write - the communing on page with whoever might be out there, never took hold in my soul, past the first few weeks of being newly retired.

Lacking any deadline other than elastic self-imposed and easily forgotten ones, I gave up on me, and quickly became satisfied with firing off fiery or truculent comments in the WaPo or NYT. I condensed my passion into short paragraphs (but not quite tweets) that may have been succinct but were rarely a stretch of my writing chops.

And one excuse I will provide is, I wasn't reading much in the way of good writing, and wasn't doing much besides entertaining myself online. The creative well was pretty parched so the subjects didn't arise or inspire.

I would like to change that.

The glimmer of hope that buoys me is that I am once again reading good writing, thanks in no small measure to the BTBabes book club. Agreeing to join the book club last winter meant I actually had to READ books, rather than merely buy them and let them gather dust on the bedside table. And since my ability to focus on one thing for more than 20 minutes seems to get harder with each advancing month, I decided to incorporate audiobooks into the mix, so I could "read" while on my daily walks. In a sense, audiobooks have saved my writing or literary life, since they have enabled me to hear and follow along what I am reading on a printed (or iPadded) page. An enormous weight lifted with that realization, since one of the planned joys of retirement was the opportunity to read more.

And walk more. Six years almost to the day of having retired, and I'm just now getting with the program. I began walking in earnest last Fall, to coincide with getting serious about weight loss. Listening to music while walking was a good start, as I could calibrate my pace to beats-per-minute high-energy tunes (thanks to iTunes) and get my heart rate elevated beyond what is required sitting in this chair in front of this 27" inertia control panel.

For me, walking really is a moving meditation. It gets me at once out of the house and out of my head, and insists I deal with the world as it comes at me, birds tweeting, cars passing, skies waiting to be admired. And once I got accustomed to hustling around the 'hood to the music at a fast clip, substituting audiobooks became a welcome intellectual change of pace. I traded Rihanna and Beyonce for Roseann Cash, Elizabeth Gilbert, Ann Patchett, Kathryn Stockett and Jeannette Walls. They made more than worthy walking partners!

And so, I hope to be a more deliberate (daily???) partner here, once my walk has invigorated my body and my books have planted seeds of wonder or revelation in my mind.


Thursday, November 05, 2009

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Where You Sit is Where You Stand

I am a Barack Obama fan. He is the first political figure since Bill Clinton to galvanize my heart and mind into clear focus when it comes to having a vision for America and the world at large that I agree with wholeheartedly.

So I cannot adequately describe how let down and angered I am at his apparent decision to let bygones be bygones on the subject of US-approved torture.

At this moment in time, it appears as though Barack Obama has given everyone involved a free-pass. The president who okayed the decision (I'm sure he didn't actually make the decision), the vice president who master-minded the concept that it was perfectly fine to do whatever the darker side of man could conceive to elicit truth from terrorists, the admin hacks who dotted the I's and crossed the T for torture, the Justice Dept lawyers and cronies who elegantly drafted the loop-holed laws that would make crimes against man and nature bullet and reprisal-proof, and the military goons who went mindlessly along with an order that proved they were neither officers nor gentlemen.

For a man who promised to break the mold of political persuasion, and elevate the national dialogue (thanks to Aaron Sorkin), Barack Obama has repeatedly shown a persistent cowardice when it comes to political courage to face down detractors on both sides of the aisle. He seems to be preoccupied with currying favor, or at the very least, not incurring the wrath, of an opposition party so in disarray no GOP member could get elected to dog catcher, except maybe in Alaska.

To paraphrase another Sorkin president, he seems to be still too busy running for president rather than accepting the fact that the election is over and it is time to BE president.

And what is worse, he is too comfortable and self-assured in the role of Solomon, making the grand gesture in white-washing these seminal fissures in the Geneva Conventions behind a wall of political expediency. He is mortgaging his political capital to buy votes later on healthcare, energy and education, when he already has iron-clad proof that no Republican is interested in selling this president anything that will move our country forward, under his name.

Barack Obama is a student of history. Behind his calm, glacial demeanor is a mind that can be both calculating and visionary. He has captured the minds and hearts and hopes of people around this country and around the world. This is the defining moment for him to decide where he sits and where he ultimately will stand.

The world is watching, and waiting.

Monday, January 26, 2009

A New Year.... Same Old Me

I'm a little late in the annual "taking stock" of my life, but better late than never.

I guess we always focus on what is wrong or undisciplined about ourselves when we make these benign promises to lose weight or stop smoking or be nicer or get more exercise or do something better than we've done it in the past.

And maybe (ya think??!!) I'm too sensitive, but a recent set-to with a friend brought into clear relief that doing something well -- doing ANYTHING well -- and stopping to feel good about it is a very healthy practice. Likewise, taking note when someone ELSE does something they are pleased with, and giving them an ATTA GIRL, is also a good practice. God knows, after the last eight years with Bozo's hand on the rudder, we have plenty to feel bad about that was none of our choosing.

I've always tried to be grateful for the blessings that come my way, but I also tend to wallow in self-loathing when I've screwed up or made a really bad decision or succumbed to some temptation that my "better angels" warned me against. We are each our own fiercest critics and harshest jury/judge. But self-flagellation or recrimination has never been an effective deterrent for me. I learn more by doing or repeating what makes me feel good than I do by hating myself for something that went awry.

So in 2009, I'm going to step up my sometime habit of highlighting what is good in the world around me. If it is something that I do that feels right, I'm going to bask in that glow a little longer. And when it happens around me, whether it is friend or stranger, I'm going to take note and slow that person down just long enough for them to have a chance to feel the warmth that comes from someone else noticing a good deed or a job well done.

Feeling more comfortable in my own skin - even if that skin is going to be 59 in March - is a good start to helping others see the good in themselves. Who knows, it could be contagious!


Wednesday, October 01, 2008


I’ve always believed that America’s government was a unique political system — one designed by geniuses so that it could be run by idiots. I was wrong. No system can be smart enough to survive this level of incompetence and recklessness by the people charged to run it.

Thomas L. Friedman
NY Times
October 1, 2008

Sunday, September 21, 2008

The Week That Was... and Still Is

Since I watch all talk TV all the time, I have heard many strange and revelatory things in the last few weeks.  Chief among them, from the opposition media, is a bald faced admission, when pressed by the likes of Anderson Cooper, Chris Matthews, David Gregory, et al, that:  "Do you think John Q voter is going to be interested  or concerned about this kind of hair-splitting?"  Of course, the hair-splitting that had just occurred, or the reason for the question, was that they had just been caught in a lie and admitted that the spin they were placing on the issue du jour was total spin or total prevarication by design.

So I was struck that they assumed no one was watching and so they could admit their lies and deceit because John Q public really didn't care what the facts were, they knew the voters were tuned in to some other (read:culture) frequency.  I don't know that I agree with that assumption, altho I will confess I probably watch more talk TV than the average bear -- but maybe not, or more specifically, maybe not this time or this election.  One of the benefits of "ratcheting up the base" on both sides, and I do believe both sides have accomplished that 'no mean feat,' is that voters are more attuned to nuance.  And altho I despair at the protracted length modern presidential campaigns have grown to, one of the chief benefits is longer exposure to folks you aren't quite sure about.  So that gives fence sitters (if indeed there are a lot of them still extant) more time to see the poseurs for what they are. Or are not.

I think in 2000 the country went along with Bush's selection because they were just bone tired of Clinton and his antics.  A national shrug of the shoulders.  And in our collective innocence, the nation knew not what devastation lay ahead domestically, financially or strategically.  So we didn't give much thought to the kind of mettle we might need in the Oval Office.  The lull that happens in a peace time economy makes us forgetful of the mental strength and vision we need at the helm when all hell breaks loose, and believe me, all hell broke loose once we had a true jackass in the White House.  If ever there was a rationale for us to elect someone Jed Bartlett like, who has a natural inquisitiveness backed by years of hard won learned scholarship to their credit, THE TIME IS NOW.  

Which brings me to my most surprising discovery of last night.

I was burning the 2am oil this morning trying to escape infomercials, and came upon a recent edition of AFTERwords... hosted by David Broder and featuring George Will, discussing his new book.  IT WAS FASCINATING.  Since Will has always been an arch conservative and I have always been his polar opposite, I never pay him much mind, altho I love reading his columns because I love to analyze his very gifted mind.  Thru the course of the interview or discussion, most of which went specifically to the history of the world as it has played out over the last 2 weeks, he spoke of the next president in singular terms: Barack Obama.  Every question he fielded from Broder about what the next president would need or would bring or would find once in office, was told singularly from the Barack Obama perspective.  

Initially, I felt like I had awoken from some 2 month sleep, election day had already occurred, and Barack was already confirmed.  And he spoke of Obama with equanimity rather than enmity or rancor, suggesting ways he might pull us out of this morass, enumerating the assets he held as a human/scholar/leader etc that would assist him as he began to lead the country.  Perhaps I dreamt it, but if I indeed was conscious, at least one learned arch conservative (and probably John McCain hater) has already conceded the election to Barry.  And Will seemed to have confidence in that concession.  

Of course, Will also suspects that like all ultra liberal presidents before him, Barack will also usher in all manner of 'over the top' new social programs that will break the bank and tax the country back into believing in arch fiscal conservatism in due time.  But he wouldn't be George Will if he believed otherwise.

But like Renee Zellwenger in Jerry Maguire, George Will had me at hello when he admitted toward the end of the interview that writing was his first love, even above baseball, which has been his passion since the age of 7.  He spoke so nakedly about the act of writing and the shear "almost physical" pleasure he derives from writing, that I felt an immediate kinship with him that READING his writing has never sparked in me.  Not that he isn't a classically trained and remarkably astute or even gifted writer --  those are all givens.  But the confession was worth the price of admission, even at 2am EDT.  At that moment, we were complicit lovers.

On to November 4th -- Barack Obama '08!


-- Heart

Monday, August 25, 2008

The Summer is Waning...

But I'm not whining ...  

This has been a wonderful summer in every way I can measure!

The weather has been darn near perfect!
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
OK, it wasn't Camelot but close to it.  

The company...
I had friends visit from home and spent some wonderful evenings in their company, reminding me that distance or time away are not barriers to the joy and easy camaraderie of friendship.

I met some quality correspondents online, and exchanged ideas and viewpoints with them that bridged the mileage that will keep us virtual friends. 

I reconnoitered with a few folks from the recent past whose connection had frayed acrimoniously, and learned that an olive branch makes a good bridge between past and future, hurt and healing.

The beach...
I spent some good face time with the ocean on days in August we usually can't expect here until early October.  The high cost of gas has kept the seasonal crowds and road gridlock to manageable levels.  And 
I put some good time into my yard and this year it paid off.

The books and workshops...
I read some very good books that were not "how to's" for the passion du jour.  One of the books, Three Cups of Tea, sparked an interest in learning more about Central Asia and the pros and cons of battling terrorism with education in the Taliban's back yard.

I took a workshop for "creative artists" and discovered I was one, when they gave my photo top honors.  Who knew???!!!

The body and mind...
I have had a 'come to jesus' moment with myself about getting in better shape.  That includes a couple new daily rituals: a 30 min walk, a 30 min bike ride, eating more protein and less junk, eating more often but smaller portions, eating more fish and less pasta, and snacking on fruit and roasted soy nuts instead of Jujyfruits, potato chips and ice cream. 

I am still plagued by a few physical irritations: the Achilles has not healed to perfection and makes sustained mobility-driven exercise fatiguing. Long hours at the computer have weakened my lower back muscles (poor posture!) and golfing only seems to exacerbate the problem.  But as with most physical issues, pushing through or past them is always worth the effort, either in results or psychic enjoyment.

I have come to accept that my family won't visit nearly as often as I'd like them to, and that has brought a heightened appreciation and gratefulness to me when I do see them.

The balance...
Given all of the above, I seem to have finally struck a balance in retirement, after working at it for the past 4 summers.  

The bottom line...
If Justice is getting what you deserve;
Mercy is not getting what you deserve; and
Grace is getting what you don't deserve...

I live in a perpetual state of Grace.


-- Heart

Sunday, May 18, 2008


This week, the State of California made history by overturning the ban on same-sex marriages.  Across the nation, gay and lesbian couples celebrated the news and online GLBT social networking sites were abuzz with what that might mean in their own states, while same-sex celebrity couples made plans for their own nuptials.  

I was certainly glad to hear the news, but it didn't create the groundswell of hope and longing in me that it did for many of my friends.  

At first thought, this was a puzzler, since I am pro-justaboutanythingGLBT-related.  But as I sat this morning drinking my coffee on the front porch of the house I share with two darling corgis and no other humans, it came to me that I am not a joiner.  I am a dropper-inner.  And while I love being in the company of good friends and enjoy a wide variety of interests and hobbies and addictions and fads, in truth I am a very social loner.  

In my life, I have enjoyed the company and soul-connection of a handful of very quality women. Some for a few months, and a few for several years.  To my mind, each of those women brought a vision or glimmer into my life and my world that was lacking or unrealized.  And while we might mutually cite a million reasons for why we came together in the first place, and a million more for why we eventually parted, I am certain that the prime factor resides within me.    

And while I continue to seek out my soulmate - at least in theory - in practice, I am quite comfortable living my solitary life, enjoying those chance connections with like-minded women when they occur, reveling in the passion and shared bliss that we create for that moment in time, and mourning the loss when it inevitably runs its course.  Hindsight may or may not always be 20-20!

Experience has taught me that I am not a good cohabitor.  Relationships are 75% hard work and compromise, and for the last 15 years, I have equated compromise with 'settling.'    When I review the qualities that stood my first relationship in good stead for 13 years, I can only attribute it to dumb luck. 

Absent that first love, I really don't have a reliable relationship model to copy or emulate.

In the poet's heart that beats in my breast, I want to believe that every choice in a partner is inherently good, if both are willing to work and make good decisions and informed compromises.  I can see that relationship in my mind's eye, off in the distance.  It is so clear and real I can almost taste it.  But I have lost the roadmap.   

So while I applaud and celebrate the news that sprung from the "activist judges" in California, I do so from the cheap seats high in the far reaches of the stadium -- not the box seats that lead onto the playing field.

-- HeartSleeve 

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Are you RIGHT brain or LEFT brain?

I am truly ruled by my right brain... I don't make lists, I see several possible routes to a desired outcome, I hate following directions, and my eyes completely glaze over at the mere thought of reading a technical manual (like the ones that come with all my exotic cameras and electronic gizmos). So I offer anyone who happens upon this page the opportunity to chart your own course and see what side of your brain generally decides your future!
Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz
The higher of these two numbers below indicates which side of your brain has dominance in your life. Realising your right brain/left brain tendancy will help you interact with and to understand others.
Left Brain Dominance: 6(6)
Right Brain Dominance: 14(14)
Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Giving Thanks

I know Thanksgiving is still a week or so away, but that holiday is on my mind lately for several reasons.  

Thanksgiving has always been a "Mom" related day, because her birthday regularly fell that day (every six years or so) and it was probably her favorite day of the year, since it had all of the "family" of Christmas but none of the stress of gift buying/giving/getting/returning.  And so I give thanks every year that this provides a perfect occasion to celebrate Mom, although I try to do that every breathing minute of my life.

This year there's an added wrinkle.  For the first time since I was in the Peace Corps (and that seems like another lifetime ago,) I will not be sharing the day surrounded by my sisters and their families.  I am having foot surgery and Achilles tendonitis surgery the day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and that will preclude any travel plans for me, not just for this holiday, but for 6-8 total NON-weight bearing weeks.  My aunt will be tasked with caring for me (she of course volunteered graciously) for some of that time, until I can safely navigate the confines of my house without a personal assistant.  For that I am exceedingly grateful.  

Josie has really stepped energetically into the surrogate Mother role since 1999, and she is always fun to have around.  For a time.  We are both Pisces.  We share many characteristics.  And after a bit, we get on each others' nerves and say so.  This time, she will not have the luxury of hying herself to her apartment when my crankiness meets her stubbornness.  Or vice versa.  So I am hoping I don't abuse her good generous nature during my convalescence.

I am also grateful every one of my Delaware circle of friends (all of whom I've met in the last two years) has called and offered either support or help or a kind word or a getaway car if I change my mind.  It is heartwarming and illustrates the tenor and mettle of the community of women I have had the good fortune to meet since my emigration to Delaware.

And at the other end of the spectrum, I'm grateful that I have the wherewithall (read: health insurance) that will cover this surgery and the "turning leg caddy" that will enable me to get around more easily here at home after the surgery, and live without pain (hopefully) after  I'm fully recuperated for the first time in over three years.

It is true that my convalescence will wipe out Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years as I've previously enjoyed or experienced those happy holidays, but given that many are in far worse circumstances AND FAR MORE DANGEROUS PLACES, I've got quite a lot to be thankful for, and I'm very very grateful for that.

PEACE.    And Happy Holidays!

-- HeartSleeve

Monday, June 11, 2007

Wine Imitating Art

      Eiffel Tower at on an unseasonably warm spring night, how romantic!

Among the 2,000 photos of Bordeaux and Paris I took in April 2007 (many of which will grace this space eventually and some which are already up on PBase), a few begged for a bit of artistic license.

I could easily become a "cellar rat!"

As I wandered in awe through cellar after cellar, the scent of ripe fruit mingled with the crispness of new oak like incense in a cathedral after a high mass... and the vessels took on almost sacramental properties.

View from the Vineyard! Bordeaux, That Is!

All I can say is "C'est Magnifique'!"
This was truly a fabulous, hopefully-not "once-in-a-lifetime" trip, because there are many more global wine regions to experience. But the bar (pardon the pun) has been raised to an incredibly high level, given the generous and very special entre' we received at every Chateaux we visited.
We came to Bordeaux on the draft of our friends at Calvert-Woodley Wine shop in DC, and between lucking into that favored airspace and due I'm sure to the savvy and likability of Greg Poirier, our own personal WINE GUY and guide, we were certainly given special treatment and tasted some of the world's most famous (and famously guarded) wines.
These pictures are just a tiny slice of what is still to come, and I have much more to write than this about my magical 10 days in France, but here's a sip to get you started!

Thursday, March 08, 2007

A Riot of Color @ the Philadelphia Flower Show

It was a gorgeously frigid day Tuesday here at the beach when I boarded a charter bus that would take me to the annual Philadelphia Flower Show. At the end of the two-hour ride up Route 1, Philadelphia proved why it is named the City of Brotherly Love. When the bus stopped to allow us to disembark, the city swallowed me in a big hug and dazzled me with its kaleidescope of sights and sounds and smells.
Across the street from the Convention Center, another wonder to behold, the Read Street Market, which is reminiscent of Pike Market in Seattle or Lexington Market in Baltimore -- an adventure for the senses and a reminder that beach life sometimes can be a little sterile.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

All I am saying is... GIVE WAR A CHANCE!

Yesterday, thousands of peace-activists marched on Washington, DC in opposition to the Bush "Surge Strategy" for the war in Iraq.

It was no surprise, then, that the old Republican war-horse, former Navy Secretary and notorious political fence sitter, Senator John Warner, decided that public opinion had sufficiently gelled on this issue to the point that it is now safe for him to take a position on the Iraq War. In today's Washington Post, Sen. Warner thusly reflects that:

"I regret that I was not more outspoken" during the Vietnam War. "The Army generals would come in, 'Just send in another five or ten thousand.' You know, month after month. Another ten or fifteen thousand. They thought they could win it. We kept surging in those years. It didn't work."

I'd call that ironic. But there is plenty of irony to go around, these days...

It is ironic that Bush, like many of yesterday's war protesters, is a Baby Boomer who came of age when another unwinnable war, the VietNam war, was raging and claiming lives of thousands of young Americans, while many of us chanted,


It is ironic then for Bush to frame his latest request for 'cannon fodder' to fuel the war in Iraq, and the wanton waste of life and destruction of more American families, by insisting,


It is ironic that to THE DECIDER, his losing face is of greater national consequence than America losing 21,000+ more American lives.

I'd call that the height of irony.

P E A C E ...


Friday, November 10, 2006

NEWSFLASH: George Bush Lied on Camera! (yawn...)

Wednesday November8, 2006 was a wildly compelling day to watch television news. Against the backdrop of finalizing election returns and results, a stunning portrait of American politics and governance was playing out for everyone to see. And although each character had a clearly identifiable role to play, watching it unfold under the glare of television camera lights was at once illuminating and breathtaking in its clarity.

George W. Bush reprised his role of the inarticulate and yet unbending leader of the Republican Party, divorced from current reality and unable to seemingly grasp the sea change he both orchestrated and yet got snared in. Caught scriptless by the cameras and a cadre of national news reporters who were unabashed in their efforts to eke out admissions of missteps or signs of any newfound flexibility in the President's attitude toward forging new paths, Bush squirmed and bristled and ultimately got caught in a political prevarication. And immediately got called on it. But that wasn't news to anyone who has had their ear to the ground over the last six years.

A few hours later, in the Oval Office, Bush was relentless in his praise of the man and mentor he had been forced to cut loose, lavishing praise on Donald H. Rumsfeld that would humble and embarass any mere mortal. It was painfully clear that despite the resounding roar of disapproval from the American people Bush has just endured 24 hours earlier, his faith in his Secretary of Defense was not shaken. It was also obvious that this resignation was borne more of political expediency than of any "coming to Jesus" over the misguided course of American activity in Iraq and the Middle East.

Enter Rummy, stage left. Where Bush had been cranky and defensive in his tone and tenor, Rumsfeld took the lecturn with a Quixotic look in his eye. Once again, as has been his mein since he wrestled control of foreign and defense policy first from Colin Powell and then Condi Rice, Rumsfeld tried to explain to the pathetically misguided media and ignorant American populace that we just weren't smart enough to grasp the complexities of this war.

"The fault, Dear Brutus, is not in the stars, it is in ourselves!" We just didn't GET IT!

And that's a big "we" that, to Rumsfeld's mind, includes not just the irresponsible media who dogged him or the American people who lost faith in him, that "we" also fatally included the generals charged with carrying out his ill-conceived directives and who withered under his rigid inability to take their counsel, borne of battlefield reality, to heart.

To the last moment of his time upon the stage, Rumsfeld was unbowed and unburdened of the truth. And as his champion looked on in pained frustration, enter Robert M. Gates, 41's CIA director, to take the helm and pick up the pieces.

While I have not one ounce of faith in any administration headed by George W. Bush, I hold out a glimmer of hope that a former CIA Director will have the moral courage to convince Bush Junior FINALLY of this simple truth: that the key to keeping us safe from terrorist activity on American soil is and has always been a combination of well articulated diplomacy bolstered by a strong and relentless Central Intelligence Agency capable of sniffing out, intercepting and averting the next plane (or dirty bomb) before it gets here.

Hubris has no place in American domestic or foreign policy. If George W. Bush has learned anything in the last week, I hope he realizes now that spreading democracy across the Middle East is not and never was his job. Keeping us safe is. And he can do that best by keeping his mouth shut and letting his experts do the talking.


-- HeartSleeve

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Oh Happy, Happy Day!

Pelosi Set to Take House Leadership

You can tell you are having a bad day when all your friends are mad at you, your enemies have just moved into BOTH of your upstairs bedrooms, and the media just wants to remind you of gross inconsistencies between what you insisted last week was best for America versus what you have decided we need this week.

When reminded of his change of direction and seeming prevarication, George exclaimed, "What, do you think I'm nuts??"

Don't get me started.

Why does the word 'bipartisan' sound like an ugly lie when it falls begrudgingly from his lips? And why can't I can't shake the nagging suspicion that the actions today coming out of the White House amounted to nothing more than Rove convincing the President that the gesture of ousting the architect of our failed foreign policy would buy Mr. Bush time to regain his composure in the face of a resounding indictment of STAY THE COURSE.

As usual, the press conference was almost like watching the Daily Show... he contradicted himself, rambled and mumbled, sneered and smirked and admitted he didn't see this tsunami of citizen outrage coming.

And I believe that statement.

Our Commander and Thief has been clueless and out of touch with what Americans are thinking since at least mid to late 2003. Whether that is because Cheney, Rove and Rummy have been Master Puppeteers since Bush was first selected, or because he simply refuses to consider or reexamine his options and stances once he has handed in his homework, who knows?

What is clear today, however, is that the American people have emphatically exercised their Constitutional right to CHANGE THE COURSE when selected leaders repeatedly turn a deaf ear to their concerns.

To everyone who felt so moved to make their voice heard yesterday, Welcome home!

-- Heartsleeve

Friday, September 15, 2006

The President's PROFESSIONALS...

Friday, September 15, 2006
An excerpt from the President's press conference in the Rose Garden today...

Bush: Now, the court said that you've got to live under Article 3 of the Geneva Convention. And the standards are so vague that our professionals won't be able to carry forward the program, because they don't want to be tried as war criminals. They don't want to break the law.

These professionals are decent, honorable citizens who are on the front line of protecting the American people. And they expect our government to give them clarity about what is right and what is wrong in the law. And that's what we have asked to do.

And we believe a good way to go is to use the amendment that we worked with John McCain on, called the Detainee Treatment Act, as the basis for clarity for people we would ask to question the enemy.

In other words, it is a way to bring U.S. law into play. It provides more clarity for our professionals. And that's what these people expect. These are decent citizens who don't want to break the law. Now, this idea that somehow, you know, we've got to live under international treaties, you know -- and that's fine; we do.

But oftentimes the United States government passes law to clarify obligations under international treaty.
And what I'm concerned about is if we don't do that, that it's very conceivable our professionals could be held to account based upon court decisions in other countries. And I don't believe Americans want that.

I believe Americans want us to protect the country, to have clear standards for our law enforcement, intelligence officers, and give them the tools necessary to protect us within the law.

It's an important debate. It really is. It's a debate that really is going to define whether or not we can protect ourselves. I will tell you this -- and I've spent a lot of time on this issue, as you can imagine. And I've talked to professionals, people I count on for advice. These are the people who are going to represent those on the front line protecting this country. They're not going forward with the program. They're professionals -- will not step up unless there's clarity in the law.

Now I wasn't at that press conference, but I don't think there's any doubt about the professionals Bush is trying so hard to protect...

Professional thugs who want free reign to torture detainees in secret prisons without due process.

Professional bullies who have no problem giving orders to subordinates on how to best "extract vital information" from prisoners of war...

Professional liars who will be called upon to defend in court the actions of the aforementioned professionals if and when they are accused of war crimes.

Because in reality, the Bush professionals have shown they have a robust appettite for breaking the law and flaunting the internationally accepted tenets of the Geneva Convention.... but God forbid they should be held accountable or tried and punished for their actions.

If Congress buckles and passes the (un)law Bush has drafted that gives Rummy and the CIA free reign over how detainees are interrogated, Congress is signing the death warrants of every American citizen or soldier who is captured on foreign soil tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows thereafter.

And not surprisingly, Bush, with the help of his army of professionals, has once again employed the rhetoric of fear and the spectre of September 11, 2001 to bully Congress and the American people, and suborn the American justice system, to push us closer to Armaggedon.

God help us.

PEACE -- HeartSleeve

Monday, August 28, 2006


Seems to be a lot going on in my head lately, spawned by current events, personal issues, gripes, surprises and the occasional epiphany. In no particular order:


It is no secret that the Catholic Church (MY church, or so I thought) frowns upon homosexuality, stem cell research, same sex marriage, freedom of choice and any number of other issues that I either espouse, practice or agree with. But up until Sunday, I always felt welcome at Sunday Mass.

Apparently, there is a new associate pastor at St. Ann's in Bethany, a young man who has decided to lead with his chin when he gives his sermons. To paraphrase his intro to this Sunday's sermon, he decided he "wasn't going to go near the gospel passage that entreated wives to obey and be subordinate to their husbands" -- "not with a 10-foot pole." That got a chuckle from the parishioners. Nope. He decided instead to lash out against the inherent immorality of gays, stem cell research and same sex marriage. And he cautioned that anyone who supported any of those activities was not welcomed in the Catholic Church. Never before have I felt so insulted, offended and enraged, all in the space of less than 60 seconds. "Welcome to Catholicism."

I guess, given his audience of mostly middle aged, white married couples, he figured it would be safer to single out those of us who belong to the fringe element. It rather reminded me of Senator George Allen's recent oafish remarks to a young opposition researcher of Indian descent who invaded Allen's campaign event in rural south western Virginia: "Welcome to America, Maccaca."

What irks me most today, 36 hours later, is that I have chosen to remain a catholic, despite the overwhelming exhortations of friends, because my Bowie pastor assured me a year ago when I returned to Mass after a 30-year absence, that I shouldn't let the fact that I am gay stand between me and my God. Seems the Bethany priest didn't get that memo, because he certainly doesn't operate with the same degree of tolerance or compassion I found in Maryland. I feel like a gauntlet has been thrown down, and I must summon up the courage to address it, spiritually and then literally, to the St. Ann's pastor.


Having faced that slap of cold reality on Sunday, I decided to come to grips with another issue I have been putting off. In what will seem like the mother of all non-sequiturs, I turned my attention to my boat. Since early May of this year, it has been sitting idle in the slip I purchased for it last Spring... a $25,000 investment moored to a $30,000 hunk of floating real estate.

I intended to name my boat "Baramula East" in homage to a long-ago Mendocino vacation cottage that was sublimely idyllic. In hindsight, I should have cut to the chase and named it "Bucklew's Folly," because it represents the most outrageous example of impulse buying I have committed in all my 56 years. It also represents a time in my life when luxury boat-buying was only one of the several questionable decisions I made.

So this morning I made the decision to cut my losses -- at least my material losses -- and put the boat (if not the slip) up for sail.. er, sale. What is true is that my life has careened in many different directions since May 2002, and the solitary confines of boating solo no longer holds the charm it once held. And I never guessed it would be so difficult replacing my "First Mate."

NEW CHALLENGES (or) "When God closes a door, He opens a window."

Exit boating, enter GOLF. When I embrace a new interest, whether it is a new hobby or a new skill, I throw myself into it 300 percent. It was true 20 years ago when I got interested in wine, it was true 10 years ago when digital photography first delighted and amazed me, it was true five years ago when boating consumed me, and it is true today, as I embark on a new passion, thirsty to learn all that is required to be respectable in playing a game of golf.

Perspective is everything, and for me, at this stage and age in my life, finding something that inflames my passion for learning a new skill, especially one that relies as heavily on physical prowess as it does mental focus, is absolutely a GODSEND. It is juicy and delicious and humbling and enthralling and oh so beautiful in the morning when the fog has just lifted and the dew is still heavy on the ground. And it is practiced in graceful, bucolic surroundings offering the most magnificent vistas. Almost like an outdoor cathedral.


I am into my second year in retirement, and this new obsession couldn't have arrived at a more opportune time in my life. I have the time, the resources and the incentive, not to mention a gazillion opportunities, to study the rudiments of the game, take practical instruction, practice what I learn and put it all together on any number of fine local golf courses.

And unlike boating, where it was next to impossible to meld schedules with anyone who might join me on the high seas, golf has expanded my social circle and given me an open door to a pasttime that I can enjoy well into my dottage. It is something I can enjoy in solitude, on the driving or practice ranges, and it is a team sport that welcomes participants at all skill levels. What's not to love about that! And almost every woman I know plays golf!!!!!!

Surely the most gratifying aspect thus far for me is that with a modicum of weekly golf clinics and due diligence on the driving/practice range, I have gotten good enough in a mere six weeks to post a respectable round of 80 on the scoreboard after 18 holes at a local course. The magic of golf is that no matter how many humbling stinkers I hit, there are those pocketful of lucky shots that just light my hair on fire when I hear that coveted "ping" of club face squarely meeting the ball.


Maybe it is just summertime or a new era, but life has gotten more social lately and my community of friends is slowly but surely widening. In the past six or seven months, through the wonders of online social networks, chance meetings, new hobbies or full moons, I've met many new friends and enjoyed a more robust social life than I did my first summer here as a Delawarean. And what is true, is that no matter how much I enjoy my "life of the mind" perched here at the computer or bent over an art or photo project, nothing takes the place of personal interaction: making someone smile, sharing a meal, engaged in friendly competition or sharing a heart to heart talk.

ISN'T IT MORONIC (Sad but true headlines)

* Tom Cruise and Paramount parting ways... YAWN...

* John Mark Karr -- Your 15 minutes is over...

* Bush celebrates Katrina anniversary... PUHLEEESE!

* "Morning After Pill" finally given the green light -- eight years after the launch of Viagra...

Enough for tonight...



Sunday, August 13, 2006

Sunday Scribblings - who else might i have been?

(Go on and take the bait, Mare!)


I'm tempted to go totally "Walter Mitty" here, skydiving like the Red Baron and pirouetting like Ballanchine through alter-ego lives full of derring-do and romance, but the truth is, I'm mostly smitten with the me that is...

Who I am is mostly a result of the choices I've made in my life, and less so the result of external forces, at least, that's the way I see it.

My parents assumed I would graduate from public high school and GET A J*O*B. But I've never been one to jump into anything without a little research, and I didn't expect anyone would hire an 18 year old high school graduate to play sandlot baseball, write melodramatic poetry to the light of the moon or crack jokes, and those were the main skill sets I had acquired at 18.

So college beckoned despite my father's insistence that he wouldn't pony up the tuition so I should just GET A J*O*B!!!

I knew how to craft a sentence or two back then, so I wrote an essay, masquerading as a senatorial scholarship application, outlining my suitability for higher education and my total lack of financial resources. A brash young state senator from Maryland, who is now the House Democratic Whip in the US House of Representatives, liked what he read and decided to take a $250 a semester chance on me to attend Frostburg State College.

So that choice, to go to college, detoured me from what might have been a more traditional (back then) path of high school, job, marriage, kids, divorce.

When a teaching job didn't materialize upon graduation from college, I GOT A J*O*B working for an international freight forwarding company in DC for the summer, thanks to a high school friend who was working there full time. On a lark, having shipped tons of household goods all across the planet, I applied for a Peace Corps teaching job in Western Samoa, never for a minute thinking they would seriously consider me.

Must have been another craftily worded essay, because a month or so later, a large manila envelope arrived from the Department of State/Peace Corps, inviting me to an orientation in Chicago that November, where they would interview me and psychoanalyze me and grill me and test me within an inch of my 23 year old life, to see if I was suitable Peace Corps material.

So off I went, for two years in James Michener's South Pacific, looking for remnants of Margaret Meade and finding instead a descendant of Bloody Mary... it wasn't Bali Hi by any means, but neither was it Capitol Heights, Maryland, the small town from which I hailed.

I had never seen poverty and wealth juxtaposed so closely as I did during my two years in the Peace Corps. Funny thing was, the Samoans didn't consider themselves poor or impoverished, and were in fact some of the most generous and genuinely hospitable folks I've come across, before or since. I learned more about myself than I taught over the course of those two years:

  • Sexuality is a fluid and often confusing endeavor.
  • Teaching kids is fun - hassling with school administrators is hell.
  • Abundance and scarcity are in the eyes of the beholder.
  • Grading papers for the rest of my life was not for me.
I chose at that point to return to the International Freight Forwarder in DC when I returned from Western Samoa, and basically stayed the course of transportation for the rest of my working career, albeit not in the same place.

A lucky internship with the Department of the Army resulted in the government paying for my Master's degree in Communications, and I parlayed that degree and those wonderfully useful skills and abilities into a lifetime of writing for various government transportation agencies. In the bargain, my employers sent me hither and yon around the globe, interviewing soldiers, photographing cargo ships being loaded with ammunition for mock military battles in Europe, and generally chronicaling the lives of ordinary folks doing often extraordinary feats.

Now that I am retired, once again I have the opportunity and the means, within reason, to be someone other than who I am... but the fact is, whether I'm a cat burglar or a science fiction writer, I'd still be who and what I am:

56. Female. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Niece. Friend. Blessed.



Monday, April 17, 2006

Scientology -- Another Look

You can't swing a dead cat (not that I would, of course) without reading about Tom and Katie's decision to bring Scientology into the birthing/delivery room when little Holmes-Cruise decides he/she is ready to escape the womb.

For the three people on the planet who haven't heard, Scientologists believe that the birthing room should be SILENT... not merely devoid of the idle chatter from family members getting it all down on video-tape, or husbandly exhortations to breathe, or the errant epithets of mass destruction being hurled by the new Mother who decided against an epidural, but also of most of the instructions of the doctors and nurses in attendance.

Never having given birth, I am grossly ignorant as to the efficacy of this decision, but I think it has definite possibilities in other medical scenarios.

For instance, I am seriously considering becoming a Scientologist in time for my next visit to the dentist! I've never met a dental hygienist who didn't insist on engaging me in a spirited Q&A while having her hands in my mouth up to her elbow, as I am doing my best not to choke on the plaque she is chipping off my teeth or sucking the detritus out of my mouth with her trusty waterpic... invoking silence in that situation definitely has its merits!

And I am so "there" with Tom and Katie the next time I am flat on my back looking at my gynecologist thru the stirrups craddling my knees, while she chats amiably about the little "pinch" I might feel as she aims the speculum toward my throat! Silencio!

I can't wait to announce my conversion to Scientology when I schedule my next mammogram! Gone will be the useless instruction to "hold my breath" for 30 seconds while my left or right breast is being pancaked in a steel vise, automatically inhibiting the ability to breathe, much less the desire to do so!

I can see other venues where being a Scientologist and insisting on SILENCE would come in handy:

  • movie theaters (no more side conversations, especially the ones that give away the plot!)
  • subway cars (ah, reading or snoozing without the cacophony of idle chatter, cell phone conversations or Bubba's music choice)
  • elevators (let's deep-six MUZAK's rendition of Mantiovanni's Greatest Hits!)

Yes, Tom and Katie may be on to something!

-- Peace

Monday, March 13, 2006

"What can I get for you today?"

Those will be the words of the day for me starting this afternoon, as I embark on my new mini-career as a PT deli counter clerk at the soon-to-open Giant Food Store in Millville, Delaware.

Only time will tell if this heading should have been, "be careful what you ask for," but I pondered part-time employment several times over the last two or three weeks, and on my first attempt, God slapped a green Giant polo on me and said, "grab your apron and get to it!"

Eventually, after my OJT is completed in about a week or two, I'll be recruited to get the not-yet-open-for-business Giant ready for its first customers -- it is opening on April 20 less than a mile from my house, and that lack of distance was what drew me to Giant as opposed to higher paying jobs farther away in Rehoboth. I've always been tantalized by the prospect of working 5 minutes from home, and -- VOILA! -- here we go!

I am hoping this new "prototype" Giant will afford me the option of suggesting wine pairings along with the gourmet meats, cheeses, breads and olives that will be our mainstay. That would get me a step closer to a dream job that involves the marriage of food and wine in any capacity. And I am amazed at how quickly this entire experience went from 'thought in my head' to 'reality.'

So what this experience has once again taught me is this: God is still listening!


Saturday, March 04, 2006

This Space Under Construction

Spring cannot get here fast enough.

I am smoking too many cigarettes (one is too many).

I am spending too much unproductive time sitting in this seat, staring at this screen and finding frivolous time wasters to justify my current existence.

I am outspending my monthly retirement check by about a grand or more a month.

I am sick and tired of beautiful blue sky days that invite me outdoors, but are still too damn windy and cold to spend more than a few minutes outside.

I am puzzled and frustrated by my inability to hold more than a simple thought in my head for more than a nanosecond, which makes it impossible to pen anything of substance.

I want to go home. (Newsflash: I AM HOME).

Friday, November 25, 2005

Owed to Nora - from a long-ago fan

(Composed and presented to Mom on the occasion of her retirement from the Corps of Engineers in 1983)

In '55, I came to be
A GS-12 in OCE.
'Twas a fearful place
In those days of yore,
With Fanflicks, Berges and many more.

A crew of tyrants was what they were
And if you erred, you got what fer.
The work was tough, the days were stressed
But through it all, the days were blessed
With the constant presence of a brassy dame;
Insolent, engaging, precocious and game;
Who finished her work, and others' as well,
And with it all, was as funny as hell.

She brightened our days with comments witty,
Malaprops, jingles and a poetic ditty.
The years have flown by
(Where have they sped??)
But through them all
There runs a thread
Of a bright little lady
So thoughtful and sweet
That to have worked with her
Has sure been a treat.

To you, dear Nora,
Much has been owed
By all of us,
So we sing you this ode.
May God bless you and
Keep you through all of your days.
A happy retirement and
Let nothing you faze.
We love you, will miss you
In the days ahead
Please don't forget us
Wherever you tread.

-- William J. Cronin
September 23, 1983

Reprinted today on what would have been Mom's 80th birthday.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Nora Saber Bucklew - November 25, 1925


On Friday, November 25, Mom would have been 80 years old. And she'd have made one fantastically saucy octogenarian!

We always celebrated Mom's birthday on Thanksgiving, since it fell on or near the day that the Bucklews, like families all across America, gather 'round the kitchen and the dining room to celebrate the simple joys of family, fun, fellowship, food and -- did I say family?

Mom was all about family. Maybe it was because she lost her own Mother when she was just four and her father by the time she was 18. Maybe it was because she was raised by her older sisters and brothers, and had a kinescope of hilarious but bittersweet memories of growing up as one of eight kids in a crazy-quilt depression-era environment. Whatever the root cause, Mom was adamant that holidays (and for that matter, weekends, evenings and lunch hours) were meant to be spent in the company of your Mother!

What each of her four kids wouldn't give today if we could summon the powers of Heaven and once again share Thanksgiving Dinner with Mom!

Since that isn't possible, I will give thanks for the 73 years, seven months and 15 days she spent here on earth, and let anyone who happens upon this cyberjournal see why she was so well loved and is so perpetually missed.

Mom was all things to all people... Mother, grandmother, sister, friend, neighbor, co-worker, and second mother to many of the kids from the old neighborhood. Her passion, generosity and courage spilled over onto everyone she met. And Mom was a woman of many passions. She was passionate about her family, her kids and later her grand children. Growing up, she called us her four little diamonds. Our friends growing up I am sure saw her as a safe haven and a generous spirit.

Working with lawyers all day ignited Mom’s passion for words and language, and she instilled that same passion in her kids. She loved writing outrageously funny letters to family and friends, and she loved crafting her little ditties, as she called them, to mark important milestones for her office colleagues. She took great pride in being a secretary for the Corps of Engineers and she reveled in the lightening speed with which she could take dictation or dress up a letter.

She loved clothes but she was FRUGAL FANNY before it became the rage. She could scout out a designer outfit at Purple Heart and Good Will for a quarter, that she could then pair up with another passion of hers, sexy open-toed Amalfi sling backs.

She had a sweet tooth, and a weakness for Fannie May candy, and later Godiva and Mrs. Sees. And although Mom wasn’t much of a drinker, she loved her afternoon bottle of Miller High Life. In fact, when she retired from the Corps of Engineers in 1983, she listed as her reason for leaving: It’s Miller Time. She knew how to make an exit.

She loved playing bingo and working the daily crossword puzzle, and upon retirement, one of her greatest luxuries was reading the Washington Post every morning from cover to cover with her morning cup of Maxwell House.

She was also a woman who appreciated the seasons. She loved tending her flower beds and vegetable plants in the Spring and early summer. She loved canning tomatoes and freezing peaches despite the effort and time it took, because of the rewards they delivered as summer gave way to fall and winter. And at Christmas and holidays, she loved baking fruitcakes and her world-famous toll house and oatmeal raisin cookies.

Mom sorely regretted her lack of a college degree, so she made sure her four kids all went to college. She had a life-long passion for learning new things, and she was brilliant at teaching us through memorable if slightly unorthodox methods! Growing up as we did before the age of computers, I remember spending evenings with Mom grilling us on vocabulary words from Readers' Digest, making us memorize and recite the 50 states, state capitals, the U.S. presidents -- any arcane factoid that would serve to sharpen our young eager minds.

She was up to her old tricks 25 years later when her three grand children came along, with a slightly diff spin... they usually earned a buck or two in the bargain. She really delighted in spending time alone with Matt, Ben and Chelsea. Mom would sit patiently for hours as Chelsea the toddler gave her a complete make-over -- curled and fixed Mom's hair, applied make-up, filed her nails ... not sure who enjoyed that more, Mom or Chelsea!

Mom also was a frequent customer of "Ben’s Best Back Massages." He would take his strong little hands and knead her back and neck muscles, with Mother cooing and ahhhing with every twinge.

With Matt, who was the oldest of the three, she played word games and sparred with him over the card table, teaching him card games and reveling in his quick mind and precocious demeanor.

She treated neighborhood kids no different from her brood of four or her grandkids, and well into retirement, she could be found holding court with a gaggle of little ones swarming her porch and doing little odd jobs to earn cookies, fruit and homemade treats. What I wouldn't give to turn back the clock and sit quietly on that porch step, watching her in action!

Tomorrow, when my family gathers at my younger sister Lynn's house to celebrate Thanksgiving, we will honor Mom by doing what she would have insisted we do, were she here: eat too much, laugh often, share funny family stories, speak by phone with any family members who couldn't be with us, and give thanks that Mom's traditions are alive and well!



-- HeartSleeve