PEACE........STILL A DIRTY WORD.

Rachel Maddow has a new book out this week entitled "Drift". It focuses on how easy it has become for our country to constantly be at war, and how little those wars impact most of the nation. Only about 1% of us are affected in any way by what's going on in Afghanistan or what happened because of our invasion of Iraq. There is no draft, and no "war effort"....no plan to pay for the five BILLION a week that we're spending right now for a war that almost 70% of the us don't want, and no one even considers any other path for resolving the issues...we're still convinced that killing the enemy is the only choice.

I don't think many of us think much about that small percentage of people who comprise that 1% who are indeed affected by these wars...how they have suffered and how the pain continues for them. Christmases come and go for most of us, but for the families of over five thousand victims of these wars there is an empty chair at their tables and most certainly tears in their eyes...and that's just in our country. (tens of thousands of Afghans and Iraquis are "collateral damage") and they don't seem to really count at all.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if all of our paid representatives and all of the religious leaders that we support would spread the gospel of peace? Instead of railing against gay equality, or birth control, or ultrasounds and bailouts? What if the conversations included plans to gather those people in the world who don't want to stand among those thousands of white crosses and listen to TAPS while they bury their kids or their Mom or their Dad...and forge more paths to world peace?

There are those voices of peace all around us, and they will never be silenced. They exist in every corner of the world, and they never give up hope.

Remember the man in Sarajevo who sat down and played his cello in spite of the war going on all around him? The beauty and hope that poured forth in that glorious act of courage exists in all of us...all over the world. How we tap into it and fill the air with it is elusive knowledge. It's very very difficult, but will never be impossible.

POLKA DOTS

When school was over in June we moved from the North Hills to the South Hills...no more Susie and Billy...but no more getting beaten up at the bus stop by Philip either. I would be in second grade seven years old, and ready for a new adventure. The owners of the house we bought entertained us in the gameroom with slides of the rose garden that we would soon be inheriting. I remember the colors of the roses that were mixed in with tall light blue delphiniums. I don't remember any tours of the house, just evenings with the slide show.

My Dad and I had our work cut out for us...there seemed to be a hidden clause in this whole deal about maintaining that rose garden. We did our best, but the delphiniums were biennials, and the roses got Japanese beetles, and we had a Boxer puppy ( Woof 1 ).

The neighbors were very friendly, and I had finally accepted the fact that school was going to be a much longer commitment that I had envisioned , but now I'd be able to walk to the local Catholic school with the other kids and avoid those treacherous waits at a bus stop. One rainy September morning I was strolling along with my new twin friends when I happened to glance across the street where another little group was heading to Saint Margaret's. My little seven year old heart absolutely fluttered when I caught sight of a glorious six year old girl as she skipped along like a little Von Trapp munchkin. She was wearing the most beautiful Blessed Mother blue raincoat with white polka dots AND was carrying a matching umbrella. I must have swooned or at least been pretty light headed for a few minutes...awed by this vision of loveliness...(did I mention the pig tails?). I made my mind up then and there to befriend this marvelous vision of heavenly beauty. We walked home together that very afternoon....and that night I dreamed about sharing that umbrella for the rest of my life....Even in my dream I knew better than to start a whining campaign for a matching ensemble...it wasn't as if I'd be begging for a Pirates uniform. I was already beginning to understand the rules.

IS THIS WHAT "LESS GOVERNMENT" LOOKS LIKE?

Lots of Republicans seem to be talking about a lot less government intrusion into peoples lives. There are lots of them talking about the Supreme Court case concerning the health care provision that requires everyone to have insurance. One Republican congressman was particularly vocal yesterday when he was furiously denouncing the idea of the government making people buy something that they don't want. Meanwhile, I've been reading for months about Republican state legislators all over the country pushing for these ultrasounds and probes that would be required for any woman who wanted an abortion. Now being a man perhaps I don't quite know what I'm talking about, but I can't imagine that the majority of women would want the government forcing these procedures on them...they do have a legal right to terminate a pregnancy...like it or not. Our own governor in Pennsylvania has suggested that women can just "close their eyes" rather than look at the required screen with images of the ultrasound. This is "less government" ?

In my limited understanding of this mandated health insurance idea....isn't the gist of it the idea that we all end up paying for all those people who go to the emergency room for treatment without any insurance ? If this country's health care system is ranked 37th in the world....seems like we have to do SOMETHING different. Since I try to always write about what I know....this is an appropriate time to wind this up. I have a lot to learn.

THE COLOR OF OUR CHILDREN'S SKIN

Last night...around midnight the phone rang...always a scary sound around here, but the call was actually anticipated and quickly answered. After months of anxiety and patience, we learned that my one and only nephew was accepted into Carnegie Mellon University. This young man has worked hard for a long time for this. He also received acceptance letters from several other prestigious institutions, but has been very interested and hopeful about CMU. He has excelled in more areas than I ever dreamed of, from tennis to baseball to singing and dancing in the school musicals. He's polite, funny, kind, and thoughtful as well. I don't worry that he'll have a good life.

When he turned sixteen and began to drive I worried a little bit more...I've watched too many news stories for too many years about teenagers killed on the road. I've told him many times that if he's ever in a car with someone who is doing anything dangerous to get out...call me anytime...from anywhere...and I'll come and get him. So as much as this promising young man has going for him, his uncle still keeps a vigilant eye on him, as do his parents and sister. He's really not a kid that needs to be watched like a hawk.

After the good news last night as I tried to go back to sleep, my thoughts drifted to those families who's phones also ring late at night... with horrible news. As the outrage continues over the killing of Travon Martin, and our own nightly news almost always reports another young person killed, I'm keenly aware of what a dangerous world this is for young black men in particular. How sad for the families with kids who are immediately deemed "suspicious" because of the color of their skin. If my nephew walks into a store in the evening he's looked at very differently than a black boy his age would be looked at in the same situation.

It's a whole different world for a young person if your skin is dark, but we all bleed the same blood, all hearts break with the same pain, and burying a child ruins many lives forever. I worry a bit when my nephew is out with his friends, but not when he's simply shopping or going to school. My friends of a different color don't have that same luxury. A trip to a convenience store for candy and an iced tea can prove deadly for young black kid. While life is about to begin for kids like ours, it all too frequently ends in a cemetery for so many countless others.

WALKING WITH WONDERFUL WOOF

Woof gives me a certain look every evening after dinner. It doesn't mean "I need to go out" and it doesn't mean "I'm hungry" or "lets go to bed"...it's a very clear suggestion that we go for a walk. When I ask her for confirmation of the request she leaps around for a minute or two just like she did six years ago when she was a puppy. I go to the little drawer where I keep her leash...as well as the corkscrew, which causes some confusion for her at odd times,  and she sits down patiently while I slip it over her head (the leash..not the wine opener.) Her leash was passed down from two Woofs ago and it used to be pink...that was Woof #4"s favorite color. Now it's kinda gray, and worn, but any new collar that I've tried is quickly rejected...as though I'm trying to choke her with some Bison yoke.

She prances and dances down the street with me and we pass first the new neighbors who fight a lot and watch different programs on different tv sets on different floors. Sometimes our Polish neighbor whom we met by sharing a little mountain of mushroom compost one Spring and who whistles all the while he works in his pristine vegetable garden. He waves hello with a big "Hi!" to Woof and we keep moving. As we round the corner at the bottom of the street we can hear the chatter from the outdoor diners at the Italian restaurant...people love the BYOB idea there and they bring a lot. We can smell the garlic in the air and Woof would love to stop in...but we keep moving towards her favorite rest stop...the corner Donut shop. The owner is a boxer lover who drops whatever she's doing when she sees us and runs out to hug my dog...not me.

On those times when someone different is working Woof is inconsolable. I try to explain about people having time off, but she still doesn't get it.

We pass the house where the Jack Russell jumps against the front window, the house that kept their Christmas lights up until February, the house that the family lost and had to move away with their little boy and their big dog that was Woof's good friend...and we both feel bad.

In twenty minutes Woof and I have discussed the elections, world peace, and why my partner forgot to put the ham in the oven on Sunday. We're back home in about twenty minutes, I'm ready to watch Rachel, and Woof is ready to put her pajamas on. All's right with the world.

THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE

So this idea that I was expected to go to school EVERY day really took me by surprise...it wasn't even optional....five days every week was a real bother for someone as busy as I was. The big rage around that time was an outdoor log cabin....I think Sears sold them in a kit, and it was about the size of a tree house, but had four sides with windows and a door, and of course I was less afraid to beg for one of those that I was for a black baby doll. My Dad agreed, and soon he and my Uncle were busy putting my new little cabin together in the back yard. Now while I think my Dad was envisioning a sort of an OK CORRAL for his unusual little son, the little son was picturing more of an Enchanted Cottage. Billy next door was thinking we'd use it as a hideout, or a camp for gunfights while I was thinking that it would absolutely charming for afternoon high tea. Susie and I of course prevailed, proper curtains were hung and tied back with cute little ribbons, wall to wall carpeting from a remnant in her gameroom was installed (poorly) by the two of us, and we were looking at windowboxes in magazines when my Dad put his foot down.

One of my friends says that he knew he was gay when one day he heard the news that Judy Garland had died....and he fainted....and he was nine. I knew something was up with me...and maybe my Dad did too...and picturing his son as Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm instead of Hopalong Cassidy might have been a not so subtle hint about some difficult times ahead. What was a tea house without windowboxes and petunias? I opted to abandon the shack until I was about ten and decided to turn it into a roadside shrine in honor of the Blessed Mother and weary travelers. My childhood experiences were beginning to evolve into constant differences between what I was expected to do and what I had absolutely no interest or intention of doing. Except for the constant interruption of that damned school stuff, I was just as happy as a lark.

BABY DOLLS, UNIFORMS, AND BAD APPLES

When I was six years old I really wanted a baby doll...a black one. My friend Susie had one although she was white as were all the other kids in our neighborhood. Susie was progressive and I was confused. I remember thinking that I shouldn't really want a doll...and I'm not sure if I ever actually asked Santa or the Easter Bunny for one....but I never got one, so we had to share. Susie's Dad was a doctor so she always seemed to get extravagant toys...like a really big dollhouse that we played with for hours. Our other friend Billy was into more normal boy things...cowboys and Indians and holsters and guns. Every picture of him shows him with some wild west outfit on while Susie and I look like the Bobsy twins. On Halloween we dressed like tigers with big long tails and Billy was a monster.

Since I was a Catholic and Susie and Billy were pagans, we went to different schools. On my first day I stood in the playground in my little gray coat holding my Mom's hand while we waited for the bell to ring. One of the nuns who looked to be about nine feet tall came over and began gathering us first graders together and I very reluctantly released my Mother's hand and was taken away to the gallows. To my surprise my own teacher Sister Theckla was much prettier and nicer that her name was, but I was horrified to learn that we were expected to come to school every day. I thought it would be more of a short term commitment.

Philip Slatbridge sat in the first row and was trouble for all of us from the get go. When Sister would tell us to color the apples red, Philip would make them black. Anytime I glanced at his desk he'd just be scribbling all over his paper as I strolled up the aisle with my perfectly colored circles and squares. I was distraught to learn that Philip and I were thrown together at the same bus stop at 3:00, and since I looked so much like Little Lord Fauntleroy in my little gray coat (with matching cap of course) he naturally picked on me. I tell people that he beat me up every day in first grade but I think he probably just pushed me around a lot. I still dream about tracking him down and killing him. (not really),

well...maybe kinda really. I actually told my parents that the nuns used to trap him in the office with yard sticks and take turns beating him. Maybe they did.

My parents were baffled by many things about me (duh!) especially my refusal to go to school without my gray coat and hat. Around this time of year it was warming up and I still insisted on my little uniform. When it got to be around 80 degrees and I was still bundling up we had a show down. After a major inquisition I provided my explanation. At the end of each day, Sister Theckla would say " You may go to the cloakroom now and get your wraps and then you can line up to go home". I interpreted that to mean...have a "wrap" or you stay here. My gray coat was my ticket out. It took a great deal of convincing for me to arrive without my green card...but it sure felt a lot cooler as I rushed home to change our shared baby doll and rearrange the dollhouse. This school thing really interfered with my very busy schedule. More about that later.