My sister is travelling somewhere in Europe and I’m not with her. Something is wrong with the world.
I went up Twenty Mile River with some friends this week for a boat ride. I’d forgotten how privileged I was to live in this amazing state. It was just so gorgeous to go up that river surrounded by mountains and glaciers; to get off the boat and examine bear tracks in the mud; to breathe in air that just smelled good. Alaskans are really the most lucky people in the world. This whole other universe of wilderness is just outside our front door.
The problem with impeaching Bush is that we end up with President Volde...I’m sorry, I meant President Cheney. Actually, President Voldemort would be less scary.
My mother raised me to believe that some things were private and should always stay that way. Maybe this is why the current trend in America to make everything public, or at least accessible to the government, troubles me so much. Or maybe it’s because I’ve just lived in Alaska way too long and that ornery streak of independence I was born with has hardened into armor on my soul.
It seems that each day another piece of our lives becomes either government or public property. If we object, we’re told it’s to fight terrorism or for our own good. No matter what part of your life the government is trying to pry into on any given day, the reason for it is only scant steps short of mom and apple pie so that you feel like a mean, nasty traitor to even question it. More and more though, I find myself not only questioning it, but resenting it.
There was a story recently in the news about how efforts are being made to create some sort of data base from telephone records that the government would have access to if needed for - what else - the war on terror. Object to this invasion of privacy and you obviously want jihad in your hometown. The government spokesman who was discussing the project said that the feds would still need a subpoena or letter indicating it was needed for the war on terror to get access. Hmmm, why does that not provide me any comfort?
It’s bad enough that when I log on to the Internet, something called cookies track my every step so that they (whoever they may be in this context) end up knowing me better than I know myself. But to know that the government can use my tax return to find out exactly what charities receive my donations greatly disturbs me.
And do we even want to get into what a joy flying has now become thanks to the war on terror? Short of requesting that we all fly naked, could the government be any more intrusive? But again, to complain is to be unpatriotic because this is all being done for our own good. The nanny state has arrived in America and it doesn’t even have the courtesy to sing to us to make the medicine go down.
Our government now invokes the public good or the need for safety during the war on terror for each piece of privacy taken from us. The question that keeps recurring to me is exactly when will I be safe enough? Every time I raise that question, of course, I am told I’m being silly, that the government is only taking a little piece here or a little piece there. But I look around and the cumulative effect of what they’ve taken from me in the way of privacy is pretty frightening.
I don’t want jihadists dancing in the streets of Anchorage. But I also don’t want Big Brother breathing so heavily down my neck that it feels like foreplay. I don’t want government in my bed, in my house, in my computer...in every part and parcel of my life so that it has become more omnipresent than god.
If we continue down this primrose path, so much will have been lost to the war on terror that the terrorists will have won without firing a shot within our borders. We will allow our fear to rule us to the point where we hand over everything to the government in the name of safety and end up with the kind of safety that the Soviets enjoyed for so many years under communism. Their government denied them their most basic right to privacy in the name of state security. Why is what’s happening in America today all that different?
I have a dear friend who is an ardent member of the NRA. Being raised in New Jersey, the only people I knew with guns were people my mother didn’t want me to hang out with. So I never developed a deep attachment to my Second Amendment rights. My friend used to insist that when jackbooted government thugs were marching in the streets to take my rights from me, I’d be glad that people like him had fought for their right to stay armed. I used to find that argument specious. Now, I’m not so sure. There may not be jackbooted thugs marching in the name of our government down Minnesota Drive, but thanks to computers, they no longer have to. They’re marching down my computer’s paths. Either way, my government is starting to really scare me.
Just so there’s no mistake. That mealy mouthed little twerp who looks like kids took turns beating him up in grade school, by the name of Alberto Gonzales, is supposed to embody the rule of law in our country today? Yep, in view of this administration’s total disdain for the law and the constitution, that would be about right. I don’t know about you, but if I were Hispanic, I’d be way pissed that this is what became the first Hispanic United States Attorney General. It’s not unlike John Gotti becoming the first Italian president...except, of course, no one beat John Gotti up in school or anywhere else without highly regretting it very soon thereafter.
If Alaska’s entire congressional delegation ends up indicted, will we be represented by the guy who represents DC? You know, the one with no voting power or muscle? And if that happens, will Bush be able to nationalize our Permanent Fund for the fight against terror without any opposition? Inquiring minds want to know.
I know. I know. I’m only the godmother so I really had little to do with this beautiful mom and her son. But damn it, I changed her diapers too so I helped a little. And I’ve changed his diapers, even though it is now exponentially harder for me to get down on the floor for the task. So I should have some bragging rights. And if this isn’t one of the most beautiful mother/child combinations ever in the history of this whole, wide world, then you don’t know squat...because it is.
Emily and Rhodes Vann Pruett. What a gorgeous duo. I know dad can’t wait to get back from Iraq so he can complete the picture. He’s all that’s missing to make it perfect. Hurry home, Greg. We all miss you.
So I’m wandering around my flower bed pulling out handfuls of what may or may not be stuff that shouldn’t be there when my neighbor from across the circle stops by to ask me if I want some Kenai River reds. Anyone in Alaska immediately knows he’s talking about fresh salmon. I eagerly accept and have two fresh, never frozen fillets waiting for me and my company tonight. And that’s how to be a good neighbor.
Could there be much that is more reprehensible than torturing dogs so that they become mean and want to fight? What horrible impulse drives that behavior in humans? It scares the hell out of me.
Reading about all the US cash missing in Iraq that seems to have mysteriously found its way into politicians’ pockets, it occurs to me that we have quite successfully exported political corruption there. If only democracy could actually flouish as well. But I don’t suppose Halliburton is as anxious to teach that.
I grew up on the Jersey shore. Spending summers on the beach down the block from dad’s store was the only way to keep cool in a world without air conditioning. When I was in 8th grade, I was down the beach with friends. A boy I’d been in school with since kindergarten made an unflattering comparison of me in a bathing suit to a large boat. I went home, took my bathing suit off and essentially never put one on again. I announced that I was allergic to the sun and sand and just didn’t want to go there anymore.
My mother first started me on diet pills when I was about ten years old. In those days, it was apparently considered appropriate to treat childhood weight problems with uppers during the day and downers at night. While I may never have managed to successfully keep the weight off that I kept losing and re-losing, I did quickly discover that if I faked taking the nighttime pill, I never got sleepy. That was the origin of the voracious reading habit I have maintained even now in the twilight years of my middle age. In fact, my greatest athletic feat as a child was to read Gone With The Wind in one sitting. You gotta love those uppers!
Aside from that achievement, very little positive results came of my mother marching me from one doctor to the next looking for the magic cure for my obesity. I grew extremely self-conscious about my body and developed a bizarre relationship with food that continues even now. I never exercised because it was too hard and I felt like everyone was laughing at the fat girl who couldn’t catch her breath. In grade school, my mother shopped for me at a lovely store called Chubettes. In high school, I graduated to Lane Bryant before they discovered that even fat people want to look stylish.
My weight problem caused tension between my mother and me that was never successfully resolved. It stayed between us like the elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge. We talked around it, above it, below it and sidewise to it but we never really confronted it and what it did to both of us. I think back on it now and can understand that my mother didn’t know what to do with a fat kid. She weighed 99 pounds when she was married and took enormous pride in being beautiful, which she was, and dressing well. She always looked like she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. I didn’t because no matter what I had on, it had been designed for a fat person and in those days that precluded style.
Unfortunately, my childhood weight problem ultimately led to all the health issues that we are now warned will result unless we do something about it early on. Hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol...I have the triumvirate and then some. So when I read articles about how doctors need to be more honest with parents about their child’s weight problem; when I read articles that say when an obviously obese child is standing in your office you need to call that child obese when talking with the parents and not try to sugar coat it by saying the child is at risk for obesity; when I read these things I cringe at the memory of childhood humiliations that still affect how I view myself.
Childhood obesity is an epidemic in America today. Dealing with this problem is something that needs to be done and needs to be done immediately. I just hope that as parents try to address it, they don’t swing the pendulum from total denial to brutal acknowledgement. Because for all the bad things obesity can do for your body, it’s nothing compared to what it can do to your soul when people treat you like a problem instead of a person. Study after study shows that along with health problems, being overweight can also cause significant social problems from a dearth of dates to a dearth of promotions at work.
My schoolmate on the beach that day probably didn’t have the faintest idea of how cruel his words really were. He was about 13, full of testosterone and showing off for the pretty thin girls sitting next to me. But words can cut deeper than the sharpest scalpel. And there isn’t an overweight kid out there who doesn’t know he or she is overweight and therefore viewed more negatively than his or her peers. Mental health, social well being, career advancement, marriages...all are at risk for unhappy results if you are a fat person in a world that has determined a size 3 is a tad too big.
Being overweight can lead to a lifetime of scars. Sometimes it’s the invisible ones on the soul that are the most damaging.
My friend Rob was here today. He met Blue and Blondie for the first time. He took one look at Blue and exclaimed, “Lovey”. And in an instant I realized how right he was. Blue looks a lot like Lovey, my faithful companion for seventeen years in Barrow. In fact, Rob was the one who named her when she was just a puppy. I wonder now if that’s what attracted me to her when I saw her picture on the Friends of Pets website. Did I instinctively react to the resemblance? And then, of course, I got her home and found out she is a complete food whore....just like Lovey. Blondie is a slut puppy and Blue is a food whore. And somewhere in heaven, Lovey is looking down and laughing...and that should probably scare me on a lot of levels because she was always good at the vengeance game. I expect Blue will start putting out farts that will clear the house out any day now.
It rained in Anchorage all day Sunday which meant I could curl up in my chair and read Harry Potter without feeling any guilt at all...all right, a little guilt because my dogs looked stricken when they realized that they weren’t going to get a walk. But it was raining hard enough that I didn’t care. And so I finished it before anyone managed to blow the ending for me. I happy about the ending in some ways and disappointed in others. I won’t say much more because I don’t want to blow it for anyone who hasn’t finished. But there is a part of me that thinks she wimped out in the end and didn’t finish it as boldly as it seemed she might from the rest of the story. It’s almost as though she decided at the last minute to make it a happy fairy tale hearing and I was expecting something else.
My summer roommate is gone for the week and my company left a few days ago. The first night I was alone I spent wandering around in my underwear talking outloud and thrilling at the fact that there was no one here to hear me or think me odd. OK, maybe the dogs did look at me strangely but once I pretended I was actually talking to the birds, they went back to their evening naps. Wouldn’t want to keep them awake too long in the evening or they won’t have the strength to sleep all night.
Lest there be any doubt, I am holed up in my house with Harry and will communicate with no one till I have finished the book for fear the ending will be accidentally revealed to me. Oh Harry, we hardly knew ye!