Virginia Tech

My heart aches for you all.

For the students, the teachers, the first responders, for the witnesses to the horror.

I cry as I read about the victims, and of the heroes.

The professor who survived the Holocaust and blocked the door with his body to save his students.

The students who slammed doors and piled tables, who tended to their classmates' wounds as the madman continued his rampage.

I cry for the families, for the brothers and sisters of the victims.

And for the parents.

Burying a child is something no parent should have to do.

I cry for you most because I know that pain.

I had less time, but I had a room to clean out, and a handful of pictures.

I have wrestled with the tears that the "What ifs" and "should have beens" bring to my throat.

You will live in a fog for the next few months. It is Nature's way of getting you to the next stage, her way of protecting you from the constant pain.

The pain will scab over. But the scab will pull at its edges, reminding you it's there. It will crack and bleed when you least expect it, and the weight of your grief will be a tidal wave that you will struggle against.

"I am so sorry for your loss" seems so trite, and yet is the only thing that can be said.

I am so sorry for your loss.

Don Imus

I believe the freedom of expression. I also believe that we may have been better off when there was some air of civility in this country, where you were polite to people and watched your language. Now, it's all about "shock-jocks". And one of them said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Couldn't stop flapping your gums, could you, Don? While your charitable efforts have been enormous, you have tarnished them with your vitriol towards some young women who didn't deserve it.

That said, I hope that this is not the end of the discussion. Meredith Vieira, who is one of those "women-I-would-love-to-meet-someday", was speaking with the Rev. Sharpton last week on the Today Show (her interview can be read here: http://newsbusters.org/node/11990), and she put it so eloquently into words. As Rev. Sharpton was talking about the need for government-regulated broadcasting, she said

"Let's talk about accountability, sir. Because when you had Imus on your show on Monday you brought your daughter out at one point, and this really resonated with me because I have a daughter. And you asked him to look at your daughter and you said "this is not a ho. This is my daughter." A lot of people around the country understood what you were saying because so many young ladies and young men, every day on the airwaves are exposed to ugly language: to the n-word, to the b-word, to the word 'ho,' much of it originated in the black community with rap music, with hip-hop music, as you have acknowledged. What are you going to do now to immediately stop that filth that is coming over the airwaves in the way you've tried to stop Don Imus?"

Yes, Rev. Sharpton, what are you and your community going to do? Will you target the rappers and hip-hop artists next? Meredith went on to say that it "permeates through society". Another point well stated. I've had this discussion with my 11-yo and some of his friends. They were in the car one day and one of them wanted to hear a song on the radio. I couldn't tell it was a song at first; all the bleeps made it sound like the Emergency Broadcasting System's Test. I changed the channel. I was asked why, and I talked to them. I told them how I listen to almost all music, and I do like some rap, because it tells a story. I also talked about artists like Kanye West, and how he comes across in interviews as a very well-spoken intelligent young man. That is, until he opens his mouth to sing some of the crap he puts out, loaded with cuss words. And how that, IMHO, makes him look dumb, and stupid, and ignorant.

It's everywhere. I'm sick of turning on the radio and listening to some idiot, white or black, talking about being down in the 'hood wit' his homies and hos, followed by some bleeps, followed by more crap. And to be honest with you, I don't care what race you are, DO NOT say the N-word. If you think it's okay because you are black to say that word, then you are denying everything that people before you went through to NOT be called that. And Rev. Sharpton, please don't start the nonsense about it's-not-the-rapper's-fault, it's-the-record-executive-who-isn't-black's fault. It’s the entire industry’s fault, and it’s our fault for buying that crap. But let’s not be hypocrites. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. If you want Imus off the commercial airwaves, let’s get the foul-mouthed artists off, too.

This discussion should NOT end with Don Imus's firing. It must continue on, and ALL, regardless of race or gender, who spread their misogynistic, racist garbage, and those that profit from it, should be told to clean up their acts. Just as people called the advertisers for Imus's show and told those company execs that they would no longer buy their products if they supported the show, I think all of us should call the radio stations and tell them that we won't listen if they keep filling our airways with garbage.

Look out, Mouse!

Well, I have to accept the fact that I’m not good at this keeping-up-the-blogging thing. I can’t do it at home, because Webkinz (I think they’ll have to form support groups for the elementary school set who have become hooked on these things!!!!) and Club Penguin and researching the 5th grade class project have invaded our home’s cyberspace. That, and I hate people HANGING OVER MY SHOULDER when I’m trying to tie the frayed remnants of thoughts together to form a cohesive train of consciousness. So, I try to blog at work (I know, bad employee, but hey, I never get my contracted-mandated 30 minute lunch and 2, count ‘em, 2 15-minute breaks), but then the phone rings, or someone does come in and I don’t want them reading my most personal thoughts because none of them know I blog, or I actually need to get some work done. Well, no one is in the office now, so I guess I’ve got a chance to redeem myself, since it’s only been……… Oh My God, SIX months since I blogged last.

We’re going to the Land of Mickey in eight days. Eight days. Until Monday, I was just focused on getting the taxes done. Now I have to focus on this. Let me preface this by saying that I am the organized one in the house. I have three males in the house, and me. That’s one dyslexic-unorganized-possibly-ADD-husband, one 11-yo who is focused only at this time on making sure his MP3 is loaded with the latest tunes and is working on his list of “must-do” rides, and one head-strong, dyslexic-and-working-the-sympathy-vote 7-yo. The 7-yo is the one who responded to my “How did this get to be my job?” open-ended, said-to-no-one-in-particular outburst last night with the retort “Because you’re the mom, that’s why. Dads don’t do that stuff!” (BTW, I’d like to thank DH for teaching the kids about gender roles….).

This combination plus DH’s harumphing around when something is forgotten (harumphing is that sound that someone makes when they’re disappointed in you) means that I am a woman of lists. Lists that I check and recheck and recheck some more. My friends tease me that I am always prepared. What they don’t understand is that it is an emotional defensive mechanism that my husband and kids have helped hone and that my parents (very organized listmakers, those two) instilled in the first place. Lists mean that you don’t forget anything, don’t disappoint anyone, don’t let anyone down.

And when you depend on a non-listmaker to pack? Well, having DH do his own packing for a summer weekend getaway to Santa’s Village in NH (BTW – AWESOME place for Christmas-lovers) resulted in having to buy tshirts, as he forgot to pack his (not to mention the one he had on had a hole under the arm, apparently for ventilation). Last month was the best one, though. I had a retirement planning workshop I’d signed up for on a Thursday night. We were going to drive down to RI the next morning for my DB’s Naval College graduation. Well, New England weather being what it is, the forecast for the next morning involved precipitation in at least three, if not five, forms: snow, sleet, slush, freezing rain, and rain. The decision was made at about two in the afternoon to go after my workshop, and get down to Newport at about midnight, missing the storm. I told DH that I was counting on him to check the packing. He did. The next morning, at the hotel, we got up at about 6:30 so that we would have enough time to get breakfast, get ready, and leave for the graduation ceremony at 9:00. At 7:00 I turned on the iron and looked for the boys’ shirts to quickly press the collars. Guess what didn’t make it into the car?!? The boys’ dress shirts and sweaters. I went into drill-sergent mode (I don’t care if you need coffee, honey, we need to find a Target or Walmart and get them shirts!!!! No, YOU stay in the car and I’LL get directions from the front desk!!!). Twenty-five minutes later, I was charging $18 worth of blue dress shirts, and we were on our way back to the hotel.

So, my lists are out. We’re going to attempt to do this vacation with only the clothes and essentials that can fit in a backpack. I don't want to deal with checked luggage that could get lost (Harumph). I don't even want to deal with a rolling carry-on, as the last time we flew, the lovely Delta gate biotch in Atlanta ripped them from my hands (as she did with all the other coach passengers) because they had SOOOooooo many people on board. Of course, if they had restricted the business class folks to one instead of three bags, there probably would have been room for the one-bag-per-person-allotment. I don't want to even deal with the TSA regulations regarding liquids that could change overnight. I'm shipping a box down with that stuff in it (some money, but my sanity is worth much more).

I’ll let you how it’s going…