tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76223609408584625072024-03-18T23:48:11.097-05:00Blue Like the SkyKelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-13260444835165664982014-05-02T22:39:00.001-05:002014-05-02T22:39:52.634-05:00Are you out there readers? It's me, Kelly.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not even sure I know how to write a post anymore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"It seems like yesterday" has turned into almost two years, a return to conventional employment, a life in a new state, sadness and joy, and change beyond measure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I began this blog five years ago, on the verge of 50, as an anonymous exploration of midlife. For a few years I wrote reasonably often and reasonably well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I just stopped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I shall start again. The time seems right.</span>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-24281251343093078572012-11-01T08:50:00.000-05:002012-11-01T08:55:49.617-05:00Step Back and Breathe<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent"><span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">A bit of my political "wisdom:" If people selected sexual and life partners like they select political candidates these days, our species would die out in a generation. We don't expect our partners to match our criteria 100%. We overlook faults, differences, and quirks because we see the big picture. </span></span></div>
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<span class="userContent"><span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">Why do we insist that a candidate support our beliefs 100%? If 80% is good enough for marriage, why not for the presidency?</span></span></div>
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<span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">Politicians used to accomplish great things through negotiation and compromise. Now they scream soundbytes and have their SuperPACs dispense vitriol.</span></div>
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<span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">Discourse is getting overheated, so let's all step back for a bit. Indulge my tendency to take a meta-view. Say what you will about profit-driven networks, seems the nation was more civil when everyone watched the same three channels - ABC, CBS, NBC - and the networks did not expect their news divisions to be profit centers. We still had two parties and diverse attitudes, but we were nicer about it. </span></div>
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<span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">Now that news divisions are expected to generate profits and ratings and people can choose their news (via cable, talk radio, newspapers, and the Internet) to match their views, we seem to have lost the ability to understand and respect the positions of those with whom we disagree. I remember when my mother supported Johnson and my father supported Goldwater and nary a cross word was uttered. I honestly can't say the same about my own home these days. Mea culpa. </span></div>
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<span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">I've read some heated comments on my Facebook page that give me pause. Who among us can be certain of anything? Now that we can source-shop to support our positions, it's good to remember that believing something doesn't make it true, reading or hearing something doesn't make it true, and saying something doesn't make it true. Pardon the arrogance of my mantra, "Certainty is the New Arrogance."</span></div>
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<span class="userContent" style="font-size: large;">If we started our sentences with "My position is X" rather than "X!!!" we might actually accomplish something through consensus and compromise. Try this for the next week and see if the rhetorical temperature around you settles into a more pleasant range.</span></div>
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Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-89562718488935438832012-09-18T11:55:00.001-05:002012-09-18T11:56:16.328-05:00Best Words Ever<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This morning on KERA - our local public radio station - I heard the best words ever:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">"A high of 78"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It can only improve from here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Get out and enjoy the north wind. Look for geese. Think of better times to come.</span></div>
Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-81436388881130154832012-09-12T18:49:00.000-05:002012-09-12T18:49:05.461-05:00Could be......Who knows?<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Really, friends. I never intended this blog to go fallow. Life has had other ideas.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For now, I'm going to aim for once-a-month...kind of the post-menopausal version of cramps.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've been in a tub of glum for a good long while. The details aren't really interesting (even to me), so you shall be spared. I am, sadly, not one of those writers who is spurred on by adversity. If I were, you wouldn't have enough time to read about 2012.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But this week feels different.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Fall approacheth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've blogged before (<a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2007/08/dark-and-silent-late-last-night-i-think.html">here</a>, <a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2008/10/melancholy-thou-hast-thy-music-too.html">here</a>,<a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2008/10/harvest.html"> here</a>, and<a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2008/10/86-mist-mellow-fruitfulness.html"> here</a> for example ) about my deep-seated love of autumn.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My fellow hell-dwellers here in Texas can attest to the cruel trick Nature played on us recently, that morning when we woke up to weather in the high 50s. One of fall's harbingers in these parts is the first time you walk outdoors and find the Air Out There cooler than the Air Inside Here. While it is true that the temperatures are marginally cooler, one morning does not fall make. Especially if the afternoon brings a high way up in the 90s.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This morning, however, I saw a more reliable sign. The light has changed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am seriously impaired when it comes to the visual arts. My stick figures are below the 50th percentile. I don't have the vocabulary to describe this, so bear with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summer light here is harsh. It's white. It's brutal and unforgiving. It can start as early as March and last into November in a bad year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Fall light is softer. It's golden. It gilds things. It flatters. It can be as hot and uncomfortable as summer light, but does not bring the misery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today brought golden light.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And the acorns in my yard are twice the size they were last year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So fall must be close.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And maybe -- just maybe -- we'll see winter. Then I will have no choice but to cheer up!</span>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-79984957892408369612012-08-02T19:00:00.001-05:002012-08-07T21:20:15.408-05:00Voting "Bock!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkicMUMw1Jeti35Pu-sj3t14kLaMd2nQFan1ABbROl3nFmRHPpUvM7X7v0wvi8SH1efyF4ChvM4KckD5toQGNfoZVe-NqUU47Uy6GE5lahMW1iunlK2hcToUzjNWFLhXqIOzrjilbONeU/s1600/chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkicMUMw1Jeti35Pu-sj3t14kLaMd2nQFan1ABbROl3nFmRHPpUvM7X7v0wvi8SH1efyF4ChvM4KckD5toQGNfoZVe-NqUU47Uy6GE5lahMW1iunlK2hcToUzjNWFLhXqIOzrjilbONeU/s320/chicken.jpg" width="298" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> "Bock! Bock! Bock!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Let's talk about Citizens United v. The Federal Election Commission (2010).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Waaaaaaay back in the late 1970s, my political science professor taught me that the branch of government that would have the strongest effect on my day-to-day life was the Supreme Court. Decades after decades, decisions after decisions have proved him correct.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Thanks to the Citizens United case, our wallets are now our voter registration cards and our nation's cash registers are our ballot boxes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Anyone who doubted Dr. Street's wisdom only needed to drive past a Chick-Fil-A yesterday to witness an object lesson. While I cannot confirm this figure, I read today that Chick-Fil-A - that supporter of "Biblical Families" - earned an entire quarter's of profits in one day. One. Day.*</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If one individual, Mike Huckabee in this case, can mobilize such an economic tsunami, those of us who hope for President Obama's November reelection should sit down and make some plans.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Do not be deluded. Put down your delicious glass of Pinot Gris and LISTEN. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is extremely likely that our next president will be Mitt Romney.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Why? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">President Obama swept into office on the votes of individuals who were not "players" in prior elections. Many of those individuals did not get exactly the things they had hoped for. For this reason, they are unlikely to believe that voting is worth the effort. Evangelical Christians do not have this problem. They will not stay home, no way no how.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Several years ago while waiting in a checkout line, I heard a child tell his mother he wanted a rubber chicken he spied on the display rack. She replied, "Sweetheart, you don't need a rubber chicken." After a pause, he said, "I want something I need."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Isn't this what voting comes down to? We all want something we need.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Right now, voters need reassurance. They want to believe that one candidate or the other will quash their fears and deliver a rubber chicken.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Guess what? There is no rubber chicken.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Instead, there are RIGHTS. And LIBERTY. And FREEDOM.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Basic civil rights - like marriage and decisions about your own actual body - belong to all Americans, gay, straight, purple, male, or female. Those uppercase words are in danger for many of us.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I will put my money where my mouth is. I will respect the right of those who disagree with me to vote for whomever they choose. I will respect the rights of those who do not believe a woman's body is her own to not get abortions. I will respect the rights of those who do not believe gay Americans deserve the property advantages marriage bestows to stay home from gay weddings. And I will support the right of evangelical Christians to buy chicken sandwiches until the cows come home.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After all, this is America.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If, however, you believe that rights are universal - without regard to color, gender, or sexual orientation - I beg you to do whatever you can to bring out the vote for President Obama in November.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Everyone deserves more than a rubber chicken.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*Correction: This figure turned out to be an exaggeration. The last figure I read was eight million, a record one-day profit. Still...the money here is stupendous.</i></span><br />
<br />Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-27466899679799811122012-07-26T22:26:00.000-05:002012-07-26T22:26:20.681-05:00A little love letter....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Yesterday, the heavens opened and rained down love upon me, love dressed in the clothes of The World's Best Friends.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Just over a month since my sister's death, I found myself hard up against the deadline to clear out her apartment. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'd been through the rehearsals for this last August when she moved from a non-assisted senior complex into a wonderful assisted living facility, and the year before that when she moved to the senior complex from the house she'd shared with our mother. Over the years, she had turned into - if not a full-blown hoarder - a person with a serious inability to part with stuff. She wasn't a generalist, like the folks you see on reality TV, their spaces full of every item they've ever touched. She was a woman with specific attachments. While she was more than willing to toss things like family photos ("Why should I keep those? What's the point?" she asked as Young Girl and I pulled our history from the large green trash bin after my mother's death), she refused to part with a single book, be it a cheesy circa-1962 "annual" from the pharmaceutical giant for which my father worked (full of head shots of every intravenous fluid salesman in the country), one of four outdated dictionaries, or one of the dreadful romances or cozy-mysteries she favored. She had mock turtlenecks in every color L.L Bean produced in any given five-year period with fake Crocs to match. In the last move, I did manage to coax her down to 25 shapeless fleecy vests. You get the picture.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Handling the tangible evidence of a lost life is always complicated, but doing so in an assisted living facility is exponentially more so. With every box or bag you cart down the hallway, you see realization of their near future on the faces of the elders you pass, regardless of their level of cognitive capacity. They all know what it means when the furniture starts to move. I did my best to work while people were in the dining room or at "Sit-er-Size" or bingo, but contact was unavoidable and painful all around. I told myself I was putting the task off because of my other responsibilities - funny how busy we become when we need to be - but the truth was I just didn't want to do it. Too much finality.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'd declined many offers of help. Part of me somehow felt I was doing some kind of penance, paying attention after the fact, and that such things needed to be done in isolation. But the unit had been rented for August and it was Time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I asked the fabulous women of First Amendment Friday if they could help me for a couple of hours yesterday. I needed, I told them, help bagging up and loading the items I was sending to the Women's Crisis Center resale shop. If we had time, maybe we could take some of the smaller stuff to my house in our cars. Then we'd have lunch, and discuss a time when their teenage sons might be available to move the larger things.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Every one of them who was in town showed up at the appointed hour, and pitched in with organization and discernment that was far beyond my capacity. They knew what to do when I didn't and they did it. Before I really knew what had happened, my van was full of the resale bags and boxes, and their cars were packed to the brim with keeper things. We dropped those at my house, delivered to the resale store, then rendezvoused for lunch.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Cue the cloudburst.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">While we waited for our food, they announced that they'd decided they were going to take care of the rest of it that afternoon. Without my help. They realized, they told me, that I'd reached my capacity and they took away the keys to my sister's apartment. After lunch, they came to my house and commandeered my van.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">About an hour later, four chosen sisters, two of their husbands, and five assorted teenage sons and their friends descended upon me with everything in tow. Everything. Some went into the garage, some into the house. My van was packed with boxes of books I plan to sell a few towns away. I stood in my bare feet with my drawn, sad face and watched true friendship in action.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This post goes out to you, my friends. My birth family may be gone, but your love and support hold me close in ways it never did.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Love,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Me</span><br />
<br />Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-10761565786774088942012-06-24T21:38:00.000-05:002012-06-24T21:38:16.437-05:00Next Chapter<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Once again, I emerge from the depths with a little update and yet another promise to resume blogging. Maybe this time it will take. For now? Three cheers for bullet points.</span><br />
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My sister died on Thursday, June 21. You can find the Whole Sad Story in previous posts. Her Stage IV breast cancer was diagnosed 6 months before our mother's death in 2009. She endured chemo, whole brain radiation, gamma knife surgery and suffered the worst side effects of them all. We found out, about six months ago, that the cancer had returned in her bones; her subsequent rapid decline led us to infer that it had again bloomed in her brain. The amazing nurses at <a href="http://www.homehospice.org/">Home Hospice </a> and <a href="http://traditionsatsherman.com/">Traditions Senior Living and Memory Care</a>, who took such good and kind care of her over the last year, believe she had a left-side stroke on or about June 14. I believe that most of her final week was pain free, for which I am grateful. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Young Girl is tall, strong, beautiful, and smart at the twelve-thirteen midpoint. She's an inch and a half taller than I am and stealing my shoes. The last six weeks of school were a struggle thanks to a nasty bout of drug-resistant strep combined with mononucleosis. All of this made the crutching required by her knee injury even more atrocious. She rarely made it through more than two hours of school each day, but still finished with straight As and outstanding test scores. I could not be any prouder. She's enjoying a second much-deserved week at camp and will visit a friend in Tennessee next month, her first solo flight.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Our friends are our rocks right now, our true family. Some of you know the details of the Great Unpleasantness (there's a southern euphemism for you, right up there with "The War of Northern Aggression") afoot in The Man's extended family. Let's just say that my chosen sisters and brothers restore my faith in humanity.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I agreed to humiliate myself in a production at our <a href="http://www.theatricks.org/">local children's theater</a>, opening July 6. I'd forgotten how much fun it can be to play. This was a much needed lesson.</span></li>
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<br />Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-52797768778824650942012-05-23T17:51:00.001-05:002012-05-23T17:51:55.359-05:00Summer is Icumen In<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">...'Cause there's bacon to fry and there's biscuits to bake</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the stove that the Salvation Army won't take</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And you open the windows and turn on the fan</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">'Cause it's hotter than hell when the sun hits the land...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> -- Steven Fromholz</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> "Texas Trilogy"</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have nothing to add. See you soon.</span><br />
<br />Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-86917438145385039442012-01-09T17:08:00.004-06:002012-01-09T17:44:00.646-06:00"We've got a special plaster..."<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">If you're one of my FB friends, you may recall that I've had the songs from "Godspell" (the 70s version, as there are some beautiful lyrics changes in the current Broadway production) stuck in my head. My brain is churning an essay/post about the relative social contexts of the old and new versions, and about Christianity and politics in general.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">I need to do a bit of research before I hold forth, but do know I'm thinking about it. So if you know anything about the Mars Hill community, the recent upsurge of Bible Churches, the move to "re-masculinize" the church, or the current branding of "nondenominational," please contact me privately. I am genuinely interested in your thoughts and will keep them private. If you prefer to leave them as public comments, that's just fine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">The mean and "Christian" [quotation marks intentional] tenor of the increasingly nasty Republican primary race is raising the hair on the back of my neck. I'm hearing a lot of the usual evangelical code words (although I was amused to hear Michelle Bachman loving on Benjamin Franklin in her out-of-the-race speech. Michelle. Look up Deist). And I'm hearing candidates and the nasty new "super pacs" prancing a minuet around the label "Mormon" in much the same way folks did around the term "race" in 2008. Every candidate has his (and I definitely mean the masculine pronoun) special version of religion that he is certain will guide us back to our rightful place in the global patriarchy (and yes, I mean that, too).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">So I leave you with the concept of "special plaster," from the original lyrics of "Beautiful City," and ask you to ruminate upon it until I return.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">We don't need alabaster</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">We don't need chrome</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">We've got our special plaster</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Take my hand</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">I'll take you home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">What "special plaster" do we need?</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-80738698507848799682012-01-04T11:43:00.007-06:002012-01-05T14:00:20.867-06:00"Writing prompts are lame, m'kay?"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKuGnInGi5DCWZPbGHCgwRon6_lgSJvk-7DKiDQP_5DlOTwEIFa6Lq1aCKL3mIycvpXV4mzi5ENJsd6RaX4U8HvskLC-jpGEOcgmj-8UOhffHzmldfc2i3Vf3442l93Z7N1TLhKOqcZk/s1600/shelf.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKuGnInGi5DCWZPbGHCgwRon6_lgSJvk-7DKiDQP_5DlOTwEIFa6Lq1aCKL3mIycvpXV4mzi5ENJsd6RaX4U8HvskLC-jpGEOcgmj-8UOhffHzmldfc2i3Vf3442l93Z7N1TLhKOqcZk/s400/shelf.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693834537737336210" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Above, behold my current favorite office shelf. I have no design skills whatsoever; my decor is best described as "shabby, absent-minded professor (piling variety) with noticeable lack of chic." But a couple of days ago, I looked up from my writing table and thought, "I really like that shelf."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">You need to understand that no intentionality was employed in the arrangement of these objects. In fact, I mostly just stuck stuff up there when I unpacked items I retrieved from my mother's house and sister's apartment. Really. I sat on the floor with a box, raised my arm, and plunked. But the more I look, the more I see and the word that emerges is "matrilineal."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The Man's family has lived in Our Town for several generations, and connects with its and our state's history and Well Known Individuals at various points. My family is about as boring as they come. I was raised in a bland suburb far from my Mother's Iowa birthplace and my father's Oklahoma start. None of this really impacts how we live, but it does mean that Young Girl hears an awful lot about her father's family and next to nothing about mine. Without even realizing it, I've apparently made a little shrine for my girl-roots.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Of course, the shelf heavily features Young Girl: at far left on our steps in Oregon wearing an <a href="http://www.austincollege.edu/">Austin College</a> sweatshirt sent at her birth from former professors and current friends. Propped in the pale pink frame on the right, she smiles in the same location a few years later during one of our summer visits. The pale pink frame? Class picture from <a href="http://beldenstreet.org/">Belden Street Montessori</a>, the world's best preschool. At the bottom right is a picture of The Man and me, mid-eighties, at my friend Beth's (matrilineal), then off-the-grid, Colorado cabin.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The San Simon candle? It's left over from a period of fascination with such candles and prayer cards, available in just about any store in our multi-cultural area. My favorite line from the English translation on the back? "Oh: Powerful St. Simon, I offer you your cigar, your tortilla, your drink and your candles if you help me with any danger I might find." One thing I do know about my mother is that she was raised as a Catholic, at least through her First Holy Communion (courtesy of my French grandfather). until she moved to an area of Texas where no Catholic church was available. He and my Scot Presbyterian grandmother settled in with the Methodists as a compromise position. After my mother's death, I discovered a wealth of prayer cards and medals she'd kept for decades, even some from her aunt the nun, Sister Emily; though Mother never spoke of her Catholicism, it obviously mattered much.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The flat iron was my great-grandmother's. Judging from pictures at her Quincy, Illinois home, she never used it herself, but I know my grandmother did because "having help" was not an option in the Texas oil-field world where she eventually landed. The gravy boat is all that remains from a mysteriously-disappeared set of china my great-grandmother brought with her from Scotland. The one-handled rolling pin was a staple of my childhood, used for everything from my grandmother's homemade noodles and dumplings, to my mother's sporadic attempts at baking, to my own early concoctions. The bell is a mystery. It looks too young to have come from Scotland, though there is a touch of <a href="http://www.crmsociety.com/">Mackintosh</a> in the handle's design. To my unknowing eye, it says pre-WW I, but barely. Maybe one of you will know more. And in the silvery-frame, anytime from Deco to the 40s, is my beautiful young mother, soon after the birth of her first of three daughters in 1943.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The mirror is just something I stuck in the back, and this shelf was the only one tall enough for the <i>Collected Far Side</i> box set. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Which brings us to the platter.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">When I took my job in Oregon, The Man was unable to join me permanently for almost three years. The clock was ticking and we'd begun baby-planning discussions, but weren't very far into the journey. One morning, as I walked across campus, I found a potter selling pieces to benefit the art department. I had no idea why I found the platter so appealing, but I could not stop thinking about it. That afternoon I walked over and spent more than I could afford on the platter and a square trivet. For several months, it sat unremarked on a table in my office. "Nice platter," someone might say, but that was about the extent of its impact. Until the fateful day a Perceptive Colleague did a classic double take and cried, "My God! That piece is all about SEX!" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Why, my goodness, Dr. Freud, it was indeed. All that time, I'd been working with students in an office that was a pornography showcase! Semen! Uterus! Fallopian tube! A lone egg, protected by a diaphragm from an abnormally long-tailed sperm! And, depending on your perspective, either a quite detailed rendering of female genitalia or a basic penis - take your pick!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I, of course, had noticed none of this. None. But once these items were called to my attention they were all I could see.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I continued to display the piece, now christened "The Platter of Reproduction" by Perceptive Colleague, throughout my tenure. I became a kind of sneaky shrink, ever vigilant for the person who stared at it just a little too long. It offered black comic relief during the painful gamut of infertility testing and the miraculous result thereof, and continues to provide amusement to those in the know.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And so we come full circle: pregnancy, a daughter, me, my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother. Join me in this circle, be you male or female. May we all continue to pass on not only the items of the women who came before us and the women who go before us, but their stories and their spirits.</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-12624424450768149972012-01-03T13:26:00.008-06:002012-01-03T14:21:25.800-06:00Resolution<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Well, my goodness! It's been about 18 months since I've posted anything of substance. Maybe you even assumed I'd disappeared. Alas, I'm back.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Texas' state flower is the bluebonnet. A funny thing about this flower, way down here along our southern border, is its need for a harsh, cold winter. The seed coating must be <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/scarify">scarified</a> through repeated freezing and thawing for the flower to bloom. Some springs, after a mild winter, the bluebonnets aren't particularly plentiful here in NoTex; when the winter is brutal, they are spectacular.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And somewhere in there is a metaphor for my absence. With Young Girl's return to public school and the subsequent lack of long periods of solitude I had a mild season (not that it felt that way at the time). But over the last year or so, something has been lurking around inside, freezing and thawing and freezing and thawing, and being - in general - harsh. I seem to be sufficiently scarified to start the blooming process which may not flourish until spring, just like the bluebonnet.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Today, I find myself with nothing particularly profound to say, a pot of long-cooking Bolognese sauce on the stove, and a bit of time. So let's just gut out some bullet points, what say?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* Yes, I know it's the Iowa Caucus today. And you know my politics if you've read more than a post or two. I wish I could attribute this, but I've heard the Republican primary season characterized as a reality show. Who will be voted off the island tonight? About a year ago, I laid a small bet - based on several years of successful ticket-predicting - that President Obama would be running against a Romney/Perry ticket. Cold Mormon needs good-old-boy evangelical to go all the way. How could I have underestimated the stupidity of the man who has been my own governor oh so many years? Probably because the governor of Texas is not a very powerful position. It took a national stage for his stupidity to metastasize. I still think Romney is inevitable. But I'd like to see the race for number two be something like "Dancing with a Democrat" or "Flaming Kitchen Knives of Malice." There's some entertainment for you!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* Young Girl adjusted beautifully from classic Montessori instruction to whacko public school. Why whacko? The puzzling curriculum-of-the-day switches, the new social studies standards which are beyond bizarre, a GT program that is nothing more than Behavioral Segregation in most cases.....I could go on and probably will after I go Medieval on the school board in a couple of weeks. It is true. I plan to - publicly - speak my mind in Small Town Texas. As does The Man. Let the chips fall where they may. One highlight, though. Young Girl's 2010-2011 Future Problem Solvers team went to state finals, meaning a trip to Austin without parents. Whoo Hooo!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* My sister has continued to decline. The most recent scan showed her breast cancer has returned in her lumbar spine and ribs. She suffered severe side effects from whole-brain radiation, and when you mess with the brain and its messaging system all sorts of bad things can happen all over your body. When I went through WBR with my mother and my sister, we were told that there was really no way to predict who would suffer side effects or the severity thereof. My mother suffered minimally, my sister, maximally. Sis is now in an assisted-living facility, which has been a blessing beyond belief. And before you start screaming at me about cancer screening, let me just say I am on it with a vengeance. I had my ovaries and uterus removed last year, and meet with a breast surgeon twice a year. Both my sisters, my mother, and I were/are BRCA negative. But the cluster is just too weird to be anything other than hypervigilant.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* Thanks to the truly miraculous <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml">Couch-to-5K running program</a> Young Girl and I have now completed four 5K races. I've met or exceeded my (extremely) modest goals in each. I'm what runners call a "<a href="http://www.waddle-on.com/">penguin</a>," but I'm a runner nonetheless. Even if you think you are too big/old/injured/jaded/whatever, I encourage you to look at C25K. If I can do it...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* Large Dog returned to the German Shorthaired Pointer rescue program in 2009, amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Small Dog adopted us in October 2011. One is missed, both are adored.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* I continue to be supported in Our Town by the fabulous women of the First Amendment Friday group. The circle has widened a bit, too. Who knew so many Leftist Ladies hang around these parts!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">* I promise to be back tomorrow. Feels kind of great to have my fingers back on the keys.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-12704975172728776542011-12-20T21:18:00.000-06:002011-12-20T21:19:18.169-06:00AddendumOr maybe later...Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-76896652685062496092011-11-27T15:10:00.000-06:002011-11-27T15:11:44.286-06:00Still here...Watch this spot for my return to blogging soon.<div><br /></div><div>Happy winter to all.</div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-23187525413302613072010-05-31T21:09:00.003-05:002010-05-31T21:11:39.001-05:00More about summer<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Today I officially crossed the line.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">White wine, not red wine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Iced coffee, not hot brewed coffee.</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-65554228350604678612010-05-17T15:27:00.003-05:002010-05-17T15:36:43.632-05:00Summer is A'Comin' In<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Oh, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">lordy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, it's hot today.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I've been driving around all day, getting stuff together for Young Girl's birthday party this weekend. Since it's been a year since last summer, I'd conveniently forgotten how </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">friggin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">' hot parking lots can be. And no matter how brief your stay in a store, the car completely heats up while you're gone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Saturday night was cool and breezy, and I sat outside at a lovely party and enjoyed the evening weather. Today it's 90 and muggy. There's nothing gradual about the coming of summer in Texas. And it's only going to get worse.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So I've dropped in to my </span><a href="http://www.zinzenwine.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">favorite wine bar</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> for $5 Monday. Here's to cool and dark. And </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">pinot</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">grigio</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-90717750160880220312010-05-06T12:09:00.008-05:002010-05-06T12:42:48.410-05:00Don't Come Looking for the Profound Here Today<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>I have no grand metaphors or analogies today, just some updating and a little ranting, perhaps. Please feel free to leave comments of agreement, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">opposition</span>, or support</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* Is there no end to "blame the victim" mentality or authorities looking the other way in the case of rape? This post from </span><a href="http://thecurvature.com/2010/05/04/gynecologist-practiced-medicine-for-9-years-despite-multiple-rape-allegations-from-patients/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Curvature</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> is horrifying. I can't for the life of me imagine how the police could </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> investigate or how the medical board could </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> kick this guy's ass six ways from Sunday.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* What to think about offshore drilling? With 35,000 rigs in the Gulf, something was bound to happen sometime. Considering that there hasn't been a rig accident this big since the 1969 Santa Barbara spill, maybe these things are safer than some are leading us to believe. On the other hand, I heard on NPR last week that the most we could hope for in drilling off the Virginia coast is enough oil to supply the country for six days. Is that worth the risk to the delicate portions of the Atlantic coastline? Not to me. I know we're all supposed to be looking for alternative sources of energy but, realistically, we need oil and gas and we need them domestically. Some of you may not know that The Man develops oil and gas leases and always does so with an eye toward environmental responsibility; some of our wells are on grassland that has never been plowed and is flourishing despite drilling thanks to his care in constructing leases. Safe drilling can happen. We just need to make sure it does.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* One of the side effects of my sister's condition is her loss of independent mobility. Her loss of balance means that she can't drive and must depend on others for rides to doctors' visits, the grocery store, and her church. She's fortunate to have a group of church friends who work together to coordinate rides when I'm not available (which is more often than I'd like due to my commute to Young Girl's school), but it drastically impacts her independence. She can't just go to the store when she feels like it or run out to the movies on impulse. A major drawback of small cities like ours is a lack of public transportation; in Our Town you can <a href="http://www.tapsbus.com/">call for a van</a>, but you're often stuck with long waiting times on one end or the other. Reliable, consistent bus service would be so much better. Public transportation allows people to participate in their communities when they either do not own a car or are unable to drive one, yet it is far down the list for many municipalities. It shouldn't be.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* My workout plans are on hold because I've done something wonky to my left knee. It's sore and swollen and I can't really connect the problem to any trauma (other than the first day of wearing flip flops all day long). I'm missing the stress release and other benefits. GRUMBLE.</span></div><div><br /></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-32707195070193077962010-04-29T09:10:00.006-05:002010-04-30T10:09:03.194-05:00Van Attachment<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I have a complicated relationship with my eight-year-old minivan. Every time I see her I see myself.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">She's silver-grey, like an overcast sky or a rock road. Perfect camouflage, her color renders her invisible. Her body's not what it used to be, either, missing a big piece of trim and sporting hail stone pockmarks. There's that scrape from the misjudged turn, another from the Starbucks drive-through, yet another from a tree. I won't catalogue the dents, but they're noticeable and plural. One sliding door is broken and the other is recalcitrant and the repair costs are way too high for such luxuries.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For a long time I took pride in my van. She was very fancy when brand new, and among the cars of Oregon she gleamed. When we moved to Texas and I found myself invisible in the carpool line between a Hummer and a Porsche, I felt superior to the materialists who somehow needed a fancy carapace. I wasn't like that, you see. I was perfectly happy with my utilitarian, reliable transportation (and my Birkenstocks and jeans, but that's another story....or is it?). My van rendered me anonymous in a new community, free to observe the landscape, able to move stealthily through the new environment. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her inside began to resemble her outside. Old French fries, kid meal toys, multiple water bottles in various stages of consumption, a gaggle of empty coffee cups, school papers, books, receipts....they all piled up between my ever less frequent trips to the car wash. I took a perverse pride in this, too. She was lived-in. I could always find something to drink. And why bother cleaning her out only to have her fill up again in a week?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But slowly I began to resent her. She was certainly not the car I'd planned to be driving when I was 50. And when four of five women in my core group of friends bought lovely new vehicles in an 18 month period I found myself with a raging case of new car fever. I had grand thoughts. I researched comfort, foreign and domestic. The van was an embarrassment, an old aunt who'd "let herself go." But a new car wasn't in the budget. As The Man reminded me, she was paid for, ran well, and had a long shelf life. I began to think of her as The Van that Would Never Die. And now that I've just paid for a major service and a new timing belt, I know she's - unfortunately - perfectly healthy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Some of you know about my stumbling attempts at meditation and Buddhism. I understand that attachment leads to suffering. And this is certainly true when it comes to my van. The perverse pride I took in her ordinariness and invisibility was merely a cover for insecurity in a new environment and led me into disorder. The resentment I feel toward her serves no purpose other than to make me feel bad and desire something for which I have no need.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So I'm trying to break my attachment to my van and to treat her mindfully. I cleaned everything out and visited the car wash. I'm making sure that both Young Girl and I take out everything we put in and leave only minimal supplies (soccer ball, lap desk, notebook paper) inside. I would not say that I'm taking pride in my clean van or feeling particularly noble about my efforts. I'm simply trying to make my van part of my practice. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So far, so good.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For a wonderful look at practice in everyday life, whatever your faith tradition, pick up a copy of Karen Maezen Miller's new book </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hand-Wash-Cold-Instructions-Ordinary/dp/1577319044/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1272552279&sr=8-1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"hand wash cold: care instructions for an ordinary life."</span></a></i></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-33719544588654782222010-04-23T09:39:00.003-05:002010-04-23T11:49:25.279-05:00Posting to Post<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'm sitting in the coffee shop, fingers paralyzed over the keys.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For some reason I have a blog block. A big, nasty, stinking, hairy one. As a Wise Young Woman pointed out to me this week, I have plenty of opinion and a number of things I feel passionately about.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I just don't have the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">umpf</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> to get any of it into words. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, instead, I'll give you an update on the quotidian.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* We've decided to bring Young Girl back to public school next year. This will be a change of epic proportions, going from a class of eight students to our city's single intermediate school (grades 5-6) with class-changing and lockers and halls full of raging </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">pre</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-adolescence. She has to test this summer for readmission to the Gifted and Talented </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">program</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, and I'll be interested to see how that goes, given that she hasn't bubbled in a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Scantron</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> for two years. Why the change? It's become harder to maintain friendships here where we live and we feel she needs a wider circle of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">acquaintances</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I'm confident we'll be able to keep up with the girls from the Montessori, with whom she has really bonded as she'll probably stay in her current girl scout troop (making the commute once a week will be nothing after making if five days a week).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* My sister's breast cancer metastasized to her brain, but after a series of whole brain radiation and a groovy-cool <a href="http://www.texashealth.org/body.cfm?id=1919">Gamma Knife</a> procedure her scans are now clear. However, the tumors were in her cerebellum which affects balance, and she can no longer walk without the aid of a walker. She falls several times a week, too. Obviously she can't drive, either. On the good news side, she has a wonderful network of helping friends from her <a href="http://www.friendshipumc.net/">church</a> to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">help</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> with rides and such and has employed an aide for tasks around the house she can no longer undertake.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">* I've gone back to the gym after a long absence, and my body is grumpy about it. Let's just say I "wintered well" as they say in ranching, and I want to avoid being sent to the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">feed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> lot for further fattening. I've been making hour-long </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">playlists</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> for my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">iPod</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> and just gutting through on the treadmill. I'm thinking very tentatively of setting a goal of the Arts Fest 5K in September. I know I could walk it right now but it would be nice to be able to run a bit.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And that's about all I have to tell you. If you have ideas for posts, please leave a comment and inspire me!</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-60344889497034624392009-11-30T09:59:00.005-06:002009-11-30T10:10:46.072-06:00A Touchy Subject<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I've been away for a bit, but I thought I'd come back with controversy.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">While my blogs during last year's election made plain my liberal views, I've stayed away from potentially touchy subjects like religion and reproductive rights.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">No More.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I've become convinced, through reading and conversing with friends, that individual access to reproductive rights - everything from contraception to abortion - is in grave danger.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">From the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Stupak</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> amendment and its expansion of the Hyde language through possibilities that it could be interpreted to exclude contraception from any insurance plan purchased with federal subsidies, we need to wake up. Many women still have trouble getting insurance to cover their birth control pills, while many men have prescription coverage for Viagra because erectile </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">dysfunction</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> is characterized as a medical condition.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And about the big one: abortion.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">No one wants abortions. No one, trust me, wants to have one. But it is a MEDICAL procedure not a legislative one. Access to this procedure should be through the gateway of individuals and their doctors rather than individuals and the U.S. Senate and House.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'm of an age that makes complacency on this issue </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">impossible</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. But for who have always known abortion as a legal procedure post-Roe - including our President - the issue has less urgency.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Whatever your position on this issue, I urge you to check out </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/29/weekinreview/29stolberg.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">this piece</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> from the New York Times. It might just wake you up.</span></div><div><br /></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-17583500987688072392009-11-18T10:19:00.001-06:002009-11-18T10:19:55.624-06:00Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-74738279050097338972009-11-18T10:06:00.006-06:002009-11-18T10:21:28.258-06:00Keats at Last!<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>Today, I finally saw my breath outside, and longtime readers and friends know what that means: the annual dose of John Keats! </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;color:#29303B;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You can read last year's more extensive Keats posts <a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2008/10/86-mist-mellow-fruitfulness.html">here</a> and <a href="http://therandomblue.blogspot.com/2008/10/melancholy-thou-hast-thy-music-too.html">here</a>. And if you haven't seen it already, I highly recommend the recent film about Keats, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0810784/">Bright Star</a>.</i><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><span style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To Autumn</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><dl><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Conspiring with him how to load and bless</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To bend with apples the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">moss'd</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> cottage trees,</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And still more, later flowers for the bees,</span></dt><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Until they think warm days will never cease,</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For Summer has o'er-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">brimm'd</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> their clammy cells.</span><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.6em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "></p></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Or on a half-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">reap'd</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> furrow sound asleep,</span></dt><dd><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Drows'd</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> with the fume of poppies, while thy hook</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Steady thy laden head across a brook;</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Or, by a cyder-press, with patient look,</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Thou </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">watchest</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> the last </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">oozings</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> hours by hours.</span><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.6em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "></p></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Where are the songs of Spring? </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Ay</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, where are they?</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then in a </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">wailful</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> choir the small gnats mourn</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Among the river </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">sallows</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, borne aloft</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;</span></dd><dt><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">bourn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">;</span></dt><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;</span></dd><dd><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.</span></dd></dl><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-John Keats (1795-1821)</span></span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-41501877897593580952009-10-26T16:10:00.005-05:002009-10-26T16:17:34.252-05:00Waiting for True Autumn<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>When will it truly be fall?</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'm as restless as a migrating goose, but free of any drive to take off (or do much of anything). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I keep waiting for the first seen breath, the first comforter night, the first earnest </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">foliage</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-drop. Those of you who know me will have patience, aware that I pine for my favorite season about this time every year, jealously ogling AP photos of New England leaves.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">What do we have?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Rain. Tons and tons of mid-fifties rain.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A permanent holding pattern.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But today I "found" an hour and a half to snuggle into a corner of a deep sofa at a local wine bar. I'm enjoying a delicious glass of red wine, and doing my best to imagine that it's as cold as it looks outside.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cheers!</span></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-7068109685000444622009-10-19T09:57:00.006-05:002009-10-19T10:41:18.352-05:00Health Care Thoughts<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div>Yes, reader(s)....I'm still alive. It's a season of memories and not enough time to think about them as life does still seem to go on.</div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A couple of folks have missed the blog, so I thought I'd make an attempt at a post. Know that what you are about to read is pure opinion, shamefully unsourced. But it's that kind of a day...kind of rantish.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, for your consideration, some random thoughts on health care.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1. I've given up on trying to follow the permutations of the "health care bill" until, at least, one makes it to the floor of Congress. Seeing key provision after key provision go by the wayside in committee, in pursuit of utopian bipartisan support, has proven too frustrating. Our Democratic majority seems unwilling to stand up to special interests and the media, even in the face of the public's desire for significant reform. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">2. We would be hopelessly naive to think that the insurance industry is going to place the availability and affordability of a private health plan over the profits it will generate. We need a public option. Maybe you know: did some of the obvious, simple solutions go by the wayside when I wasn't looking? Why not open federal or state employees' health plans to individual buy-in? Or do the same with Medicaid? Surely the government has had enough experience with Medicare premium programs to figure out a workable procedure. Or maybe <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/15/your-money/15CARE.html?em">not</a>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">3. And yes, I have private health insurance. But since The Man and I are self-employed, we pay for it. And I mean PAY for it, an exorbitant amount, to the tune of a small car every year. While we hear about the problems of the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">un</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">insured at every turn, we don't hear much about those of us who already purchase insurance in the private market. A public option would give us a chance to take advantage of a large buying pool or maybe even force insurance companies to create buying pools due to competition. Ask anyone who buys his or her own insurance without employer contributions: we need relief.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">4. Is it even possible to get to the bottom of why health care costs so much? Depending on the source, we can blame trial lawyers, insurance companies, big pharma, greedy doctors. Who knows? One interesting, informed opinion can be found in </span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/06/01/090601fa_fact_gawande"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"The Cost Conundrum,"</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> initially published in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The New Yorker. </span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">5. Why are people worried about "the government instead of doctors making health care decisions" when our doctors' choices are already influenced by what private insurers will or will not cover? We now have a system where actuarial tables and statistical medicine determine, to a huge degree, the care we receive. It's my understanding that doctors actually have more freedom under Medicare and Medicaid than they do under some major health plans. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong here.</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-66577537576559010562009-09-29T11:16:00.002-05:002009-09-29T11:18:40.823-05:00Autumn Deficit Disorder<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's that time of year when I long for a fall that just won't come. When the usually ubiquitous squirrels go missing, probably to Vermont or some autumn haven, because nothing in the atmosphere suggests they should bother burying acorns. When the desire to pluck a perfectly ripe apple from a tree is defeated by green pecans.</span>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622360940858462507.post-62482574537022620732009-09-01T09:18:00.002-05:002009-09-01T09:27:30.683-05:00Slight Cooling Trend<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sorry I've been away for so long. My days in Oregon were full if hot, my trip home was uneventful, and settling back into a routine has been challenging.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The last two mornings have held a suggestion of coolness, and evening walks have become slightly less sweaty. Such minuscule harbingers of fall always improve my mood and inspire new ideas.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Along these lines, here are some random plans/resolutions for the upcoming season.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1. Eschew restaurants for food I cook myself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2. Go to Young Girl's soccer practices and games with glee.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">3. Revive my blogging spirit.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4. Advocate calmly for health care reform.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">5. Advocate calmly, period.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">6. Inspired by </span><a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Karen Maezen Miller</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, do the laundry.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">7. Attack a pile of paper a day.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">8. Spend time outdoors, damn the mosquitoes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">9. Touch base once each week with an old friend.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">10. Renew.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Kelly Hudginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12236835357270869744noreply@blogger.com1