The Real Birther Movement

I'm no bra burner.  But I also don't do the laundry.  Mark does.  And that's only because I once almost started a fire after putting our children's wet,  down-filled winter coats in the dryer, so this division of labor is as it should be.

It's important to know what's in your wheelhouse and what isn't.  So, what's in my wheelhouse these days?  Really, the question should be who is in my wheelhouse.

Women, that's who.

And it turns out there are lots and lots of women in the United States right now.  Just four years ago, in fact, there were 5 million more women than men living in the U.S.  On college campuses,  56 percent of students are women, as are nearly 58 percent of college grads. And, if you happen to live to 85?  Women outnumber men nearly 2 to 1 in that demographic.

My point?

Sweet God, men!  Start behaving.  Like, two years ago!!  And, frankly,  why are you still running the show in Washington?

True, we may make less money than you, but we will always make more children and milk than you.  And there's a reason that women, not men, give birth.  Survival of the species comes to mind.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm nuts about men.  Some of my favorite people are men.

But it'd be stupid to put them in charge solely because of body parts.

So I just would like to remind you men out there (and let's be honest--white men, mostly.  Plus, Ben Carson) that there are more of us than you.  And we are strong and capable and have endurance like nobody's business.  But, really?

Kids in cages?

Girls for sale?

Eighty one cents to each dollar of yours?

I may be cute, but I'm not stupid.

Roots Run Deep

This morning, I woke with a hankering to return to my childhood home on Sumner Street, to see if my beloved Pussy Willow was still holding its ground on the southwest corner of our house.  It was an amazing tree, producing immense pussy willows (called 'catkins,' I learned this morning--how great is that?!) that I was certain were Guinness-worthy.

Earlier this week, Mark and I drove down the narrow alley next to our C Street house, gape-jawed by the sight of the Bradford Pear we'd planted, whose crown now competes with the peak of the roof.

For me, it's trees, as much as the structures themselves, that beckon me back to the places where I once lived. 

Trees are like lifelong friends for me, shining a warm light on old memories while also acknowledging the unmistakable march of time, skin cracked and stretched, limbs bent and aching.

They are the both/and for me--longing and hope all in one.

The photo above is of a beauty that lives in my neighbor Lisa's yard.  Or maybe I should say Lisa's house shares this majestic Oak's ground.  Immense and stalwart, it is impossible to ignore.  And nearly impossible to photograph, at least with a phone.  How can I give you a sense of it when I can't possibly fit it into the frame?

. . . maybe that's how.  Let it spill out of all four corners, too much for the camera.

I'm reading Lab Girl by Hope Jahren--a lovely ode to science and nature, with trees taking center stage.  Yesterday, I had to put the book down after reading about a lotus seed that scientists nudged into sprouting--two thousand years after it'd dropped from its mama.

"This tiny seed had stubbornly kept up the hope of its own future while entire human civilizations rose and fell.  And then, one day, this tiny plant's yearning finally burst forth."  Jahren goes on to describe all seeds as being "alive and fervently wishing to be."

She might as well have been describing all living things, myself included.

It's true that I anthropomorphize just about everything, from trees to bugs to mammals, imbuing within them a swirl of hopes and emotions.  I don't think I do it because I'm so nuts about humanity and want to give nonhumans something to aim for.  Rather, I think I do it because it is the lens through which I see this world.  That said, I believe I am kinder to this world when I imagine its beating heart, when I see all things "alive and fervently wishing to be."