Wednesday, November 23, 2005
As we prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving, that quintessentially American holiday, let us reflect on the blessings peculiar to us as Deaniacs.
We have, not only our own families and friends, but a nationwide, indeed an international, community of friends, comrades, and co-workers, all of whom share the same values, American values: honesty, kindness, love of country, hard work… We share, too, a vision of a just America, an honorable society that cares for its own, especially the most vulnerable and most disadvantaged; that is a good international citizen; and that has earned once more the respect and love of the world. We see a land where young and old, LGBT and straight, black and white, Jew and gentile, disabled and able-bodied, Latino, Asian, Native American and Arab-American all embrace one another as sisters and brothers and all have the same equal rights in fact as in principle under the law.
We see America as she should be, and we know that we have the power to bring that vision into reality. Tomorrow, as we give thanks for all the blessings, large and small, with which the Lord has graced our lives, let us keep a special warm thought for Howard Dean and thank him in our hearts for having given us hope, strength and community.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
Friday, November 04, 2005
so, how's this for an idea:
let's start telling a story. anyone can add whatever they want. bend the plot, create characters, anything. ok. i'll start:
as the door opened, i could just barely see that there was movement in the adjacent room. the voices, almost hushed in a whisper, could just be heard. the woman swept by me, distracting me for only a moment, as i tried to hear what was being said.
"...don't get rid of that guy. there's no point...but, if you do, i'll..."
"mr. santos, he'll be ready for you in a second."
i sat up a little straighter and smiled at her in that manufactured way that was expected. she disappered into the room closing the door behind her.
i refocused on my surroundings: that awful rented office waiting room furniture with the obligatory copies of prints by artists that could have come out of a cracker jacks box. the avacado colored lamps with the 60 watt bulbs that couldn't quite light the room. the industrial carpet that isn't really any color at all. and, that smell that always seems to permediate these places, a whisp of blended somethings that probably came in a take-out box. and me.
Puddle: Chapter 2
Strange, I thought: what kind of doctor wouldn't have a better place than this? I squirmed a little. Still, try as hard as I could, couldn't wipe out that snippet I'd overheard: don't get rid of that guy. . . . Who'd proposed getting rid of anyone? And why? After all, this was a gynecologists' office. I didn't think I'd let Cricket come back here. It wasn't passing the sniff test. At all. And it wasn't me.
I was beginning to mull that over, when they called me to come get Cricket. No, definitely not again. Even if I had to chip in some bucks to make sure she found someone better than this.
"You okay Sugar?"
"Guess so. I think. Don't know if I want to do this again, anytime soon, though."
"Don't worry. You won't have to."
"But me no buts, youngster. Papa Jack's got something else in mind. You'll get whatever help you need. So worry not."
She did look worried though. Her face kind of knotted up. And I didn't think it was the anesthesia. God, this place was really giving me the creeps. I was pretty sure I was going to have to hit the 'nets. And damn, I wish I'd done it before I'd let her come here. Well, better late than never. . . . I hoped.
Continued. . . . Nov. 4, 10:15 pm
Chapter 3 (Segway to catreona's comment from the last thread.)
I helped Cricket into the car and drove her home. It was a silent ride that seemed to take hours when it was actually only minutes.
I told her I would call her later, thinking that would be a better time to ask about the strange conversation I had overheard at the doctors office, and continued on to my appointment.
I walked into the waiting room and de deja vu hit me. Rented waiting room furniture, cracker jack prints, dim lights, and cheap carpet. "Just a typical waiting room" I said to myself, attempting to brush off the feeling that something strange was about to happen.
Then the door opened and I heard "Don't get rid of that guy. There's no point...but, if you do, I'll..."
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Could I have heard that right or was I just starting to imagine things?
Chapter 4 (from catreona)
All in all, this was a most unexpected place for me to have been summoned, especially to meet...
The voices increased in volume. It sounded like the stranger - I didn't recognize her voice - was displeased at being questioned. I bristled. Who was this unknown person to raise her voice to Gov. Dean? After all, he was heading this venture. He may, perhaps, not have been perfect, but he was the force that had drawn us all together. His vision and enthusiasm had been enough to bring in doubters, to corral donors, and to form a volunteer corps. I was one of those volunteers. It made me angry and a little queasy to overhear this argument.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
I stumbled onto this site a couple of years ago, and it's great fun, even if you decide not to do it. November's never great for me: it contains Thanksgiving. . . .
Check it out!