life according to me
Sorry…I’m up to my arms in dough, and getting ready to tackle buttercream frosting for an apple cake I’m taking to a dinner party tonight.
No photos.
No wittiness.
No patience.
Lurve you all, though.
Oh, and at the crack o’ dawn tomorrow, an across the country IM chat while baking with foodblog buddies. My keyboard will never be the same.
Ever.
And I just got all the crap out of it yesterday.
Some things never change.
You have to appreciate those who seem to have a grasp of where they fit into this whole NaBloPoMo thing. Me? I’m just a lemming. And today, I’m a late one. TOTALLY. It’s 11:09 am and I was supposed to be at the grocery store already, and cooking. I’m making tons of stuff this weekend, and none of it is in preparation for Thanksgiving. So, these posts are doomed to impending sketchiness. I know. When pigs fly.
November 16, 2007
Dear My Most Esteemed Colleagues in Bloggsville,
Today I find myself humbled by so many recent gestures of kindness, I have to take time to state my appreciation here, blowing kisses all the while, and blushing on cue. But before I get started, please know that I am so completely FREAKING late getting my day started, I’m going to be TOTALLY screwed if I don’t slam my thanks out with far fewer words than I normally use. For those of you who just wiped your brows, I saw you and I know where you live.
So, first up: If you missed my letter a couple of days ago to Desiree Bartlett, snooze you lose. BECAUSE SHE COMMENTED ON MY POST AND SHE IS SERIOUSLY COOL FOR DOING THAT! She made my day, and I’m already rallying the troops for a fan club so I can be the president. Line forms to the left for those of you who want to get your sedentary butts kicked by a lovely and professional stealth butt kicker. Redeem yourself now, and read the post. Thanks, Desiree. I heart you!
Second: Dah-link Olga, The Traveling Bra has bestowed upon me the “You Make Me Smile” award which means quite a bit. I know how it feels when I’m reading someone’s blog, and I realize I’m grinning ear to ear. It makes my day, and continues to leave me marveling over the unique community that is Bloggsville. *sigh* Thanks, Olga. When are you coming to visit me? I will pay this forward. But not today. I PROMISE!
And while I’m on the subject of awards, Dawn, blogger extraordinaire, of Twisted Sister has dubbed me true to myself and that I AM my blog, and therefore deserving of “Be the Blog” recognition. This deserves an entire post, too, because I have much to say (as you all know) about this passion for blogging I’ve developed. So thank you, Dawn. Letter coming…
Third: Marie of A Year at Oak Cottage, a fellow Daring Baker, hosted a cooking event in which I won a prize for my SoCal Sarnie. She was gracious enough to actually send me a lovely present for my success, which was so nice! She has the most amazing job in a beautiful place. I am currently living vicariously through her and loving every single minute of it. Thank you so much, Marie, for the inspiration you provide me. Oh, that I could spend a year in England.
Fourth: I have many friends who are still actively involved in the position I left a year ago. I made lunch for one friend and took it to share with her at her office the other day. Not only did we get to gossip wildly about what has changed since I left visit and plan a dinner party for tomorrow night at her knock down gorgeous home, she gave me a belated birthday present which is quite lovely. Does she know that she could have skipped the cologne and just given me the cute bag and box? I’m a complete and total sucker for simple, elegant design in creme and black. So chic…But the cologne is simply divine. I’ll be the best smelling jammy hound around.
And not least: My VBF gave me a gift certificate to my favorite nursery perched in a habanero plant (whose peppers I’ve now used in one luscious marinated steak recipe and have dried the rest for later use), and I finally went shopping. Nothing like celebrating my birthday a couple of months later, right? So VBF, I now have a lovely grapevine wreath for my front door that I wrapped with holiday ribbon, some new bedding plants (including a chocolate smelling plant!), a new ceramic pot for my kitchen, now graced with a kalanchoe, a nice bag of potting moss for my orchids (two are blooming WOOT!), and 8 paper white bulbs to force.
.
I had so much fun choosing my gifts, and thank you very much. It was misting outside that day, making the experience so pleasant.
I do hope you know how special you all are. My time with you is well spent, and always enjoyable. Thank you so much for what you bring to my life.
Fondly,
Me
p.s. So now it’s like 12:04 and I am way late on my list of To Do’s for the day. But stay tuned, because I’m going to try and broadcast a cooking thing on ustream.tv on Sunday. I’ll let you know tomorrow if I get it up and running…
I’m making progress here, although today, if it wasn’t for NaBloPoMo, I’d probably take the blogging day off. I’m in high gear on this house organizing frenzy, liking it, and noticing some interesting things about what exactly is organized and what isn’t in this house…and why. Like, the answer is Earth shattering, and everyone’s been waiting for it. For world peace. And stuff.
November 15, 2007
Dear Peter Walsh,
The other day, I actually sat down to watch Oprah. That may not seem to be anything special, but I’ve been a sort of lazy good for nothing but blogging domestic engineer for about a year now, and spend no time watching daytime television. I don’t even think about it. You’re wondering what in hell all this has to do with the price of tea in China, right? So anyway, I actually remembered Oprah, clicked on the television, and there was Celine Dion. I’m a closet Celine aficionado — well, not quite an expert, but still. So I grinned, turned up the volume and sang the entire hour. I just love “I Drove All Night,” don’t you? The Roy Orbison version the best, I mean, he’s incredible, but Celine is great, too. Did you see her show in Vegas? It was completely amazing. I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m less than balanced and I can see that wild look in your eye that lets me know you’re planning your escape route. But stay with me here.
So there was a commercial during the show that advertised another show coming later in the week. I think it’s airing today. It was about hoarders. I’ve been wondering about the idea of hoarding, and have been thinking of it while I’ve been going through my house. Sorry it takes me so long to get to what I’m talking about. My mind is full of clutter. Things go in and never come out, all up there waiting to be used. It’s a genetic problem. You just never know when someone may need to know what the botanical name for a Bird of Paradise is at the San Diego Zoo when you’re really there to see lions and tigers and bears. Fortunately, the problem isn’t so horrendous that I never get to my point, though, so that’s some relief. Isn’t it?
But good news! I’m only in the mild to minimal category on the Hoarding Severity Scale. And according to my Clutter Assessment Results, I am a clutter victim, who can blame a “busy life” (um…car pool four times a week and two blogs? No.), “disposable income” (he’s kidding, right? What? You didn’t know money grows on a tree on our patio? Feh.), “and a steady influx of purchases” (well, okay, but they’re mostly food related, so they don’t stay around long…), and “junk mail” (erm, no one’s going to complain if the post office outlaws that crap. Maybe they could get on that?) Like I was saying…
Here’s my progress to date. I have a handle on:
It’s hard to get good help any more, yanno?
Before and After. Not bad, huh? Now to get rid of the bunk bed. Okay, where was I?
But I should get credit for some things never, ever being disorganized.
They’re always perfect. Except when the MoH empties the dishwasher and just puts the wooden spoons on top of the steel utensils, or the measuring cups in this drawer instead of the one next to it. And the wire whips? You have to put them in a particular way. Because.
The rack below it is also organized by color: greens, reds, blues. So probably a little touch of OCD to add to the mild hoarding tendencies and clutter victim state.
You could come and help me out since Martha hasn’t accepted my offer yet. You know, maybe hook me up with a nice set of shelves for this lame coat closet that builders still insist on including around here, which is truly ridiculous considering we never have to wear coats. Ever. Shelves would be great. Could you get right on that, please? I need the space for my kitchen overflow.
And these built in cabinets? What are they for other than hiding things? My cats love to sleep in them, but that’s not the best idea considering everything in the cabinet gets hair all over it and then has to be washed. What would you use them for? Suggestions when you have time, please?
Well, after you’ve helped that lady who has 75 tons of trash in her house. Which is just plain weird.
Thanks for your time today. Maybe we can do lunch and discuss the possibilities. Yes?
Have your people call my people.
Sincerely,
Me.
p.s. Do you know anyone who does windows?
Tally-Ho NaBloMoPo on Day 14. So move it. Can you do it? Make it burn…on three…ready? Let’s go. Whatever. But this one will be short, because I have to do a post on my food blog today, too. I was nearly done with a post two days ago, was loading the last photo, and then…Yes. That silly message that says something about being reset so the connection was lost came up after I realized things were getting a bit slow and I suspected the inevitable was about to happen. When’s the last time you actually saw mad? You know. Like, really mad.
November 14, 2007
Dear Ms. Bartlett:
I just thought I’d take a moment today to let you know you kicked my butt the other day. Seriously. I should have known better, and that’s what I get for not taking the time to do a bit of research; i.e., look before you leap. I should have channel-surfed a bit. But you looked so harmless. So sweet. It was that smile.
I’m sure you’re far too busy for someone like me, but I’ve been trying to find ways to make sure I get regular exercise. I don’t always look forward to it, but do a fairly good job of getting in some exercise at least four days a week. But I’ve been struggling with the time change since I have a tendency to go out late in the afternoon or early evening to walk — hopefully right before the MoH gets home. One day it was completely dark by the time I’d finished, and although I sort of enjoy that, occasionally, the brush by the side of the road engages my overactive imagination and my constructive pessimistic proclivities begin to map out my defense on the chance the boogey man is hiding in the bushes and is getting ready to jump out to get me. Little does he know that I’m ready to grab the sides of his face in my palms and dig my thumbs into his eyeball sockets, knee him in the nards, and if necessary, ram his nose up into his sinus cavity with the base of my palm. Of course, a lifetime of repressed rage would most likely also be unleashed and there wouldn’t be much left of him.
Yes. Well, um, so I had waited too long to walk and it was already dark, so I decided to take a look at the free On Demand channels on cable. I thought I’d seen something about Exercise on Demand and thought I’d give it a shot. Mind you, it was some time ago (like years) that I’d see this feature of our monthly service to Time Warner, but that’s beside the point.
You would have been proud. I had appropriate exercise clothes on, and my tennies. Hell, even my weights were close by. I have to be honest though — I was a bit worried about my left arm since it’s been so screwed up with tendonitis. But I wasn’t going to use that as an excuse. I was going to suck it up.
Suck dough balls was more like it.
Sheeeeee-it. You smiled the entire time you were kicking my butt. In fact you kept telling me to smile and each time you did, I wasn’t. What’s up with the whole smiling while your tongue’s flapping around your chin? Have you ever tried to do that? But since I’m a team player, I tried, and I did learn that if I smile with my teeth, at least I can get air into my oxygen deprived lungs.
And I did appreciate that you kept telling me that I could take a break any time I wanted. I did notice that you smiled when you said this, like it was some kind of a dare. I’ve got you all figured out, marching in place there and not losing count while you’re smiling and telling me to take it easy. And not sweating. Not a single shiny place on your body.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to hang on to a weight when sweat’s dripping down your arms? Huh? And your your spine? Well, suffice it to say it was a veritable river headed down to my drawers. At least the RT didn’t make any comments when he walked by wondering about this latest project his mother had gotten involved in. And he didn’t laugh when I grunted, either, and I was listening.
I know you know that I knew I’d be doomed after the warm up and before the weights because I was already toast. That you knew that I’d know those repetitions would make my muscles feel like they’d been flopped into a frying pan set on sizzle. You totally knew. And you smiled the entire time. But you also knew I’d feel like *thank gawd I’m done* successful and proud after you ran me through the wringer the routine. I know you’d know that I knew I’d know you knew. Yanno?
So all in all, the beginner’s (ohmygawdwhatmustheregularworkoutbelike?) workout was a freakin’ killer great and because it was an interminable, exhausting only 30 minutes, I switched to a cardio salsa dancing workout that finished the job you started immediately afterward. I’ll have to thank her another time since I couldn’t see the writing on the screen with my face on the floor didn’t catch her name.
But hey! It was so incredibly tortuous and I was so sore the next day fun, that I was thoroughly encouraged to go on my walk again, making sure I got it in before the sun went down — in the drizzling rain.
So thanks, Desiree! The next time I need my butt royally kicked an amazing workout, I know how far and fast to run in the opposite direction you da man.
Devotedly,
Me
p.s. Might you be related to Rachael Ray? Just asking. It must be the smile.
Actually, the workout was excellent, and I was surprised that I felt as if I’d gotten more done than twice the time on a vigorous walk. I enjoy getting outside, keeping an eye on my odd neighbors in Paradise breathing, and watching the sunset, but this is something I need to do a couple of times a week. The on demand channels are an included service, and I can exercise whenever I want, which is, well, not a whole lot different that most everything else I do. So…okay. Whatever.
And the letters to sustain me during NaBloPoMo continue. But the RT’s school photos arrived yesterday, so I’ve been staring at them and marveling at just how fast time goes by. Mind you, the photos came some time ago, and I thought it strange that I hadn’t seen them yet when he walked up with them last night, apologizing for forgetting to give them to me. They’d been in his backpack, where many a valuable possession has vanished into the depths of its blackness. Never to be seen until June. So I’m feeling fortunate that the photos have nary a scratch or bend.
November 13, 2007
My Dear RT,
When you were born, I started writing letters to you in a journal about your daily life. Although the letters were very nearly written each day in the beginning, by the last entry, written on your 8th birthday, they were very infrequent. Very soon, I’ll show you the journal so that you can read about growing up. And someday, it will be yours so that you might do the same for your child.
Here are some of the letters.
Thursday, May 12, 1994
You were almost two…
Your Dad took you to Grandma & Grandpa W’s house and measured you on Mother’s Day. You’re nearly 36″ tall and weigh about 30 lbs. (Is that right?) Anyway — that’s taller than we thought you’d be compared to your cousin when she was your age, and she’s tall!
You can count to 13 now! It’s pretty funny.
You’ve been throwing things way too much — at people, on the floor — everywhere.
Lots of whineyness in the early evening time around dinner. It’s hard when everyone has had a long day. We’re trying not to push the bottles just to see if you’ll forget about it during the day — preschool is just around the corner and the bottle won’t work. Diapers? Who knows? Changing yours is a complete chore. You kick & scream & twist & turn. It’s like some ridiculous game. Gramma did say today that she told you that you needed your pants changed & you walked right into the house to have it taken care of. You hear everything we say! This morning you were laying on the rug watching Barney & I made a comment to Gramma about your “poofy” hair and you looked at me and reached up to touch your hair.
I’m getting ready to leave you for nearly 8 days and I’m not looking forward to it. What I want is for summer to be here so I can be a mom for a change.
You’ll be big before I know it, D.
Saturday, January 24, 1997
I see this book now, mostly when I dust & vacuum around the basket of books it keeps company with next to my bed. That’s pretty much where it’s been since we moved to this house when you were 6 mos. old. It seems so long ago now. You’re 4-1/2. You’re in the dining room playing your usual conditioned response breakfast games. Your dad is trying to guilt you into eating, but he is also singing the “Green Acres” theme song, so somehow I’m sure he’s not very threatening.
Thanks for climbing into bed with me for a while this morning and telling me about the rocket you built of Legos. You showed me how it flies, how it loses its boosters & leaves the capsule where the men are and then uses parachutes to bring it back to California where it lands. A lot to think about on a Saturday morning.
Yes, the Lego era has had a 2nd dawning. They’ve never quite been completely gone, but C & R have had them stashed under their bunk for a number of years. Now they show you how to build everything. But mostly things that fly. You’re pretty good at it yourself.
I make sure I get my squeezes & hugs & kisses from you as much as I can. It seems your “olderness” is right around the corner, D. You are very aware you are 4, but not 5 yet and tell me about it. I know you want to stay at Taproot School to become a “Palm” instead of going to another kindergarten. But you’ll have to make that change soon enough. Taproot stops after Kindergarten and then you must move on.
This should be a big year. Baseball? Soccer? Music Lessons? What are you interested in? What do you want to learn?
You found the plastic pink heart which stays in a dish on my dresser as you got up this morning & had a wistful, but puzzled look on your face as you rolled it in your fingers. “We still have Heart Baby’s heart. He still loves us, D,” I explain.
“He gone?”
“Yes, remember we lost him at the old Target?”
“But he didn’t go to the garbage. He went with a boy.”
“And he cares about that boy, but his heart will always be with us,” I finish.
You put the heart down and seemed content with the conversation we’ve had many times before.
Clown baby still goes to school with you every day, but it’s more of a ritual than a need. I’ll have to rescue him one of these days before he is misplaced.
I love you, D. You’ve grown up so very fast.
Mom
As I drag my unwilling body over the scorching sand of the Sahara that is my carpet, I yet again position myself at my trusty desk and keyboard to put a checkmark in the box that denotes another NaBloPoMo done…
November 12, 2007
Dear Whomever Makes the Decision to Fold the San Diego Union-Tribune in a Particular Order:
I often take time on certain days of the week to notice which page is “up” as I sit down to read through the paper. Often when there has been a tragic occurrence, the main page is noticeably tucked behind something that someone at the paper has deemed less controversial, or more for the faint of heart. On Saturdays in general, the “Family” section is what I see when I pull the paper out of its plastic bag. At least I think that’s the routine. But when I do notice, I leaf through the rest of the paper to see what you may be trying to prevent me from seeing on first glance, as if I hadn’t already seen or heard about it on the Internet the previous day.
This past Saturday (and I’ve had to wait a couple of days to write about it because it upset me so much, it put quite a damper on my Saturday morning) you did have the “Family” section in full view. But as I scanned the page, I began to wonder what was really going on. Was it just some poor sap who follows directions, or was it by design that unsuspecting people would be forced to read with their morning coffee three articles that were anything but conducive to a relaxing morning. I don’t like being manipulated.
I’m not going to apologize for being less than enthused about reading these particular pieces. I’m not a wilting violet, and I have far too many opinions about too many things. But I will say that sometimes, I want to choose when I get worked up over something. And most often, it’s because I’m the type of person who immediately feels that I have some degree of responsibility for the problem, that I should be more involved in doing something about it, or that I’m being educated and then chastised about not doing anything to help the problem. I’m sure there are pills for this particular malady, but I don’t like taking pills.
I know that you’re not to blame for my idiosyncracies, nevertheless, they are what they are and I thought that it was time to let you know how I feel about all of this.
“Scratch that 7-year itch; it’s 5 now,” by Shelley Emling was another one of those articles that prove again that anyone can say anything with a set of statistics. Good thing to know as the MoH and I approach our 20th anniversary, that we’re past the scratching and itching stage of it all. But it’s an odd story to run on the “Family” page. I’m sure you’d call it objective reporting of the results of a study. I’ll call it pessimistic. Reporting, that is.
“Missed lead?” by Jane Clifford had me shaking my head with a “what’s next” attitude. Let’s take paranoia about lead in toys to the next level instead of paying attention to more serious issues about pollutants in water, the air, the ground, the materials our homes are built from, and the food we eat. Yes, I do think that just about covers it. Look quickly and you just may see Chicken Little scurrying around with her chicks, trying to keep them from kissing their dolls.
And speaking of food? Well, that’s the article that is to blame for this tirade, because although I only scanned the two previous articles, I read this one to the last grim line. Thanks, Luis Humberto Crosthwaite. Thanks very much for your well-written and informative “Hearts ache for children of the fields.” Thanks for reminding me that in Mexico, as in many impoverished countries in the world, families put their children to work at a very early age, even though it’s illegal. That many of those children die working in the fields handling produce that is shipped to this country.
Thanks very much for letting me know, “It’s sad to consider that our salad was picked by small hands.” Sad to the point of tears sad. Very.
What am I supposed to do about this? What can I do about it? Not eat lettuce? Boycott stores that sell produce from Mexico? Seriously. Sure, that would work. If someone actually organized the effort, and it was successful, how would it play out? The produce would not be sold, it would be left to rot in the fields, there would be less of a need for workers, so then the children wouldn’t have to pick produce. We could all get in bed at night and feel great that we did something to make a difference. Not. Sadly, what happens is then they don’t have work. The families aren’t paid. They have no food.
The families have to eat. They’ll try and find different work because they have to. And the children will be right beside them, working at something perhaps even more difficult than picking produce. There will be no sitting around waiting for a check in the mail. *Oops. Did I just say that? Shame on me.*<!–
Should I call the Mexican government and inquire about why poverty and child labor exist in their country? Because that’s the real problem. Why they don’t seem to care? Or do anything about it? Sure. That would work.
Like it works in this country.
But I’m sure our child mortality rate isn’t as high.
So thanks for reminding me that I need to be thankful for what I have because perhaps I didn’t already realize it, and for letting me know that my lettuce may have been picked by a child who has died in the process.
But I’m not sad about it today like I was Saturday. I’m just very angry.
Sincerely,
A Subscriber
Okay, still going strong with NaBloPoMo. Lovely Sunday morning — coffee, magazines, a tasty hot bowl of steel cut oatmeal with green apples, pecans, brown sugar and cardamom. And the MoH and RT cozied up watching football. *sigh*
November 11, 2007
Dear House Fairies,
Yanno, I need to swing a deal with you guys. I’m totally not getting around to doing my housework and the place looks like, well…crap. There are piles everywhere from redoing the RT’s room, and from preliminary stages of organizing the office. My mom’s photos are also being gone through now and are in stacks of this and that and those. Jeez. I never quite perfected the art of finishing one thing before starting another. I am making some progress as I’ve given away more of the RT’s books from childhood, and two chests full of Legos. But it hasn’t put much of a dent in anything. It’s quite pathetic.
How about if you just find a way to sneak out of where ever you hide in the night to just spruce everything up. ‘Kay? Sort of Martha-ize the place? Because I just can’t seem to do everything I want and need to do in a 24-hour day and I’m perpetually behind.
Does fixing toilets fall under the category of Martha-izing? The luridness of the RT’s toilet isn’t something I can quite capture with mere words. The newly painted walls haven’t really done anything other than make it stand out even more. I’ve been thinking about whether I might be able to feed a power sprayer through the window from the spigot outside in the back. You know, sort of blast the thing into the next century?
And the laundry room is quite the wreck. I think the cats play in their catbox since there’s more sand on the floor than there is in the box and one of them insists upon leaving crap uncovered every single time, like it’s some little present. What is up with that?
Then there’s the RT’s pile by the garage door. It’s a wonder one of us hasn’t tripped over the backpack, the boxes of models, and textbooks. His shoes, and stinky bag of damp towel and swim trunks from PE. Everything is strung across the carpet.
Speaking of carpets, I need to have them cleaned. What? You don’t do carpets? So I guess I’ll have to call. But my roots are seriously beginning to show and if I get the carpets done for Thanksgiving, then our guests will have to try and figure out why I’ve parked a skunk on my head. It could distract them from their meal.
Do you guys do hair?
No?
Whatever.
Oh, but could you speak to the car fairies about getting my tune up taken care of? What? Your guys don’t talk to their guys?
Fine.
Forget the perfunctory missive concluding niceties…
Me.
p.s. And I don’t want to hear anything from anybody about what a completely stoopid letter this was. I have to write about nonsense once in a while, right?
November 10, 2007
Dear NaBloPoMo,
My tongue’s not quite hanging to the ground yet with daily blogging, because I’ve missed very few days since I began last March. I do have the ability to write my way around any situation while standing on my head and singing Yankee Doodle. Or something like that. But I have a tendency to not write both days in the weekend because my house really does need to be cleaned occasionally.
The other reason I may not write on the weekend is because of my food blog. It takes some time, and I enjoy spending time there with other foodies. And I fear that I neglect that world far too much compared to this one. And foodies are such a lovely bunch of people. I truly enjoy them.
So today, I’m deferring to said foodie haven Sass & Veracity for today’s qualifying post. Even though this actually counts as a post.
Besides, my post there is for a very worthy cause.
And thanks to Mike at Port 16 for the idea.
Have a lovely Saturday!
Me.
Nine days and counting on NaBloPoMo…Yay! It’s Friday. The downside is that the weekend is when I have a tendency to drop a posting day. But not this month! I’m on it, pecking away, and fighting with my date stamp which is completely driving me nuts…
November 9, 2007
Mike McConnell
Director of National Intelligence
Washington, D.C.
Dear Sir:
Although I’m sure that you’ve been briefed about the recent discovery of yet another boat left on the shore in a neighboring beach community, I felt the need to share a few thoughts I’ve had with respect to the idea of security in our country. Since this is the second such occurrence in less than two months, the last of which took place not two miles from my home, I’d say there should be some eyebrows raised about what constitutes “safe.”
I’m not paranoid, but still.
Thanks for your time on this matter. I’m sure your departments or agencies, or whatever you call them will get this figured out and actually communicate on the matter.
Sincerely,
Me
p.s. You could probably call Arnold on this.
NaBloPoMo: I’m on it with a little hop in my step and a “tally-ho” spirit, raring to go. Onward and upward, and all that sort of rot. To quote my sister when she was very young and we had suffered yet another family trip crammed in the back of the blue VW bug, “Are we there yet?” No, dear. Just keep writing…
November 8, 2007
Board of Education Members
Bakersfield City School District
Dear Elected Members of the Board:
I never cease to be amazed that those who choose to sit as members of a school board seem to be obsessed with the most repulsive sort of demagoguery. With respect to this latest example of proof, congratulations.
I do believe that the U.S. Constitution states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” and although you are most assuredly not members of the U.S. Congress, you are, as are we all, governed by that and all other amendments (even though judges enjoy the freedom to interpret them in their own way).
Additionally, the California Education Code, Section 220 states that, “No person shall be subjected to discrimination on the basis of sex, ethnic group identification, race, national origin, religion, color, mental or physical disability, or any actual or perceived characteristic…in any program or activity conducted by an education institution that receives, or benefits from, state financial assistance or enrolls pupils who receive state student financial aid.”
Therefore, your recent decision to place in 2,300 classrooms and other gathering places within your school district posters that read, “In God We Trust,” is inappropriate on several levels. The fact that you feel you’re “not going to accept the agenda of some radical leftists who want to expunge God from public dialogue,” Mr. Vegas, is beside the point.
The point is that not every one chooses to practice your religion, share in your beliefs, pray to the same god that you do, or pray at all. Perhaps they do not believe there is an entity to pray to. They are entitled to those beliefs just as you are, whether they are in the majority or not. Or should I say “accepted” majority?
Clearly you think them wrong. That they’re carrying the future of society and its children to hell in a hand basket. One that belongs to “radical leftists.” Perhaps the same “radical leftists” who pay taxes that end up in your school district’s coffers, and with whose funds will be used to pay for the “In God We Trust” posters you will purchase.
It’s a problem.
The kids won’t care because it’s just another adult pissing contest that is very “junior high” in its characteristics. The “in” clique got what they wanted, and in the process has engaged in name-calling of anyone who isn’t on their side. If you don’t think $12,000 worth of posters that will soon become faded wall paper should be in our schools, then you’re un-American.
Because we all know that our beliefs should be plastered on our bumpers, our homes, our classrooms, and on our sleeves. That we’re card-carrying members of the “I Believe” sect and anyone who doesn’t strut it is suspect.
It makes me sick to my stomach. How do these ridiculous humans get elected? Oh, that’s right. They get elected by other humans who aren’t satisfied wanting what they want for their own children; they want it for everyone else’s as well. Because our children must certainly be what’s wrong with society. Damn them heathens. Actually, what they want is to not have to pay for a private, religious based education. They want us to pay for it.
Ah, yes. America. The land of opportunity. You, too can have whatever you want, have someone else pay for it, and then complain about it or send it back after you decided you didn’t want it after all.
In conclusion, you may want to take a look at your district’s budget. This is the time of year when school administrators begin to organize their site finances for the next school year. Since it could be losing quite a bit of state and federal funding due to your self-serving actions, you’ll have quite a bit of adjusting to do to make ends meet. And if you don’t lose the money there, then it will most likely go to court costs when someone files suit over your recent edict. But hey! At least you’ll have pretty posters on your walls that no one will notice in a few months.
And just think As board members, you only set policy. The educators then have to scramble to clean up your mess.
Now that you’ve had your moment in the sun, perhaps you might focus on whether students are ready for college. Hmmm?
Sincerely,
An American tax-payer
Let Freedom Ring