Showing posts with label journal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journal. Show all posts
Monday, November 5, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
My Loki
Loki Lyesmith
"In the aftermath of Battle, I went into the Temple,
I found a Baby, Small for a Giant's offspring.
Abandoned.
Suffering.
Left to die."
Thor - Odin recounts how he found Loki among the Frost Giants
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Women in Combat
It was an article I received on the Twitter feed from the NY Post Opinion column. When I tweeted my opinion, I had no idea there were so many people radically opposed to Women in Combat, despite the fact that we already are.
[caption id="attachment_1017" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Daughters of the American Revolution"]
[/caption]
Why are we here again? Why are we discussing this, again? This discussion was closed over 20 years ago. We won, or did you not get the memo? The issue of Selective Service registration is just part of the clean up after the battle. It's not our fault that Politicians keep dragging their feet on the issue, making it appear to the Main Stream Media and the public at large that the issue is new, is not settled, and is still open for debate.
At first I thought it was just another vehicle Politicians could use in the 2012 Election to battle Social Policies which provide Equality and equal Freedom for Women. In case you haven't been paying attention, Women have become the battle ground for the next Presidential Election. The issue specifically is to require young women to register for the Selective Service at age 18, follow the links on the Opinion piece for reference. The only requirement that continues to separate a Woman in the Military from her Male peers - they, men, have a national mandate to register while our service is entirely voluntary. The very last hurdle Women need to be recognized as equals & peers among their Male peers. The trickledown effect of Women in the Military and Social Policies within the United States have already proven to be effective in the application of the US Constitution & Amendments fully to Women Citizens of the United States of America - Selective Service. They showed America that when given the option to Serve, we do so Freely. That last hurdle means Gender Neutrality. That means identifying a process for which American Women Citizens may demonstrate their Loyalty to their Nation, including the defense of their Nation even on the Battle Field. It requires Strategy. It requires the Sons of the American Revolution to look across the White House Lawn to the Daughters of the American Revolution and Strategically review our Assets.
Here we are again discussing women’s role in the Military. Quite frankly, some of the opinions I have seen are insulting to the US Military. To suggest that the United States Military, the most powerful force on the globe, is somehow incapable of training women to serve in combat is nearly treasonous. And what’s more insulting, is the fact that many of the opinions either intentionally omit or are truly uninformed that women have been serving combat roles since 1973.
Charlie Wilson taught our Military Intelligence that Women's Freedom was an illusion, despite his well earned reputation of loving Women to his demise. Through his efforts, and his ultimate failure to earn the votes necessary to build schools in Afghanistan after the Mujahedeen defeated the Soviets, Charlie Wilson allowed the United States to ransom Women's Freedom and the application of the US Constitution of our Citizenry without racial or gender bias. Charlie Wilson's Jail Bait opened the door to educated women, giving them the opportunity to compete in the Job Market alongside their Male Peers for equal pay. Not all Jail Bait was assigned to Embassy Duty or Congressional Committees. They were sent to the Front Lines to learn how to send Equipment into Battle. We were pretty enough, smart enough, brave enough and reckless enough to do the job. Just like our Male Peers. Pretty enough to Protect, Tough enough to Respect. Some reference: George Crile, CNN Article
In 1980, Congress and President Reagan facilitated the US Military's first real, demonstrable efforts to faze Women into Combat Roles in a meaningful sense. The repeal of the draft in 1973 was nearly 10 years old when they began programs that would put women in Combat and Combat Support roles. For nearly seven years, from the end of the draft in 1973 and the start of Selective Service, women had been taking the opportunities open to them and were given a glimmer of equality in the Military. It was Operation Urgent Fury in Grenada 1983 that proved Women, after 10 years of training, could serve in Combat Support, inching up as close to the battle as possible and performing not only well but effectively. Charlie Wilson had begun his “bare knuckle” approach to providing assistance to Afghanistan in order to defeat the Soviet Union. What people don’t know or want to forget, is that Charlie Wilson loved women, and it was because of his belief that women could literally do anything they put their mind to, he helped put us prominently in the face of politicians. He loved women so much he filled his staff with “Jail Bait”. His motto, “You can teach them to type but you can’t teach them to grow tits” rang through the House & Senate, garnering him the respect and envy of every Politician around him. Some noble Congressmen even went so far as to emulate him by bringing more and more women into their staff rosters and voting in Congress to allow women expanded roles in the Military, including combat. It helped that women performed exceedingly well in Grenada as loadmasters, engineers and pilots.
By 1987, Charlie Wilson and his covert War, was well under way. The issue of Women in Combat was under review with “statutory limitations” applied to "eligible" Combat Support Roles, and the USAF was infusing women into Combat Flight Lines. We had covertly entered the fight in the Middle East by supporting Afghanistan. Then in 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 was attacked by terrorists with ties to Lybia, and by 1990, Iraq marched into Kuwait. I think that it was the backing down the first time we tried to engage Iraq in 1991 that Women lost footing in the US Military. By the time we went into Afghanistan to chase bin Laden in 2001, then Iraq again in 2003, women had made significant inroads to serving in combat alongside their male peers, but made absolutely no in roads to reconcile the UCMJ and Sharia Law in regards to women. We were an excellently trained Force with nowhere to go and our Country at War. Now we are talking about Lybia again in 2011, the issue of women in combat is coming up for political review, and it only serves one purpose: limit women’s role in combat and the US Military engages the Middle East with a significant reduction in troops – women can’t serve “on the ground” in Islamic Nations.
It was in between the backing down in Iraq and that time in 2003 when we returned with the force of 10,000 Orcs, when women in combat disappeared from the main stream media. It was during this time that the US gave into Sharia Law, that the need for Air Space outweighed the UCMJ, and we, as a Nation, made our first demonstration of “backing down” to the Islamic Nations, and by extension, the Islamic Terrorist Groups. We needed air fields and flight lines, to put our F-16’s and A-10’s so they could support the Ground Troops just in case we decided to ever invade someone in the region. Saudi Arabia loved it; they had the most powerful Military in the world hosted on their Nation’s soil. They became the big kid in the Sand Box with a baseball bat. The US ransomed Women’s Freedom, something only Women living within the United States have an expectation. We kept our women out of the Middle East, and in return Kuwait was set free from Saddam Hussein, or so the story goes. In the years between 1991 and 2001, the US Military acquiesced time after time to every Islamic Nation on the Rules for Women. Rules which stifle Freedom. Rules which promote abuse and hint at slavery. Saudi Arabia has been the biggest and most vocal opponents to US Military Women, with Lybia right on their heels. While giving into the Terrorist demands, all the US Military could muster were a few strategically placed women in uniform, just to remind everyone that yes; the remaining 20% of our Troops are at home.
While Women’s Freedoms in the US flourished in both personal choices and career options in the 80's and early 90's, the image of the Free Woman became the dominant theme in US foreign relations with the Middle East. All because of Charlie Wilson, John Murtha, and a little blind girl in prison, on death row, because she was raped. They could not tolerate a Woman, their beautiful little Jail Bait being treated the same way. This is the GOP who raised me. I am a grown up Jail Bait.
It was Bush who sent women into combat on the Supply Chain in 2003; 20 years after Reagan drew on military women to prevail in Grenada. For the first time, 20 years after they first entered the combat arena, women became part of the Ground Assault, delivering food and fuel and supplies to the units. Just like Mad Maxx. Not just pilots and loadmasters, not safely ensconced behind the walls of a deployed command, but actually on the ground in enemy territory. Twenty years after we began training, we lost our first true casualties of war. Not just one woman in a single engagement, but multiple women in multiple skirmishes and some of them were even taken Prisoner. In service to their country, in defense of their nation, in pursuit of their national freedom, they entered combat. The psychological effect on the Islamic Nations was poignant. In the nearly 10 years since our first female prisoners were taken in Iraq, the image of the Female Soldier continues to instill fear in the Islamic heart. We have proven through our dedication to our Nation that we won't be taken without a fight and our military peers will retrieve us while dealing to our enemies a devastating death blow. Imagine the philosophical conundrum of the Islamic mind - as a Muslim Man fighting Jihad, killed by a US Woman in a US Military Uniform. So much for the promise of a Warrior's Death and those 40 virgins. You can thank Gust for that little close combat psychological knife twist.
I served the US Military from 1987 to 1991, in the US Air Force as an F-16 Crew Chief. I was on a flight line every day, loading jets with fuel tanks, bombs, missiles, gun ammo, and most importantly, a pilot. My job was to get the plane off the ground at all costs. Protect the asset, get it airborne – a jet on the tarmac is a sitting duck, but in the air it is a deadly force. Get it up! What I did not know, because I was too young and there was no Internet in 1986, was that the Graham Rudman Hollings Act of 1986-1989 a deficit reduction bill, affected Women in the Military and would by design of ending or significantly reducing the statutory limits on Women's Combat Training Programs, be a signal to the Islamic World that the US also treats it's women differently and we do have restrictions on Women's Freedom. We promise not to send the Amazon's after you if you settle down share the oil and stop killing each other.
When I arrived at Tech school in Wichita Falls Texas, the male to female ratio was 3-1. We were all crew chiefs in training. It was easy - dangerously so. The systems came to me so perfectly, the operational goals were so clear that when I received less than 100% on my exams, I demanded retraining until I reached a perfect score. I received my orders 2 weeks before graduation – F-16, Shaw Air Force Base South Carolina. Every day as I began the transition the male to female ratio began to change. As my female peers were sent to Strategic Air Command, I was sent to Tactical Air Command. They were preparing for large airplanes, large runways, and large facilities. I was focused on small fast dangerous fighters, Falcons, capable of taking out a tank on the ground or a MIG in the air. They were as dangerous on the ground to flight line personnel as they were in the air to enemy craft. They were combat weapons and I was training to throw them up in the air to destroy enemies.
Prior to leaving for my final destination unit, the male to female ratio drastically changed to 5-1. More times than not, I found myself the only female in a 10 man formation. The Instructors from Tech School were replaced with Unit Personnel rotating through new recruit Training, preparing Airmen like us for the Operational Flight Line. It got harder. No longer was there an opportunity to demand re-training, it was Production Time, we were Live. Then I reached the Flight Line. There were 3 of us in the entire 300 man unit and only 2 of us were female crew chiefs. For the first 30 days, every variation of the term Jail Bait was used, sometimes as a compliment, sometimes as an epithet. Within 6 months the only other female crew chief in my unit got pregnant and left both the unit and the flight line. Then there was me.
For nearly 18 months, I was the only woman. Crew chiefs, weapons, every specialty sub unit servicing the F-16’s – just me, the lone woman. At one point I reflected back to Tech School and wondered where the hell all my peers went. In less than 2 years I went from being just one of the crowd to the single woman in a sea of men, and not just any men, Crew Dawgs. These men were hard, grizzled in only the way a United States Air Force Fighter Squadron Crew could be, at the tender age of 23. They went to the gym daily, they went to the shooting range weekly, their jets came home Code 1 each and every time. Anything less than a code 1 resulted in brutal fist fights between the various Specialties – pointing blame for not doing your job, for accepting less than 100% mission success. It got harder. This was a Fighter Flight Line. This was Combat training Air Force style.
These seasoned Dawgs were our mentors, our leaders. They directed the flow of the Flight Line process, prioritizing the fixes, ordering the crews, preparing for the next set of sorties. Every mistake, every error was caught, questioned and examined by these men. If they didn’t like the fasteners on an engine panel, they stood there yelling at you while you replaced it. If they questioned your landing gear, they hovered over your shoulder berating you until the safety wire was replaced on every fastener. They keep the jets in the air. During the quiet times, this excessive hovering and barking seemed ridiculous, until we started War Week. Following process is the only way to successfully completing the Mission.
In the Military, a week is officially 7 days, however, the definition is fluid. A week could be 10 days. It seems an insignificant observation, however, in the field, that 3 day differential can be excruciating. It was during my first War Week that I discovered the horror of the Gas Mask. Somewhere I got the notion I would never be in a situation where Gas Masks would be required, that was for Ground Troops. I got “tagged” early in the War and spent 5 days filling body bags, also known as The Morgue. We weren’t really dead; we were just out of play.
During my third War Week, I made it to day 6 before I got tagged. This time however, I was tagged by my own unit as I was on my way to triggering a booby trap, so I was still in play. Sadly, my mistake was not the only one – another group of our Dawgs also made a mistake and cumulatively the mistakes cost us a further day. The penalty was an additional gassing with the loss of our physical buildings – we had to do everything from our makeshift bunkers scattered around the flight line.
At my fourth War Week, I found my niche – a dual role of Throw & Catch. I spent the Launch at End of Runway, throwing the Falcons into the air, and then hauled ass across the flight line back to the unit command to catch them when they came down. It was the first time I did not get tagged in an assault, as I was always on the move. My little niche allowed a stronger male Crew Chief to remain at the Command manning the jets. End of Runway was a role done in specific windows of time and can be defended far better than the actual flight line. Therefore, the stronger Crew Dawgs were needed to remain with the earth bound predators. Since I was capturing the operational data directly from the pilots, I was able to identify problem birds on the very last check point. Because I was trained by intimidating Dawgs, I had the backbone to challenge Pilots on bogus maintenance issues and provide a full debrief to the Unit. Often times, simply remembering that the light bulb in the clipboard map-mount is intermittent and the part is on back order resulted in a code 1 sortie. It was my fourth War Week in 3 years that my unit won the Daedalion Award which kept us in the Training Competition. The points which put us over the top were our accurate maintenance operations data. My briefing of the EOR Crew assisted in a higher rate of Code 1 Birds during the training. The strategic nature of our win was the placement of seasoned Dawgs manning the operational command, and the younger Apprentices in true support roles, keeping our unit in a constant state of movement - our Birds flew flawlessly 24/7 to exceed the Mission Goals.
The training we went through was specific, it was strategic, and it was combat. To suggest that the training has become stagnant in the 20 years since I served is insulting. What is difficult to deal with is this same disrespect to the Military’s training program feeds into the lack of women rising to the ranks necessary to hold a voice on the War Council. The council from a battle seasoned multi-star General is taken far more seriously than that of a well trained Colonel who has never been allowed to join combat. A Male President wants a Male War Council, never mind the fact that in order to attain the necessary rank & experience, women are prohibited from even trying. It is a double edged sword of discrimination, both procedurally and psychologically. Those women who are in leadership roles are buried behind bureaucracy and their efforts are intentionally kept silent by the main stream media.
Women have proven themselves in combat first in 1991 (Army Captain Karen Emma Walden) then in 2003 in Iraq (Jessica Dawn Lynch) and they continue to serve in Afghanistan. The US Military has proven they are capable of training excellent female combat soldiers in every branch. The only real reason to bring the long closed debate of Women in Combat is to re-address Sharia Law in the Middle East. If we engage Lybia and we honor the treasonous agreements we made to keep US Women in Uniform out of the region, we go in with only 80% of our troops. Women will be left at home, far from the battle. Bringing the topic to the table and politicizing Women Soldiers only serves to provide our enemy with the information on our overall strength while deployed away from home.
There is a plus side to the suggestion of women registering for Selective Service, and that is opportunity. The requirement would open doors within US Social Programs to young women graduating high school that they otherwise would not be exposed. The very idea of serving 4 years in exchange for education has the potential to change that woman’s life forever.
Women registering for Selective Service will only lead to future generations preserving the freedoms of the US Constitution and instill the pride of Military Service. After more than 200 years, our nation has an unspoken pride “My son is in the Army”. The sentiment evokes “because only American Women raise American Soldiers”. But what happens when those same American Women raise female soldiers? Soldiers who then raise more American Soldiers, a Woman who understands the importance of Hunting for sport to train her daughter how to take down a 12-point buck. A woman who understands how sacred American Freedom truly is and the importance of the discipline needed to defend that freedom at all costs.
Take a moment and reflect on how deadly Jessica Lynch’s sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters will be. They will have been raised by a Woman who served her Nation in Combat, a Warrior and a Soldier. There are thousands of women in the Military who are dedicated to protecting Freedom, defending the US Constitution, and have given up their rights as US Citizens to live and work under the UCMJ for the sole purpose of demonstrating their Loyalty to their Nation. What force can overcome the loyalty of Hearth and Home?
http://www.womensmemorial.org/Education/timeline.html
[caption id="attachment_1017" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Daughters of the American Revolution"]
[/caption]Why are we here again? Why are we discussing this, again? This discussion was closed over 20 years ago. We won, or did you not get the memo? The issue of Selective Service registration is just part of the clean up after the battle. It's not our fault that Politicians keep dragging their feet on the issue, making it appear to the Main Stream Media and the public at large that the issue is new, is not settled, and is still open for debate.
At first I thought it was just another vehicle Politicians could use in the 2012 Election to battle Social Policies which provide Equality and equal Freedom for Women. In case you haven't been paying attention, Women have become the battle ground for the next Presidential Election. The issue specifically is to require young women to register for the Selective Service at age 18, follow the links on the Opinion piece for reference. The only requirement that continues to separate a Woman in the Military from her Male peers - they, men, have a national mandate to register while our service is entirely voluntary. The very last hurdle Women need to be recognized as equals & peers among their Male peers. The trickledown effect of Women in the Military and Social Policies within the United States have already proven to be effective in the application of the US Constitution & Amendments fully to Women Citizens of the United States of America - Selective Service. They showed America that when given the option to Serve, we do so Freely. That last hurdle means Gender Neutrality. That means identifying a process for which American Women Citizens may demonstrate their Loyalty to their Nation, including the defense of their Nation even on the Battle Field. It requires Strategy. It requires the Sons of the American Revolution to look across the White House Lawn to the Daughters of the American Revolution and Strategically review our Assets.
Here we are again discussing women’s role in the Military. Quite frankly, some of the opinions I have seen are insulting to the US Military. To suggest that the United States Military, the most powerful force on the globe, is somehow incapable of training women to serve in combat is nearly treasonous. And what’s more insulting, is the fact that many of the opinions either intentionally omit or are truly uninformed that women have been serving combat roles since 1973.
Charlie Wilson taught our Military Intelligence that Women's Freedom was an illusion, despite his well earned reputation of loving Women to his demise. Through his efforts, and his ultimate failure to earn the votes necessary to build schools in Afghanistan after the Mujahedeen defeated the Soviets, Charlie Wilson allowed the United States to ransom Women's Freedom and the application of the US Constitution of our Citizenry without racial or gender bias. Charlie Wilson's Jail Bait opened the door to educated women, giving them the opportunity to compete in the Job Market alongside their Male Peers for equal pay. Not all Jail Bait was assigned to Embassy Duty or Congressional Committees. They were sent to the Front Lines to learn how to send Equipment into Battle. We were pretty enough, smart enough, brave enough and reckless enough to do the job. Just like our Male Peers. Pretty enough to Protect, Tough enough to Respect. Some reference: George Crile, CNN Article
In 1980, Congress and President Reagan facilitated the US Military's first real, demonstrable efforts to faze Women into Combat Roles in a meaningful sense. The repeal of the draft in 1973 was nearly 10 years old when they began programs that would put women in Combat and Combat Support roles. For nearly seven years, from the end of the draft in 1973 and the start of Selective Service, women had been taking the opportunities open to them and were given a glimmer of equality in the Military. It was Operation Urgent Fury in Grenada 1983 that proved Women, after 10 years of training, could serve in Combat Support, inching up as close to the battle as possible and performing not only well but effectively. Charlie Wilson had begun his “bare knuckle” approach to providing assistance to Afghanistan in order to defeat the Soviet Union. What people don’t know or want to forget, is that Charlie Wilson loved women, and it was because of his belief that women could literally do anything they put their mind to, he helped put us prominently in the face of politicians. He loved women so much he filled his staff with “Jail Bait”. His motto, “You can teach them to type but you can’t teach them to grow tits” rang through the House & Senate, garnering him the respect and envy of every Politician around him. Some noble Congressmen even went so far as to emulate him by bringing more and more women into their staff rosters and voting in Congress to allow women expanded roles in the Military, including combat. It helped that women performed exceedingly well in Grenada as loadmasters, engineers and pilots.
By 1987, Charlie Wilson and his covert War, was well under way. The issue of Women in Combat was under review with “statutory limitations” applied to "eligible" Combat Support Roles, and the USAF was infusing women into Combat Flight Lines. We had covertly entered the fight in the Middle East by supporting Afghanistan. Then in 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 was attacked by terrorists with ties to Lybia, and by 1990, Iraq marched into Kuwait. I think that it was the backing down the first time we tried to engage Iraq in 1991 that Women lost footing in the US Military. By the time we went into Afghanistan to chase bin Laden in 2001, then Iraq again in 2003, women had made significant inroads to serving in combat alongside their male peers, but made absolutely no in roads to reconcile the UCMJ and Sharia Law in regards to women. We were an excellently trained Force with nowhere to go and our Country at War. Now we are talking about Lybia again in 2011, the issue of women in combat is coming up for political review, and it only serves one purpose: limit women’s role in combat and the US Military engages the Middle East with a significant reduction in troops – women can’t serve “on the ground” in Islamic Nations.
It was in between the backing down in Iraq and that time in 2003 when we returned with the force of 10,000 Orcs, when women in combat disappeared from the main stream media. It was during this time that the US gave into Sharia Law, that the need for Air Space outweighed the UCMJ, and we, as a Nation, made our first demonstration of “backing down” to the Islamic Nations, and by extension, the Islamic Terrorist Groups. We needed air fields and flight lines, to put our F-16’s and A-10’s so they could support the Ground Troops just in case we decided to ever invade someone in the region. Saudi Arabia loved it; they had the most powerful Military in the world hosted on their Nation’s soil. They became the big kid in the Sand Box with a baseball bat. The US ransomed Women’s Freedom, something only Women living within the United States have an expectation. We kept our women out of the Middle East, and in return Kuwait was set free from Saddam Hussein, or so the story goes. In the years between 1991 and 2001, the US Military acquiesced time after time to every Islamic Nation on the Rules for Women. Rules which stifle Freedom. Rules which promote abuse and hint at slavery. Saudi Arabia has been the biggest and most vocal opponents to US Military Women, with Lybia right on their heels. While giving into the Terrorist demands, all the US Military could muster were a few strategically placed women in uniform, just to remind everyone that yes; the remaining 20% of our Troops are at home.
While Women’s Freedoms in the US flourished in both personal choices and career options in the 80's and early 90's, the image of the Free Woman became the dominant theme in US foreign relations with the Middle East. All because of Charlie Wilson, John Murtha, and a little blind girl in prison, on death row, because she was raped. They could not tolerate a Woman, their beautiful little Jail Bait being treated the same way. This is the GOP who raised me. I am a grown up Jail Bait.
It was Bush who sent women into combat on the Supply Chain in 2003; 20 years after Reagan drew on military women to prevail in Grenada. For the first time, 20 years after they first entered the combat arena, women became part of the Ground Assault, delivering food and fuel and supplies to the units. Just like Mad Maxx. Not just pilots and loadmasters, not safely ensconced behind the walls of a deployed command, but actually on the ground in enemy territory. Twenty years after we began training, we lost our first true casualties of war. Not just one woman in a single engagement, but multiple women in multiple skirmishes and some of them were even taken Prisoner. In service to their country, in defense of their nation, in pursuit of their national freedom, they entered combat. The psychological effect on the Islamic Nations was poignant. In the nearly 10 years since our first female prisoners were taken in Iraq, the image of the Female Soldier continues to instill fear in the Islamic heart. We have proven through our dedication to our Nation that we won't be taken without a fight and our military peers will retrieve us while dealing to our enemies a devastating death blow. Imagine the philosophical conundrum of the Islamic mind - as a Muslim Man fighting Jihad, killed by a US Woman in a US Military Uniform. So much for the promise of a Warrior's Death and those 40 virgins. You can thank Gust for that little close combat psychological knife twist.
I served the US Military from 1987 to 1991, in the US Air Force as an F-16 Crew Chief. I was on a flight line every day, loading jets with fuel tanks, bombs, missiles, gun ammo, and most importantly, a pilot. My job was to get the plane off the ground at all costs. Protect the asset, get it airborne – a jet on the tarmac is a sitting duck, but in the air it is a deadly force. Get it up! What I did not know, because I was too young and there was no Internet in 1986, was that the Graham Rudman Hollings Act of 1986-1989 a deficit reduction bill, affected Women in the Military and would by design of ending or significantly reducing the statutory limits on Women's Combat Training Programs, be a signal to the Islamic World that the US also treats it's women differently and we do have restrictions on Women's Freedom. We promise not to send the Amazon's after you if you settle down share the oil and stop killing each other.
When I arrived at Tech school in Wichita Falls Texas, the male to female ratio was 3-1. We were all crew chiefs in training. It was easy - dangerously so. The systems came to me so perfectly, the operational goals were so clear that when I received less than 100% on my exams, I demanded retraining until I reached a perfect score. I received my orders 2 weeks before graduation – F-16, Shaw Air Force Base South Carolina. Every day as I began the transition the male to female ratio began to change. As my female peers were sent to Strategic Air Command, I was sent to Tactical Air Command. They were preparing for large airplanes, large runways, and large facilities. I was focused on small fast dangerous fighters, Falcons, capable of taking out a tank on the ground or a MIG in the air. They were as dangerous on the ground to flight line personnel as they were in the air to enemy craft. They were combat weapons and I was training to throw them up in the air to destroy enemies.
Prior to leaving for my final destination unit, the male to female ratio drastically changed to 5-1. More times than not, I found myself the only female in a 10 man formation. The Instructors from Tech School were replaced with Unit Personnel rotating through new recruit Training, preparing Airmen like us for the Operational Flight Line. It got harder. No longer was there an opportunity to demand re-training, it was Production Time, we were Live. Then I reached the Flight Line. There were 3 of us in the entire 300 man unit and only 2 of us were female crew chiefs. For the first 30 days, every variation of the term Jail Bait was used, sometimes as a compliment, sometimes as an epithet. Within 6 months the only other female crew chief in my unit got pregnant and left both the unit and the flight line. Then there was me.
For nearly 18 months, I was the only woman. Crew chiefs, weapons, every specialty sub unit servicing the F-16’s – just me, the lone woman. At one point I reflected back to Tech School and wondered where the hell all my peers went. In less than 2 years I went from being just one of the crowd to the single woman in a sea of men, and not just any men, Crew Dawgs. These men were hard, grizzled in only the way a United States Air Force Fighter Squadron Crew could be, at the tender age of 23. They went to the gym daily, they went to the shooting range weekly, their jets came home Code 1 each and every time. Anything less than a code 1 resulted in brutal fist fights between the various Specialties – pointing blame for not doing your job, for accepting less than 100% mission success. It got harder. This was a Fighter Flight Line. This was Combat training Air Force style.
These seasoned Dawgs were our mentors, our leaders. They directed the flow of the Flight Line process, prioritizing the fixes, ordering the crews, preparing for the next set of sorties. Every mistake, every error was caught, questioned and examined by these men. If they didn’t like the fasteners on an engine panel, they stood there yelling at you while you replaced it. If they questioned your landing gear, they hovered over your shoulder berating you until the safety wire was replaced on every fastener. They keep the jets in the air. During the quiet times, this excessive hovering and barking seemed ridiculous, until we started War Week. Following process is the only way to successfully completing the Mission.
In the Military, a week is officially 7 days, however, the definition is fluid. A week could be 10 days. It seems an insignificant observation, however, in the field, that 3 day differential can be excruciating. It was during my first War Week that I discovered the horror of the Gas Mask. Somewhere I got the notion I would never be in a situation where Gas Masks would be required, that was for Ground Troops. I got “tagged” early in the War and spent 5 days filling body bags, also known as The Morgue. We weren’t really dead; we were just out of play.
During my third War Week, I made it to day 6 before I got tagged. This time however, I was tagged by my own unit as I was on my way to triggering a booby trap, so I was still in play. Sadly, my mistake was not the only one – another group of our Dawgs also made a mistake and cumulatively the mistakes cost us a further day. The penalty was an additional gassing with the loss of our physical buildings – we had to do everything from our makeshift bunkers scattered around the flight line.
At my fourth War Week, I found my niche – a dual role of Throw & Catch. I spent the Launch at End of Runway, throwing the Falcons into the air, and then hauled ass across the flight line back to the unit command to catch them when they came down. It was the first time I did not get tagged in an assault, as I was always on the move. My little niche allowed a stronger male Crew Chief to remain at the Command manning the jets. End of Runway was a role done in specific windows of time and can be defended far better than the actual flight line. Therefore, the stronger Crew Dawgs were needed to remain with the earth bound predators. Since I was capturing the operational data directly from the pilots, I was able to identify problem birds on the very last check point. Because I was trained by intimidating Dawgs, I had the backbone to challenge Pilots on bogus maintenance issues and provide a full debrief to the Unit. Often times, simply remembering that the light bulb in the clipboard map-mount is intermittent and the part is on back order resulted in a code 1 sortie. It was my fourth War Week in 3 years that my unit won the Daedalion Award which kept us in the Training Competition. The points which put us over the top were our accurate maintenance operations data. My briefing of the EOR Crew assisted in a higher rate of Code 1 Birds during the training. The strategic nature of our win was the placement of seasoned Dawgs manning the operational command, and the younger Apprentices in true support roles, keeping our unit in a constant state of movement - our Birds flew flawlessly 24/7 to exceed the Mission Goals.
The training we went through was specific, it was strategic, and it was combat. To suggest that the training has become stagnant in the 20 years since I served is insulting. What is difficult to deal with is this same disrespect to the Military’s training program feeds into the lack of women rising to the ranks necessary to hold a voice on the War Council. The council from a battle seasoned multi-star General is taken far more seriously than that of a well trained Colonel who has never been allowed to join combat. A Male President wants a Male War Council, never mind the fact that in order to attain the necessary rank & experience, women are prohibited from even trying. It is a double edged sword of discrimination, both procedurally and psychologically. Those women who are in leadership roles are buried behind bureaucracy and their efforts are intentionally kept silent by the main stream media.
Women have proven themselves in combat first in 1991 (Army Captain Karen Emma Walden) then in 2003 in Iraq (Jessica Dawn Lynch) and they continue to serve in Afghanistan. The US Military has proven they are capable of training excellent female combat soldiers in every branch. The only real reason to bring the long closed debate of Women in Combat is to re-address Sharia Law in the Middle East. If we engage Lybia and we honor the treasonous agreements we made to keep US Women in Uniform out of the region, we go in with only 80% of our troops. Women will be left at home, far from the battle. Bringing the topic to the table and politicizing Women Soldiers only serves to provide our enemy with the information on our overall strength while deployed away from home.
There is a plus side to the suggestion of women registering for Selective Service, and that is opportunity. The requirement would open doors within US Social Programs to young women graduating high school that they otherwise would not be exposed. The very idea of serving 4 years in exchange for education has the potential to change that woman’s life forever.
Women registering for Selective Service will only lead to future generations preserving the freedoms of the US Constitution and instill the pride of Military Service. After more than 200 years, our nation has an unspoken pride “My son is in the Army”. The sentiment evokes “because only American Women raise American Soldiers”. But what happens when those same American Women raise female soldiers? Soldiers who then raise more American Soldiers, a Woman who understands the importance of Hunting for sport to train her daughter how to take down a 12-point buck. A woman who understands how sacred American Freedom truly is and the importance of the discipline needed to defend that freedom at all costs.
Take a moment and reflect on how deadly Jessica Lynch’s sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters will be. They will have been raised by a Woman who served her Nation in Combat, a Warrior and a Soldier. There are thousands of women in the Military who are dedicated to protecting Freedom, defending the US Constitution, and have given up their rights as US Citizens to live and work under the UCMJ for the sole purpose of demonstrating their Loyalty to their Nation. What force can overcome the loyalty of Hearth and Home?
http://www.womensmemorial.org/Education/timeline.html
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Year of the Kill and Sustainable Food Production
In a recent post on Internet Privacy I mentioned that I had only recently seen The Social Network, the story of Facebook. You have no idea the number of shocked gasps of disbelief I have received from people who know me In Real Life (IRL) that I have only seen the movie in the past 30-60 days.
You see, for any one who has known me since the late 1990’s, it goes without saying that the Internet was my Social Outlet. I started “blogging” before the new terminology caught on, before WordPress, at the dawn of Live Journal. My social network began with the design of my Endometriosis web pages which I seeded all over the Internet on free “homepage” sites. I joined Bulletin Boards, Discussion Forums, and Groups, each one configured with personal signatures containing links to the various sites. By 1999 I had multiple sites with Endometriosis, personal hobbies, and creative writing.
Until MySpace, and then eventually Facebook, emerged, my social network existed in a FrontPage Web Diagram complete with Link Libraries, Graphics pages and external destinations. My email box was categorized by Web Page, Forum or BBS. I managed my network and controlled what was broadcast. One of the key features of my social network was that it was completely separate from my real life (RL). While the size and scope of the internet has not changed, the population has grown. People I only knew IRL were suddenly “on line”. I had to become more and more diligent in my network management. One of the methods I used to manage my network was to limit who was on my social network portals like MySpace and Facebook. I made a rule that only people whom I knew personally IRL would be allowed onto the portals, everyone else remained on their respective BBS, Forum or Group. I had estimated that of my RL friends, only a small percentage would actually find me on the Internet outside of those portals.
Now that Facebook is the preeminent Social Network, the lines have blurred. Facebook especially has been instrumental in teaching the populace how to effectively use the internet. That space which used to be separate from Real Life is all but evaporated in the ether, and the make believe world of the web is no longer the fantasy realm it once was. At the same time, the isolation of just you and the keyboard remains, the interpersonal exchange of real life such as voice inflection and facial expression is still missing. The result has been dialogue without context, a feeling of instant information without any reference to circumstance, or history. Our interpersonal relationships have become Commercial just like our Food Consumption.
Through my Internet connections, I was introduced to people and ideas which I had not considered. One of those ideas was sustainable food production. Since I am a Beach City Girl, this idea was only known to me on the basis of the local Farmer’s Market held every week in the city. This was not sustainable food to me, it was a weekly treat of fresh vegetables, fruits and other “luxury” foods we city folks pay a premium for at the gourmet shops around town. The idea of raising pigs, goats and chickens for food production was something only commercial farms do, right?
In the past 3 years, I have participated in the killing, slaughtering, cooking and eating of an animal. A goat and a pig. Both occasions had families present, and both occasions had multiple conversations about the slaughtered animal, and how this particular animal is just like the one we buy at the grocery store. In the past 3 years, the meat I consume has never tasted better. I have a new appreciation for where my food comes from. But that is not how quite a few of the people I know see it. I have been demonized for the practice, suffered name calling and had righteous opinions hurled at me.
All of these words thrown at me by people who eat meat regularly.
Now that our Friend Mark has designated his 2011 the Year of the Kill, maybe more people will start to think beyond the Styrofoam tray wrapped in cellophane and really digest the source of their food. While taking Mark Zuckerberg’s approach is a bit extreme, it certainly adds much needed attention to a much needed industry. There are so many great local farmers across the country that could use this boost in profile and revenue. There is the education of young people on the source of their food beyond the pocket book of their parents.
Roasting a whole pig or goat is a very large undertaking. Families and Friends get together, work together to buy, slaughter, roast and eat the animal. If every family spent one summer vacation organizing a pig or goat roast, the social interaction, the friendship bonds and the overall impact to the families would be astounding. It would bring a sense of reality back to the society who uses the distance of Facebook to maintain their relationships.
In all honesty, the best thing to have happened to the Sustainable Food Production industry is the mainstream media going on and on about Mark Zuckerberg killing animals to eat.
You see, for any one who has known me since the late 1990’s, it goes without saying that the Internet was my Social Outlet. I started “blogging” before the new terminology caught on, before WordPress, at the dawn of Live Journal. My social network began with the design of my Endometriosis web pages which I seeded all over the Internet on free “homepage” sites. I joined Bulletin Boards, Discussion Forums, and Groups, each one configured with personal signatures containing links to the various sites. By 1999 I had multiple sites with Endometriosis, personal hobbies, and creative writing.
Until MySpace, and then eventually Facebook, emerged, my social network existed in a FrontPage Web Diagram complete with Link Libraries, Graphics pages and external destinations. My email box was categorized by Web Page, Forum or BBS. I managed my network and controlled what was broadcast. One of the key features of my social network was that it was completely separate from my real life (RL). While the size and scope of the internet has not changed, the population has grown. People I only knew IRL were suddenly “on line”. I had to become more and more diligent in my network management. One of the methods I used to manage my network was to limit who was on my social network portals like MySpace and Facebook. I made a rule that only people whom I knew personally IRL would be allowed onto the portals, everyone else remained on their respective BBS, Forum or Group. I had estimated that of my RL friends, only a small percentage would actually find me on the Internet outside of those portals.
Now that Facebook is the preeminent Social Network, the lines have blurred. Facebook especially has been instrumental in teaching the populace how to effectively use the internet. That space which used to be separate from Real Life is all but evaporated in the ether, and the make believe world of the web is no longer the fantasy realm it once was. At the same time, the isolation of just you and the keyboard remains, the interpersonal exchange of real life such as voice inflection and facial expression is still missing. The result has been dialogue without context, a feeling of instant information without any reference to circumstance, or history. Our interpersonal relationships have become Commercial just like our Food Consumption.
Through my Internet connections, I was introduced to people and ideas which I had not considered. One of those ideas was sustainable food production. Since I am a Beach City Girl, this idea was only known to me on the basis of the local Farmer’s Market held every week in the city. This was not sustainable food to me, it was a weekly treat of fresh vegetables, fruits and other “luxury” foods we city folks pay a premium for at the gourmet shops around town. The idea of raising pigs, goats and chickens for food production was something only commercial farms do, right?
In the past 3 years, I have participated in the killing, slaughtering, cooking and eating of an animal. A goat and a pig. Both occasions had families present, and both occasions had multiple conversations about the slaughtered animal, and how this particular animal is just like the one we buy at the grocery store. In the past 3 years, the meat I consume has never tasted better. I have a new appreciation for where my food comes from. But that is not how quite a few of the people I know see it. I have been demonized for the practice, suffered name calling and had righteous opinions hurled at me.
- There is an industry which provides meat for consumption, it is simply unnecessary to slaughter your own food.
- Actual concerns and indignation that children were present and being taught the “ugly truth” about meat consumption.
- Numerous accusations of barbarism, of how disgusting I am, of how irresponsible I am and of course, how cruel I am to participate in the murder of a helpless animal.
All of these words thrown at me by people who eat meat regularly.
Now that our Friend Mark has designated his 2011 the Year of the Kill, maybe more people will start to think beyond the Styrofoam tray wrapped in cellophane and really digest the source of their food. While taking Mark Zuckerberg’s approach is a bit extreme, it certainly adds much needed attention to a much needed industry. There are so many great local farmers across the country that could use this boost in profile and revenue. There is the education of young people on the source of their food beyond the pocket book of their parents.
Roasting a whole pig or goat is a very large undertaking. Families and Friends get together, work together to buy, slaughter, roast and eat the animal. If every family spent one summer vacation organizing a pig or goat roast, the social interaction, the friendship bonds and the overall impact to the families would be astounding. It would bring a sense of reality back to the society who uses the distance of Facebook to maintain their relationships.
In all honesty, the best thing to have happened to the Sustainable Food Production industry is the mainstream media going on and on about Mark Zuckerberg killing animals to eat.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
If Only…..
If the VP of Finance had kept his promise to me, we would never have gotten divorced. The condition of our reconciliation was that we leave California all together and we move to Chicago. His 2 sisters wanted him home, my sister was there and needed support, my Nephews & Niece were there and his Niece & Nephews were there, it made sense for us to repair our marriage with the support of our families.
We reconciled in Chicago in August 2001. He had moved there in May 2001 when we separated because he could not bear to be in the same city as me. His youngest sister took him in and he was repairing his life. By August when I flew out to visit my sister, he had been in therapy for 2 months and was working part time. We met in Lakeview on the North Side of Chicago and walked the tree line streets. We went to Wrigley Field and walked around a street fair. I still have the wax gargoyle, the book of poetry and the scarf/halter top be bought me in Chicago.
He was a changed man. He had returned to the VP of Finance that I fell in love with 7 years prior; the man who saved my life, who took care of me and who loved me. I fell in love all over again in those few days with him. We agreed to move to Chicago by October at the very latest ahead of the Winter Snow. His sisters were screening houses for us in the Lakeview area. I insisted we move to that neighborhood because he was obviously himself there. I got my husband back. If keeping him in an environment where he was happy and himself meant that I move to Chicago to keep my husband and save my marriage, then so be it. I loved him dearly.
Three weeks after my return from my Chicago vacation, the VP of Finance returned to California, returned to my bed, returned to our marriage. The purpose of him returning was to help me pack up and move the house to Chicago. His sister continued to screen and view houses while we packed and I found a job out there. Our target date was October 1, and we were both scheduling phone interviews with companies based in Chicago.
On September 11, the Twin Towers were attacked and destroyed in New York City. It changed everything. The Aerospace Industry crashed due to the use of Commercial Airlines in the attack. The downstream effect this had on the Manufacturing Industry at large, and the trickledown to Suppliers was overwhelming. Jobs were drying up, unemployment skyrocketed and we did not move to Chicago.
I kept pushing through January 2002, but it was useless. There were no jobs, the housing market in Chicago was booming – it was impossible. We remained in the green house in Manhattan Beach, we remained in California. We went to Chicago again for the Christmas and New Year's Holidays in December 2002. I tried pushing again to move back to Chicago, but by then he had become resolute in remaining in California. By February 2003, he had gotten into an argument with his youngest sister's husband and it caused a rift in his relationship with his family. Ho no longer wanted to move back, he wanted us to remain in the green house in Manhattan Beach. Where he was miserable, angry, and depressed.
When I broke my ankle in March 2003 it was the final straw. He snapped. In 2 short weeks he returned to the nasty mean angry emotionally & verbally abusive man I through out of my bed just one year earlier. In April, with a cast on my foot, I left him and drove to my mother's house. I stayed there for a week. She convinced me to return home and I told her it was pointless. She begged me. He begged me. So I went home. Within a week we had another fight. I called my mother and told both her and the VP of Finance that when the cast came off I was leaving. Period.
The cast came off in May and we attended the Renaissance Pleasure Faire with my Family on closing weekend. I was still looking for apartments; he was sleeping in the office; mom was telling me my ankle was too weak for me to move out.
Then the Audio Thief emailed me the first week of June.
I had used Divorce Wizards to draw up the divorce papers in 2001. I revised them, updated them, and we had them Notarized. On June 30, 2003 I went down to the Los Angeles Superior Court and I filed them. I called Divorce Wizards from the court house steps and gave them my Case Number.
The next day, July 1, 2 things happened. The VP of Finance moved out, and I received email confirmation of the legal separation pending divorce with a final decree date of January 20, 2004. I handed him the legal separation papers as he carried the last box out of the house. He had 30 days to contest the Divorce, otherwise it would be awarded by the courts and the decree issued as stated. He took no action. We were legally divorced 6 months later.
If only we had moved to Chicago.
We never would have gotten divorced.
We would have stayed in love and stayed married.
If only he had kept his promise to me.
This past January we have been divorced 7 years. We were married for 10.
We reconciled in Chicago in August 2001. He had moved there in May 2001 when we separated because he could not bear to be in the same city as me. His youngest sister took him in and he was repairing his life. By August when I flew out to visit my sister, he had been in therapy for 2 months and was working part time. We met in Lakeview on the North Side of Chicago and walked the tree line streets. We went to Wrigley Field and walked around a street fair. I still have the wax gargoyle, the book of poetry and the scarf/halter top be bought me in Chicago.
He was a changed man. He had returned to the VP of Finance that I fell in love with 7 years prior; the man who saved my life, who took care of me and who loved me. I fell in love all over again in those few days with him. We agreed to move to Chicago by October at the very latest ahead of the Winter Snow. His sisters were screening houses for us in the Lakeview area. I insisted we move to that neighborhood because he was obviously himself there. I got my husband back. If keeping him in an environment where he was happy and himself meant that I move to Chicago to keep my husband and save my marriage, then so be it. I loved him dearly.
Three weeks after my return from my Chicago vacation, the VP of Finance returned to California, returned to my bed, returned to our marriage. The purpose of him returning was to help me pack up and move the house to Chicago. His sister continued to screen and view houses while we packed and I found a job out there. Our target date was October 1, and we were both scheduling phone interviews with companies based in Chicago.
On September 11, the Twin Towers were attacked and destroyed in New York City. It changed everything. The Aerospace Industry crashed due to the use of Commercial Airlines in the attack. The downstream effect this had on the Manufacturing Industry at large, and the trickledown to Suppliers was overwhelming. Jobs were drying up, unemployment skyrocketed and we did not move to Chicago.
I kept pushing through January 2002, but it was useless. There were no jobs, the housing market in Chicago was booming – it was impossible. We remained in the green house in Manhattan Beach, we remained in California. We went to Chicago again for the Christmas and New Year's Holidays in December 2002. I tried pushing again to move back to Chicago, but by then he had become resolute in remaining in California. By February 2003, he had gotten into an argument with his youngest sister's husband and it caused a rift in his relationship with his family. Ho no longer wanted to move back, he wanted us to remain in the green house in Manhattan Beach. Where he was miserable, angry, and depressed.
When I broke my ankle in March 2003 it was the final straw. He snapped. In 2 short weeks he returned to the nasty mean angry emotionally & verbally abusive man I through out of my bed just one year earlier. In April, with a cast on my foot, I left him and drove to my mother's house. I stayed there for a week. She convinced me to return home and I told her it was pointless. She begged me. He begged me. So I went home. Within a week we had another fight. I called my mother and told both her and the VP of Finance that when the cast came off I was leaving. Period.
The cast came off in May and we attended the Renaissance Pleasure Faire with my Family on closing weekend. I was still looking for apartments; he was sleeping in the office; mom was telling me my ankle was too weak for me to move out.
Then the Audio Thief emailed me the first week of June.
I had used Divorce Wizards to draw up the divorce papers in 2001. I revised them, updated them, and we had them Notarized. On June 30, 2003 I went down to the Los Angeles Superior Court and I filed them. I called Divorce Wizards from the court house steps and gave them my Case Number.
The next day, July 1, 2 things happened. The VP of Finance moved out, and I received email confirmation of the legal separation pending divorce with a final decree date of January 20, 2004. I handed him the legal separation papers as he carried the last box out of the house. He had 30 days to contest the Divorce, otherwise it would be awarded by the courts and the decree issued as stated. He took no action. We were legally divorced 6 months later.
If only we had moved to Chicago.
We never would have gotten divorced.
We would have stayed in love and stayed married.
If only he had kept his promise to me.
This past January we have been divorced 7 years. We were married for 10.
Monday, February 28, 2011
My Main Obsession
My Main Obsession
July 4th weekend 2006
I was invited to Las Vegas for a Jazz & Wine Festival at the Mount Charleston Lodge.
The Jazz was fantastic, the wine was mediocre (Las Vegas was just getting their Wine Tasting’s off the ground), and the afternoon was mild and pleasant. The local vendor’s who were invited up for the afternoon included an emerging Las Vegas artist, Jennifer Main. She had the original oil on canvas Playin’ Footsies on display. I ordered a Matted Print of which she mailed to me. I later had it professionally framed, and it became one of the first pieces of art work that I had discovered on my own and loved in it’s own right. It wasn’t the result of a class or a study, there was no outside influence.
I have had a fascination with Magical Realism in art for as long as I can remember. It has taken many forms over the years, Fairies, Witches, Vampires, Werewolves, Greek Mythology, but one artist has remained with me for the past 20 years. Michael Parkes. His collection is very expensive so I have only two pieces. One is a poster of Creation of Man which I had professionally mounted several years after I had the courage to take it out of it’s preserved state. The second piece is a very small print of Last Flight 1987 which was originally a gift card given to me with a Birthday Present in 1993. I have come across an oil on canvas back in 2003, but it was bought and I have not found anything that I could afford since.
Jennifer Main’s art work gave me the same feel of a magical space occupied by visions and color. No, my discovery of Jennifer Main was purely the result of Life’s Meanderings. When you just let go and wander. I literally Stumbled upon this find and I was very proud of myself for my accomplishment. Little did I know that 4 years later Jennifer Main would take Las Vegas my force and stake her claim as THE artist of the Las Vegas Valley.
January 2007
I moved to Las Vegas for work and in the process of settling in to the new City, I discovered First Friday’s Art Walk in Downtown. I attended my first “First Friday” February 2007. It was small, and seemed to be the “excuse” for the under 21 crowd to have a reason for “going somewhere”. I was in the process of walking out when The Wanderer Whispered to me that the formidable warehouse up ahead might be interesting. As always, employing the Adventure Model to discovering new places, the real find, the secret, to First Friday was at the end of the street, the very crowded and very hard to navigate Arts Factory . To my amazement, after following my nose down this hallway and stumbling down that corridor, I found Jennifer Main in one of the Galleries. I nearly cried with joy when I rounded the corner and saw those vibrant colors and broad strokes splashed large and loud “Hello Friend!”. I bought 2 more Matted Prints that night, The Thinker Series Meant to Be and Story Behind the Couple.
I introduced myself to Jennifer and to my surprise she remembered my order from the Jazz Festival in July. I could tell she was surprised that I found her again literally by chance. Compared to her Gallery at the Arts Factory in Las Vegas, what I saw at her display in July 2006 at Mt Charleston was paltry. She was literally bursting with color, emotion, beauty, and the visual experience. I don’t ask her about her inspirations, I don’t care what they are. I sometimes read about them or over hear at the Gallery, but her work, for me, is intensely personal.
Sounds horrid, no? Not really. Not if you truly understand Magical Realism. The Artist is the Messenger. Their use of visual material to deliver to you, the Audience, that experience of being taken to another place/time/space to experience something so intimate and personal is the only purpose to the Art form. Magical Realism is, at it’s very core, a self centered indulgent journey through one’s own Psyche.
September 2007
I had entered into a silent auction for Never Alone, and surprisingly I won. When her Gallery contacted me, I at first thought it was a joke. The assistant was rather upset that I didn’t believe I had won. It was very exciting to me – picking up the piece on a Saturday afternoon, when no one was around, the Arts Factory rather quiet and surprisingly empty. It was really odd to be in the Gallery with no one but the artists around.
This piece is a perfect example of how personal the interpretation of Magical Realism truly can be. My view of this piece has nothing to do with Jennifer’s official entry on it, and it is again different from another person – all three interpretations completely and vastly different – personal.
I could never, ever afford Jennifer’s originals. I mean, I would have to save for 3-6 months to even begin considering a piece. So the fact I won the Glicee on Canvas, one of only 50 (I think, I’ll edit it later), was huge to me. An artist I discovered all by myself, in the same genre of what I like and what appeals to me, sophisticated….. and I had a real canvas. Serious!!!
Every time I looked at Never Alone, I could not help but look at Creation of Man. In fact I had them hanging on the same wall for a while just so I could look at them both when I walked into the room. The two most important pieces in my collection.
2008,
I picked up 3 more matted prints, Vino Rosso, Mariposa, and Up to Something. I spent sometime looking for these prints because they were bought specifically for my “Craft Room” in the Las Vegas House. My wine collection and the wet bar were both in that room and I wanted the wine theme to continue. I also had these prints professionally mounted.
2009,
I had to put a moratorium on all things Main. It was becoming quite disturbing. I am only grateful someone else bought Dance of Passion before I could.
I have not been able to find any other artist who captures color so vibrantly, and who maintains the essence of Magical Realism – well, other than Michael Parkes.
As of now, 2011, I am contemplating a lift on the moratorium so that I can justify the purchase of an Embellished Glicee Print on Canvas of Dance of Passion. I mean…… I haven’t bought anything except a Calendar since 2010. Seems reasonable, right?
If you are in Las Vegas, make sure you stop by Jennifer’s Gallery.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Return to the Castle
For as long as I can remember, I have referred to Bunker Hill in Los Angeles as The Castle.
I think it is because, when my Grandfather had retired and was a Tour Bus Driver 3 days a week to curb his endless boredom and to fund the cost of the bricks for the fireplace at the Cottage, he told me that Bunker Hill was the real life version of the Disneyland Castle, also known as Cinderella's Castle.
Keep in mind that this was the story he told me when Disneyland was sitting in the middle of nothing but Orange Groves. The Disneyland of 2011 is nowhere near the look and feel of the Disneyland of 1972. And neither is Bunker Hill.
Over 30 years after he told me that story, the Disney Concert Hall makes the fantasy a reality.
At the moment I am dreaming of a return to the Castle on Bunker Hill. Specifically California Plaza I & II .....
LA Museum of Contemporary Art (*drool*) ....
Disney Concert Hall (yes it's worth it) ....
Dorthy Chandler Pavilion/Mark Taper Auditorium (worth it only if you pay for Valet).
If you are a corporate drone, grinding away at the 9-5, M-F life that is the Project Manager, Bunker Hill is far and away one of the Top Two - yes I said 2. While you are grinding away for the Corporate Beast, you are surrounded in Beauty.
The view from Cal Plaza in every direction above the 10th floor is simply amazing.
I have never been happier than when I spent 60 hours a week on Bunker Hill!
I think it is because, when my Grandfather had retired and was a Tour Bus Driver 3 days a week to curb his endless boredom and to fund the cost of the bricks for the fireplace at the Cottage, he told me that Bunker Hill was the real life version of the Disneyland Castle, also known as Cinderella's Castle.
Keep in mind that this was the story he told me when Disneyland was sitting in the middle of nothing but Orange Groves. The Disneyland of 2011 is nowhere near the look and feel of the Disneyland of 1972. And neither is Bunker Hill.
Over 30 years after he told me that story, the Disney Concert Hall makes the fantasy a reality.
At the moment I am dreaming of a return to the Castle on Bunker Hill. Specifically California Plaza I & II .....
LA Museum of Contemporary Art (*drool*) ....
Disney Concert Hall (yes it's worth it) ....
Dorthy Chandler Pavilion/Mark Taper Auditorium (worth it only if you pay for Valet).
If you are a corporate drone, grinding away at the 9-5, M-F life that is the Project Manager, Bunker Hill is far and away one of the Top Two - yes I said 2. While you are grinding away for the Corporate Beast, you are surrounded in Beauty.The view from Cal Plaza in every direction above the 10th floor is simply amazing.
In addition, the hassle of traffic and commuting is completely removed with the Metro - The Rd/Purple lines connect to every Metro Line in the system, including Rail, making getting to Bunker Hill very easy.
I have never been happier than when I spent 60 hours a week on Bunker Hill!
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Slapping the Other Cheek - Maureen Dowd 11/14/2004
Slapping the Other Cheek
November 14, 2004
By MAUREEN DOWD
You'd think the one good thing about merging church and state would be that politics would be suffused with glistening Christian sentiments like "love thy neighbor," "turn the other cheek," "good will toward men," "blessed be the peacemakers" and "judge not lest you be judged."
Yet somehow I'm not getting a peace, charity, tolerance and forgiveness vibe from the conservatives and evangelicals who claim to have put their prodigal son back in office.
I'm getting more the feel of a vengeful mob - revved up by rectitude - running around with torches and hatchets after heathens and pagans and infidels.
Full Story
I hope after reading this article, you understand what it is YOU have to do in order to maintain your Civil Liberties.
No matter how much you deny it, a Crusade was launched on September 11, 2001. The Muslims attacked the Christians and the Christians retaliated with the force of 10,000 Orks. Three years later and the Crusades are well under way in what can only be a called a success by the standards set by the Media and the Liberal Pagans.
Now the Conservative Christians in the US Government want to turn their power on to the American People. One God, One Religion, One Dogma, especially at the destruction of all other Gods, Religions, Dogmas.
The American People have 4 years to contribute to the Crusades against the Liberal Pagans. The men who founded this Nation made sure that the People would have a say in how the government would be run. Four years is a very short time to get a nation which has settled into complacency and apathy, mobilized around a core set of issues and into the Polls.
I've come to the realization that 100% of the voting population, whether their vote was counted or not, spoke up on November 2 and said firmly "You have 4 Years to Represent Me or else." Liberal Pagans told their Representatives and their President they want results, they want representation. The Voter turn out spoke volumes about the resolve of both Liberals and Conservatives.
The Founders didn't give the People too much time to mobilize, but just enough. They knew this time would come, and they put in place mechanisms to slow its pace to a crawl, if not stop it all together.
The beauty of the mechanisms is that they are so simple. All we as a nation have to do is vote. The 2004 Elections are a clear indication that the Government was caught off guard by the sheer number of Citizens who showed up to vote, and the Government Representives were certainly surprised by the number of Constituents who made their voices heard on Election Day.
My Moral Issues are driven by the same stimulus as my Conservative Peers: Faith. My Grandparents came to this country for that very reason. Their dream was to live in a Country where they were truly free to live as they wished, without starvation, forced religion, and poverty for any who did not conform (or Confirm as the Irish Catholics would say).
When I look at our Democracy, I can’t help but compare the ideals and “dogma” of Democracy with those outlined in the Holy Bible. I only see contradictions, separations, constriction and disproportion.
There can only be two choices in the matter: allow the Majority (Conservatives) to mold the Constitution to conform to biblical normalcy, or stand firm in the convictions of Democracy and stand firmly for a compromise between Liberal and Conservative views of our Government.
We have four years. The next Election will determine far more than our next President.
November 14, 2004
By MAUREEN DOWD
You'd think the one good thing about merging church and state would be that politics would be suffused with glistening Christian sentiments like "love thy neighbor," "turn the other cheek," "good will toward men," "blessed be the peacemakers" and "judge not lest you be judged."
Yet somehow I'm not getting a peace, charity, tolerance and forgiveness vibe from the conservatives and evangelicals who claim to have put their prodigal son back in office.
I'm getting more the feel of a vengeful mob - revved up by rectitude - running around with torches and hatchets after heathens and pagans and infidels.
Full Story
I hope after reading this article, you understand what it is YOU have to do in order to maintain your Civil Liberties.
No matter how much you deny it, a Crusade was launched on September 11, 2001. The Muslims attacked the Christians and the Christians retaliated with the force of 10,000 Orks. Three years later and the Crusades are well under way in what can only be a called a success by the standards set by the Media and the Liberal Pagans.
Now the Conservative Christians in the US Government want to turn their power on to the American People. One God, One Religion, One Dogma, especially at the destruction of all other Gods, Religions, Dogmas.
The American People have 4 years to contribute to the Crusades against the Liberal Pagans. The men who founded this Nation made sure that the People would have a say in how the government would be run. Four years is a very short time to get a nation which has settled into complacency and apathy, mobilized around a core set of issues and into the Polls.
I've come to the realization that 100% of the voting population, whether their vote was counted or not, spoke up on November 2 and said firmly "You have 4 Years to Represent Me or else." Liberal Pagans told their Representatives and their President they want results, they want representation. The Voter turn out spoke volumes about the resolve of both Liberals and Conservatives.
The Founders didn't give the People too much time to mobilize, but just enough. They knew this time would come, and they put in place mechanisms to slow its pace to a crawl, if not stop it all together.
The beauty of the mechanisms is that they are so simple. All we as a nation have to do is vote. The 2004 Elections are a clear indication that the Government was caught off guard by the sheer number of Citizens who showed up to vote, and the Government Representives were certainly surprised by the number of Constituents who made their voices heard on Election Day.
My Moral Issues are driven by the same stimulus as my Conservative Peers: Faith. My Grandparents came to this country for that very reason. Their dream was to live in a Country where they were truly free to live as they wished, without starvation, forced religion, and poverty for any who did not conform (or Confirm as the Irish Catholics would say).
When I look at our Democracy, I can’t help but compare the ideals and “dogma” of Democracy with those outlined in the Holy Bible. I only see contradictions, separations, constriction and disproportion.
There can only be two choices in the matter: allow the Majority (Conservatives) to mold the Constitution to conform to biblical normalcy, or stand firm in the convictions of Democracy and stand firmly for a compromise between Liberal and Conservative views of our Government.
We have four years. The next Election will determine far more than our next President.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Not for You – March 2006
It wasn't the messenger tone that made me catch my breath, it was the name in the notification window. I found myself staring at the notification, completely still, not even breathing. The window sank into the system tray and I exhaled.
16 months nearly to the day since I last saw him......
14 months since the last time I got a text message from him......
I had been successful in surpressing all thought of him for nearly 10 months when the window popped up and invaded my screen. I had finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to call or answer my calls; email or answer my emails... As I pondered the notification window, I had a momentary revelation that I had even gone days at a time without his face
running through my head or remembering how great we were when we were a "we". Why now? Could he sense my withdrawal? Did it suddenly dawn on him that the status messages on my Messenger were not meant for him? Did he wonder about the man I was giving my x's and o's to? Was he afraid he might actually be losing me this time?
After the window sinks away into the system tray, I regain my clarity. I know that he does not want me - because he doesn't... it's that he loves me to love him and he doesn't want to lose the coast line I allow him to navigate from, the safety net I provide him with when he starts to get nervous about another gig in another far away country.
He builds his self confidence at the expens of mine... but not anymore!
I know I am supposed to do the girl thing, the submissive thing, and IM him. Inquire about his health, his success, his manlihood. But I just don't have the energy. For the first time in my adult life, I can not think of a single thing to say to him, and don't care to come up with anything witty. I think about the possibilities and I am overwhelmed with a feeling of apathy. Because I just don't care. For the first time since coming back to California, I can say I don't care.
The very thought of allowing him access to the intimacies of my true self is frightening. I just can not give up me to be loved by him. I don't even want to be his friend, that's how far I've come in nearly 2 years.
About the only pang of sadness I feel when recalling those days is for 1k. How much does that really say about the deph of my emotion?
My need to hide from him outweighs my desire to communicate with the cute engineer, and so I change settings and I cease the status messages. Or am I just continuing to wait........
16 months nearly to the day since I last saw him......
14 months since the last time I got a text message from him......
I had been successful in surpressing all thought of him for nearly 10 months when the window popped up and invaded my screen. I had finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to call or answer my calls; email or answer my emails... As I pondered the notification window, I had a momentary revelation that I had even gone days at a time without his face
running through my head or remembering how great we were when we were a "we". Why now? Could he sense my withdrawal? Did it suddenly dawn on him that the status messages on my Messenger were not meant for him? Did he wonder about the man I was giving my x's and o's to? Was he afraid he might actually be losing me this time?
After the window sinks away into the system tray, I regain my clarity. I know that he does not want me - because he doesn't... it's that he loves me to love him and he doesn't want to lose the coast line I allow him to navigate from, the safety net I provide him with when he starts to get nervous about another gig in another far away country.
He builds his self confidence at the expens of mine... but not anymore!
I know I am supposed to do the girl thing, the submissive thing, and IM him. Inquire about his health, his success, his manlihood. But I just don't have the energy. For the first time in my adult life, I can not think of a single thing to say to him, and don't care to come up with anything witty. I think about the possibilities and I am overwhelmed with a feeling of apathy. Because I just don't care. For the first time since coming back to California, I can say I don't care.
The very thought of allowing him access to the intimacies of my true self is frightening. I just can not give up me to be loved by him. I don't even want to be his friend, that's how far I've come in nearly 2 years.
About the only pang of sadness I feel when recalling those days is for 1k. How much does that really say about the deph of my emotion?
My need to hide from him outweighs my desire to communicate with the cute engineer, and so I change settings and I cease the status messages. Or am I just continuing to wait........
Raccoons - January 2005
Last night at about 2am, my dog Archie went ballistic with "securing the perimeter". He dove off the bed and charged the balcony, prudently stopping at the thresh hold to wait for mom to "come get it!" I live in a "tree house" of sorts, upstairs and surrounded on 2 sides by large mature leafy trees. I thought I was chasing off a cat. It came back. I thought it was a possum, so I took the broom to it and chased it down the sidewalk.
Third time at the balcony with Archie going nuts, I look out the patio door and a masked creature stared back at me defiantly. I ran around the house in a panic, closing doors, and windows and realized *that* activity was pointless, little buggers can open doors. I went to the balcony and watched as not one raccoon, but 2, slowly and calmly climbed down the stairs. I decided to reason with them. "I live here," I said, "this is my house. You can go live in the back yard. There are plenty of bushes and trees back there, go make a nice den. But this is my house and you can't live here." Amazingly they went to the back yard.
About 20 minutes later I hear them crashing about in the back yard. They knocked something over and probably scared themselves silly. It got quiet immediately, nevertheless. Within a few minutes, I hear one of them. She parked herself under my bedroom window and chirruped, incessantly. So I got up and went to the balcony. The male, at least 20lbs, very large, very fluffy and a dark grey coat with a perfectly ringed tail and gorgeous black mask is looking up at me from the mid-point of the tree at my balcony. We are literally eye to eye. She is chirruping and scuttling down the side of the apartment and rounds the corner, looks up at me, puts her hands in front of her and chirrups at me! She is about 15lbs, beautiful light grey coat, and the sides of her belly are plump and oddly shaped. This kid is ready to pop! Her tail has perfect rings and her mask is just as gorgeous but it's a bit spottled and striped at the edges. He slowly climbs down to the ground and walks over to sit by her. They mill around on the entry and then he jumps 4 feet straight up, and on to the entry ledge, and looks up at me.
So I say, "fine stay here but you can't come inside." I go back to bed. Within a few minutes the chirruping starts beneath my window. I get up and this time he is sitting on the front steps and she is peaking around the corner. At this point I realize that unless I give them something, this is going to go on all night!
I do the worst thing imaginable and the number one thing against the rules of interacting with Urban Wildlife - I give them a plate of dog kibble. At first I threw a handful down to see if they would even eat it.... I mean why waste perfectly good dog kibble right? Well they scarffed it up. So I went down and put the plate on the steps. By the time I got back up to the balcony to watch them they were sitting around the plate feasting. They ate for about 10 minutes, or half the plate, they milled around.
I heard chirruping from the front sidewalk so I go to the front wall of the patio and look down: She is sitting on one of the rocks in the front garden sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Her hands are in front of her and clasped. She tosses her head this way and that, and the male walked up behind her in the low plants and off they went. I guess they were just "passing through". She knew I'd give her food if she asked clearly, it just took her several tries! Tenacious little devil! I'm sure they will be back at some point. Probably with the entire family! And yes, I will do the dumb thing and feed them. What? I'm going to let a Raccoon go hungry?
Third time at the balcony with Archie going nuts, I look out the patio door and a masked creature stared back at me defiantly. I ran around the house in a panic, closing doors, and windows and realized *that* activity was pointless, little buggers can open doors. I went to the balcony and watched as not one raccoon, but 2, slowly and calmly climbed down the stairs. I decided to reason with them. "I live here," I said, "this is my house. You can go live in the back yard. There are plenty of bushes and trees back there, go make a nice den. But this is my house and you can't live here." Amazingly they went to the back yard.
About 20 minutes later I hear them crashing about in the back yard. They knocked something over and probably scared themselves silly. It got quiet immediately, nevertheless. Within a few minutes, I hear one of them. She parked herself under my bedroom window and chirruped, incessantly. So I got up and went to the balcony. The male, at least 20lbs, very large, very fluffy and a dark grey coat with a perfectly ringed tail and gorgeous black mask is looking up at me from the mid-point of the tree at my balcony. We are literally eye to eye. She is chirruping and scuttling down the side of the apartment and rounds the corner, looks up at me, puts her hands in front of her and chirrups at me! She is about 15lbs, beautiful light grey coat, and the sides of her belly are plump and oddly shaped. This kid is ready to pop! Her tail has perfect rings and her mask is just as gorgeous but it's a bit spottled and striped at the edges. He slowly climbs down to the ground and walks over to sit by her. They mill around on the entry and then he jumps 4 feet straight up, and on to the entry ledge, and looks up at me.
So I say, "fine stay here but you can't come inside." I go back to bed. Within a few minutes the chirruping starts beneath my window. I get up and this time he is sitting on the front steps and she is peaking around the corner. At this point I realize that unless I give them something, this is going to go on all night!
I do the worst thing imaginable and the number one thing against the rules of interacting with Urban Wildlife - I give them a plate of dog kibble. At first I threw a handful down to see if they would even eat it.... I mean why waste perfectly good dog kibble right? Well they scarffed it up. So I went down and put the plate on the steps. By the time I got back up to the balcony to watch them they were sitting around the plate feasting. They ate for about 10 minutes, or half the plate, they milled around.
I heard chirruping from the front sidewalk so I go to the front wall of the patio and look down: She is sitting on one of the rocks in the front garden sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Her hands are in front of her and clasped. She tosses her head this way and that, and the male walked up behind her in the low plants and off they went. I guess they were just "passing through". She knew I'd give her food if she asked clearly, it just took her several tries! Tenacious little devil! I'm sure they will be back at some point. Probably with the entire family! And yes, I will do the dumb thing and feed them. What? I'm going to let a Raccoon go hungry?
Election Maps - 2005
I have been fascinated with the Civil War Society since I read Margaret Murray's "Gone with the Wind" the Summer I spent lounging at the side of the pool between 8th and 9th Grade. I hadn't discovered the thrill of making out in the back seat of a parked car yet; boys were still my adversaries, my opponents and my fiercest competitors.
It's interesting to read historical fiction through the eyes of Society Women, rather than from the POV of the Political Scientist. Let's face it, to the victors do the spoils of war go, and one of those spoils is the control of History. Women, however, have Family Histories, and for them, it doesn't matter who signed what treaty, what matters is what happened to their family and how.
I am a huge Tori Amos fan, and her Album concept, "Scarlet's Walk" takes you through the US through the eyes of a woman. All of the fascination with society in the Pre-Civil War era came flooding back. This website of the maps has only compounded it. I began looking at society after the war.
The Summer I spent between 11th and 12th grades working at an Amusement Park, fooling around with the cute boyfriend at the Pool house, whose mother was Iriquoi and one of the most amazing women from my childhood, I became fascinated with the Pre Indian Wars Society.
I realized many years ago the subtle connection between the two post-war Societies and was amazed. In each situation, the United States was expanding it’s territories. The other similarity I saw was the idea that the Underground Slave Trains assisting Runaway Slaves in Pre-Civil War Society, were very close to or in some rare cases actually follow the same paths used by the US Government to march the First Nation Tribes onto Reservations.
My first thought when I saw the maps was “Freedom for me but not for You.”
My second thought was “This is what Iraq will look like in 50 years”.
Am I supposed to feel lucky that I live in California? A Blue State?
But then we can’t forget the Mexican-American War. That time the US let the Catholic Church fight the battle, after all the US had already spent millions “relocating” the First Nations, this business of conquering was getting expensive. And let’s face it, the Catholics did those Missions up right. Besides, the Gold Rush was well underway in California and there was enough to share with the Catholics for “housing” those pesky Mexicans, the Tongas and any other “Savages” left roaming the Golden foothills of California.
The US has never dealt well with it's conquests, and examining the Post War Societies in the US after the Indian Wars, the Mexican War and the Civil War the History of the US appears violent, hostile and oppressive.
I said in my last essay that I was disappointed and saddened that I am considered a Radical Liberal simply because I believe in the philosophies of a Democracy. These maps and looking at the collective Histories of each of the Red States, I am even more shocked.
It's been nearly 160 years since a cease fire was declared in the Mexican War, and despite holding nearly 46% of the demographic population in the Southwest, Mexican Americans are continuing to live in Poverty.
It's been nerly 140 years since end of the Civil War, and African Americans continue to fight for their Voice in the American Democracy. Racial Profiling against Black Americans is probably the most overt act of oppression the US Government perpetrates against any one race within its citizenry.
It's been nearly 115 years since the last Indian War was fought, and the vanquished First Nations are still suffering. No amount of Tribal Contracts or Gaming Casinos can reverse the desimation of language, arts, culture and spirituality of the Native Society.
The common thread here? None of the above people's mentioned are White.
"Freedom for Me but not for You"
The ideals behind the histories of the “Red” states are certainly not democratic. They deal in oppression and tyranny and violence against another human being. The maps have made me take a close look at where I stand in society, and reflect on how my “Moral Values” compare with the “Red” States.
Can I find a compromise between their values and mine? Maybe, in some cases. However, when the issues are placed in a cauldron and rendered down, I keep coming back to God, Guns and Gays. And I can only find a compromise in one: Guns.
If I am labeled a Radical Liberal for my “Moral Values”, then I would have to turn the mirror around and label my Peers in the Red States Radical Conservatives. I believe that history has proven throughout the millennia that when it comes to Democracy & Freedom, a Radical Liberal is preferable to a Society driven by Fear and Oppression.
Reference Links:
US-Indian Wars Named Campaigns:
http://www.army.mil/cmh-pg/reference/iwcmp.htm
Trail of Tears Map with named States:
http://ngeorgia.com/history/trailoftearsmap.html
See pictures and compare!! (Thanks to Yunique over at African American Wiccans http://groups.yahoo.com/group/African-American_Wiccans/ for the Map links)
http://www.learner.org/biographyofamerica/prog10/maps/
http://election.cbsnews.com/election2004/
To compare the maps next to each other see this link:
http://sensoryoverload.typepad.com/sensory_overload/2004/11/free_states_vs_.html
Indian Wars
1790 – 1891
Us-Mexican War
1846-1848
California Gold Rush
1848-1853
Civil War
1861-1865
It's interesting to read historical fiction through the eyes of Society Women, rather than from the POV of the Political Scientist. Let's face it, to the victors do the spoils of war go, and one of those spoils is the control of History. Women, however, have Family Histories, and for them, it doesn't matter who signed what treaty, what matters is what happened to their family and how.
I am a huge Tori Amos fan, and her Album concept, "Scarlet's Walk" takes you through the US through the eyes of a woman. All of the fascination with society in the Pre-Civil War era came flooding back. This website of the maps has only compounded it. I began looking at society after the war.
The Summer I spent between 11th and 12th grades working at an Amusement Park, fooling around with the cute boyfriend at the Pool house, whose mother was Iriquoi and one of the most amazing women from my childhood, I became fascinated with the Pre Indian Wars Society.
I realized many years ago the subtle connection between the two post-war Societies and was amazed. In each situation, the United States was expanding it’s territories. The other similarity I saw was the idea that the Underground Slave Trains assisting Runaway Slaves in Pre-Civil War Society, were very close to or in some rare cases actually follow the same paths used by the US Government to march the First Nation Tribes onto Reservations.
My first thought when I saw the maps was “Freedom for me but not for You.”
My second thought was “This is what Iraq will look like in 50 years”.
Am I supposed to feel lucky that I live in California? A Blue State?
But then we can’t forget the Mexican-American War. That time the US let the Catholic Church fight the battle, after all the US had already spent millions “relocating” the First Nations, this business of conquering was getting expensive. And let’s face it, the Catholics did those Missions up right. Besides, the Gold Rush was well underway in California and there was enough to share with the Catholics for “housing” those pesky Mexicans, the Tongas and any other “Savages” left roaming the Golden foothills of California.
The US has never dealt well with it's conquests, and examining the Post War Societies in the US after the Indian Wars, the Mexican War and the Civil War the History of the US appears violent, hostile and oppressive.
I said in my last essay that I was disappointed and saddened that I am considered a Radical Liberal simply because I believe in the philosophies of a Democracy. These maps and looking at the collective Histories of each of the Red States, I am even more shocked.
It's been nearly 160 years since a cease fire was declared in the Mexican War, and despite holding nearly 46% of the demographic population in the Southwest, Mexican Americans are continuing to live in Poverty.
It's been nerly 140 years since end of the Civil War, and African Americans continue to fight for their Voice in the American Democracy. Racial Profiling against Black Americans is probably the most overt act of oppression the US Government perpetrates against any one race within its citizenry.
It's been nearly 115 years since the last Indian War was fought, and the vanquished First Nations are still suffering. No amount of Tribal Contracts or Gaming Casinos can reverse the desimation of language, arts, culture and spirituality of the Native Society.
The common thread here? None of the above people's mentioned are White.
"Freedom for Me but not for You"
The ideals behind the histories of the “Red” states are certainly not democratic. They deal in oppression and tyranny and violence against another human being. The maps have made me take a close look at where I stand in society, and reflect on how my “Moral Values” compare with the “Red” States.
Can I find a compromise between their values and mine? Maybe, in some cases. However, when the issues are placed in a cauldron and rendered down, I keep coming back to God, Guns and Gays. And I can only find a compromise in one: Guns.
If I am labeled a Radical Liberal for my “Moral Values”, then I would have to turn the mirror around and label my Peers in the Red States Radical Conservatives. I believe that history has proven throughout the millennia that when it comes to Democracy & Freedom, a Radical Liberal is preferable to a Society driven by Fear and Oppression.
Reference Links:
US-Indian Wars Named Campaigns:
http://www.army.mil/cmh-pg/reference/iwcmp.htm
Trail of Tears Map with named States:
http://ngeorgia.com/history/trailoftearsmap.html
See pictures and compare!! (Thanks to Yunique over at African American Wiccans http://groups.yahoo.com/group/African-American_Wiccans/ for the Map links)
http://www.learner.org/biographyofamerica/prog10/maps/
http://election.cbsnews.com/election2004/
To compare the maps next to each other see this link:
http://sensoryoverload.typepad.com/sensory_overload/2004/11/free_states_vs_.html
Indian Wars
1790 – 1891
Us-Mexican War
1846-1848
California Gold Rush
1848-1853
Civil War
1861-1865
Waiting for the Evidence to Melt
Mom asked me to play golf with her today. Of course I said yes, you don't say no to golf.
I tried leaving the house and continually got called back upstairs for one forgotten item or another. Finally I called mom:
"You called a few hours ago and said you were worried, what sort of feeling did you have?"
"I don't know, it was from last night, the job, you sounded so depressed and I was worried."
"You're sure? Nothing else?"
"No, now get in the car and get up here."
Driving north on the 710 a few minutes later, my car starts to die, losing speed but not power. I smell burning, something is on fire! There is black pieces of rubber flying off the side of the car and I realize I have a flat tire. I'm stuck on the center median with cars flying past at speeds of well over 80 mph.
I should be proud. There aren't many people who can boast about the CHP shutting down 4 lanes of heavy traffic so you can limp across the highway. *raises hand* Yep, that was me!! Shut down the 710 during rush hour. Oh the power I weild!
So, that situation gets handled and I arrive at mom's house just in time to help her burn down the canyon. Yes, you read that right, she torched the Little Tujunga Canyon all by herself.
Why you may ask? Oh it's very logical. She was lighting mosquito citronella incense coils and instead of blowing out the flame to let the smoke smoulder and do it's job of chasing off mosquitos, she let the flame burn high and strong. So high and so strong that it torched the canyon.
As I'm surrounded by 4ft flames on all sides with my back to a propane tank and nothing but a shovel, she brings me...... ice.
No, not water.
No, not a fire extinguisher.... ice.
Meanwhile, the flames have spread down into the canyon about 30 yards, and is on it's way up the hill onto the bounding neighbors yards. I choose to fight the flames closest to the propane tank, at least I can stave off an explosion, if nothing else. Mom, in the meantime, is lining the fence with.... ice.
The fire department was called to a rubbish fire. The chief saw the fire from across the canyon and had the presence of mind to cancel the rubbish fire and call for a full on Brush Fire team. Afterall this is California and if the hills aren't sliding in mud they are on fire. I was happy the professionals arrived and I could lay down my shovel.
The chief looked around when all was said and done:
"I have just one question", as he looks at the scorched earth and rubble that used to be the 100yd by 50yd patch of ground at the edge of Mom's backyard. "Who's idea was it to use ice?"
As we were sitting over 22oz margaritas and 20oz something-with-3-kinds-of-rum, hair singed, clothes smelling like a camp fire, and dirt covering a great majority of our limbs, Mom looks at me and says:
"You know, I really thought the evidence would melt."
I tried leaving the house and continually got called back upstairs for one forgotten item or another. Finally I called mom:
"You called a few hours ago and said you were worried, what sort of feeling did you have?"
"I don't know, it was from last night, the job, you sounded so depressed and I was worried."
"You're sure? Nothing else?"
"No, now get in the car and get up here."
Driving north on the 710 a few minutes later, my car starts to die, losing speed but not power. I smell burning, something is on fire! There is black pieces of rubber flying off the side of the car and I realize I have a flat tire. I'm stuck on the center median with cars flying past at speeds of well over 80 mph.
I should be proud. There aren't many people who can boast about the CHP shutting down 4 lanes of heavy traffic so you can limp across the highway. *raises hand* Yep, that was me!! Shut down the 710 during rush hour. Oh the power I weild!
So, that situation gets handled and I arrive at mom's house just in time to help her burn down the canyon. Yes, you read that right, she torched the Little Tujunga Canyon all by herself.
Why you may ask? Oh it's very logical. She was lighting mosquito citronella incense coils and instead of blowing out the flame to let the smoke smoulder and do it's job of chasing off mosquitos, she let the flame burn high and strong. So high and so strong that it torched the canyon.
As I'm surrounded by 4ft flames on all sides with my back to a propane tank and nothing but a shovel, she brings me...... ice.
No, not water.
No, not a fire extinguisher.... ice.
Meanwhile, the flames have spread down into the canyon about 30 yards, and is on it's way up the hill onto the bounding neighbors yards. I choose to fight the flames closest to the propane tank, at least I can stave off an explosion, if nothing else. Mom, in the meantime, is lining the fence with.... ice.
The fire department was called to a rubbish fire. The chief saw the fire from across the canyon and had the presence of mind to cancel the rubbish fire and call for a full on Brush Fire team. Afterall this is California and if the hills aren't sliding in mud they are on fire. I was happy the professionals arrived and I could lay down my shovel.
The chief looked around when all was said and done:
"I have just one question", as he looks at the scorched earth and rubble that used to be the 100yd by 50yd patch of ground at the edge of Mom's backyard. "Who's idea was it to use ice?"
As we were sitting over 22oz margaritas and 20oz something-with-3-kinds-of-rum, hair singed, clothes smelling like a camp fire, and dirt covering a great majority of our limbs, Mom looks at me and says:
"You know, I really thought the evidence would melt."
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