I know I'm going to get in trouble for this entry. It's a no-win situation in a turbulent election year.
It's a ballot measure that has not only divided California, but neighbors in Solano County.
Proposition 8.
The measure can be summed up in these 14 words: "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." (Note: California Attorney General Jerry Brown reworded the proposition to read, in part, "Eliminates the right of same-sex couples to marry.")
The ballot initiative qualified for the November 2008 ballot shortly after the California Supreme Court ruled May 15, 2008, that not allowing domestic partnership and gay and lesbian couples to be called "marriage" violates the California Constitution. A month later, on June 16, 2008, gays and lesbians were allowed to marry legally in this state.
Before I continue, I must fully disclose that I am a Christian. I attend an evangelical church in Solano County. But my belief is that God made gays and lesbians the way they are and that I don't understand why He would not allow two adults of whatever sexual orientation to marry, give birth to (by artificial means) or adopt children, and be in a hospital room with the other spouse. I know what the Bible says. I'm probably going to the eternal fireplace for this.
In my early adulthood I was prejudiced against gays and lesbians. But then, I knew very few personally. In college, I met a guy named Steve who was gay. We became good friends until we graduated. I have an older cousin who is gay who is like an older brother to me. Another friend who was my editor and journalism mentor came out to me 13 years ago. I was honored that he trusted me enough to tell me.
I mention these people because I don't know how I can justify saying, "I can marry because I'm straight, but you can't because you're gay." To me, it makes about as much sense as the oxymoronic "separate but equal" doctrine the U.S. Supreme Court favored by a 7-1 vote in 1896. This decision found that Homer Plessy, who was one-eighth black and seven-eighths white, was guilty of sitting in a railroad car reserved for whites only. In summary, the Court ruled that whites and blacks can have separate facilities as long as they're "equal." It wasn't until the 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education decision that this doctrine would be struck down.
So, when a representative of the Proposition 8 campaign called and tried to convince me that under the initiative gays and lesbians would have the same rights as married heterosexual couples but would not be called "married," I laughed derisively before hanging up.
There are signs on both sides of Alamo Drive in Vacaville that support and oppose Proposition 8. There have been complaints of signs being stolen from both sides of the issue.
Proponents of Proposition 8 say they want to protect marriage. Then let's go a few steps further, shall we? Let's outlaw adultery. In the Bible, Deuteronomy 22:22 states: "If a man is discovered committing adultery, both he and the woman must die. In this way, you will purge Israel of such evil." (New Living Translation) OK, so death may be an extreme punishment for adultery. But prison time? Why not!
The proponents also say that marriage is for raising children. If that's the case, what would be the point of a perimenopausal woman whose biological clock alarm is ringing incessantly getting married? Should I be a "spinster"? Perish the thought!
My cousin's two daughters grew up just fine, as did each daughter's son. No one was "indoctrinated into the gay lifestyle."
Moreover, if Proposition 8 were to pass, what then? Take away children from gay and lesbian couples because they're unfit to be parents? Try that with Melissa Etheridge and her spouse, Tammy Lynn Michaels. Good luck.
Finally, if Proposition 8 supporters are afraid that society is going to crumble if gay marriage is sanctioned, I think, with global warming, famine, mass killings in Darfur, drug trafficking, gang violence, worldwide political corruption, and the worst global economic crisis since the Great Depression, it's a little late now.
OK. Now I'm really going to hell.
Writing Diva
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Mom's Got Our Back -- And We Have Hers
"Tell Mama all about it
Tell Mama what you need
Tell Mama what you want
And I'll make everything alright."
"Tell Mama," sung by Etta James
Has it really been ten years?
Ten years ago this morning I got a phone call I dreaded but knew was coming.
"Mom died this morning," my older sister said. "You have to come home NOW!"
After a five-year battle with Alzheimer's disease and later an aggressive lung cancer, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was 64.
The last time I saw her was three days before she passed. She was in bed, weak but still recognizing Dad and the kids, even though she couldn't say our names. My younger sister and I were on the bed on both sides. I softly sang Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive and Wail." Mom smiled. Before I left to drive home to Fairfield, I kissed Mom on her forehead and said goodbye.
"Thank you, baby," she said. Those were her last words to me.
There are bits and pieces that stand out in my mind about Mom. There is a black-and-white Polaroid photo of Mom at home in her housecoat surrounded by her six kids. The many records and cassette tapes of her favorite music, from Luther (He needs no last name!) to Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Pattis, Marvin, Billy Ocean. When Dad got saved in the mid-1960s, records and radio music were banned from the house. But Mom made a way. When Dad was at work or at church, Mom would play her records or turn on the radio. She bought me my first record -- "Friendship Train" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.
Her children also inherited her love of dance. Mom could boogie and didn't care who knew it. While cooking dinner or washing dishes, she would play her music while shaking her ample groove thing with that sly smile.
I also remember is Mom coming to rescue us kids when we were in trouble. I had flunked out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was a basket case. Mom took it upon herself to talk to the dean of the college of letters and sciences. She dressed in a navy blazer and skirt with a white ruffled blouse and drove to the university. Three hours later, she said he will let me in if I get at least a 3.5 GPA in the classes I take in the fall. I got a 4.0.
What stands out most was Mom's unconditional love for her children and grandchildren. She would care for her youngest grandson while he was attending elementary school in her neighborhood. She took us adult children in when we needed a place to stay until we could get on her feet.
Shortly after she was diagnosed as being in the early stage of Alzheimer's, she was washing dishes. I told Mom that eventually she would forget who her children are. She looked up from the sink.
"I'll never forget you," she said. "You're my child."
She didn't forget who we were. She kept her promise.
Mom has always had our back. And we'll always have hers.
Writing Diva
Tell Mama what you need
Tell Mama what you want
And I'll make everything alright."
"Tell Mama," sung by Etta James
Has it really been ten years?
Ten years ago this morning I got a phone call I dreaded but knew was coming.
"Mom died this morning," my older sister said. "You have to come home NOW!"
After a five-year battle with Alzheimer's disease and later an aggressive lung cancer, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was 64.
The last time I saw her was three days before she passed. She was in bed, weak but still recognizing Dad and the kids, even though she couldn't say our names. My younger sister and I were on the bed on both sides. I softly sang Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive and Wail." Mom smiled. Before I left to drive home to Fairfield, I kissed Mom on her forehead and said goodbye.
"Thank you, baby," she said. Those were her last words to me.
There are bits and pieces that stand out in my mind about Mom. There is a black-and-white Polaroid photo of Mom at home in her housecoat surrounded by her six kids. The many records and cassette tapes of her favorite music, from Luther (He needs no last name!) to Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Pattis, Marvin, Billy Ocean. When Dad got saved in the mid-1960s, records and radio music were banned from the house. But Mom made a way. When Dad was at work or at church, Mom would play her records or turn on the radio. She bought me my first record -- "Friendship Train" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.
Her children also inherited her love of dance. Mom could boogie and didn't care who knew it. While cooking dinner or washing dishes, she would play her music while shaking her ample groove thing with that sly smile.
I also remember is Mom coming to rescue us kids when we were in trouble. I had flunked out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was a basket case. Mom took it upon herself to talk to the dean of the college of letters and sciences. She dressed in a navy blazer and skirt with a white ruffled blouse and drove to the university. Three hours later, she said he will let me in if I get at least a 3.5 GPA in the classes I take in the fall. I got a 4.0.
What stands out most was Mom's unconditional love for her children and grandchildren. She would care for her youngest grandson while he was attending elementary school in her neighborhood. She took us adult children in when we needed a place to stay until we could get on her feet.
Shortly after she was diagnosed as being in the early stage of Alzheimer's, she was washing dishes. I told Mom that eventually she would forget who her children are. She looked up from the sink.
"I'll never forget you," she said. "You're my child."
She didn't forget who we were. She kept her promise.
Mom has always had our back. And we'll always have hers.
Writing Diva
Monday, September 15, 2008
My big birthday wish
At 11:41 a.m. 49 years ago, I emerged into the world from Mom's womb. I was probably screaming, "Put me back! I was happy in there! Put me back!"
With the way things are in the United States, I'm thinking the same thing. Too bad Mom has moved on to bigger and better things.
I have a list of things I want for my birthday, which I'll have to get at a later date: a "Scrabble" game, an iPod, a new pair of cross-training athletic shoes, and my carpet shampooed.
But what I want most for this birthday is going to have to come from a whole bunch of people -- voters, actually. I want Sen. Barack Obama elected President of the United States.
Yes, it's a tall order. I never said it was easy. I realize I'm asking for a lot. But I want to see history made before I follow Mom into the Great Beyond.
I want to put the brakes on another eight years of failed policies under Shrub (The late Molly Ivins' nickname for President George W. Bush. Ivins also was a Virgo, bless her heart!) I don't want another (at least) four years of W2 with Sen. John "Prickly" McCain as President and that Stepford Wife Sarah Palin as Vice President. I want my colleague who's been deployed to Iraq to come home instead of being "stop-lossed."
I want someone who's ready to work on programs that will help repair this faltering economy, which former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has called a once in a 50- or 100-year event when interviewed on ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopolous."
I want issues and policies to triumph over negativity and innuendo in this Presidential election campaign. I want bipartisanship instead of bickering across the aisle. I want this nation to get its act together and go beyond race and ideology and choose the person best suited to lead this country through the tough times everyone is going through. For me, that person is Barack Obama.
All right, I've said my piece. I'm willing to work to get what I really want. Anything else would be icing on the cake.
Writing Diva
With the way things are in the United States, I'm thinking the same thing. Too bad Mom has moved on to bigger and better things.
I have a list of things I want for my birthday, which I'll have to get at a later date: a "Scrabble" game, an iPod, a new pair of cross-training athletic shoes, and my carpet shampooed.
But what I want most for this birthday is going to have to come from a whole bunch of people -- voters, actually. I want Sen. Barack Obama elected President of the United States.
Yes, it's a tall order. I never said it was easy. I realize I'm asking for a lot. But I want to see history made before I follow Mom into the Great Beyond.
I want to put the brakes on another eight years of failed policies under Shrub (The late Molly Ivins' nickname for President George W. Bush. Ivins also was a Virgo, bless her heart!) I don't want another (at least) four years of W2 with Sen. John "Prickly" McCain as President and that Stepford Wife Sarah Palin as Vice President. I want my colleague who's been deployed to Iraq to come home instead of being "stop-lossed."
I want someone who's ready to work on programs that will help repair this faltering economy, which former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has called a once in a 50- or 100-year event when interviewed on ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopolous."
I want issues and policies to triumph over negativity and innuendo in this Presidential election campaign. I want bipartisanship instead of bickering across the aisle. I want this nation to get its act together and go beyond race and ideology and choose the person best suited to lead this country through the tough times everyone is going through. For me, that person is Barack Obama.
All right, I've said my piece. I'm willing to work to get what I really want. Anything else would be icing on the cake.
Writing Diva
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Eurydice Effect
From Wikipedia: In Greek mythology, Eurydice was an oak nymph who was the wife of Orpheus. They loved each other dearly. On their wedding day, Orpheus played songs filled with happiness as his bride danced through a meadow. According to legend, Eurydice stepped on a snake and fell to the ground. The venomous snake had bitten her, leaving Eurydice dead. Distraught, Orpheus played and sang so mournfully that all the nymphs and gods wept. They told him to travel to the Underworld to retrieve her. Orpheus did so, and his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone. Hades then allowed Eurydice to return with Orpheus to the world of the living as long as Orpheus walked in front of his wife and not look back until they had both reached the upper world. Orpheus had reached the upper world, but in his anxiety, he broke his promise before Eurydice could emerge from the darkness. Then Eurydice vanished from his sight – forever.
What I call the “Eurydice Effect” is when a person contacts a former lover and the experience leaves the caller in an emotional tailspin. I made the horrible mistake of calling Helmut last night and experienced the Eurydice Effect firsthand.
I don’t know why I felt I had to call Helmut. I had recent dreams about him and wondered if somehow we could be friends. I’m beating myself upside da hed: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! When Helmut picked up the phone the first time, I said, “This is (Writing Diva).” (As if I’m going to use my real name! Huh!) He said, “Who? Help me out here.” Then I said I had the wrong number and hung up. I believe that was God’s way of saying, “Don’t do this!” But NOOOOO! I decided to call again. I told Helmut I was sorry for the way I treated him at the Solano Christian Singles ‘60s dance. He said it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us. Later he said that he was sorry for not being truthful about the reason we broke up, but he would not elaborate. Then I concluded that he broke up with me for another woman and that the fiasco regarding the Diana Ross concert was his way out without saying anything. Later, he ended the conversation.
I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I threw the kitties Tuff-Punk and Diva out of my room, I was so depressed. It was bad enough that he dumped me and left a lot of damage in his wake, but to finally confirm that the breakup wasn’t my fault, after 17 years, hurt and angered me. We can never be friends because a friend would not have done what he did.
The most that I can do the next time I see him is nod and go about my business. Right now, I have to focus on healing because I injured my heart again. Only then can I continue to live and perhaps love again.
Writing Diva
What I call the “Eurydice Effect” is when a person contacts a former lover and the experience leaves the caller in an emotional tailspin. I made the horrible mistake of calling Helmut last night and experienced the Eurydice Effect firsthand.
I don’t know why I felt I had to call Helmut. I had recent dreams about him and wondered if somehow we could be friends. I’m beating myself upside da hed: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! When Helmut picked up the phone the first time, I said, “This is (Writing Diva).” (As if I’m going to use my real name! Huh!) He said, “Who? Help me out here.” Then I said I had the wrong number and hung up. I believe that was God’s way of saying, “Don’t do this!” But NOOOOO! I decided to call again. I told Helmut I was sorry for the way I treated him at the Solano Christian Singles ‘60s dance. He said it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us. Later he said that he was sorry for not being truthful about the reason we broke up, but he would not elaborate. Then I concluded that he broke up with me for another woman and that the fiasco regarding the Diana Ross concert was his way out without saying anything. Later, he ended the conversation.
I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I threw the kitties Tuff-Punk and Diva out of my room, I was so depressed. It was bad enough that he dumped me and left a lot of damage in his wake, but to finally confirm that the breakup wasn’t my fault, after 17 years, hurt and angered me. We can never be friends because a friend would not have done what he did.
The most that I can do the next time I see him is nod and go about my business. Right now, I have to focus on healing because I injured my heart again. Only then can I continue to live and perhaps love again.
Writing Diva
Friday, August 29, 2008
Denver -- A Place Called Hope
"Don't Let Anyone Bring You Down."
-- Minnie Riperton
Over the past four days, I viewed the Democratic National Convention on CNN and C-Span. (I like C-Span better because I can listen to the musical artists and feel as if I'm there instead of having intrusive pundit chatter.) And Sen. Barack Obama, whom I called "President-to-Be Brotherman," delivered.
His 42-minute speech at Mile-High Stadium in Denver hit on the 45th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I've Got a Dream" speech, the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States on September 11. His speech wasn't full of lofty platitudes. He gave it to the people straight, no chaser. This was one of my favorite excerpts:
"But the record's clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush ninety percent of the time. Senator McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than ninety percent of the time? I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to take a ten percent chance on change."
Ow! That's gotta hurt!
Obama outlined what he would do as president and how certain programs would be paid for. I'm not sure how it's going to work, but I'd rather take my chances on Brotherman than on McCain, who thrives on the politics of fear and division.
I pretty much everything I saw during the week of the convention. Michelle Obama gave an emotional, moving speech about her husband. Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton showed herself to be a class act by asking for a unanimous voice vote for her former rival. And former President Bill Clinton, who will always be considered the "first 'black' president," gave Obama his blessing and passed the Democratic torch.
But I liked one guy, Barney Smith, a Republican from Indiana who worked at an RCA plant until the plant closed in 2004. After 31 years working there, he received 90 days severance pay, and his job was shipped overseas. He now works at a distribution center.
"America can't afford more of the same. We need a president who puts the Barney Smiths before the Smith Barneys," he said.
Rock on, Mr. Smith!
As I write this, I learn that Sen. McCain has chosen Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska to be his running mate. I think McCain is trying to snag the female vote. He's such a Cheney!
But even when I had to go to work today, I'm smiling. Barack kicked ass and took names last night. And I think there will be more of that in the next two months.
I've got to sign up people to vote!
Writing Diva
-- Minnie Riperton
Over the past four days, I viewed the Democratic National Convention on CNN and C-Span. (I like C-Span better because I can listen to the musical artists and feel as if I'm there instead of having intrusive pundit chatter.) And Sen. Barack Obama, whom I called "President-to-Be Brotherman," delivered.
His 42-minute speech at Mile-High Stadium in Denver hit on the 45th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I've Got a Dream" speech, the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States on September 11. His speech wasn't full of lofty platitudes. He gave it to the people straight, no chaser. This was one of my favorite excerpts:
"But the record's clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush ninety percent of the time. Senator McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than ninety percent of the time? I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to take a ten percent chance on change."
Ow! That's gotta hurt!
Obama outlined what he would do as president and how certain programs would be paid for. I'm not sure how it's going to work, but I'd rather take my chances on Brotherman than on McCain, who thrives on the politics of fear and division.
I pretty much everything I saw during the week of the convention. Michelle Obama gave an emotional, moving speech about her husband. Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton showed herself to be a class act by asking for a unanimous voice vote for her former rival. And former President Bill Clinton, who will always be considered the "first 'black' president," gave Obama his blessing and passed the Democratic torch.
But I liked one guy, Barney Smith, a Republican from Indiana who worked at an RCA plant until the plant closed in 2004. After 31 years working there, he received 90 days severance pay, and his job was shipped overseas. He now works at a distribution center.
"America can't afford more of the same. We need a president who puts the Barney Smiths before the Smith Barneys," he said.
Rock on, Mr. Smith!
As I write this, I learn that Sen. McCain has chosen Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska to be his running mate. I think McCain is trying to snag the female vote. He's such a Cheney!
But even when I had to go to work today, I'm smiling. Barack kicked ass and took names last night. And I think there will be more of that in the next two months.
I've got to sign up people to vote!
Writing Diva
Friday, August 22, 2008
Dumped (Though I Deserved It)
The eHarmony suitor who only two weeks ago wrote to me "I want you, only you" is gone.
The gent closed his profile to me yesterday. And I don't blame him.
I think it was the last e-mail I wrote to him. I said that I had attended a luau hosted by a local singles group and had a good time. Then I asked him where he went to school. (I added that I was a UC Davis graduate.)
I asked him that because the e-mails I received from him were so poorly written that at times I couldn't understand what he was saying. One of my must-haves is someone who is as smart, if not smarter than, I am. I know it's elitist. But physical attraction is a small part of a relationship. If I can't discuss things on an intellectual level, that's half the relationship down the tubes.
I was also irritated by his emotional neediness. I realize that some people may call it affection or devotion. But to write every other day when I haven't written anything just to find out if I'm OK was starting to cramp my style.
To be honest, when I saw his closed message and his reason stated "other," I felt a bit stung. It was mostly my pride that was hurt. But later I realized that I deserved it because, at least in my mind, I treated him shabbily.
He deserves better, after having lost his wife and being alone for five years. I'm sure there's a wonderful woman out there for the gent. I know I'm just not that woman.
Be happy, K.
Writing Diva
The gent closed his profile to me yesterday. And I don't blame him.
I think it was the last e-mail I wrote to him. I said that I had attended a luau hosted by a local singles group and had a good time. Then I asked him where he went to school. (I added that I was a UC Davis graduate.)
I asked him that because the e-mails I received from him were so poorly written that at times I couldn't understand what he was saying. One of my must-haves is someone who is as smart, if not smarter than, I am. I know it's elitist. But physical attraction is a small part of a relationship. If I can't discuss things on an intellectual level, that's half the relationship down the tubes.
I was also irritated by his emotional neediness. I realize that some people may call it affection or devotion. But to write every other day when I haven't written anything just to find out if I'm OK was starting to cramp my style.
To be honest, when I saw his closed message and his reason stated "other," I felt a bit stung. It was mostly my pride that was hurt. But later I realized that I deserved it because, at least in my mind, I treated him shabbily.
He deserves better, after having lost his wife and being alone for five years. I'm sure there's a wonderful woman out there for the gent. I know I'm just not that woman.
Be happy, K.
Writing Diva
Friday, August 15, 2008
You're Putting a Rush on Me
In the space of two weeks, my social life has become a bit complicated.
On July 19, I subscribed to a three-month membership in eHarmony, the Web site that features the song "This Will Be" in its television commercials. Well, I have 34 matches, with one who is so interested in me that, as he put it in an e-mail, "I want you, only you."
Which elicited from me the following response: "WTF?"
He's a 57-year-old Caucasian widower from San Francisco who has a 12-year-old son. He sells German car parts and computers. From his e-mails, he can't write to save his own life. I sometimes have problems deciphering his e-missives. He is a Christian (perhaps Catholic, from his mention of consulting his priest) who is serious about finding his soul mate.
Eventually, I'd like to find a soul mate. But I'd like to meet some of my matches first before making any decisions.
Therein lies the problem. We're not in the same place. He seems to think I'm what he's looking for. But at this time my feelings aren't reciprocal. I asked the gent to slow down, to which he agreed.
Also, there is the situation with my "work flirt." A recent newspaper horoscope for Virgo read: "You have undeniable chemistry with someone -- a magnetic attraction that you forget about until you return to the vicinity of this person." Indeed, that's what I have with this colleague. When I showed his photo to a friend, she said, "He's pretty darn hot." Every time I see him, I feel as if I look like Elwood the Chinest crested dog, who once won the Ugliest Dog in the World Contest. He's almost completely hairless except with a tuft of white hair, and his tongue hangs out.
I will meet the e-Harmony gent and give him a chance. At this moment, however, his chances are still slim.
Writing Diva
On July 19, I subscribed to a three-month membership in eHarmony, the Web site that features the song "This Will Be" in its television commercials. Well, I have 34 matches, with one who is so interested in me that, as he put it in an e-mail, "I want you, only you."
Which elicited from me the following response: "WTF?"
He's a 57-year-old Caucasian widower from San Francisco who has a 12-year-old son. He sells German car parts and computers. From his e-mails, he can't write to save his own life. I sometimes have problems deciphering his e-missives. He is a Christian (perhaps Catholic, from his mention of consulting his priest) who is serious about finding his soul mate.
Eventually, I'd like to find a soul mate. But I'd like to meet some of my matches first before making any decisions.
Therein lies the problem. We're not in the same place. He seems to think I'm what he's looking for. But at this time my feelings aren't reciprocal. I asked the gent to slow down, to which he agreed.
Also, there is the situation with my "work flirt." A recent newspaper horoscope for Virgo read: "You have undeniable chemistry with someone -- a magnetic attraction that you forget about until you return to the vicinity of this person." Indeed, that's what I have with this colleague. When I showed his photo to a friend, she said, "He's pretty darn hot." Every time I see him, I feel as if I look like Elwood the Chinest crested dog, who once won the Ugliest Dog in the World Contest. He's almost completely hairless except with a tuft of white hair, and his tongue hangs out.
I will meet the e-Harmony gent and give him a chance. At this moment, however, his chances are still slim.
Writing Diva
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