The holiday of Shavuos has passed, and though it feels like Monday, it is Wednesday...symbolic. Though I feel like I'm in college, I'm far past that, and, as I cannot grasp that it's already mid-week, I cannot accept that it's also midlife. And the babes who I told not to grow have once again disobeyed. It's graduation time.
Four years ago, my oldest graduated high school. This is an intellectual statement. Emotionally, four years ago, she was a toddler. Now she is taking a fifth year in college; her friends, ones I don't even know, are getting married. One in her small high school class already has a year-old baby. My second daughter is so loving her college sorority life that she regrets it's half over. My baby--now six feet tall--can't wait to get his driver's license in seven weeks so he'll be independent.
I was looking through his high school yearbook at the children whose graduation ceremony I'll attend tonight. Like my son, they have no business completing puberty. And while they will make their folks--my peers and friends--proud tonight, the parents will feel a loss. Been there, done that: It may be a couple of months before their babes actually depart for college, but nonetheless, graduation is no fun.
So, as I leafed through the yearbook, I couldn't help but get emotional. "This is why we raise them!" said the mom of the classmate who already has a baby to me the other day. "We want them to go out into the world and make their mark!" Well, yes, in theory. But inwardly, we don't, because when they leave us, they take a focus we've built since they were born. Though we're busy professionals; though we have deadlines and projects and classes and duties, there's nothing quite like having your child right there at home, safe and fed and cared-for.
To all the graduates, mazel tov! To all the parents...bring kleenex.
It's almost Shavuos, the Jewish holiday celebrating the receiving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. Certainly one of the commandments we received (subsumed in the Big Ten and expressed in the 613) was to be charitable, to care for our fellow man, right? Lots of Reform Jews think the idea of "tikun olam," perfecting the world, means generosity toward the homeless, no matter whether they sleep in business' doorways or beg at freeway off-ramps. They're clearly down and out, and so, we must come forward as the altruistic and compassionate folk we are.
Well, no. And I don't say that just because a homeless Tent City is about to move to my suburban community, but because our misplaced caring doesn't help these parasites one bit.
About a year ago, an article appeared in our community newspaper signed by a coalition of pastors of local churches explaining why it is our duty to host the Tent City in the parking lot of one of their institutions. Tent City is a bundle of about 100 homeless people who pitch their portable homes like nomads, moving from church to church every three months. In this way, they have permanent "support." Supposedly the residents must abide by rules that include no alcohol. Other churches who have hosted them have reported minimal trouble.
As far as I'm concerned, whether or not the Tenters cause major problems is not the issue. The question for me is--how does providing such a living arrangement help these people? There are lots of shelters with available beds. Heck, Seattle is famous for even building apartment-style housing for alcoholic homeless, nicknamed the "drunk dorms" because residents there are allowed to drink in their rooms. The kindly citizens of the Emerald City also imported expensive European automatic toilets and put them in public places for the homeless to use at any hour--which were recently removed because they were more often used for dealing
drugs.
When the Tent City fait accompli was first announced, I wrote a letter to our local paper in response to the pastors' cheery endorsement. I proposed that if neighbors really wanted to help these chronic homeless, that they take one of them into their homes, allowing him/her to live there and learn from the homeowner, as a student with a mentor, how to live a responsible life. How to get a job and show up on time. How to find a room-mate or other inexpensive living arrangement, and maintain a home. There's no reason why these people, if fit enough to live in our midst in tents, can't learn the skills to live in our midst in apartments, rented rooms or homes.
The pastors didn't think much of my idea of making personal contact with the homeless. No one volunteered to allow such a disadvantaged person to live in his home; no one wanted to mentor someone in need. My compassionate neighbors would rather have these people pitch tents on a concrete parking lot and use Honey Bucket portable toilets.
Looks like we'll get to admire these newcomers close-up this August. I plan to take an afternoon or two and visit our new neighbors and find out some of their stories. I'd like to know how long they've vagabonded with Tent City, and what their future plans are, and why they find living in a tent on concrete preferable to the many options provided by religious institutions like the Salvation Army, Union Gospel Mission and many others who scour the streets offering them aid. Frankly, I find it insulting to these folk to relegate them to a Tent City if our goal is to teach them how to live self-sufficiently.
It's true, I don't want a hundred homeless folk added to the population of our small community. I am indeed prejudiced against them. Not because of characteristics they were born with--as individuals, every soul is made in God's image and in that way is inherently worthy of respect. But because of choices they have made. Perhaps long-ago choices dragged them down into a place difficult to escape, such as drug addiction. Perhaps they are victims of mental illness. But choices not to avail themselves of means to leave their dependent status bring my ire, my lack of sympathy, and my opposition to Tent City. Maybe when I go meet these folks, my opinion will change. I doubt it. But until August, I'm writing letters and campaigning to disband this artificial "community" in favor of real and permanent help for these down-and-outers.
I rarely go to movies, as my criteria for viewing are 1) no violence, 2) no suspense, and 3) no slapstick. I haven't watched TV since...okay, this sounds like a joke--1984. A condition of marriage to my husband was that our family never have a TV set. I thought it a bit extreme, a bit ridiculous, but since I loved this eccentric man and seldom watched my 10" diagonal set anyway, I said goodbye to cultural literacy and staples of social interaction such as The Cosby Show (not a single episode) and Frasier and a hundred other sources of chatter.
That included Sex and the City.
But last week, I got a glimpse, from afar, of the plugged-in life--I attended a screening of Sex and the City, the Movie. I'd been warned that this might be too risque for me, but hey, "no sex" is not one of my criteria. I'd been told it would be too superficial, what with the emphasis on designer clothes, botox and Manolo Blahniks. I was admonished that the romantic relationships the four friends experienced were selfish, and the plot setup contrived. But, I was also told that this was the story of four women loyal and supportive to each other, and that message is affirming and uplifting.
So, I saw the movie. All the little in-jokes and references went whooshing over my head. There was lots of nudity, and assumptions that sex outside of marriage is pretty much okay--except for a major subplot suggesting that, to the contrary, sex outside of marriage is devastating. And Carrie Bradshaw starts off the film getting engaged, hardly an unconventional step. Samantha Jones, the most overtly sexual of the quartet, is in a monogamous relationship, and goes as far as eating her way to an extra 15 lbs to remain so. And for the entire film, two main characters, Charlotte York, a sweet beauty queen, and Miranda Hobbes, a lawyer and mom of a five-year-old, remain married. Sexually daring? Promiscuous and free? No.
There were some sexy moments, but most of the lovemaking was to designer clothes.
The film felt like a soap opera condensed into a couple hours, and having never switched on HBO, I was out of the loop, but somehow managed to grab a curlicue and circle in on the flow and h
appily-ever-after finale. This may sound catty, but as a newbie to the show, I couldn't get past, pardon me, Sarah Jessica Parker's homeliness, and the lack of chemistry with her fiance, Big. But any movie involving a wedding, and scenes in the New York Public Library, Malibu and Acapulco can't be all bad. And this one wasn't; the mix of frou-frou and real-life relationship issues kept it moving and fun. Even the issues of life and death, aging and fidelity offered lighter angles to create the kind of movie you think about--for about two hours, and that's it.
This film is supposed to be Indiana Jones for women, and it's bound to make a stack of money, and for once, I get to be part of the cultural herd. (movie publicity photos copyright New Line Cinema)
After all my posts on politics, you may think this is a lame duck story. But no--this is a dead duck story. Pardon my spoiler.
I am still traumatized, though fans of "a l'orange" must be baffled.
The back-story: We have a useless pool. A swimming pool, which, here in the Great Northwest, is a large, square precipitation-collection device that dominates our back yard. In the winter, constant rain means frequent siphoning off the near overflow, lest the pool crack off our hillside from the weight. In the summer, no siphon is needed--the money to heat and filter and clean it goes straight down the drain.
If you figure all the warm days we get, and the amount we actually use it, each dip in the pool costs about $500. We did not install this pool--our otherwise wonderful house came with it. We are not swimmers; out of guilt, we occasionally bob around the pool propped up by foam "noodles," and my son sometimes makes a sloppy dive from the edge, or balances on the rails at the steps that descend to the deep end. Residents of the northwest need a back yard pool like a fish needs a bicycle.
Ducks, however, consider our pool their own Riviera. When a pair of ducks first appeared about four years ago, we thought they were cute. I ran to get my camera: Awwww. But when they came back day after day, pooping in and around our expensive swimming hole, they got far less cute. Though the pool was unheated, we decided to unfurl the unattractive plastic bubbled solar blanket so our feathered visitors would no longer have the pleasure of such an extravagant toilet. Problem solved--the first year.
Second year, we got four ducks. Same drill--ugly plastic cover goes on the pool. The quartet found happier waters. Last year, we got six ducks. They stayed longer after the cover went on. We took to running outside shouting to scare them off when we saw them plopped on top of the cover, leaving their distinctive residue. Sometimes we threw fir-tree cones at them. Sometimes they didn't mind being smacked by a fir cone and we still had to run outside, waving our arms, clapping our hands and shouting. We got more ridiculous-looking, and ever more tired from all the exercise chasing them away.
This year, the six ducks invited their friends. We have at least thirty ducks in the neighborhood this spring, enjoying our neighbors' pools and even spending the night sometimes cuddled up on top of our solar blanket. We have several couples; We see duck groups flying over our house and yard often. Our running and yelling has become so frequent we're wondering if we need keep up our gym dues.
This morning I was in the kitchen when I saw three ducks, two males and a female, come in for a skid-landing on our pool cover. As usual, I flung open the back door and ran outside flailing my arms and whooping. As I got closer, I was horrified to see that the two males were attacking the female, furiously pecking at her head and eyes as if enraged and definitely trying to kill her. They grabbed her head in their beaks and bit at her body--she could not fend them off. I was about two feet away, screaming and clapping my hands loudly and they kept destroying the female until I was nearly on top of them, at which point the two males suddenly
flew up and away; the injured female began to fly but--THWACK! Probably near-blinded, she flew right into the glass railing to our poolside deck. I froze and watched the female lying on her back, furiously paddling her webbed feet in the air for an interminable 15 seconds, and then...nothing.
Dead duck on deck.
Yuck. I was not about to approach that duck. A Jewish studies class was about to commence in my home. The rabbi arrived; the ladies sat in their places around my dining room table. I did not tell them of the trauma I had just witnessed, nor did I point out the duck outside on the deck, webbed feet in air. After the class, I called Evaristo, a man who has seen just about everything the world has to offer, to come and take the carcass away.
A couple hours later, there was a solitary male duck sitting on our pool cover. Evaristo explained that he was Dead Duck's pining mate. Such things happen in nature. But I find myself looking outside to that spot on the deck where the body had lain. And the quacking and flapping crosses overhead once again.
It drives me bonkers listening to talk radio big-mouths who claim to be conservatives and yet insult and tell lies about John McCain. You can disagree with his positions, but first state them accurately! Tonight, as a passenger in a car, I heard a savage ranter hurling all sorts of garbage, mostly ad hominem attacks, and begged the driver (who controls the stations) to pleeeeease turn it off.
But even if he had, there are plenty of other people listening to such shows, who don't bother to check out McCain's (or any other candidate's) actual websites and believe this kind of junk. So, I thought I'd give you a one-minute snippet showing his demeanor and style that I recorded on my little Kodak camera last week when he gave a talk to a roomful of supporters in Bellevue, WA. I know there's not much to go on as far as content, but let me know how this guy strikes you.
308.5. Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.
On March 7, 2000, 61% of the people of California affirmed that statement. It seems ridiculous that they needed to, given that their state constitution already defined marriage in that state as "a personal relation arising out of a civil contract between a man and a woman, to which the consent of the parties capable of making that contract is necessary."
So why the need for Proposition 22? Because the Family Code defining marriage, Section 308, went on to say that the state would recognize valid marriages of other states (written with the presumption, of course, that marriages anywhere else would join only a man to a woman). But gay marriage advocates saw that as the "loophole" that could allow gay marriage to be recognized by the state, a foothold that, by reason of differential treatment, could then bring gay marriage fully on board. With the possibility looming then that Hawaii would legalize same-sex marriage, those seeking to preserve the state's original definition (not to mention the ONLY definition, held universally through millenia), led by the late state Senator William Knight, put the vote to the people, and received overwhelming support.
But, the will of the people be damned. As it was last Thursday (May 15, 2008) when the state supreme court decided to overturn a clear public stand, and change only their LABEL to make gays and lesbian couples interchangeable with traditional couples. What I mean is that the ONLY difference between gay/lesbian couples' standing under CA law was the WORD "marriage," since the California Domestic Partner Rights and Responsibilities Act of 2003 had already conferred on any gays who chose that union total equality with married people:
“[r]egistered domestic partners shall have the same rights, protections, and benefits, and shall be subject to the same responsibilities, obligations, and duties under law, whether they derive from statutes, administrative regulations, court rules, government policies, common law, or any other provisions or sources of law, as are granted to and imposed upon spouses.” (Fam. Code, § 297.5, subd. (a)
Negating the evidence of its eyes,the court erased the only distinction differentiating the committed relationships of a man and a woman from two men or two women. Just like that. Men are interchangeable with women.
What would John Gray say? Men and women are now both from Marnus. Marriage, that once venerable institution whose entire purpose was to bridge and connect opposite genders into a unique combination incomparable to any other--one that can create human life and nurture it in demonstrably the most beneficial setting--was demoted into something any (adult, non-incestuous) duo, with any sexual fit, could claim.
But why the fuss, when it's already been done? Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage in May, 2004, and the sky hasn't fallen. Still, just four months
later, Massachusetts' first gay spouses filed for divorce. I wish I knew the figures on the percentage of gay marriages that have hit the rocks, but the state doesn't record such information. Despite a dearth of numbers, there's been plenty in the news about gay splits, including fretting articles about Rhode Island's refusal to grant divorces to same-sex spouses married right across its state line.
Given the activism for gay marriage, you'd think that thousands of long-term couples would've immediately stormed Massachusetts city halls and churches after May, 2004 to tie the knot. Not. A paper for the Institute for Marriage and Public Policy by Maggie Gallagher and Joshua Baker looked at Canadian and European gay marriages as well as in Massachusetts, where in the first 18 months, the authors estimate just 16% of gay residents wed. This figure is wildly higher than their international data--for example, in the Netherlands, where in the first few years after legalization, between 2 and 5% of gays held nuptials.
Caren Chesler, writing in Slate Magazine, notes that even before marriage was on the horizon in California, lots of couples who registered as Domestic Partners wanted out: "When California initially passed a domestic partnership law in 2000, 4,894 gay couples jumped on the bandwagon," she writes. "But when the state beefed up its domestic partnership law in 2005, giving it more of the financial rights and obligations of a heterosexual marriage, gay couples were allowed to withdraw their domestic partnership registrations. And 2,513 did just that. Another 1,651 have done so since."
But findings that most gays don't want to get hitched don't explain why they shouldn't. And indeed even the state of California sees no problem with their legally getting all the goodies of marriage, including a "forever" declaration that's tough to worm out of--the Domestic Partner Act grants them that. The only wafer-thin recognition that the union of men with women is fundamentally different than the unions of two-of-a-kind was the word: Marriage.
And now you can kiss that goodbye, too. The court has done what the people would not: pretend the undeniable. And for what?
Lots of people say it's to give gay people the same "rights" as straights--but of course they have exactly the same right to marry one of the opposite sex. Perhaps it's to show homosexuals respect. But given the achievements and prominence of gays, can citizens of 2008 honestly say their homosexual neighbors are downtrodden? Oh, but is Domestic Partnership a step below marriage in status?
Maybe so--for good reason.
There are two dirty little secrets regarding the gay and liberal/progressive agenda touting same-sex marriage. First, domestic partnership IS a step below marriage, because domestic partnerships are worth less to society than marriages. Second, liberals endorse gay marriage not just for altruism--but because of some desirable sexual consequences for them.
Tackling the first dirty little secret: Nobody's willing to admit in this walk-on-eggshells, PC world that two-of-a-kind marriage is less helpful to society than conventional marriage--but it is. Conventional marriage in its natural manifestations under usual, healthy circumstances brings children into the world, and provides the best environment for nurturing them to sane and productive adulthood. It offers role models for both genders, and, more importantly, role models on behaviors that work (and sometimes, don't) in creating a harmonious marriage. Children learn "how to be married" by watching their parents' interaction. There are bountiful data showing consequences of divorce and early trauma--as well as of growing up in a happy, stable home.
This is not to say that children raised in differing environments turn out badly. Just that far and away kids' best chance for lifelong confidence and inter-gender skills comes from a two-parent, functional family. Children in a loving homosexual home can turn out great--but they're missing part of the gender equation. Sorry, it's not just being loved that equips kids for life--it's being loved AND a host of 
other factors that research shows are best facilitated when Mom and Dad are on the scene together.
On to dirty little secret number two: Straight liberals/progressives are loathe to admit it, but driving their support for gay marriage (as opposed to support for equal treatment and benefits) is the slackening of sexual standards that creating a flabby definition of marriage brings. If what gays do has the same respect as what straights do, then...there's a lot less judgment and restriction on sexuality in general. Remember, what gays do sexually with each other can never produce children--can never bring a new soul to the world. What gays do sexually is for pleasure only. The key being ONLY. And, by equating acts that have a permanent consequence with those with only a momentary climax, we define downward our purpose as human beings, from time-transcendent to selfishly ephemeral.
I can see you squirming. Certainly within marriage, providing pleasure to a spouse is not only acceptable, but important. Certainly marriages where procreation is not a possibility are valid and worthy of respect (as are commitments between two gays). But speaking in generalities, about classes of relationships, traditional marriages are more essential and crucial for society because they are the source of its continuation and continuity.
Gay marriage divorces sexuality from marriage; marriage becomes merely a declaration of love and a source of personal status. With sexuality disconnected from marriage, then those whose sexual appetites lead them outside their marriages (Bill Clinton comes to mind) need not face scorn. By elevating gay relationships, gay sex, to the "sacred" status of marriage, the range of acceptable sexual behavior widens. OK, he had sex on the Great Seal in the Oval Office. Get over it.
I was born and raised in California. Both my parents were born and raised in California. I love the state; it's my home (I'm still searching for bright light living now in the Northwest). But even if Arnold refuses to veto this redefinition of the most fundamental of institutions, I'm confident that in November the people will once again affirm that only a man and a woman can enter into that most mystical and mysterious union called marriage.
I'm still thrilled. Last night I spent an evening with the "presumed" GOP presidential nominee. Being steeped in politics, coming that close to the center of the tornado would be exciting on any account. But last night I shook his hand, chatted amiably for awhile--and was honored--by a real hero.
Being the spouse of a public person has over the past many years brought handsome perks. I've attended a White House Chanuka party and shaken the hand of George W. Bush, who was cordial and accepted my invitation to come to our home for a Sabbath meal. (I'm still awaiting the call of his scheduler). I've been tickled to host at our Sabbath table senators and congressmen and movie stars and pundits. I've been star-struck when philanthropic entrepreneurs and the conductor of our Philharmonic orchestra shared a Sabbath meal in our home.
But as engaging and impressive as they all are, every time I hear about the heroism of John McCain, I am moved to tears. I choked back emotion last night when I heard him speak of his courage in the Vietnam prison dubbed the Hanoi Hilton as "just what anybody in those circumstances would do," and then extol the bravery of fellow prisoners like Navy Col. Bud Day whose arm, severely broken in torture, was straightened by the candidate with a makeshift bamboo splint. He answered questions about why he's so private about his family with a report on his wife and children, including two in the military, one just back from Iraq.
I heard him speak casually in a small group of about 25, and then more extensively to a larger hall of perhaps 300 supporters. He moves as he speaks, stepping forward, to the side, and back. He looks directly at listeners. He speaks without notes, though he held a 3 by 5 index card in his hand for his half-hour talk. He doesn't always use eloquent words, and sometimes re-phrases. He's funny--one-liners and pithy jokes--and then tells you where he got them.
When he confidently asserted that he understood terrorism, understood the threats our country faces (while Barack and Hillary do not), you knew by the way he stepped--imperfectly (eschewing the provided podium and microphone)--that he lives every day with physical evidence of that knowledge.
What I noticed most in his remarks is that he is forthright, confronting his differences with his audience rather than pandering to them. He knew, for example, that many conservatives scoff at green Al Gore's global warming-ism, but he's committed to environmental efforts, brought up the topic and explained his reasoning (we won't be worse off if we do something about it--in fact, the inventor of those curly florescent light bulbs didn't lose money, and our economy will similarly benefit--but if we do need to act and yet refrain, our kids could inherit a deathly scenario). He doesn't mind ticking people off, and says so. The one word that comes to my mind for John McCain is...integrity.
My heart fluttered when he was not only cordial but effusively complimentary, giving my husband high praise and--this was PEAK--interrupting the middle of his speech to a large crowd (after our intimate reception) to actually ask ME to stand up for recognition!! When I heard the strong applause for my husband's work, I was gratified and couldn't wait to tell him. After his talk, as Sen. McCain lingered, chatting and shaking hands with all who approached; I thanked him for his gracious gesture, and once again he was effusive.
I don't think I've come down from my evening with the man I do believe will be our next President. But perhaps I'll get yet another chance for a personal chat. When I invited him to our Shabbat table, the Senator said he'd love to come.
