You know, I was going to give this whole long post about how I got out of school last week and all the things I did and how I completely WHUPPED everyone in history in the Imperial Age simulation game, even though I only got a measly 10 points to spend per turn. But you know, I really don't feel in the mood any longer.
What's important is this: I'm out. In a few weeks I leave the country, not for the original three months but FIVE WHOLE MONTHS--I'll be spending an additional two in Israel after the school program ends. Right now, I'm hoping to get a volunteer job with Magen David Adom (the Israeli Red Cross). They train you in emergency response and everything. You're part of this ambulance "on call" team. I'm a little scared by the thought of that responsibility, but these are really skills you can use in life. Besides, I'm thinking of going into ROTC when I go to college, and a little First Aid knowledge probably wouldn't hurt in the army.
("ROTC you say?" I'll explain another time...this thing is important enough to me that I want my thoughts to be coherent when I get it down on paper.)
Tomorrow is prom. I'm going as a bellydancer. Here, I'll make a confession: I love the spotlight. I'm always trying to get people to pay attention--well, not all the time, sometimes I can be pretty shy, but you get the idea. And I want to stand out, hence the bellydance outfit.
My friend Peter is coming down as my date, even though he has school. Peter is a real sweet guy. He made me this duct tape shirt, it was really something...sometime I'll post a picture. But it was this amazing thing, you'd never believe it was decorated with duct tape. But more than that, he's easy to talk to, and not just on a small range of things. A lot of times, I find myself able to talk to people on a small range of things, but not with Peter. I really like him.
There's also this stupid Poland orientation thing they're making us attend at school. Now: you're about to go overseas, you're going to an orientation, what do you expect to hear? Discussions about what to pack, what to expect from the locals, how to behave in the culture. For example, my friend Michael was telling us the other day about the instructions he and the rest of his group recieved when they went to work in this Arab Israeli village--stay covered, greet everyone (EVERYONE!!) on the street, and reject invitations inside unless the person repeatedly invites you. So going to an orientation, you'd expect something like that, right?
Wrong. Instead we get a lecture about the Holocaust.
Now, this wouldn't be so bad. I've sat through a LOT of lectures on the Holocaust, it's been a part of my life since I was very little. I don't mean to creep out you non-Jews out there, but this is a fact: the Holocaust is a part of your life if you grow up with any strong connection to Jewish culture. Not that anyone sits you down or anything, you just can't ignore it.
But the woman in question just really put my back against the wall. I don't know why, but from the start of her speech, I just tensed up and got real grumpy. And then when I started to respond, I was always responding very rudely. She even pointed it out, and I apologized, saying I'd been very sick lately. I couldn't just say something like, "You make me very tense and unhappy from the way you talk." But we kept banging our heads against each other, especially as she began making statements that I took issue with. For example, when she said that Jewish Emancipation began in th 1700s. NO! NO NO NO! I couldn't take it anymore and burst out, "That's wrong. Emancipation began in the 1800s." She gave me this Look and started to explain, as if to a toddler, how it began in 1750. I shot back, "No, the ENLIGHTENMENT began in the 1700s. Only at the very end of the century in 1791 did you even begin to see the beginning of emancipation." And so on and so forth. That really set the tone. I was getting more and more upset, but that ingrained respect you give to teachers (hey! don't snicker!) just kept choking me up. You learn from a very young age, "Don't go against the teacher in class, don't interrupt her, etc." And I just wasn't thinking very straight. I was being very rude to her, undeservedly so, and I should apologize. But how? I just can't stand the woman, I don't know why. Just going to talk to her again would get me all tense again.
Also, that statement she made about the Roma during the Holocaust, that they were just a roadbump in Hitler's Grand Extermination Plan--that is extraordinarily offensive. Look. I don't know if the Nazis put as much effort into hunting down Gypsies as they did for the Jews. I do know that the Jews were number one on their hitlist. But saying something like that I just find abhorrent. How dare you downplay someone else's suffering like that, especially when it's the sort that came from the Holocaust?! Go tell that to a Roma survivor, why don't you?!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Fuck
So, I got this message at the front to call my mom. Apparently my grandfather has just had a stroke.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
35 Years, an Old Dream
Even in this age of bitter cynicism and deception, some dreams still ring true.
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm
Eating Disorders, Part 3
So I was kinda rattled all week, what with this eating disorder thing and all. Also it didn't help that right before the assembly, I had Jewish History, and that was the first time we met with the AIPAC people (see DAMN YOU AIPAC!!!!). And AIPAC always knows exactly what buttons to push to get you to support them, and you get angry even though you know you're being manipulated.
So I was not in a good mood when I entered the auditorium, but I gotta say, that was one hell of an assembly. These two girls, one junior, one senior, stood up there on stage and told about their struggles with anorexia. It was an awesome (I mean in the old sense) thing to see--and chilling, too. I cannot help but admire their courage in their willingness to stand up and talk about this, especially seeing how I always have had a hard time discussing my old disorder. That takes guts. I wish them luck on their road to recovery.
So I was not in a good mood when I entered the auditorium, but I gotta say, that was one hell of an assembly. These two girls, one junior, one senior, stood up there on stage and told about their struggles with anorexia. It was an awesome (I mean in the old sense) thing to see--and chilling, too. I cannot help but admire their courage in their willingness to stand up and talk about this, especially seeing how I always have had a hard time discussing my old disorder. That takes guts. I wish them luck on their road to recovery.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Eating Disorders, Part 2
I freaked out. You can't imagine how scary this was. They had shown us this video in health class about eating disorders that was really creepy--at times the camera would go all crazy, to imitate the dizziness you'd get, there were shots of girls losing their hair, girls cutting themselves, carving things like FAT into their stomach--it was just awful. Scare tactics and everything. And here's the doctor telling me, "If you were a few pounds lighter, we would have diagnosed you as anorexic." I mean, I was a lot more anxious then, but that sort of diagnosis is really scary to hear.
So I just panicked. I was crying really hard, I was trying to talk and making absolutely no sense, all I could think was things like, "Oh my God, I'm gonna lose my hair and DIE," etc. I kept thinking about that damn video. I said I was just underweight and I always had been, you get the idea. They told me that what I had was just sort of this generic eating disorder. Big whup. It's still scary to hear.
So we got this whole scedule with dietitians, and a diet to gain weight, the usual stuff, and after I really calmed down and got used to the idea, it wasn't so bad. I mean, I'd spent my entire life trying to gain weight, it was just like I was doing it in an organized way now. (I used to get these Ensure snack bars by the box, they were soooo good. I still crave them sometimes, but they're not sold in stores anymore.)
What I had a really hard time dealing with was just the idea of OH MY GOD I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER. I didn't tell any of my friends at school for the longest time. I was afraid they would think I was a freak or something, or messed up in a serious way. Not in a bad way, either, but they would think, "Oh, poor Lawrie is sick, she has problems, we should be nice to her, make sure she eats," things like that. I didn't tell them anything until long after my recovery. It was vaguely anti-climactic, but that's another story. But to this day, I hesitate a bit before I tell people about this. I only talk to friends. That's why I said from the start, "I've never been anorexic," because I'm afraid people will think of me as the crazy depressed anorexic blogger girl. And that's not the way I want to be thought of. It's simply not part of my identity. I've never been clinically depressed in my life.
The first time I talked about it was at Young Writers' Workshop, a camp I attended that summer. Every day, there's these periods called electives--these range from discussing the word "slut" to learning flamenco. So my counselor had planned this one elective to talk about body image among girls, and she had this video I found in our suite. And I got upset. "Are you going to make us watch this?" I was very hostile. The last thing I wanted was to think about eating disorders again. I think I kinda annoyed my counselor.
After electives came, I dunno, lunchtime or something--anyways, everyone cleared out of the suite, except for a couple of us who stayed back to talk. A few girls were asking my counselor how the elective had gone. I stayed to, because I was perversely interested and repelled at the same time. And it just got into this whole big conversation. I remembering thinking, if I'm gonna tell anyone, it has to be now--so I just came out and said, "I have an eating disorder." And I started to cry. I can't tell you how much I wanted to tell someone, but I had been so afraid. And the other girls came out. They totally understood. They had had problems too, big problems, and they understood how it felt. I won't say more about that night--this was all very private, and these secrets aren't mine to tell.
That was the nice thing about YWW. You really had a support group. No, not that--you really had a group of friends. Everyone just bonded immediately.
Now before I go on, I should point out that at this point I had never had my period. I was fifteen years old, and I considered myself a late bloomer. Actually, to this day, my period is extremely irregular--every few months or so--but I've learned to see that as a blessing in disguise. Sorry if this kinda grosses out the guys in the audience, but it's important that you understand the next part.
See, after YWW I went to this 1-week science camp. The camp was entirely different from YWW--I felt completely out of place for the first few days (later I made some friends). I felt very homesick there, but for YWW, not for home. No joke.
So of course, this is the place where I got my period for the first time. I mean, it's inevitable that these things happen at the most awkward time ever. But I was so scared at first--not of the blood, but of telling people about it. I didn't want anyone to realize that I had never gotten my period before. I thought they would think I was a freak or something. Obviously, I had to tell my counselor about it, but I was very afraid to approach her. She was not at all like my YWW counselor, whom I would have gone to in a second. No, this one was very distant and kinda cold. I never really new her. But finally I managed to work up the courage to go see her, but I can't describe how sad and scared I felt, right up to the point where I knocked on her door. I just didn't want anyone to know about my period and the whole eating disorder thing.
So that's what this eating disorder thing was like. That was the biggest mental problem--being afraid of people thinking I was a freak. I loosened up later on, gained some weight (I'm 120-something now), and just learned to deal with the label. Telling my friends was slightly anti-climactic, though. I'd been afraid all this time, and they just kinda went, "Oh." Like they didn't care. I'm sure they did, they just didn't know how to respond. Which is understandable; what would you do if your friend confided in you like that?
Look, it's getting very late and I need to go. I'll post the rest on Monday, okay? I still have to tell you about the assembly.
So I just panicked. I was crying really hard, I was trying to talk and making absolutely no sense, all I could think was things like, "Oh my God, I'm gonna lose my hair and DIE," etc. I kept thinking about that damn video. I said I was just underweight and I always had been, you get the idea. They told me that what I had was just sort of this generic eating disorder. Big whup. It's still scary to hear.
So we got this whole scedule with dietitians, and a diet to gain weight, the usual stuff, and after I really calmed down and got used to the idea, it wasn't so bad. I mean, I'd spent my entire life trying to gain weight, it was just like I was doing it in an organized way now. (I used to get these Ensure snack bars by the box, they were soooo good. I still crave them sometimes, but they're not sold in stores anymore.)
What I had a really hard time dealing with was just the idea of OH MY GOD I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER. I didn't tell any of my friends at school for the longest time. I was afraid they would think I was a freak or something, or messed up in a serious way. Not in a bad way, either, but they would think, "Oh, poor Lawrie is sick, she has problems, we should be nice to her, make sure she eats," things like that. I didn't tell them anything until long after my recovery. It was vaguely anti-climactic, but that's another story. But to this day, I hesitate a bit before I tell people about this. I only talk to friends. That's why I said from the start, "I've never been anorexic," because I'm afraid people will think of me as the crazy depressed anorexic blogger girl. And that's not the way I want to be thought of. It's simply not part of my identity. I've never been clinically depressed in my life.
The first time I talked about it was at Young Writers' Workshop, a camp I attended that summer. Every day, there's these periods called electives--these range from discussing the word "slut" to learning flamenco. So my counselor had planned this one elective to talk about body image among girls, and she had this video I found in our suite. And I got upset. "Are you going to make us watch this?" I was very hostile. The last thing I wanted was to think about eating disorders again. I think I kinda annoyed my counselor.
After electives came, I dunno, lunchtime or something--anyways, everyone cleared out of the suite, except for a couple of us who stayed back to talk. A few girls were asking my counselor how the elective had gone. I stayed to, because I was perversely interested and repelled at the same time. And it just got into this whole big conversation. I remembering thinking, if I'm gonna tell anyone, it has to be now--so I just came out and said, "I have an eating disorder." And I started to cry. I can't tell you how much I wanted to tell someone, but I had been so afraid. And the other girls came out. They totally understood. They had had problems too, big problems, and they understood how it felt. I won't say more about that night--this was all very private, and these secrets aren't mine to tell.
That was the nice thing about YWW. You really had a support group. No, not that--you really had a group of friends. Everyone just bonded immediately.
Now before I go on, I should point out that at this point I had never had my period. I was fifteen years old, and I considered myself a late bloomer. Actually, to this day, my period is extremely irregular--every few months or so--but I've learned to see that as a blessing in disguise. Sorry if this kinda grosses out the guys in the audience, but it's important that you understand the next part.
See, after YWW I went to this 1-week science camp. The camp was entirely different from YWW--I felt completely out of place for the first few days (later I made some friends). I felt very homesick there, but for YWW, not for home. No joke.
So of course, this is the place where I got my period for the first time. I mean, it's inevitable that these things happen at the most awkward time ever. But I was so scared at first--not of the blood, but of telling people about it. I didn't want anyone to realize that I had never gotten my period before. I thought they would think I was a freak or something. Obviously, I had to tell my counselor about it, but I was very afraid to approach her. She was not at all like my YWW counselor, whom I would have gone to in a second. No, this one was very distant and kinda cold. I never really new her. But finally I managed to work up the courage to go see her, but I can't describe how sad and scared I felt, right up to the point where I knocked on her door. I just didn't want anyone to know about my period and the whole eating disorder thing.
So that's what this eating disorder thing was like. That was the biggest mental problem--being afraid of people thinking I was a freak. I loosened up later on, gained some weight (I'm 120-something now), and just learned to deal with the label. Telling my friends was slightly anti-climactic, though. I'd been afraid all this time, and they just kinda went, "Oh." Like they didn't care. I'm sure they did, they just didn't know how to respond. Which is understandable; what would you do if your friend confided in you like that?
Look, it's getting very late and I need to go. I'll post the rest on Monday, okay? I still have to tell you about the assembly.
Eating Disorders, Part 1
So this week has been "Eating Disorder Week" at school. No joke--on Monday we walk in, there's this huge purple (why purple?) ribbon thing hanging from the ceiling, and all these signs hanging on the walls. I've found it slightly rattling all week. Part of it is that it's discomforting to go to the bathroom, sit down on the toilet, and find yourself staring at a sign that ends in the line, "I knew I would end up dead before I was thin enough." Yes, the bold was part of it. But part of it was that I was diagnosed with an eating disorder myself at the tail end of ninth grade, and I don't like thinking about.
Now before I continue, I should point out that I've never starved myself or binged/purged or anything like that. I've never been anorexic, bulimic, or a binge eater. There's sort of another category for generic eating problems, and that is what I had. Just so you know.
In a way, it goes back a long time; I've never been a big eater. I didn't used to eat a lot or get hungry that often, and that was how it always had been. Also, when I was younger, I found food (I know this is going to sound weird, but bear with me) boring. Think about it. It just sits on your plate. I wanted to read instead. I mean, I knew I had to eat, and I did, but I'd want to read at the same time (I don't think I knew how to multitask then). So I was always thin as a child.
And you have to understand, this was kinda a big deal in my family. Well, not really, but my mom was always trying to get me to eat more, gain more weight. Maybe it's a Jewish mother thing. But I think it was a bit more. Whenever we went to my grandparents in Baltimore (this was before Grandma fell apart, and we were a lot closer then) my grandpa would always ask me how much I weighed. And I would tell him proudly that I had gained X number of pounds. And he would give me reward money. Grandma was always trying to feed me, but in retrospect I think that was just Grandma being Grandma. I mean, everytime we visit her these days, if she can concentrate enough she tries to feed us all. It's pretty depressing. But I'm getting off-topic.
It's not like eating dominated my life or something. But I just wanted you to know that since I was young, I was always being told to GAIN weight, not lose it.
Flashforward to ninth grade. My history class was working in the tech lab. I had some nose problems (maybe it was stuffed or runny, I don't remember) and asked the teacher if I could go to the adjacent room which was connected by a doorway to get Kleenex. She said yes. So I go to the other room. There happened to be a computer by the doorway, so this chair is kinda blocking the way in. I had to move it to get past. So I started to move it and I got really dizzy. You know when you get dizzy and your vision sort of blacks over? So that's what happened, only it didn't fade after a moment. I heard this crash, like something had hit the chair.
So the next thing I know, I'm horizontal. I think I'm at home, in bed. Then I realize that the ground is hard and cold, and hey, wait a minute, I'm not home, I'm in school! I had passed out, but at the moment I had no idea what had happened. So I got up kinda shakily, get the damn kleenex, and wipe my nose. I was bleeding. And not just a little, but quite a bit. In retrospect, I think I must have hit my nose on the chair when I fell. The nosebleed creeped me out a bit, and I was a little unbalanced anyway, so I went back to the tech lab and asked my teacher if I could go to the nurse. No one had realized what had happened because the door was partway closed. Maybe they heard the crash, but hey, people are always moving chairs around in school.
So I went to the nurse, who of course sent me home. Later on that day, when my dad came downstairs to greet me, I was doing a puzzle. I got up quickly, got dizzy again, and the next thing you know, I'm on the floor again. Fortunately, didn't get any nose damage this time.
Of course we went to the doctor. We probably went to a string of them, I don't really remember, but the point is, we ended up in this nutritionist's office. And they weighed me and everything--I was ninety-something pounds then, had never been 100--and said, guess what, you have an eating disorder.
Now before I continue, I should point out that I've never starved myself or binged/purged or anything like that. I've never been anorexic, bulimic, or a binge eater. There's sort of another category for generic eating problems, and that is what I had. Just so you know.
In a way, it goes back a long time; I've never been a big eater. I didn't used to eat a lot or get hungry that often, and that was how it always had been. Also, when I was younger, I found food (I know this is going to sound weird, but bear with me) boring. Think about it. It just sits on your plate. I wanted to read instead. I mean, I knew I had to eat, and I did, but I'd want to read at the same time (I don't think I knew how to multitask then). So I was always thin as a child.
And you have to understand, this was kinda a big deal in my family. Well, not really, but my mom was always trying to get me to eat more, gain more weight. Maybe it's a Jewish mother thing. But I think it was a bit more. Whenever we went to my grandparents in Baltimore (this was before Grandma fell apart, and we were a lot closer then) my grandpa would always ask me how much I weighed. And I would tell him proudly that I had gained X number of pounds. And he would give me reward money. Grandma was always trying to feed me, but in retrospect I think that was just Grandma being Grandma. I mean, everytime we visit her these days, if she can concentrate enough she tries to feed us all. It's pretty depressing. But I'm getting off-topic.
It's not like eating dominated my life or something. But I just wanted you to know that since I was young, I was always being told to GAIN weight, not lose it.
Flashforward to ninth grade. My history class was working in the tech lab. I had some nose problems (maybe it was stuffed or runny, I don't remember) and asked the teacher if I could go to the adjacent room which was connected by a doorway to get Kleenex. She said yes. So I go to the other room. There happened to be a computer by the doorway, so this chair is kinda blocking the way in. I had to move it to get past. So I started to move it and I got really dizzy. You know when you get dizzy and your vision sort of blacks over? So that's what happened, only it didn't fade after a moment. I heard this crash, like something had hit the chair.
So the next thing I know, I'm horizontal. I think I'm at home, in bed. Then I realize that the ground is hard and cold, and hey, wait a minute, I'm not home, I'm in school! I had passed out, but at the moment I had no idea what had happened. So I got up kinda shakily, get the damn kleenex, and wipe my nose. I was bleeding. And not just a little, but quite a bit. In retrospect, I think I must have hit my nose on the chair when I fell. The nosebleed creeped me out a bit, and I was a little unbalanced anyway, so I went back to the tech lab and asked my teacher if I could go to the nurse. No one had realized what had happened because the door was partway closed. Maybe they heard the crash, but hey, people are always moving chairs around in school.
So I went to the nurse, who of course sent me home. Later on that day, when my dad came downstairs to greet me, I was doing a puzzle. I got up quickly, got dizzy again, and the next thing you know, I'm on the floor again. Fortunately, didn't get any nose damage this time.
Of course we went to the doctor. We probably went to a string of them, I don't really remember, but the point is, we ended up in this nutritionist's office. And they weighed me and everything--I was ninety-something pounds then, had never been 100--and said, guess what, you have an eating disorder.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
At the Races
1.
Once
My grandfather rode horses.
(This was the other grandpa
My delicate, dignified
Diabetic grandpa--
Not the raucous healthy
Grandpa whose voice
Now lingers in my ears.)
2.
They described him at the funeral.
A great engine of a man
Astride a glorious black horse
Or galloping into the burning factory
To flee, arms full of files
The forms to pay his workers:
An honest man. Like a hero
Bursting from legend.
And quite different from
The man I knew.
3.
A year ago he rode a different horse:
A great skeletal beast
Thundering into the sunset
Winner of a race in which
My other grandparents ride...
4.
Who's next? Who's next?
Who comes in second place?
The bettors clamor at the racetrack
Begging for an answer--
I hesitate. The race is
Everchanging, odds shifting--
My grandmother knees her horse
Speeding ahead, decrepit
In mind as in body.
My grandfather falls behind, his horse
Slower but unpredictable.
The odds are higher, but he may
Yet win this gruesome race
To crash his horse
(his car, his mind)
Across the finish line...
(Shall I be damned for wishing
That this wait would finally end?)
Once
My grandfather rode horses.
(This was the other grandpa
My delicate, dignified
Diabetic grandpa--
Not the raucous healthy
Grandpa whose voice
Now lingers in my ears.)
2.
They described him at the funeral.
A great engine of a man
Astride a glorious black horse
Or galloping into the burning factory
To flee, arms full of files
The forms to pay his workers:
An honest man. Like a hero
Bursting from legend.
And quite different from
The man I knew.
3.
A year ago he rode a different horse:
A great skeletal beast
Thundering into the sunset
Winner of a race in which
My other grandparents ride...
4.
Who's next? Who's next?
Who comes in second place?
The bettors clamor at the racetrack
Begging for an answer--
I hesitate. The race is
Everchanging, odds shifting--
My grandmother knees her horse
Speeding ahead, decrepit
In mind as in body.
My grandfather falls behind, his horse
Slower but unpredictable.
The odds are higher, but he may
Yet win this gruesome race
To crash his horse
(his car, his mind)
Across the finish line...
(Shall I be damned for wishing
That this wait would finally end?)
Children of Men, Part 2
Now, as my friend Michael, with whom I saw the movie, pointed out, this isn't entirely fair. After all, Sunni-Shiite-Kurd divisions existed long before the US came in there. The only thing keeping chaos from breaking out was the iron-hand rule of Saddam Hussein. This was bound to happen sooner or later, even if the US hadn't gone in. In a way, it is the imperial powers (France and Britain) at fault here for dividing up the Middle East based on imperial ambition, not ethnic lines.
And yet America still bears responsibility. After all, we were the country to go in and unseat Saddam. Do we not have the responsibility to clean up the mess we made? Yes, Sunnis and Shiites were bound to go at each others throats as soon as Saddam was gone. But undoubtedly the US administration could have slowed the deconstruction one way or another by putting competant people in office during the US official occupation (read: before the Iraqi government took over, at least in theory). Instead, we use this idiotic patronage system instead. "What's your position on abortion??" FUCK YOU, BUSH!
And yes, I realize that the war was controversial from the start. I was too young to vote, in 2003--I was maybe 14 at the time. But I still feel responsible. If this is a democratic country, by definition the decisions are those made by the people. We ARE responsible for this war, for letting it happen, for believing our president. Personally, I think that a girl should be able to trust her president on big things like war, but believe me, I've sadly learned otherwise. If the American people had truly wanted to stop this war, they could have stopped it the way they stopped the Vietnam War--with protests, with letters to their Congressmen. Make no mistake: the majority of the country supported war in 2003. And so, we must all be held responsible for the fuckup we've made of Iraq.
But we're still going to get off relatively free, aren't we?? We'll lose a few thousand troops--that is the only real tragedy for Americans--and lose face in the UN, etc. But Iraq is quickly going downhill to civil war--hell, it's already there--and TENS of thousands will die, maybe even hundreds. They pay the real price, while we come off relatively undamaged. This is the problem with superpowers--they never have to take responsibility for the shit they do.
It's at times like these I think that the US should have universal draft or something. If we all had to go into the army--or perform community service at home and abroad, or SOMETHING--we would all bear responsibility for our country's actions. Do you think Americans would have been so eager to go to war had every single child above 18 been at risk? Hell no!! Because relatively few Americans are in the army, the war actually impacts only a few people. I think that in times of war there should be a universal draft, so everyone's child is at risk. In times of peace, instead of drafting people for the army you could send them to fix up poor parts of the country. I'm thinking of the Israeli system, I guess. Really, I've thought about this issue a lot, and I'll write about it later. But the whole point of these plans is to make the country responsible for the shit it does overseas.
And that is why I think "Children of Men" should be mandatory viewing across this country, maybe even across the world. So Americans understand exactly what they've done to Iraq--and not just to Iraq, but many other countries. Think of Africa, Asia, Latin America during the Cold War. We have fucked up so many countries...I just don't know where to start...
The worst part is, I STILL don't know what to do. Which would be worse--pulling out? raising troop levels? keeping things as they are? Should I go to Iraq, try to make a difference, somehow? But it's not like you can go to Dulles and catch a plane to Baghdad, after all! And I'm afraid, too. If people like Margaret Hassan, who was working there for TWENTY years,isn't immune, what chance do I have? Within two weeks I'd probably be kidnapped, raped, and killed. How can I make amends? How can I make amends?
And yet America still bears responsibility. After all, we were the country to go in and unseat Saddam. Do we not have the responsibility to clean up the mess we made? Yes, Sunnis and Shiites were bound to go at each others throats as soon as Saddam was gone. But undoubtedly the US administration could have slowed the deconstruction one way or another by putting competant people in office during the US official occupation (read: before the Iraqi government took over, at least in theory). Instead, we use this idiotic patronage system instead. "What's your position on abortion??" FUCK YOU, BUSH!
And yes, I realize that the war was controversial from the start. I was too young to vote, in 2003--I was maybe 14 at the time. But I still feel responsible. If this is a democratic country, by definition the decisions are those made by the people. We ARE responsible for this war, for letting it happen, for believing our president. Personally, I think that a girl should be able to trust her president on big things like war, but believe me, I've sadly learned otherwise. If the American people had truly wanted to stop this war, they could have stopped it the way they stopped the Vietnam War--with protests, with letters to their Congressmen. Make no mistake: the majority of the country supported war in 2003. And so, we must all be held responsible for the fuckup we've made of Iraq.
But we're still going to get off relatively free, aren't we?? We'll lose a few thousand troops--that is the only real tragedy for Americans--and lose face in the UN, etc. But Iraq is quickly going downhill to civil war--hell, it's already there--and TENS of thousands will die, maybe even hundreds. They pay the real price, while we come off relatively undamaged. This is the problem with superpowers--they never have to take responsibility for the shit they do.
It's at times like these I think that the US should have universal draft or something. If we all had to go into the army--or perform community service at home and abroad, or SOMETHING--we would all bear responsibility for our country's actions. Do you think Americans would have been so eager to go to war had every single child above 18 been at risk? Hell no!! Because relatively few Americans are in the army, the war actually impacts only a few people. I think that in times of war there should be a universal draft, so everyone's child is at risk. In times of peace, instead of drafting people for the army you could send them to fix up poor parts of the country. I'm thinking of the Israeli system, I guess. Really, I've thought about this issue a lot, and I'll write about it later. But the whole point of these plans is to make the country responsible for the shit it does overseas.
And that is why I think "Children of Men" should be mandatory viewing across this country, maybe even across the world. So Americans understand exactly what they've done to Iraq--and not just to Iraq, but many other countries. Think of Africa, Asia, Latin America during the Cold War. We have fucked up so many countries...I just don't know where to start...
The worst part is, I STILL don't know what to do. Which would be worse--pulling out? raising troop levels? keeping things as they are? Should I go to Iraq, try to make a difference, somehow? But it's not like you can go to Dulles and catch a plane to Baghdad, after all! And I'm afraid, too. If people like Margaret Hassan, who was working there for TWENTY years,isn't immune, what chance do I have? Within two weeks I'd probably be kidnapped, raped, and killed. How can I make amends? How can I make amends?
Children of Men, Part 1
You need to see this movie. Note that I am using the word "need." I'm not gonna go, "Oh my God, it was so much fun, I wuv it so much, you MUST see this movie." Because it's not true. "Children of Men" is difficult and painful to watch, and I would be very surprised to see an audience come out of this movie dry-faced. No, you need to see this movie. Hell, everyone in the entire United States should be tied to a chair and forced to watch this movie. Maybe we'd stop fucking things up in the world.
You're wondering, what is this movie about? It's a dystopian movie set in the future, where everyone is infertile. The movie opens with the announcement that the youngest man in the world had just died at age 18. There are no children. The world is a wreck. Britain, where the movie is set, has banned all immigration, is locking illegal immigrants up into camps, and is turning into something of a police state.
Theo, the main character, is this normal guy suddenly pulled off the streets by a militia/terrorist group headed by his ex. They want his help in acquiring papers to help this young woman, Kee, across the country. Why it's so important, well, I'll let you find out for yourself...
But don't get me wrong--this is no "Matrix," with cool rebels sticking it to The Powers That Be. It is so much more than that. I'm not sure how to explain without giving the movie away. But to try to sum it up, I think this movie is not about the future, but about the present.
Listen: When I came out of the movie theater, I was in tears, gasping for breath. The movie climaxed in a refugee camp torn apart and fought over by radical militia groups and the army, neither of which gave a damn about the innnocents around them. Watching Theo and Kee struggle through the camp was very painful to watch. The movie spared no punches. The violence is brutal and frank, not like the torture porn you see in movies like "Saw" or whatever--it seemed very real. At points the camera lens is literally spattered with blood. It was what I imagine a war zone to look like.
So I come out of the movie theater in shock. I'm kinda trembling, kinda weeping, kinda gasping. It happens when you come out of a painful movie. But then I really broke down on the way down the escalator. Literally, I was bent over, sobbing my heart out. Not over the movie. Not that I was afraid that the future would be this. No, I was weeping over Iraq, and this is why I think the movie is about the present, not the future.
Like I said, the parts in the refugee camp looked like what I imagine a war zone to be like. So I was turning this over in my mind, when it occurred to me, there are present-day war zones that must look just like this. For you see, "Children of Men" is no futuristic "Blade Runner"--to a large extent it looks like a modern-day world, so concievably it could be a picture of the present. So I'm think, wow, this shows what war looks like...and of course my mind turns to the most obvious war zone.
So this is why I broke down on the escalator: we brought this hell to Iraq. Sure, it's easy to say that, sure, it's easy to think that, but WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR IRAQ. Watching that movie was like looking in hell, and WE CONDEMNED PEOPLE TO LIVE LIKE THIS?! We so stupidly galloped in there and let everything fall to pieces! Iraq is completely fucked up now, and WE'RE THE CAUSE OF IT!!
(to be continued next post)
You're wondering, what is this movie about? It's a dystopian movie set in the future, where everyone is infertile. The movie opens with the announcement that the youngest man in the world had just died at age 18. There are no children. The world is a wreck. Britain, where the movie is set, has banned all immigration, is locking illegal immigrants up into camps, and is turning into something of a police state.
Theo, the main character, is this normal guy suddenly pulled off the streets by a militia/terrorist group headed by his ex. They want his help in acquiring papers to help this young woman, Kee, across the country. Why it's so important, well, I'll let you find out for yourself...
But don't get me wrong--this is no "Matrix," with cool rebels sticking it to The Powers That Be. It is so much more than that. I'm not sure how to explain without giving the movie away. But to try to sum it up, I think this movie is not about the future, but about the present.
Listen: When I came out of the movie theater, I was in tears, gasping for breath. The movie climaxed in a refugee camp torn apart and fought over by radical militia groups and the army, neither of which gave a damn about the innnocents around them. Watching Theo and Kee struggle through the camp was very painful to watch. The movie spared no punches. The violence is brutal and frank, not like the torture porn you see in movies like "Saw" or whatever--it seemed very real. At points the camera lens is literally spattered with blood. It was what I imagine a war zone to look like.
So I come out of the movie theater in shock. I'm kinda trembling, kinda weeping, kinda gasping. It happens when you come out of a painful movie. But then I really broke down on the way down the escalator. Literally, I was bent over, sobbing my heart out. Not over the movie. Not that I was afraid that the future would be this. No, I was weeping over Iraq, and this is why I think the movie is about the present, not the future.
Like I said, the parts in the refugee camp looked like what I imagine a war zone to be like. So I was turning this over in my mind, when it occurred to me, there are present-day war zones that must look just like this. For you see, "Children of Men" is no futuristic "Blade Runner"--to a large extent it looks like a modern-day world, so concievably it could be a picture of the present. So I'm think, wow, this shows what war looks like...and of course my mind turns to the most obvious war zone.
So this is why I broke down on the escalator: we brought this hell to Iraq. Sure, it's easy to say that, sure, it's easy to think that, but WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR IRAQ. Watching that movie was like looking in hell, and WE CONDEMNED PEOPLE TO LIVE LIKE THIS?! We so stupidly galloped in there and let everything fall to pieces! Iraq is completely fucked up now, and WE'RE THE CAUSE OF IT!!
(to be continued next post)
Crash
More specifically, car crash. That's right, I just crashed the car. Before I go into details, let me provide a bit of background:
I live in a city, with a good Metro system and bus system that extends to the surburbs around the city. So even without a car, I can still be pretty mobile to a large extent, especially if I'm willing to walk. And, well, there were two adults capable of driving in the house. Hence the reason I am only getting my liscense now, when I'm eighteen.
However, my mom has been pushing me recently to get my liscense--I got my permit at the beginning of the school year. I think she's sick of driving me around, and, well, I'm also sick of being dependent on her.
So we were driving today. It must have been past five at that point, getting a bit dark, and raining pretty hard. But this is no excuse. I could still see pretty well. We were driving home and I wanted to pull over and give the wheel over to Mom. So I tried to pull into a driveway a little too late. Things get a bit tricky to recall at this point but basically, I saw that I was getting really close to this parked car, turned the wheel frantically to avoid it--and PRESSED THE WRONG PEDAL. Result: enough momentum to drive up over a brick wall.
No, seriously. The houses on that part of the street are elevated, including the gardens, which are walled and above the ground by about three feet. The car drove up onto the wall, where it got stuck. And some of the black plastic stuff beneath was torn up and...well you get the idea. Or maybe not, it's hard to describe. I drew a rough picture on MS paint to show what it looks like, but I can't post it. Damn you Mcaffee!
So I got Dad, who predictably got very pissed with me AND with Mom, who wanted to find people to lift the car off the wall. Dad cares a lot about his car. (Driving backwards wouldn't work, since the front wheels were off the ground.) He wanted to call a pick-up truck. We told the owner of the house about the problem--fortunately, we knew her, and she wasn't angry at all. "The important thing is that no one is hurt!" She kept hugging me, so of course I hugged her back. I think she thought I was traumatized or something, but really I was just shaken.
However, even after Mom got a couple of guys to come help her, they still couldn’t lift the car off—I think it was stuck. So there it remains, at least until a tow truck comes. Overall, I guess I got off pretty light—the car wasn’t totaled or anything. It’s like some bizarre coming-of-age ritual—everyone has to crash the car at least once before they can REALLY learn to drive.
I live in a city, with a good Metro system and bus system that extends to the surburbs around the city. So even without a car, I can still be pretty mobile to a large extent, especially if I'm willing to walk. And, well, there were two adults capable of driving in the house. Hence the reason I am only getting my liscense now, when I'm eighteen.
However, my mom has been pushing me recently to get my liscense--I got my permit at the beginning of the school year. I think she's sick of driving me around, and, well, I'm also sick of being dependent on her.
So we were driving today. It must have been past five at that point, getting a bit dark, and raining pretty hard. But this is no excuse. I could still see pretty well. We were driving home and I wanted to pull over and give the wheel over to Mom. So I tried to pull into a driveway a little too late. Things get a bit tricky to recall at this point but basically, I saw that I was getting really close to this parked car, turned the wheel frantically to avoid it--and PRESSED THE WRONG PEDAL. Result: enough momentum to drive up over a brick wall.
No, seriously. The houses on that part of the street are elevated, including the gardens, which are walled and above the ground by about three feet. The car drove up onto the wall, where it got stuck. And some of the black plastic stuff beneath was torn up and...well you get the idea. Or maybe not, it's hard to describe. I drew a rough picture on MS paint to show what it looks like, but I can't post it. Damn you Mcaffee!
So I got Dad, who predictably got very pissed with me AND with Mom, who wanted to find people to lift the car off the wall. Dad cares a lot about his car. (Driving backwards wouldn't work, since the front wheels were off the ground.) He wanted to call a pick-up truck. We told the owner of the house about the problem--fortunately, we knew her, and she wasn't angry at all. "The important thing is that no one is hurt!" She kept hugging me, so of course I hugged her back. I think she thought I was traumatized or something, but really I was just shaken.
However, even after Mom got a couple of guys to come help her, they still couldn’t lift the car off—I think it was stuck. So there it remains, at least until a tow truck comes. Overall, I guess I got off pretty light—the car wasn’t totaled or anything. It’s like some bizarre coming-of-age ritual—everyone has to crash the car at least once before they can REALLY learn to drive.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Excerpts From a Conversation
"so how is
nancy's mother doing?"
"not good. the situation is
static right now.
they need a more
structured life, but
ben doesn't want to move out."
"he knows
he's lost the battle.
i think he knows that
grandma needs help--
that he needs help--
but he
doesn't want to admit it.
it's an old battle."
"i can't help but wonder
how much is habit."
(music tricksl from guitar strings
vibrating between my brother's fingers.
the dog burrows into my belly.)
"what about nancy's brothers?
when did you last see them?"
"years."
"ages."
"doesn't your uncle steve
ever come down to visit?"
"no."
"we're not close."
"i think this battle has
irrevocably damaged
their relationship--
from banging their heads
against a wall together
or against each other."
"they were never very close."
"now they're
not close at all."
"they've been fighting grandpa
a long time. remember when
we went to that
bat mitzvah in california?
uncle leonard and
uncle steve and
mom all got together
to face grandpa
and we went down
to the pacific ocean with dad.
that was
years ago."
"i was still in high school."
"yes, you were there."
(i remember how blue
and calm the ocean was.
we waded in our fancy clothes
deep into the surf.)
"wasn't nancy going to
move her mother here?"
"i don't think
that would have happened.
it's the stairs.
she's too decrepit."
"well what does betty want?"
"it's hard to say. she can't
articulate herself now."
"is she happy
where she is?"
(a flash of brown
my brother shakes his head.)
"no; she needs stimulation
she likes to sing or dance
(as wee as she can:
back and forth
like this--)
the last time i saw her
she was staring
at a blank tv screen
limp on the couch."
"ben can't see
through her eyes. he can't
empathize with her."
"we've talked about
taking her out of that house."
(but can a family
divorce their father?
--right now
the situation is static.)
"coffee? jacob, did you
make some more?"
"yes."
"i heard you this morning
at four or five..."
This poem is based on a conversation between me, my brother, my father, and my (paternal) uncle. Most of the lines are actual quotes or paraphrases of the conversation.
nancy's mother doing?"
"not good. the situation is
static right now.
they need a more
structured life, but
ben doesn't want to move out."
"he knows
he's lost the battle.
i think he knows that
grandma needs help--
that he needs help--
but he
doesn't want to admit it.
it's an old battle."
"i can't help but wonder
how much is habit."
(music tricksl from guitar strings
vibrating between my brother's fingers.
the dog burrows into my belly.)
"what about nancy's brothers?
when did you last see them?"
"years."
"ages."
"doesn't your uncle steve
ever come down to visit?"
"no."
"we're not close."
"i think this battle has
irrevocably damaged
their relationship--
from banging their heads
against a wall together
or against each other."
"they were never very close."
"now they're
not close at all."
"they've been fighting grandpa
a long time. remember when
we went to that
bat mitzvah in california?
uncle leonard and
uncle steve and
mom all got together
to face grandpa
and we went down
to the pacific ocean with dad.
that was
years ago."
"i was still in high school."
"yes, you were there."
(i remember how blue
and calm the ocean was.
we waded in our fancy clothes
deep into the surf.)
"wasn't nancy going to
move her mother here?"
"i don't think
that would have happened.
it's the stairs.
she's too decrepit."
"well what does betty want?"
"it's hard to say. she can't
articulate herself now."
"is she happy
where she is?"
(a flash of brown
my brother shakes his head.)
"no; she needs stimulation
she likes to sing or dance
(as wee as she can:
back and forth
like this--)
the last time i saw her
she was staring
at a blank tv screen
limp on the couch."
"ben can't see
through her eyes. he can't
empathize with her."
"we've talked about
taking her out of that house."
(but can a family
divorce their father?
--right now
the situation is static.)
"coffee? jacob, did you
make some more?"
"yes."
"i heard you this morning
at four or five..."
This poem is based on a conversation between me, my brother, my father, and my (paternal) uncle. Most of the lines are actual quotes or paraphrases of the conversation.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
The Joke
A white business card brandished at me:
"Do you know who this is?
Do you? Do you?"
And my mother's name in bright letters--
Something
Squeezes
Me.
A wire cord, twisted round the lungs,
My head, my arms, my knees, I feel
The blood pumping, pushing
At those knots which
Dam my veins.
Surely he jokes. You know
How he loves to tease remember
The name games he played
When you were a littlelittle girl?
Little no longer--
My sweet Cassandra
Pours truthpoison in my ear.
A revelation: "That's you! That's you!"
A marvelous joke. His laughter
Rings empty in my ears.
I am anointed the new Nancy E. Roth--
By some miracle of God
(or time, or madness, sings sweet Cassandra)
I have become my mother.
The knots
Twist
Tighter.
This is a torture more devious
Than anything the Inquisition designed.
My lips, my throat
Burn with the truth:
"Granddaughter, not daughter."
He roars at the joke
As if I were some trickster
Hiding in his daughter's shoes.
The cords pull up
The corners of my lips in fear--
I smile too often, these days--
A freezing facade of warmth.
The knots tighten, tighten
Around my heart.
"Do you know who this is?
Do you? Do you?"
And my mother's name in bright letters--
Something
Squeezes
Me.
A wire cord, twisted round the lungs,
My head, my arms, my knees, I feel
The blood pumping, pushing
At those knots which
Dam my veins.
Surely he jokes. You know
How he loves to tease remember
The name games he played
When you were a littlelittle girl?
Little no longer--
My sweet Cassandra
Pours truthpoison in my ear.
A revelation: "That's you! That's you!"
A marvelous joke. His laughter
Rings empty in my ears.
I am anointed the new Nancy E. Roth--
By some miracle of God
(or time, or madness, sings sweet Cassandra)
I have become my mother.
The knots
Twist
Tighter.
This is a torture more devious
Than anything the Inquisition designed.
My lips, my throat
Burn with the truth:
"Granddaughter, not daughter."
He roars at the joke
As if I were some trickster
Hiding in his daughter's shoes.
The cords pull up
The corners of my lips in fear--
I smile too often, these days--
A freezing facade of warmth.
The knots tighten, tighten
Around my heart.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
The little criticisms
"What shall he criticize
This time?"--her empty smile
Reading like a scar.
I smile back, resenting
That she must bring up
This bitter truth about these
Little criticisms.
Must I, too,
Look upon my grandfather
As an enemy?
I learned to live
With his petty power plays
A long time ago;
She, perhaps,
Has lived with it too long--
Things become queer
When "family" becomes "enemy."
Her anger spills over
And floods the rest of us
With her pain.
And so we find
Such conversations like this:
"What shall he criticize
This time?" This time
It will be my hair.
I don't mind so; I know
His love, his praise
Outweigh the little criticisms.
And now, as he
Rots away to nothing these
Little criticisms
Become old habits, performed mechanically
Without thought, meaning, or purpose.
I've learned to bear
The little criticisms.
This time?"--her empty smile
Reading like a scar.
I smile back, resenting
That she must bring up
This bitter truth about these
Little criticisms.
Must I, too,
Look upon my grandfather
As an enemy?
I learned to live
With his petty power plays
A long time ago;
She, perhaps,
Has lived with it too long--
Things become queer
When "family" becomes "enemy."
Her anger spills over
And floods the rest of us
With her pain.
And so we find
Such conversations like this:
"What shall he criticize
This time?" This time
It will be my hair.
I don't mind so; I know
His love, his praise
Outweigh the little criticisms.
And now, as he
Rots away to nothing these
Little criticisms
Become old habits, performed mechanically
Without thought, meaning, or purpose.
I've learned to bear
The little criticisms.
Crisis
We are like planets
Circling round a fireball, bound
By that inevitable force.
Our footsteps determined, dictated
By that giant gas explosion
Burping great flames
Into the void.
All planets--
No matter their differences--
Are shaped by the same great force.
They journey through space
So distant and yet enthralled
By the dictates of their father.
Planets are ever-loyal children.
(Unlike us humans. Clods of dirt and gas
Must always obey their father.
Not us.)
In a million years, their father
Shall explode, a rotten blister
Spewing flames into space.
The ever-loyal planets
Are burned to ash.
Do they know
That their destruction awaist
Within the heart
Of their progenitor?
How do planets feel about the sun?
Circling round a fireball, bound
By that inevitable force.
Our footsteps determined, dictated
By that giant gas explosion
Burping great flames
Into the void.
All planets--
No matter their differences--
Are shaped by the same great force.
They journey through space
So distant and yet enthralled
By the dictates of their father.
Planets are ever-loyal children.
(Unlike us humans. Clods of dirt and gas
Must always obey their father.
Not us.)
In a million years, their father
Shall explode, a rotten blister
Spewing flames into space.
The ever-loyal planets
Are burned to ash.
Do they know
That their destruction awaist
Within the heart
Of their progenitor?
How do planets feel about the sun?
Thanksgiving on I-95
1.
Highways are empty
on holiday nights. Everyone
stays home with their
Norman Rockwell families:
Picture-perfect with the
too-brown turkey, the mother
plastering a smile over her
pink cheeks. The knife glistens
in Father's hand, poised to slice.
2.
Every since he started wandering,
We forbade Grandpa to drive.
Today he actually obeyed.
So tonight our headlights
(thank god) burn away the
thick darkness that smothers old
I-95.
The car, a capsule, presses
isolated into the night,
alone, save for
the distant signals
of farr-off strangers.
3.
Right now we are all
happy, so happy
an excerpt from that
Jollyjolly Rockwell snapshot.
The windshield vibrates
with soulful old showtunes.
Did you ever notice how perfect
the car is for these
cheery family gatherings?
4.
For a moment, it seems,
we are a family again.
A veritable chorus of
Joy and Gladness.
Grandma's reedy voice
softly rising, a tuneless hum
above the thick words we
belt out against the windows.
Singing makes her happy.
She can barely hum the bars, now
but music pleases
the inner child.
(the out adult stripped away
longago.)
5.
Grandpa's voice slides heavy
against the November-cold window.
He has forgotten the words but
remembers the song: he always loved
(I learn) these old showtunes.
"Did you know I once sang in a choir?"
Like any grandpa
sharing stories with children.
6.
Our voices swell.
For a moment
the picture remains complete.
For a moment
all is forgot, all is forgiven
we are, like any other,
a Norman Rockwell family
on a Norman Rockwell night.
This is based on actual events from Thanksgiving. As an epilogue, we immediately set to arguing as soon as we got to Grandma and Grandpa's house, which says a lot about our family.
Highways are empty
on holiday nights. Everyone
stays home with their
Norman Rockwell families:
Picture-perfect with the
too-brown turkey, the mother
plastering a smile over her
pink cheeks. The knife glistens
in Father's hand, poised to slice.
2.
Every since he started wandering,
We forbade Grandpa to drive.
Today he actually obeyed.
So tonight our headlights
(thank god) burn away the
thick darkness that smothers old
I-95.
The car, a capsule, presses
isolated into the night,
alone, save for
the distant signals
of farr-off strangers.
3.
Right now we are all
happy, so happy
an excerpt from that
Jollyjolly Rockwell snapshot.
The windshield vibrates
with soulful old showtunes.
Did you ever notice how perfect
the car is for these
cheery family gatherings?
4.
For a moment, it seems,
we are a family again.
A veritable chorus of
Joy and Gladness.
Grandma's reedy voice
softly rising, a tuneless hum
above the thick words we
belt out against the windows.
Singing makes her happy.
She can barely hum the bars, now
but music pleases
the inner child.
(the out adult stripped away
longago.)
5.
Grandpa's voice slides heavy
against the November-cold window.
He has forgotten the words but
remembers the song: he always loved
(I learn) these old showtunes.
"Did you know I once sang in a choir?"
Like any grandpa
sharing stories with children.
6.
Our voices swell.
For a moment
the picture remains complete.
For a moment
all is forgot, all is forgiven
we are, like any other,
a Norman Rockwell family
on a Norman Rockwell night.
This is based on actual events from Thanksgiving. As an epilogue, we immediately set to arguing as soon as we got to Grandma and Grandpa's house, which says a lot about our family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)