The article was called “Cover Story.”

It was about non-Muslim head-covering for religious reasons. The Twin Tiers is Mennonite country, and we see it all the time. Generally, both men and women cover their heads.

I can remember the early days after the Vatican Councils. We had a die-hard pastor who couldn't let go. He sermonized on the "fine, old tradition of women covering their heads." He had tears in his eyes, begging us.

Was he mourning the loss of formal Sunday clothes? If so, he was right; it probably was the first death knell of the Sunday parade of fashion.

Was he mourning the loss of women's secondary status? He seemed the epitome of the Pauline cleric, so I would guess this was his grief. We resented it. He would stop a bare-headed lady on her way out after service, and publicly chastise her.

So this trend toward ladies once again covering their heads makes my lip curl.

There are ladies who come to services with what is obviously a chapel veil. If they are being old-fashioned for the sake of being old-fashioned, I don’t get it. Was it a wonderful thing to be subservient?

Some are probably using their veils as a sort of habit. That I can understand. It falls in the same category as the Mennonite, Amish, and any religion that insists both sexes cover their heads.

But: Roman Catholics were given to understand that women no longer wear head coverings because we are all children--and heirs--of our God. For a person to decide to cover his or her head on religious grounds is fine with me, as long as it is an outward sign of something other than sex-based subservience.

I personally wear hats year-round, and could easily expand my wardrobe to include fancy hats for church. But like men, I tend to remove them inside. The showier ones would obstruct the view of the people behind me. It would not surprise me to learn that (going back in time) that’s the reason men are required to remove them, also.

But ladies didn’t. And that’s the point. Ladies were required to cover their heads in church. After all, we ate the apple that caused all the trouble, and somebody had to pay for that. How convenient that the stronger sex decided to impose it on the weaker! Interesting that the weaker sex is beginning to wear the imposed symbol again.

What could have caused these ladies to take a giant step backwards into the dark ages?

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Little Pond

Got Heels?

When I blogged my shopping trip last month, I deliberately avoided mentioning the shoes and purse. Why open that can of worms?

Here's why: Got Myelin's foray into the world of shoe-shopping is very similar to my earlier trip in the late spring. Back then, I came home with two pairs of high heels. (Two inches high!) And this time around I purchased a pair of metallic-champagne Nine West two inchers.

How? How do I tromp around on high heels, do you ask? Okay, medium high heels.

Well, I don't, not really. Not much anyway. Not without support, ever. That's a lot of nots.

When I am dressed to the nines, I am usually with Husband RJ, or with my daughters. When there's trouble, and I would be lying to pretend there never is, I can holler for help. By the way, I am not shy about grabbing handrails and other woodwork, either.

Same as everyone else, including people without MS. I also dress for church in heels. After all, my outfits look better with the proper heels. But in church there are pews. At the end of the pews are raised knobs. Just the right height for grabbing, and I did not learn this from experience. I learned by watching how the seniors navigate.

Do I look like a senior? Okay, no spring chickie, but not much older than my age. Nothing wrong with looking my age. How old, you ask? None of your darned business, Sonny or Missy. It's not polite to ask. Let's just say I earned those gray hairs.

So, take that, Got Myelin? ! Buy the darned things and curtail your activity. Or not.

And by the way, there are Capezios that make a great shoe for dancing, and they come in all heights, designed to be orthopedically sound. Something to purchase just once and keep forever at hand for dancing. And really great deals on mark-downs. Dancers are notorious for wrecking their feet, and wear very comfortable shoes whenever they can, switching to the painful ones only when necessary.

Seriously, professional dancers taught me to buy the most comfortable I can find, not be afraid to trim wherever they hurt, and keep them forever at hand. (And find a leatherworker who dyes shoes!) I keep shoes handy that don't hurt, even when I'm dressed to the Nine Wests. You should envisions them in metallic champagne color.

And Macy's is where I got them. Bring your husband and make him help you get around. Most guys are happy to see their ladies in heels.

And happy to navigate for them while arm-in-arm.

Because I've been busy with the wedding, I put this in Little Pond. But a more technical follow-up is to be found at the MS Companion.

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Little Pond

Mideast Politics, Men and Women

It is gratifying to see verification (Courtesy of my Everloving Blogmother, Sissy) of the success of our efforts to fight terrorism by going to battle in the Mideast.

Not only do we owe it to our allies in Israel, but we are securing a portion of our own relative peace by fighting the terrorists in their homelands. If we were not fighting them there, we would need to fight them all the more, here in the US.

And the fact that they shake their fists and scream how the hate us? So what else is new? Mideastern hyperbole has been a daily diet on the news since the early 1980's. Look closely at the next thunderous "Kill the American Satan!", fist-shaking, flag-burning broadcast. Notice anything about the sex of the participants?

Lock several dozen Israeli, Muslim, and American women in room together, and within two days they would be serving one another meals and exchanging recipes. Their male religious leaders collect men together for those demonstrations. They tell them what to holler and give them the props for their little show. And the MSM dutifully record the whole thing and want us to believe it is spontaneous. Talk about dhimmitude? Spell it "American Networks."

Mideastern women are too busy keeping the family alive, clothed and fed to waste time with silly public performance-art directed by men who won't allow them even to enter their own house of worship on "those" days of the month.

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Little Pond

Blogger Troubles?

Anyone else having problems publishing?

If this has posted, it must be a miracle by the Internet Goddess. Earlier I posted a new chapter to my FanFic blog, and it still isn't showing.

The Help bulletin boards seem to agree on only one thing; Blogger is no help and frustration is rampant.

What Hey, Fellows?

Never mind. I'm a dumbass. I won't allow archiving, and I didn't allow enough posts on the main page. All Better.

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Little Pond

Cover your mouth!!!!

Run for cover!!! It's flu season, big time! Criminal Grace has the poop.

Chicken Soup for the Friday Fiver's Soul

1. I can count on one pretty good cold each year, but my lousy immune system sets me up for many little bouts. I'm in one right now. The walking wounded, I am...

2. Obviously, with Multiple Sclerosis, the flu is just dangerous. So cover your mouth and wash your hands.

3. Immunization is paramount. Flu can kill.

4. Preparing soups and hot drinks are the best pro-activity. I also buy OTC remedies targeted specifically to the symptoms and lots of them. Suffering in silence is not my forte.

5. Sick days are for emergencies only. If I can work with Multiple Sclerosis, all those young folks who take tons of sick time are malingerers. Just kidding, but honestly, my boss really thinks that way. He knows that a sick day for me means business. No questions asked. Same for him. In fact, if we've been out sick, we look it when we come back. Gotta laugh when a newbie crabs about feeling lousy on Thursday after Thursday after Thursday.

So wash you hands, cover your mouth, and avoid face to face conversation. Avoid those "glazed donut" faced kids at all costs. And keep two ten-foot poles handy for those drama queen/king cougher-sneezers.

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Little Pond

Performance Art

The little city of Elmira, New York has a rather large, visible gay community. Despite being a very conservative area, the city is largely gay-friendly for those who want to be homeowners and wage-earners. It was startling at first, but one gets used to it quickly, especially when the nice fellows next door are also good neighbors, and your coworker and her girlfriend are sweet and lots of fun. I should mention that gays here behave themselves in public, same as everyone else.

Last night I enjoyed a gay revue here in town with some coworkers. All procedes benefited local HIV education. By the way, I can't tell you how relieving it is not to lose friends and acquaintances to AIDS. The late 80's and 90's were wrenching times, when coworkers and around-town acquaintances would sort of just disappear forever. We must be doing something right.

I'm a fan of our local Drag Kings, but not so much of the Queens. Don't ask me; it's complicated. The music was way too loud for the size of the place: it messed with my hearing, so I kept zoning out, and itched to leave.

I greatly prefer a real performance, and the lip-synching leaves me dissatisfied. I'd rather hear the person sing it than sync it. I'm trying to understand why it's synched and not sung. Is there a history to this?

This is not to say that the performers weren't entertaining. They were well over the top, and some were amazing ringers. When they spoke to us, a few had very pleasant voices. Elucidate, someone?

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Little Pond

Littermates

We have several photos of VeggieGirl, asleep with one or the other of our varying managerie. Accumulated over the years, the message is plain.

The kid feels kinship with critters. She loves animals.

Today we were supposed to visit a store pretty much dedicated to 1) Halloween 2) Thanksgiving 3) Christmas and, believe it or not, 4) Easter. In that order. Something like a progressive bazaar. It is an auction house, flea market and general store. The VeggieGirl and I love the place.

A strange thing happens to those who publish a daily. By the end of each week, the disorientation in time becomes overwhelming. Much of our work is aimed to the future; it's called "Advance Work."

Advance Work let me know that the holiday wonderland known as "Sheddens" (in Gillette, Pennsylvania, just below the New York border) would open over the weekend. We made plans for our first visit of the year today. The Girl was asleep upstairs, and I cleaned house in preparation for a busy shopping morning.

Then the call came: Husband RJ goes to Sheddens also, to buy cigarettes in Pennsylvania, where they are appreciably cheaper. He called to tell me that the Holiday store portion would not open until next weekend.

No matter, I thought. I finished cleaning the kitchen and got myself together for a walk. Leash, check. Collar, check. Greenies, check. Phone, check. Maybe we'll go to the Chemung River before the rains make it dangerous.

Then I looked for the HuggaMutt. She should be waiting for me each day around 9 or 10 AM. Had she returned to Da Glow with MammaDog?

Nope. A quick look upstairs showed VeggieGirl, the cat DeeDee, and Ellie, all sharing the same bed. All snuggled together in a litter-like clump.

Didn't have the heart to break them up. Thank goodness there was no need.

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Little Pond

My Life in Music

Do you dream in music? I do. Yesterday I woke to a fully orchestrated "Roseanna" playing in my dream. With all the lyrics and the complete arrangement. Happens all the time to me. Even when I can't really recall all the words in the waking world. I don't even play an instrument.

That was the omen. I'd been tagged by my BlogNephew for 7 songs I'm into right now.

I'm old. At 52, I have a lifetime of music rolling around in my head. I'm one of those crazy people who sing along with the radio, except the one in my car doesn't work. So other drivers see me "talking to myself" while driving. Okay. Maybe I do talk to myself, but it's much more likely that I'm singing to myself.

I tried to put together seven songs that are among those I've been humming or singing lately. Because a younger person may be interested, I've included links to the lyrics (and some sound links) to the mouldy oldies.

Herewith, in no particular order:

1-You Sang to Me It's just so wistful and worshipful.
2-At Seventeen It really burns my butt when oldsters call the teenage years the "best years of our lives." They were agony!
3-Somewhere from West Side Story. Always makes me cry. Sometimes things just don't work out. Love definitely doesn't conquer all.
4-Tonight from West Side Story. Husband RJ and I used a lot of WSS soundtrack at our wedding.
5-Fourth of July at Asbury Park, also called Sandy. Evokes summer nights at Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. I was young, and it was evident that a bikini made me stand out in a crowd. Quite a message for a girl with brothers who made me feel ugly most of the time.
6-You Don't Bring Me Flowers. Did I mention that love doesn't conquer all?
7-Touch Me in the Morning. It doesn't even conquer some. Hell, love sucks.

That's it. A bunch of oldies, although I am pleased to note that a few have new life with recent covers by the latest artists. I should mention that I won't pass along tags and memes anymore. They are still fun and I don't mind answering them.

Speaking of taggers, my Baby Blogsister's hosting a roof-raising! You should stop by and see the progress on Pearlie's house!

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Little Pond

Tagged by my Blog Nephew

Been tagged by My Baby BlogSister's kid. Seven songs I'm into now? I don't listen to music much, what with the hearing problem. But I remember. More Later, when I find the links. Should I 'fess up and list all the music from my video games that play constantly in my head?

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Little Pond

Be ye with us??

Avast, ye scurvy bilgerats! Strike the colors and hoist the Jolly Roger.

Today all landlubbers get to talk like a pirate.

Grab some eyeliner, braid your beard, and gold-cap a couple of teeth to celebrate!

We can barely fit the galleon in Little Pond. Aaaarrrr!

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High Seas

Did You Mark My Words?

So now the religious psychotics are demanding the head of Pope Benedict. What's next? The destruction of Vatican City???? Please don't back down, Papa Ratzi!!!

Not only do we "belong" in Iraq, but we should have gone there decades ago.

Not only should we support Israel, but we should be there, shoulder to shoulder with their Army.

Not only should we be in Iraq and Israel, but we had better look to the other fronts. We will be there eventually.

This is not Viet Nam. It's worse. This is not like fighting Communism. It's worse.

In Viet Nam, we were fighting a land war. Now we are fighting religious psychotics for nothing less than the planet. The Communists wanted, and won, land in Southeast Asia. The religious psychotics want nothing less than our total annihilation.

Dominoes falling? It's worse.

Try Twin Towers falling. Others will, too.

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Little Pond
(For the record: Little Pond is totally polarized on the war on terror. )

No More Shopping

Finally finished collecting my mother-of-the-bride outfit. Or getup. Or whatever.

Not a dress. My Mum called to tell me she was wearing a suit. I assumed she meant pantsuit, and I thought that sounded like a great idea. Now she's talking skirt, but we'll see. I'm sticking with pantsuit. RJ's wearing navy pinstripe, with a bright, fallish tie, and maybe a pocket square.

Dark green pantsuit with bright, satin camisole, metallic champagne shoes and purse. Done. Sick of the whole subject. Trying on clothes didn't do a thing for my temperament. Size 10 top; 14 pants, purchased separately. Ghetto booty had better still be in style.

Went to the opening at Macy's. Got caught in the crowd and began to panic. I whimpered that I thought it was supposed to start earlier, at 9:30, and several others agreed that that was the original time. After a damned marching band blew out my nerves, I decided I'd had enough. I pushed my way out of the crush and wandered to the tapering end of the crowd. Found a bunch of friends from work and joined them.

When we got to the door, things were still too crowded, so I bolted again. Went to Burlington Coat Factory and found four very nice silk ties for RJ for under $30. I mentally noted two tops for me and returned to Macy's. The greeter handed me a gift card for $10, which I took as a good sign.

In Macy's the Juniors section was pretty empty. Some white satin caught my eye: a lovely camisole, all shiny and simple. With the gift card, it was less than $30. A little steep for most kids, so the selection was good. If money were no object, I would have bought one in each color; deep cyan, ruby red, cream and white. Sadly, money is definitely an object. I took the cream one.

No more shopping. At least until I start the Christmas list.

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Little Pond

It still hasn't stopped hurting. Nothing has remained the same.

The fall of the two towers and the deaths of so many Americans is first in everyone's thoughts today. I mourn all that we lost five years ago.

Husband RJ called to say, "You'd better turn on the TV." I don't remember the rest of the conversation. A crystal-clear morning backdropped the burning horror ruining the overhead view of Manhattan. The same view I loved when flying in and out of JFK or LaGuardia.

The phone rang again. A coworker called to tell me our beloved supervisor, Carolyn Myles, had died the night before of asthma.

Then the first tower went down. I said, "Oh, no!" over and over, as thousands of people died in the falling floors. I went to the paper. Things were already busy, and there were grief counselors padding softly up to one person, then another. I waved them away. Carolyn would have done just that, so I did.

My coworker, Lisa, was saying that her upcoming wedding would be postponed. I turned to her and said (perhaps a little too angrily) "Then whoever did this will have won! Don't cancel the date! We need your wedding to help us carry on!"

It took me three days to locate my college buddy Elinor, a lawyer working on the edge of the financial district. She'd been out sick, and was okay. I could stop worrying.

Heaven keep the 9/11 dead; Carolyn, we still miss you every day; Lisa, thank you for your wedding, with its moment of silent prayer for the dead. We did carry on.

I wasn't going to blog at all about 9/11, because it hurts too much. But it hurts too much not to blog it. It just plain hurts.

God Bless America!

Is this weird?

Or have I simply not noticed?

When cooking in the Little Pond, it is necessary to make a vegetarian version of just about everything. So all my recipes start without meat. I know this is backwards from the norm, but, it's what I do.

Husband RJ's garden is overproducing. We have sweet frying peppers and tomatoes up the yinyang. So chili was the order of the weekend. A huge pot, vegetarian. Starting with pesto, since VeggieGirl loves garlic and basil. She ate it Sunday night.

This morning I portioned out a potful just for her. Then I browned crumbled hamburg separately for the remainder. Fresh new hamburg, 97% lean. Nearly threw up into the skillet. I briefly left the kitchen and returned to throw it away. Everything smelled normal. Delightful even. The way ground sirloin should smell.

What was that all about? Is that how it smells to vegetarians? And no, I am not pregnant! Praise God.

Any ideas? Anyone?

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Little Pond

Late post on this one, but hey, we've got a long weekend.

Five on Friday: In Labor:

1. Labor Day weekend traditionally marks the end of summer. What will you miss most about summer? --Actually the summer stifles me. Multiple Sclerosis worsens in the heat, and I can count on an exacerbation each summer. This year was no exception.

2. What are you most looking forward to this fall? --I am hoping to branch out, looking for a simpler, lower-powered job. Perhaps the loss of cheap, summer labor will open an opportunity for me.

3. What are your plans for Labor Day weekend? --This Labor Day weekend, I will indulge in some alcohol. More than one drink at a time. Being a cheap drunk makes this easy and simple. A couple of beers, and a lovely nap await me Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. The only thing remotely related to Labor Day will be a tribute to St. Joseph the Laborer during Mass. I mention this because he is my patron saint, appropriate for a woman who's been working all her life.

4. Labor Unions were the driving force behind the creation of Labor Day. How else have they impacted your life? --"Pretty much a blue collar childhood" describes growing up on in Auburn, Massachusetts, a bedroom community of industrial Worcester, next door. We knew all about unions, and hoped to join them as adults. I was briefly a member of two teacher's unions as a young woman. Unions have long been removed from the paper where I work.

5. Natural labor or fully medicated labor? --Both. With each of my babies, I bravely began without drugs. The first delivery took less than three hours without them, badly tearing me; the doctor gave me a shot of morphine for the repairs. I took some mild something or other for the second birth; she arrived in 45 minutes.

Did I ever mention that I can't stand to be kept waiting?

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Little Pond