Posted on 12/26/2002 6:31:42 PM PST by rintense
We want to a place where :
You don't see the air before you breathe it.
The are actual seasons.
The biggest problem in the neighborhood is the deer in your garden.
If you hear a phone ring you KNOW that it is yours.
You can have a compost pile with worrying if the neighbors are going to smell it.
If you hear a barking dog it is yours.
You can see the stars at night.
Someday, someday.
I hope your post was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, otherwise the only thing that is unsettling is YOU!
You don't have to! Remember there are Twelve days of Christmas, as the song says, and they lead up to Jan. 6th the Feast of the Epiphany! We'll keep our tree up at the least until then, and we may even keep it up later if we decide to have a Twelfth Night Party the weekend after Epiphany!
Is this a trick question, BG? I play my Anonymous 4 music all year long. It doesn't sound Christmasy, it is just GORGEOUS! This year, I just had to hear some of my Christmas music right after Halloween, but only for a day or two, then started up again right after Thanksgiving. I'm still listening to it!
We saw that a couple of nights ago. We enjoyed it very much, though I liked the book a lot better. I thought it would be too much of a chick flick, but it wasn't and Sir SuziQ liked it very much, too, I guess because it was so Southern!
I like..
(Take my word for it though, be careful around the stove.. Those glass tops are hot even when they don't look like it. Heck, I barely have any fingerprints left after a few bad encounters!)
Saddam II?
I saw him not long ago in a movie in which he played a cowboy and he was so in character all the time that I never thought about E.T.
LOL!!
Washington Post
> November 26, 2002
> Pg. 29
"My Heart On The Line"
> By Frank Schaeffer
"Before my son became a Marine, I never thought much about who was defending me. Now when I read of the war on terrorism or the coming conflict in Iraq, it cuts to my heart. When I see a picture of a member of our military who has been killed, I read his or her name very carefully. Sometimes I cry.
"In 1999, when the barrel-chested Marine recruiter showed up in dress blues and bedazzled my son John, I did not stand in the way. John was headstrong, and he seemed to understand these stern, clean men with straight backs and flawless uniforms. I did not. I live on the Volvo-driving, higher education-worshiping North Shore of Boston. I write novels for a living. I have never served in the military. It had been hard enough sending my two older children off to Georgetown and New York University. John's enlisting was unexpected, so deeply unsettling. I did not relish the prospect of answering the question "So where is John going to college?" from the parents who were itching to tell me all about how their son or daughter was going to Harvard. At the private high school John attended, no other students were going into the military.
"But aren't the Marines terribly Southern?" asked one perplexed mother while standing next to me at the brunch following graduation. "What a waste, he was such a good student," said another parent. One parent (a professor at a nearby and rather famous university) spoke up at a school meeting and suggested that the school should "carefully evaluate what went wrong."
"When John graduated from three months of boot camp on Parris Island, 3,000 parents and friends were on the parade deck stands. We parents and our Marines not only were of many races but also were representative of many economic classes. Many were poor. Some arrived crammed in the backs of pickups, others by bus. John told me that a lot of parents could not afford the trip. We in the audience were white and Native American. We were Hispanic, Arab and African American and Asian. We were former Marines wearing the scars of battle, or at least baseball caps emblazoned with battles' names. We were Southern whites from Nashville and skinheads from New Jersey, black kids from Cleveland wearing ghetto rags and white ex-cons with ham-hock forearms defaced by jailhouse tattoos. We would not have been mistaken for the educated and well-heeled parents gathered on the lawns of John's private school a half-year before.
"After graduation one new Marine told John, "Before I was a Marine, if I had ever seen you on my block I would've probably killed you just because you were standing there." This was a serious statement from one of John's good friends, an African American ex-gang member from Detroit who, as John said, "would die for me now, just like I'd die for him."
"My son has connected me to my country in a way that I was too selfish and insular to experience before. I feel closer to the waitress at our local diner than to some of my oldest friends. She has two sons in the Corps. They are facing the same dangers as my boy. When the guy who fixes my car asks me how John is doing, I know he means it. His younger brother is in the Navy.
"Why were I and the other parents at my son's private school so surprised by his choice? During World War II, the sons and daughters of the most powerful and educated families did their bit. If the immorality of the Vietnam War was the only reason those lucky enough to go to college dodged the draft, why did we not encourage our children to volunteer for military service once that war was done? Have we wealthy and educated Americans all become pacifists? Is the world a safe place? Or have we just gotten used to having somebody else defend us?
"What is the future of our democracy when the sons and daughters of the janitors at our elite universities are far more likely to be put in harm's way than are any of the students whose dorms their parents clean? I feel shame because it took my son's joining the Marine Corps to make me take notice of who is defending me!!!
"I feel hope because perhaps my son is part of a future "greatest generation." As the storm clouds of war gather, at least I know that I can look the men and women in uniform in the eye. My son is one of them. He is the best I have to offer. He is my heart."
Frank Schaeffer is a writer. His latest book, co-written with his son, Marine Cpl. John Schaeffer, is "Keeping Faith: A Father-Son Story About Love and the United States Marine Corps."
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