And now for something completely different....

The election is over, thank goodness, and now we can go back to real life. The real life of cleaning, cooking, walking the dog, getting ready for Christmas.....

Oops! Did I mention it's time to get ready for Christmas? Yep. I'm not a last-minute kind of gal when it comes to Christmas. Can't be, with a family that is the size of ours! Plus, I really enjoy the Christmas season. Not the commercial stuff, but the real meaning of it (i.e. We are loved so much by God that He was born into this messy world of ours!) And I love the memories, the tree, the food, the family gatherings, going to church on Christmas Eve, having some time off that week to play, listening to the music (it's already playing on my MP3 player!), the food (oh, did I already say that?).

This year I'm intending to make fudge. I don't do it every year because I often run out of time. But this year it's on my list, and now that I have a proper kitchen to play in, I think it will get done. Plus it's one of the few sweet treats I make that Tim can eat without getting sick.

My mother made fudge EVERY year at Christmas. Tied up with a pretty ribbon, it made (and still makes) a good gift for neighbors and friends, for one thing. My brother and I absolutely loved it and would cram down as much as we could get our hands on! I have vivid memories of Mom reminding us (rather forcibly) to refrain from eating the entire contents of the crystal candy dish within minutes of her setting it out. Vain hope! I'm pretty sure we got in trouble quite a bit over that.

Mom's recipe called for cooking the mixture and using marshmallow fluff -- a really messy experience. My recipe uses melted chocolate, but doesn't require cooking and doesn't include marshmallow in any form -- and I prefer the taste and texture of this recipe. (Plus, you can add a drop or two of peppermint flavoring to the batch and get 'chocolate-mint' fudge in a jiffy!).

Here's my basic recipe:

1 14-oz. can of sweetened, condensed milk
1 12-oz. pkg. of semi-sweet chocolate bits (or milk chocolate bits, if you prefer)
1.5 (yes, that's "1 and 1/2") squares of bitter baking chocolate

Melt all the chocolate together. Add the condensed milk. Beat until smooth (this is the step where you'd add a drop or two of flavoring, if you wish). If you want to add 1/2 c. chopped nuts, stir them in after you've beaten the fudge.

Pour into a buttered 9" square pan. Cool completely and cut into small squares.

Get out there and vote!

One of the wonderful things about our country is that we, the people, have a voice. We can vote. So, today, please let your voice be heard!

I'm heading to the polls very soon. So should you!

Humbled

So, while I've been whining about life, everything from uncivil discourse to my mother's health, what I didn't know is that old friends (with whom I have been out of touch) have been coping with their toddler's cancer. And that cancer, after a 15-month ordeal of often torturous treatment, has returned and now threatens their child's life.

No complaint that I have in my life could ever equal the pain and terror of this situation. It is every parent's nightmare.

Please pray for Ben and for his parents, Carin and Jeff. He's three. It's neuroblastoma. His parents are beyond worn out and need every ounce of strength and courage that they can get.

If you want to read their odyssey, you can find it here. Click on the Journal link to see all the posts.

UPDATE this afternoon: the new tumors in Ben's brain are growing so rapidly (i.e. overnight) that the doctors have determined further treatment to be futile. Ben was sent home this afternoon with his parents. Their only focus now is to treasure every moment that they have left with their first-born son.

Thankful

There is nothing like the prayers and good wishes of family and friends to warm you up when you’re feeling cold and vulnerable. I’m truly grateful to everyone who responded to my moment of fragility (is that a word?) the other day. You have given me an immeasurable gift.

Time out

My mother’s cancer has returned. It’s still too early in the process to know what the final prognosis will be, but my heart is once again in my throat.

I don’t fear for her ultimate destination; I know that when she dies she will go home to be with the Lord. But I fear for her suffering at the end. And I fear missing her so much that it will be like a piece of me has died.

I know that my generation has reached the age when our parents pass on. I know that death is part of life. I know that God is good and that He has a plan – for Mom, for me, for the next generation. But knowing all of that doesn’t seem to help right now. Tonight I’m just a sad and scared little girl who wants her mom to be well. Even when you’re a 50 year-old adult, even when you've reached the point where you find you give more advice to your parents than you get from them, even when your own kids are adults – even then, you still need your Mom.

Prayers much appreciated……

Travels to NJ, Part II

Just some ramblings:

I’m about 1/3 of the way through my trip. Today I was supposed to have visited my mother, but the weather was completely, totally, and unequivocally uncooperative. Snow, slush and high winds do not make for a safe scene on Interstate 80 through the Poconos -- so there will be no ‘over the river and through the woods’ to momma’s house this Fall. Bummer.

Had lunch instead with an old and very dear friend – a real treat since we seldom have the opportunity to get together. Our friendship began when we were raising our kids, and the bond between us remains deep and strong, even all these years down the road and across all the miles that now separate us. After today's lunch she sent me a text message saying that she misses US. Me, too, Trace.

Halloween will mark the end of this week, and “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” was on TV tonight, for what has to be the 40th or so time. Produced in the mid-1960s (I haven’t researched the exact date), this 30-minute Peanuts cartoon is a classic piece of nostalgia – from a time when Halloween really was just innocent fun and no one projected any dark, spiritual implications onto the bed-sheet ghost costume of a five-year old eager for candy.

We grew up on a farm, so were not able to walk through a neighborhood to go trick-or-treating. My parents took us in the car to the homes of their friends, instead. We must have driven our folks nuts, bouncing all over the back seat in our excitement (this was before seat belts, so we were very much “at large” in that enormous back seat). My very first Halloween costume was a pair of overalls, a short-sleeve shirt, a half-mask, and a straw hat – I was a four-year old farmer (I still have the photograph somewhere to prove it, too).

One year I was recovering from the chicken pox or German measles and had to stay at home. Dad took my brother out in the car and, since we trick-or-treated only at the home of friends, Ed took along my bag and asked for an extra piece of candy. So I still got my bowl of candy, but none of the fun, that’s for sure. Ed, if I recall correctly, wasn’t too terribly gracious about having to do this for me. Hmmmm… I’ll be seeing him this week and I think he may owe his sweet little sister an apology.

(to be continued)

Travels to NJ, Part I

Well, on Day 1 of this trip I am feeling somewhat better than I did on Day 0, thank goodness. Day 0 was pretty awful – stomachache, headache, exhaustion, etc. Coupled with flying (which is what one does on Day 0), this was not a good scene. I arrived at my hotel at a quarter to midnight (a.k.a. a ‘quarter to dead’).

Day 1 saw the return of the stomachache, although not as bad. No headache, thankfully. The exhaustion can be chalked up to jet lag now, I think. So I have high hopes for a good night’s sleep.

I’m driving a mini-van on this trip -- a whole mini-van for just li’l ole me. I’ve noticed that, with the gas crisis, the rental car companies seems to be running out of their inventory of smaller cars much sooner. So, even though I’d reserved a compact car, I was issued a “free upgrade” to a mini-van – because that’s the only class of cars they had left, quite frankly. I think that officially makes me a soccer-mom, even though I don’t have a soccer team to haul around.

Next door to the hotel is a small, exclusive mall with expensive stores like Anthropologie and Restoration Hardware. It also has a superior Barnes and Noble, and that is my mission for this evening – I want a book and I want to browse the bookstore for a long time.

On the way through the mall I am accosted by a young man from one of the kiosks. Brandishing a tray, he asks if I want to ‘have a taste.’ I do not. I’ve had a full day of work and I’m grouchy. I’m not interested in interacting with people one-on-one, tasting anything or, worse yet, listening to a sales pitch about whatever is the taste du jour. I vaguely and politely murmur, “no thank you,” and purposefully keep moving.

At the B&N, I skimmed through the companion book to the upcoming Twilight movie (what IS the attraction of that series?). I read parts of two small monographs about haunted places in New Jersey (we are, after all, just a few days from Halloween). I wandered around the book tables to my heart's content, gazing at the contents and looking for something that might pique my interest.

One thing that secured my notice was the plethora of Jane Austen ‘sequels’ now available. Good heavens! – a whole lot of people are tapping into the Austen-mania market and trying to write plausible sequels to Austen’s real works. Now, as much as any other Austen lover, I always feel let down when I get to the end of her last completed novel. She was such a great writer and her life and career were much too short! I always, always wish for more. And I will admit to being amused and entertained by the Austen mystery series written by Stephanie Barron – Barron writes well and constructs a good story with Jane Austen as the protagonist. She uses many historical details from Austen’s life in order to give authenticity to her tales, and she has found a good echo of Austen’s literary style.

But the rest of these pretend sequels are just too much. They all seem to be just this side of pulp romance novels, which Austen’s works were most decidedly not (however much Hollywood would like us to believe that they were).

In the end I pick up an Agatha Christie mystery that I haven’t read yet. And that’s okay. That’s the beauty of a protracted browse through a bookstore. I had hoped to find something new, but I also was quite sure there would be another Hercules Poirot saga that I could just as happily sit down with.

(to be continued)

Loving the Sinner, Hating the Sin

As I said a few days ago in this blog, I have been musing a lot lately about intercessory prayer -- which has inevitably led to some musing about loving the sinner and hating the sin. It's so very easy to let our anger about sinful behavior spill over toward the person, instead of stopping just at the action.

Jesus calls us to love. The Bible calls us to love (see 1 John 4:7-8).

Hate the sin and love the sinner. But we don't. We accuse, we label, we call people names (like we're still on the grade school playground), we condemn them to hell, we threaten them with bodily harm -- all in the name of Christ!? It's sick. And completely un-Christlike.

People engage in sin -- every last one of us does it -- but people are still God's creation. To diss on them personally is to diss on God. (And I mean all people are God's creation - not just believers.)

There's a line -- and it's not all that hard to see, actually -- between hating the sin and hating the sinner. Think about the words and descriptions that you use when you talk about others. It's perfectly possible to come out against sin and still love the sinner (and sound like you do!).

Another interesting John Fischer article can be found at: http://www.breakpoint.org/listingarticle.asp?ID=1412

Sorry if I sound a bit snarky today. I'm fed up with the uncivil discourse that passes for discussion in this culture. We have become a hateful people. And we demean ourselves every time we demean someone else on a personal level. Go ahead and decry the sin -- but remember that the sinner is still loved by God.

According to whom?

I loved John Fischer's "Catch of the Day" entry for today. For reasons of copyright, I can't reproduce it here, but you can find it by clicking on this link: http://www.fischtank.com/ft/inthetank.cfm Here's a little taste: "We get into a lot of trouble when we use our culture's definition of fulfillment and apply it to our understanding of God's purpose for our lives."

It goes along with something that I once read by Anne Graham Lotz: "Are you interpreting His love by your circumstances instead of interpreting your circumstances by His love?”

Tim and I were talking last night about how the Christian culture has done a disservice to believers when it promotes the "gospel of prosperity" or the notion that God yearns to bless us with all our heart's desires. God is not a Fairy Godmother. He has a purpose for each of our lives that is perfect, but it doesn't always look like the things our selfish hearts want. We need to look beyond our own whims and remember to seek first His kingdom -- because what the Lord wants for us is much, much better than anything we could imagine.

Traveling to Omaha, Part II

Arrived in Omaha safely and made my way to the rental cars to pick up my reservation. The girl behind the counter said “I’ve got a Kia Rio for you. Whaddya think?” Unfortunately, I’d no idea WHAT to think about a Kia Rio, not having consciously seen one before, so I merely muttered that it would be fine. She handed me the key and said “Space H-51. Straight-back-on-your-right.” I wheeled around and noted the H row ….and that it started with space… #.... 1. Yep. Had to truck my luggage down past 50 spaces to get to my car. The good thing is that the car was parked so far out in the lot that it was next to the exit.

After a long day of sessions today, we were treated to a reception of finger foods. Not bad for a Holiday Inn, I thought. The foods were pretty tasty and were decoratively presented. And each offering sported a small tent card in front of it, identifying the contents of the chafing dish, which was quite helpful. Bacon-wrapped scallops, teriyaki chicken satays, cocktail shrimp, spring rolls with sweat chili sauce…. Wait! sweat? Yes, indeed. That’s what it said. Not “sweet chili sauce,” which I’m pretty sure is what they meant, but “sweat chili sauce.”

Someone on the banquet staff wasn’t paying attention.

I didn’t try it.

Tomorrow’s our last day of sessions and then I get to go home. Amen to that.

Traveling to Omaha, Part I

I’m sitting in the Idaho Falls airport, waiting for the first leg of my trip to Omaha. Yes, Omaha. I’ve never been there and, given the agenda of the conference I’m attending, I doubt I’ll have much chance to see anything except the airport and the Holiday Inn. But, to Omaha I am going.

The first leg is Idaho Falls to Salt Lake City International Airport (SLC). The Idaho Falls Regional Airpot (IDA) is a two-gate facility, with probably only one gate in use at any given moment. The security line opens 45 minutes before the flight and then shuts down again until the next flight.

I’m an old hand at airport security lines now. Remove the laptop and the cell phone, take off the shoes, the belt, the jacket or sweater or sweatshirt, etc. As Dave Barry once noted, it’s like some weird adult pajama party with people dressing and undressing at either end of the line.

I duly removed the all important plastic baggie of liquids and aerosols from my luggage and placed in the bin on top of my jacket. Gone are the days when they would mistake my asthma inhaler for some kind of weapon buried in my purse. Now it's all out in the open for easy identification.

Just as I walked through the security portal, however, I remembered that I’d left my 2.3 oz. bottle of moisturizer in my makeup bag – which was nestled inside the carry-on luggage that was currently making its way through the screener’s xray machine. Oh, shoot. But either they missed it or they recognized what it was and let it go, because no further searches were ordered and I didn’t have to explain or, worse yet, lose my little bottle of rather expensive moisturizer. I'm very grateful. Note to self: put the darn moisturizer in the baggie unless you want to risk your $20 purchase!

On this Sunday afternoon there is a football game thoughtfully provided on the TV screen in the gate (Gate 1). I opted instead to call my mother.

Mom is fine.

From the terminal you can see the planes as they land, and so far, the incoming flight hasn’t landed. So we don’t have a plane to get on at the moment even though it is only 20 minutes until flight time. I fervently hope it arrives soon because I have only 30 minutes in Salt Lake for my connection to the Omaha flight. Granted, the flights will arrive and depart from the same terminal in SLC, but, still, it’s a bit nerve wracking to run that close.

I will need time in SLC Int'l in order to hunt down some food for the next leg of my trip because, as usual, there will be no food service available on the flight – just snacks and beverages. Sad that you can fly most of the day and never be served anything close to a meal – or even have enough time to actually find food when you’re in between connections. A person could starve to death in this country just trying to get from Point A to Point C.

(to be continued)

Hometown, homegrown, Homecoming Parade

I got a little sidetracked today. My 'to do' list, in fact, went out the door when one of my daughters called to remind me that today is ISU's Homecoming (ISU is our local Idaho State University).

I immediately shifted gears for the day.

The big deal, of course, is that our three-year old granddaughter was to be in the Parade, on the float for her tumbling school. I got lots of pictures, but that's the one I missed. She was seated on the side of the float opposite to where we were standing (something we would have had no way of knowing ahead of time, unfortunately).

But today was a gorgeous, Fall day and the Parade is always fun. Below are some pics.




The color guard, followed by the ISU Marching Band, opened the Parade.




This is the Bengal's mascot, Benny.




Our niece, Jordi, is on the Highland High School cheerleading squad.


Now that the parade is over, I'm back on track for the day, although we will move dinner ahead so that we can attend tonight's Homecoming Game (kick-off at 6:35 p.m. MDT).

Fall is a special time -- football, parades, warm sun, potato soup in the crockpot and Rosemary Chicken in the oven.

See ya!

Thinking Deeply

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, in the mountains of Idaho:

It’s October. Leaves are turning colors and the green plants of summer are dying. The familiar smell and feel of Fall is most definitely in the air. Today it’s raining, with that delightfully musty fragrance of wet leaves everywhere. We have so few ‘rainy days’ in the Intermountain West that I am relishing every sodden moment of it.

We’re camping this weekend – the last time that we can before we winterize the RV and put it away until next Summer. But this weekend isn’t actually about the camping experience so much as it is about just getting away from everyday life for a couple of days. We needed some time. Time to dream, time to chill, time to be together with no external pressures and no expectations of a schedule. Time to write. Time to talk. Time to play video games (well, we do have our 12-year old son with us!).

Time to “think deeply of simple things” (nod to the late mathematician, Arnold Ross). That’s a luxury in this day and age: mulling over at length one simple concept, finally grasping its essence and then working outward to practical application. What heaven! This rain-swept morning provided ample opportunity, for a change.

The topic that captured us is the concept of bearing each other's burdens, and what that really means. It’s one “simple” point of a spiritual walk with Jesus, but to really grasp what it means takes some thought. The way it connects us to each other and to God is actually quite complex.

And that’s where I’m ending today’s blog post because I’m STILL thinking about this concept. When I’ve got more to say, I’ll continue. In the meantime, if YOU’ve got something to say, please post your comments!

Civil Discourse 101

Call me naive, but this warms my heart: http://www.bushclintoncoastalfund.org

Whatever we think of the policies of one President or the other, it heartens me to see that people CAN put aside their differences and work together for good.

If we as a society can't do that, too, then we're doomed, quite frankly.

The Stalker, the Housefly, and Me

When I first saw the spider, I thought (hoped) it was dead. There it sat, unmoving, on the counter top in the Fair booth. I’d come, on this day before the Fair opened, to clean and set up for the week ahead. I hadn’t reckoned on the tiny, garden-variety spider sitting on the vast expanse of the center island. I walked around the booth and tried to figure out what to do with it (I have a bit of a phobia, unfortunately).

Suddenly, a small housefly landed on the counter top, and as I moved around, the fly quickly skittered away from me down the counter. The spider, which I then discovered was most certainly not dead, began to move. Quickly it tracked in the same direction as the fly but maintained the distance between them. A stalker. And his target was the fly.

I retreated to the far corner of the booth.

The fly skittered back down the counter with the spider continuing to track and maintain the distance between them. Yet again the fly moved and so did the spider. And then the fly stopped to rest, perpendicular to the spider and seemingly oblivious to any danger. Stupid fly. At that point, the spider began to move directly towards its prey. Smoothly it closed the gap to about a foot, and then it stopped. And it waited.

I remained in the far corner and debated about frightening the fly so it could take off and get away. But something insisted that I watch Mother Nature at work here. Plus I was chicken to approach the counter. So I stood still, shuddering slightly, as the spider began to inch ever closer to the fly. I’d never seen anything like it – the spider’s movement was nearly imperceptible. I watched the process in what can only be described as horrified fascination.

It took several minutes for that little arachni-stalker to maneuver itself to a position just about an inch away from the fly. At times during the process I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me; but each time it seemed that the spider had stopped for good, I could then see that it had actually gained yet another smidgen of ground.

Again I considered waving off the fly. And just as I made up my mind to move, the spider suddenly pounced with deadly aim across the last inch of open ground.

The two began to wrestle and roll around the counter top. Somewhat traumatized (did I mention that I have a phobia here?), I rushed out the back door of the Fair booth and nearly knocked over the woman who runs the booth behind us. We are old “Fair friends,” so she asked me what was wrong. I blurted out that a spider had just attacked a fly on our countertop, that they were locked in Mortal Combat, and that it was more than I could cope with.

Little ninny that I am.

My friend calmly picked up the fly swatter and marched into the booth. With unerring precision and a strong arm, she instantly whapped both of them flat. “Bad boy!” she said pointedly to the spider. Flicking the little corpses into the garbage, she handed me the fly swatter as she exited. “There,” she cheerfully assured me, “that’s over.” Indeed it was; for the Stalker and the housefly.

I got out the Clorox.

This and That

We've finished the Eastern Idaho State Fair for another year and now life returns to normal. I got my 15 seconds of fame when the local NBC affiliate filmed us during the really fun task of cleaning our Fair booth the day after the Fair ended. Must have been a slow news day in Eastern Idaho.

Tim and I are watching the Presidential campaign with interest. And I can't wait until it's over -- the insanity of it (on both sides) is depressing.

For some fun with the politics, check out Jib Jab's campaign song for 2008.

Beach Cruiser

Bought myself a beach cruiser bicycle the other day, which might perhaps be seen as an odd choice for land-locked Pocatello, Idaho. But I disliked all my road bikes with their 600 finely-tuned gears and their rock-hard rides. The heavy steel frame of the beach cruiser, the fat tires and the coaster brake – as well as the seat just made for a middle-aged rump – lured me with a promise of bicycle comfort that I could no longer resist.

Plus the doctor says I HAVE to get daily exercise, no matter what -- so I had a medical excuse.

My first ride of 20 minutes on mostly flat terrain left me winded and with wobbly legs. Clearly this will require some effort on my part.

But tooling along, when I wasn’t noticing the burn in my thigh muscles, I felt years younger. This is the kind of bike I grew up riding – indeed the kind of bike I learned to ride on when I was about 8 years old and my parents had managed to snag a bike for no money (the only way we had bikes when we were little). And the weather in Pocatello in these waning days of summer 2008 has been absolutely peerless: chilly mornings, clear and warm days, a mild breeze. Can’t beat it for outdoor activities.

And surprisingly (to me), biking around town gives a much better perspective of this place I call home now. You really learn the streets and can appreciate the beauty and charm of the yards and houses when you’re cruising at 4 m.p.h. through a neighborhood. We’ve had a fairly green summer, and everyone’s flowers and yards are still quite lush. There are proud, glorious sunflowers and cheerful geraniums everywhere. It puts me in mind of the last days of summer at the Shore, when most of the East Coast humidity is gone, the breeze is stirring the sand, the wild roses tumble over the fences, and the days are crystal clear.

You get the picture.

The beach cruiser bike is clearly a pleasure bike – a mixed blessing to my self-esteem because I think it inspires pity in motorists who watch the middle-aged lady pedaling her big bicycle along the side of the road. They stop their cars at intersections in order to let me cross – as if I were a pedestrian in a crosswalk and not a moving vehicle subject to the same rules of the road as they. Weird, but at least I get safely across the road (unlike when I’m on my motor scooter and motorists seem intent on mowing me down if at all possible).

I’ve just returned from a ride, winded and with muscles burning, but the breeze and the sun were so exhilarating that I just can’t mind the discomfort. The last days of summer are going fast, but I intend to slowly soak up as much of them as I can on my beach cruiser.

What’s your bicycle story?

What I Did On My Summer Vacation.....

It’s been five days since we returned home, and already the memories are starting to fade a little as everyday life ramps back up to normal. But the ‘battery recharged’ feeling really lives on. What a great time we had this year, the three of us and the dog!

-------------------------------------

Memories:

Still mornings, with a hot sun, cool mountain air, and a lake so clear you could see the fish on the bottom at 15 feet or deeper.

Waking up at whatever time we wanted to, no schedule all day long.

Floating around on the water, cozily ensconced in my river tube.

My two best guys out in the raft, our dog sometimes with them, exploring the lake.

Sitting in my chair on shore watching storm clouds roll up through the valley.

Seeing the Bald Eagle fly overhead, bringing home a fish.

Watching the Ospreys fly back and forth along the valley wall (often in pairs), hunting for their next meal.

Visiting with our good friends, Tom and Marilee.

Evening movie marathons in our camper, the three of us huddled around a little 7-inch screen.

No cell phone service and no internet access.

Driving 20 miles one day to get internet access so I could complete a proposal on deadline (bleah! but I had the consolation of knowing that my project director had to do the very same thing: drive 20 miles from her own lake vacation for the same unexpected deadline.)

Warm days and cool nights.

A summer thunderstorm that poured rain over the valley one afternoon.

The gentle sunshine and crystal clear air after the thunderstorm, as if the earth had been cleansed just for us.

Crawdad hunting, and then (yuck) crawdad cooking!

A renewed and welcome sense of the wonder (and fun) of raising a child to adulthood.

The “Black Dog Convention” that seemed to be taking place at the campground while we were there (no less than a half-dozen black lab or lab-type dogs were in the campground by Friday).

Prowling the lakeshore in search of beautiful wildflowers to photograph.

--------------------------------

Our photos are at http://picasaweb.google.com/cathering/SummerVacation2008 . Can't wait for next summer!!!

Open Season?

Warning: this is a rant. If you're not in the mood to hear me grousing about life, feel free to skip this entry.

The political climate of 2008 is even more overwrought, it seems to me, than ever before. Certainly the choice of President of the United States is important, but in the heat of battle, more and more people are losing their heads and saying things that should never be said. Pundits on network TV routinely attack the personal lives of candidates, making such vicious insinuations that one has to wonder why. (Think I'm kidding? Look up the remark Ann Coulter made last winter about John Edwards and the death of his son.)

A recent email going around now is castigating Michelle Obama for the senior thesis she wrote as an undergraduate at Princeton University. The email message purports to have the credibility of snopes.com behind it, yet when I went to snopes.com myself, I found the email to be quite a bit off base. See http://www.snopes.com/politics/obama/thesis.asp

Michelle Obama was 22 years old when she wrote her senior thesis in 1985. She was a college student, getting ready to graduate with her Bachelor's degree and worrying about getting into graduate school. That's 23 years ago. For most adults, the time period between college graduation and middle age constitutes a lifetime of experience and a world of change in perspective. Mrs. Obama is 45 years old now and a different person. Do we have any fact-based reason to not believe that her perspective now would be, if she is an average person like you and me, based on that of a seasoned adult and not an immature undergraduate?

Should anyone's potential as First Lady be predicated on a viewpoint expressed before she'd even graduated from college? I would hate to be judged on some of the boneheaded opinions I held when I was in my early 20's. I would hate to have someone accuse me of thinking the same way now as I did then, because it would be patently untrue. Some of my opinions at that time were due to an uninformed and immature view of the world, some could be chalked up to an attempt at trying to please someone else. Can you say, in all honesty, that none of the opinions you expressed in the past have changed? Are you exactly the same person you were in your early 20's? Studies show that the human brain is still developing during a person's early 20's -- right up to the age of 25 or so. What does that say about our thinking at that time in our lives?

I'm not defending Mrs. Obama (or Mr. Obama for that matter), nor am I expressing in this entry an intent to vote for one candidate or another. Rather I'm using this situation as an example of how crazy and damaging the political process has become. Candidates should be judged on the record they amass during their time as adults in the real world, not when they were college students barely out of high school.

And I think, more than ever, that our culture has lost sight of the fact that the candidates are human beings. A campaign does not constitute "open season," not on John McCain and his family and not on Barack Obama and his family, nor on any other public person. Spreading rumors and innuendo is wrong, no matter who it is and, quite frankly, no matter what they've done.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is the Golden Rule. That should apply during a political campaign, too.

Summer Greetings

Greetings from Park City, Utah -- where I work every summer, running a conference. The blog posts might be a bit thin on the ground while I'm here since we work long hours, but you never know what might crop up in my brain and beg to get out....

I'm currently working on some nice pictures I've taken in the mountains -- when I get the chance, I'll upload them to our album.

In the meantime, wishing you all a happy summer! - Cath