I put about an hour into the whole expedition, counting some grocery shopping, some photocopying, and a stop at Office Max.  So probably half and hour or less of actual picking up. I picked up 2 grocery bags of recycling and 3 grocery bags of garbage.

Picking up recycling is easier in some ways than picking up litter.  I usually leave really mangled or flattened plastic bottles as they are hard to clean.  And when styrofoam has started to break-down in that creepy way, I’m not sure if it even still is recyclable.  So that’s a judgement call, but otherwise, it’s a bottle, and fairly easy to pick up.  But litter can be quite small.  There are funny little pieces of clear plastic that might be cigarette package wrapping.  There are straws and flattened paper catsup cups.  There are plastic bags that are embedded in the dirt, or stuck in a tree or bush.  At the bus stop there are a lot of transfers.  And so at some point, I just had to say, okay I’m done.

I took some before pictures, but not any after pictures, you’ll just have to take my word that things look a little better.  The picture on top is of a small wooded area between Pittsfield Village and the access road behind the businesses on the south side of Washtenaw.  A lot of trash blows in from the dumpsters and from the parking lots.  I once found someone sleeping in that wooded area, and there are often alcohol bottles back there.  I’m not sure if anyone considers that their home base, or if people just use it sometimes for a nap or a drink.  I decided I wouldn’t pick up anything that looked like someone might be using it on an ongoing basis, but that even a homeless person wouldn’t need plastic trash.

The picture below is of the bus stop in front of Denny’s.  Why does Denny’s still use styrofoam cups??  Old milkshakes are kind of nasty.  It is true that people are not very neat.  It is also true that AATA could put a trash can at that bus stop, as there are many fast food places right there.

The bags on the bench are what I’ve picked up.

My strangest find was in the bushes next to the bus stop, a Readers Digest LP that was called either ‘songs that will never die’ or ‘hits that will never die.’  But the record looked as if someone had really tried to kill it.  It was warped as if it had been melted, and also ripped.

It was interesting using the Pikstik.  Sometimes it really helped me reach things that I wouldn’t have been able to, or not without encounters with prickles.  But I was using it a lot, even when it was harder to use, such as trying to pick up a bunch of catsup packets lying on the parking lot.  And I found myself saying, ‘I don’t want to touch that, it’s all dirty.’  Usually I am the queen of putting my hands in gross things.  It’s amazing how quickly one gets prissy, when one has the opportunity.

Why do I want to do this?  All that junk probably isn’t good for wildlife or the ecosystem, but litter is hardly the most pressing environmental problem.  At the same time, it’s a very concrete thing to do, and I could see instant results.  I also think it’s good for morale when the neighborhood looks nice.  My hope is that people are less likely to throw their trash on the ground  at the bus stop if there isn’t other trash at the bus stop, and maybe people will see me doing this and feel inspired to do some small environmental thing.

It’s kind of fun to walk around on a nice day in ears and a tail.  It was also interesting to see people’s reactions.  When I worked at the thrift shop and would wear the ears and tail, people seemed to get a kick out of it.  Maybe it fits into the quirky vibe of a second-hand shop?  But out and about, people, especially men, seemed kind of weirded out. I said hi to the guy who sold me my bike and he quickly looked away.  It occured to me that maybe he was embarrassed, as a bike store salesperson, to be seen sitting in a car and smoking, but I think it was really me that embarrassed him.  A bunch of guys drove by in a van and yelled something I didn’t catch.

I wonder if I were thinner and had hair and were more conventionally pretty, if men would be more like, ‘oh baby, I’ve got some cheese for you.’ Or if they’d be just as weirded out and think, ‘what a pity, so pretty, but obviously crazy.’

The sales person at Office Max completely avoided eye contact, and seemed filled with suppressed anger or tension, or something.  I tried to figure out if he seemed that way with other customers.  It occurred to me that he might be either autistic spectrum or on the verge (gods and goddesses forbid) of going postal.  And I had this horrible thought, ‘what if I am the last, or one of the last, straws, and sometime soon, in the middle of the rant he screams while shooting co-workers and customers, he yells, ‘and I had to wait on a crazy woman dressed like a mouse.”

Pictures of me courtesy of my housemate…

For so long, this was me about my weight. I thought of all the climbing down, and it really scared me, so I climbed up a little further. Sort of like, the situation is so fucked up, and I don’t know how to make it better, I’ll just keep going along in the same old way, and make it worse. Also, mess in my space and my finances have followed this track.

And unlike the cats, who eventually get hungry and really need to come down off that branch, a metaphorical tree of dysfunction, denial and avoidance can be climbed for a really long time. On the positive side, however, once cats comes off the branch and start down, they have to keep going, or can only take really short breaks, as they’re holding themselves onto a vertical surface with their claws. Human beings don’t have to solve all the problems of years of accumulated craziness in one swift rush down the trunk.

Though since my space is small, and all in one room, I kind of do have to do it all at once, or bag and box up things to get the whole space clear, or the craziness just bleeds over into the neatness. Okay, that’s what I’m off to do. Meow, I can do this.

I came up with this theory after hearing several of other people’s break-up stories, but it definitely applies to some of mine.

We may not like to think this of ourselves, because we like to think that we are kinder and more sensitive to the feelings of others, but many of us have, at some point, wanted our ex (the ex we dumped) to be our golden retriever.  That is, someone who is always glad to see us, someone who knows us, and who falls easily in step with our walking, a source of no strings-physical-affection, someone whom we can tell about the bad situation we’re in secondary to the stupid thing we did, and they’ll lick our face and not tell us that it’s our own stupid fault, someone we can call last minute on a Friday night and ask if they want to go to the park and throw sticks, and they’ll always say, ‘oh boy, sticks, yes.’

Because sometimes we really do still love our ex, and want to stay friends, and sometimes even really good friends.  And even though this wasn’t the right retriever for us, we are dog people, and we’re lonely without a dog.  And sometimes we catch ourselves reaching down to the foot of the bed to feel that soft, silky body, or listening for the patter of not-so-little feet.  So we call.

And on other side, many of us want to think that we have more pride than this, but at one point, we have been the golden retriever who was inexplicably taken to the Humane Society and left.  Maybe it wasn’t quite inexplicable, maybe there were some warnings, we knew they weren’t really into our politics or how we communicate, or how we get when we drink, but it still felt so cold, as if we’d chewed up just one more gym shoe, and found ourselves suddenly unloved and homeless.  And if it’s a really bad break-up, it doesn’t feel like the no-kill shelter.  This was somehow our last chance at love, and if no one comes to love us soon, we will be taken down that long hall and gassed.

So when our ex shows up to take us to the park and throw sticks (in the human case, more likely go out for coffee), our hearts turn over, and we think, ‘you’re here to take me home, and I’ll sleep in your bed, and lick your plate, and everything will be okay again.  And I’ll never again have to sleep on this cold concrete floor in this place that smells like disinfectant and fear.’  So at the end of the evening, when they rub our ears, and tell us that we’re a good dog, and they know we’ll find a good family soon (or that they love us and are so glad we’re still friends), it feels like being left all over again.

So when we’ve done the breaking up, we need to remember that what to us is a casual evening of sticks and ear-rubbing can make our retriever’s day and then re-break their heart.  And when we’re retrievers, we need to remember that not everyone who rubs our ears wants to date us, and so our ex can rub our ears without wanting us back.  And though we may be desperate for home and commitment, a good friend who throw sticks and rubs our ears is not be be sneezed at.

It is awesome when both partners get past this and are able to remain friends.  Time can be great for that.  And sometimes things get way easier when one or both people has a new partner.  It’s easier to be a gracious golden retriever and enjoy some platonic stick throwing, when someone else loves us best of all, and lets us sleep in their bed.  And for that matter, it’s easier to have good boundaries with our ex-golden when we aren’t so hungry for having our faces licked.

It’s worth mentioning though, that even golden retrievers can get bitter.  Sometimes we lie at the shelter, with our head on our paws, and we start thinking about all the ways our ex wasn’t perfect, and we never complained.  And now six months after we’re broken up, it seems really petty to say, ‘you never scratched under my chin, you bought cheap dog biscuits, and you don’t throw sticks very far.”  Or we think, ‘I would have done everything for you that every fictional dog has ever done for their person, walked on bleeding paws through the snow if you were trapped down a well, and now all you want to do is take me to the park and show me pictures of your new puppy.  You suck.’  And this is how, sometimes after a period of seeming friendship, we bite a chunk out of our ex’s hands.

Sometimes, too, devotion can wear thin, and we call our ex to see if they want to chase sticks, and when they are so willing to blow off other plans to hang with us, and then they look at us with big, sad brown eyes, we think, ‘don’t you have any pride?  Can’t you be more like a cat??’

And of course, it’s worth putting out there, that no matter how bad the break-up, we are not dogs.  If we’re not in a relationship, that doesn’t condemn us to living in a cage, or being hungry and alone on the streets.  And we have some agency in finding ourselves a new partner, we don’t have to sit in a cage, waiting on whoever comes to the shelter.  Dogs are dependent on a human to put our personal ad on line.  Humans can do their own online dating.

Spontaneous jealous antlers are my way of trying to explain when I feel so jealous that I think it must be obvious to everyone around me.  Not only by the look on my face and my body language, but as if I were radiating palpable waves of jealousy.  As obvious as if I’d sprouted antlers.

So this is how it goes.  For me, it’s almost always been a romantic thing.  The ex I’m not over, or the friend I want to be more than friends with (but he doesn’t) is talking about his new crush/relationship.  However, I think one could grow spontaneous jealous antlers in different situations.  A friend has a career advance or artistic recognition or has achieved some milestone that one really wants for oneself.  And for me, part of me is happy for that person, and another part of me wants to be even happier.  This is my friend after all, for whom I want all good things.  And yet, and yet.  So even as part of me is happy, and smiling and wanting to hear the details (and she loves water skiing too, how cool is that), my skin is hot and cold and prickly, and my chest is tight, and there is this feeling that something needs to give, and bam, there they are.  Spontaneous jealous antlers.

And what can I do?  The best case is that the friend is so into recounting the news that he doesn’t even notice.  Second best is that I can play them off as having gone a little overboad on the calcium supplements, ‘but never mind that, tell me more about water skiing.’  Tied for last place is that the friend picks up on the lack of happiness (but not the jealousy) and is hurt, or says gleefully (an ex is more likely to do this than a friend) ‘those are spontaneous jealous antlers!  You still have feelings for me!’

I don’t like jealousy.  I don’t like myself when I’m jealous.  I think jealousy comes from a scarcity mentality that says if someone is getting something good, I am by definition getting less.  If she got a promotion, there is less job advancement for me, even if she lives 3 states away and is in a different field.  Or a romantic scarcity mentality that there is only so much love to go around, and only so many good people.

I think Julia Cameron of the Artist’s Way (which I would like to start doing again) says that jealousy is also a wake-up call.  It shows us that there is something in our lives that we want and don’t have, and that we should act on that desire.  When we’re jealous of our friend with rabbits, we should think about how to get our own rabbits.  So if jealousy stirs to action, it can be a good thing.  The thing to avoid is the wallowing in jealousy.  On that note, I will go take some actions.

The weirdest thing I found was an empty can of condensed milk next to the Kroger driveway.  It’s hard to imagine someone chugging this on the go.  Surprisingly often I find empty cans of Vienna sausages at bus stops, but at least it’s a to go kind of food.  But condensed milk?  I love it in coffee, but it’s so thick and sweet that even thinking of consuming an entire can makes me kind of queasy.

This year I’d also like to pick up litter more often.  If I carry some regular plastic grocery bags, I can fill those up, and throw them out when I see a garbage can, or when I get home.  The melting of the snow has revealed so much litter, and it’s ugly, all environmental considerations aside. There is a cool woodsy spot by my house, with a sort of path through it, and all kinds of garbage gets blown or dumped or both back there.  I’d like to make it my ongoing project to keep that area cleaned up.  Also the little stream/wetland by the Social Security office, which I pass on the way to work.

The thing I don’t want to do is get all self-righteous about this.  It’s my compulsiveness, as much as any love of the planet, that draws me to this project.  I have way too many un-ecological habits of my own (I also need to work on these) and am not in any position to be holier than thou.  But I do admit that sometimes I think, tons of people throw their garbage out their car windows, and we expect them to really change their lifestyles in order to save the planet??  Many of my co-workers won’t take 6 steps to throw their water bottle, which doesn’t even need to be rinsed out, into the recycling bin as opposed to the garbage can.  These people suck and we’re all doomed.  But this kind of attitude will only make me cynical and bitter and nasty.

As an antidote to said attitude, I have the perfect thing to wear when going out to pick up litter.  Or maybe I’m just trying to rationalize a ridiculous purchase.  As of tonight, I am the proud owner of a black-tasseled, brown tail, that reaches almost to my ankles.  It even has a belt, so that it stays on really well and doesn’t have to be pinned.  I wanted an all black one, to wear with my black sequinned mouse ears, but they only had brown and white, and the white ones didn’t have a belt.  I decided that a tail in hand is worth two in the bush, and moreover, who is going to say, “you can’t wear a brown tail with black ears.”  Those fashion police types are much more likely to say, “why are you wearing ears and a tail, you look like a freak.”  And the people who think it’s funny won’t care about the color so much.  I love the idea of scavenging, dressed like a rodent.  Good night!

Sheri, who loves coffee and sometimes cookies, and emphatically does not like kitchen clutter, does not need a ceramic cookie jar shaped like an electric coffee maker. Someone bought that. (added 4/9, no it’s still there, it just got moved.)

Lizzie, who lived briefly in Kansas, and probably misses it, does not need a little picture that says Kansas, with each letter made out of something (the yellow brick road, sunflowers, corn, etc.) Someone bought that, too.

Jennifer, who is from Kentucky, does not need any one of the 4 or 5  posters advertising the (I think 2002) Kentucky State Fair.  Someone bought all of them.  They were pretty cute, especially the pigs on the roller coaster, and the sheep with the shape of Kentucky sheared out of it’s wool.

Andy, who thinks Noah’s Ark is a terrible story of a wrathful God, does not need as a gag gift any of the large number of Noah’s Ark related items that come in.  I think so far I’ve seen a cookie jar, a windchime, a painting and a throw blanket, all bought.

Adrien, who works for the Michigan State University (mascot, the Spartan) Student Housing Cooperative in East Lansing and who is partial to olives, needs neither Spartan cuff links, nor a non-descript gray t-shirt that says 3 Olive Vodka Company, East Lansing.  (I assume someone bought this, I can’t find it anymore.)

Gaia, who is a nurse practitioner and very handy, does not need any vintage nursing texts or repair manuals.  Someone bought the nursing text for her mom, who’s a nurse.  The repair manuals and books of logarithm tables and slide rules and such come and go.

My sister the lawyer does not need a big red button that says “I love lawyers.”  Someone bought this.

I was so happy this past Saturday when someone bought the sign that says, “Come on in.  Everything else has gone wrong.”

The thing I a little bit regret is the unicorn horn.  It was so beautiful.  I picked it up, not knowing what it was.  It was a white unicorn horn on a headband, with 2 pink-lined white ears, and a mane made of alternating pink and white fake feather boa strands.  Leslie, one of the managers said, “that’s not just a unicorn, that’s a princess unicorn.”  I knew I didn’t need it, but I wanted it.  Employees don’t shop till the end of our shift, so I thought, I’ll put it on, and if anyone wants to buy it, I’ll sell it to them.  I even safety-pinned a little sign to my shirt that said something like, “horn is for sale.”  2 people came in separately and commented on it.  I asked both of them if they wanted it, and they both said something about it looking ‘fabulous’ on me.  Then I was checking a woman out, and she said, “I like your hat.”  I asked if she wanted it, and she said her granddaughter would love it.  So I sold it to her.  And I don’t really regret that.  Because after all, the most important thing is to cherish one’s inner unicorn.  Sharing nurtures the inner unicorn.  Hoarding does not.  If another unicorn horn happens through the shop, I will do the same thing, put it on, and see if anyone else wants it.  But if no one does, I will make it mine.

I put on the mouse ears while working at the register, and also a sign that said,’ears for sale’ and no one wanted them.  So now I have a pair of mouse ears, and they are infinitely cooler than Mickey Mouse ears.  For one thing, they are covered with silky black fur, and for another, the insides are lined with silver sequins.

More to come….

I am not remotely tempted to buy the chicken-dance-singing chicken, but it is so odd it deserves some comment.  Small, fluffy chicken with a pink hat that says, ‘let’s have some fun,’ and then dances all around and sings the chicken dance song.  The creepy thing is that it’s eyes blink on and off (red).  It was especially creepy when Leslie showed it to me in the backroom in the dark (we were on our way out).

I have this fantasy of a spoof of the Child’s Play movies (the ones with Chucky, the evil doll) only with the evil chicken-dance-chicken.  The backstory on the Child’s Play movies is that as this malevolent old man was dying, he put his soul in the doll.  I think an angry vegetarian sorcerer should fill the chicken with the souls of factory farmed chickens, eager for revenge on humankind.  Imagine it skipping down the hall, wielding a big butcher knife and singing the chicken dance song.

There was a little book of cartoons called Dogs are Better than Cats, or maybe Why Dogs are Better than Cats.  I disagree, by the way, but it was funny.  It included the line about dogs come when you call, cats take a message and get back to you.  All the cats in the book were shifty-eyed, and all the dogs had open, loving faces.  At the end, it said, “Dogs know that life is ruff, ruff.  Cats don’t care about life, just about themselves.  That’s why they say me-ow.”  She’s gone now, but my cat often sits on a chair or on the couch near me while I work at the computer.  She doesn’t try to climb on my lap or on the computer table, just sits near me.  I feel very loved, and not crowded.

Added 4/9/2009: And speaking of the cat, Porkchop is in some ways a princess cat.  She likes her drinking water clean, and will sit by the dish and look sad if there are floaties in it.  She can be very lovey, but if I try to pet her when she’s not in the mood, to quote Bruce, she “give[s] me a look like I’m way out of bounds.”  She has little patience with dog curiosity or playfulness, and she has only gradually warmed up to other cats and dogs she’s lived with.  So when I saw the matching purse and tote bag with the cat in a sparkling tiara, it totally made me think of Porkchop.  And one can always use another tote bag, right?  But I resisted.  Besides, why is it almost always a white cat that’s depicted as a princess?  There are stripey princesses, too.  Also, black, marmalade, gray, etc.

And so far I have resisted Easter things galore.  I am a little embarrassed that I was so tempted by the fairly large (12″ in the longest direction, she long, and he tall) ceramic bride and groom rabbits.  But I resisted.  Someone came up to the counter to buy the bride, and I said, “you’re leaving the groom?” They were priced separately.  She said, “oh is that what they are?” And then she did buy the groom. Wouldn’t it be sad to be the left-at-the-thrift store groom ceramic rabbit?

I am also proud to say that I took my black bunny ears back.  I can wear my black, sequined mouse ears for those occasions that require fancier ears.

I haven’t added to this list in a while, but there are all kinds of things I haven’t bought.

We got in a stroller, car seat and play pen for a doll.  Dark blue, decorated with Winnie the Pooh.  The playpen was nice and roomy, with a mobile.  Porkchop loves to sit in boxes and also to bat at things, and I thought about getting her the playpen.  I could set it up in my room, and it would look nicer than just having a box sitting around, and she could get in it and bat at the mobile.  But I decided that buying kid’s toys for my cat at the thrift store is crossing some line into hoarding cat lady that I am just not ready to make.  At least not yet.  So cute, though.

There was a totally random tile, with a kid’s-drawing-like picture of a bear waving and wearing a hat, and it said, ‘this bear stole my hat’. It was so funny, but who needs it?  I did take a picture of it, though.

Various espresso machines.  I go back and forth on wanting one.  It sounds so extrevagent, and would I use it?  But if I did, it would be so much fun.  Every time one comes in, I think, I’ll give it a day or so and think about it, and then someone else buys it.

Various cheap necklaces made of funky beads or buttons that I could cannibalize for crafts.  But I haven’t been making things with the craft supplies I have, so I don’t need to buy more.

Amy Tan’s Saving Fish from Drowning on cd.  It’s a really good book, but I don’t know that I would listen to it again and again.  And since I have 1 book on cd, getting a second one would double my collection, and once I have crossed that line, I can see myself starting to collect a whole bunch of books on cd.  And I can’t start a new collection till I get neater.

Various fondue pots.  Doesn’t it sound like fun to make fondue?  But would I?

A mirror with the Hogwarts crest on it.  Either for myself or for an 11-year-old friend who loves Harry Potter.  But I don’t need a mirror, or have a place for it, and I’m not sure Eva’s parents would appreciate me adding clutter to their house.

The parrot hat.  It’s designed to make you look as if you have a parrot sitting on your head, so head, wings, tail, and everything, and all in bright colors, red, blue, yellow. And I’m drawn to crazy headgear.  But I also hate hats, and no matter how cool, a parrot hat is still a hat.  Besides, some wear ears and antlers, and some wear hats.  And I’m definitely the first kind.

December 2008-Jan. 2009: Something about reduced price on wash and mousse.

Early 2009: Snow, ice and salt are rough on a groundhog’s paws.  Stop in for a tub of our all natural paw salve.  (roughly)

Starting early March 2009: 9 out of 10 groundhogs choose a groomed mate over an ungroomed one.  Call today to schedule an appointment and give your groundhog the competitive advantage this mating season.

2 weeks ago Sheri and I did a 4-day fast in solidarity with people in Gaza.  We meant to do lots of publicity, but we didn’t really, though we had some good conversations with people.

This is just one account from Gaza about the dire humanitarian situation before Israel’s most recent assault.

From the father of a friend of a friend.

 November 2008

Anyone who is monitoring the quality of life in the Gaza Strip, which has been living under a tightened 18-month siege, will be shocked by the catastrophic humanitarian situation. Unemployment rate has risen to 80% and the majority of the population is living far below the poverty line with one or two dollars a day. As a concerned medical professional, I would like to draw your attention to some harsh aspects of life for the civilian population in Gaza:

 First: There are tremendous health problems, which threaten people with either death or life-long disability. There is a severe shortage in medicine and medical equipment. Hospital maintenance and upgrades for X-Ray rooms, labs, pharmacies and operating rooms are desperately in need of attention. People with chronic and serious illnesses such as cancer or diabetes do not stand a chance for recovery or receiving the appropriate treatment. The number of deaths due to inability to receive medical treatment is 257 since June of 2007. Many seniors and children with chronic illnesses such as two-year old Said Al-Ayidy, three-month old Hala Zannoun, fifteen-year old Rawan Nassar and numerous others died because they were denied travel permits for treatment and were simply left to die.

  Hospitals in Gaza are anything but what hospitals should look like. Daily power cuts for long hours have caused immense suffering, especially to patients whose lives depend on medical machinery. Hospitals used gas-powered generators as substitutes. Yet, due to the lack of gas and diesel, the generators no longer served their purpose and the problem escalated.  Sadly, the only opportunity that patients with serious diseases have is to be transferred either to Egypt or Israel. Often, it is extremely complicated and near to impossible to obtain permission to be transferred to either country. Many are barred from even considering treatment outside of Gaza except for a few urgent cases. Many patients have died while waiting for the official documents to be issued; others have died on their way to Israel or Egypt. Hospitals have been turned into places where patients sleep for several days without any healing or proper treatment due to the absence of drugs and medical equipment. Such supplies are not allowed to cross into Gaza from the commercial border points due to Israeli closure of such borders.  

Second: We face another serious problem: sewage and pollution. We live in a densely populated area. The people of Gaza live in poor shanty towns, refugee camps, and crowded neighborhoods, which share fragile and inadequate infrastructure. Lack of fuel supply stops the water pumps that deal with the treatment and sanitation of sewage water. The only solution that the city has is to drain the sewer water into the Mediterranean. As a result, the beaches have been polluted and the fishing season has been significantly damaged.

On rainy winter days, the streets and homes are flooded with water and the already bumpy and unpaved roads become even worse. Sewer pipes often burst and get damaged due to inadequate infrastructure and lack of maintenance and repair. Dirty and toxic water is flooding out from broken pipes into streets and homes. In some refugee camps, the floods were so severe that people were forced to assemble primitive boats and flow over the water. In Jabalia refugee camp, where I work as a physician in a United Nations clinic, people have increasingly reported illnesses and sickness due to exposure to toxic air and chemical wastes.

Water has been flooding our backyard for days. The city public works department is unable to fix the problem because there are no construction materials to replace the damaged utilities. Heavy machinery does not have fuel to operate. We cannot open any windows and we are breathing toxic waste for days until sunny days come around to dry out everything. Streets are covered with mud, pebbles and sharp stones that are hazardous. The city departments are unable to fix any problems because they simply do not have any resources.

Finally, there are numerous problems that face our impoverished war-torn and isolated society, especially our damaged and disabled infrastructures. I did not mention the numerous shortages in food, goods and services, cash and other basic needs because I wanted to point out the health issues, which I am most familiar with as a medical professional. There is a need for urgent help from the international community. Former United States President Jimmy Carter described the siege that Gaza is enduring as a “crime against human rights.”

Can you imagine living like this?

 Sincerely
F.M.A (Gaza City, Palestine)  U.N. Medical Officer

And now.  Day 6 of Israel’s assault by air, sea and land, and Israel is massing troops along the border with Gaza and talking about invasion.  Numbers vary based on the source, but around 400 Palestinians killed, 2,000 injured, and 4 Israelis killed.  Again, depending on the source, one quarter to one third of Palestinians killed are civilians.  Mosques destroyed, 100 homes destroyed and thousands damaged.  Today Israel targeted and killed Nizzar Rayyan, a leader in Hamas, killing at least 8 civilians, including several of Rayyan’s wives and children in the process.  

Lots of things in this world are complicated.  There are times that people have acted on the best information and with the best motives and made situations worse.  And I surely don’t know what the best resolution of the Palestine/Israel question is.  One state?  Two states?, etc, etc.  But the suffering in Gaza is created by Israel, and being re-created every day.  People in Gaza were hungry, unable to get sufficient medical care, without electricity and clean water because Israel refused to let necessary humanitarian aid into Gaza.  People are being killed and injured, and the already fragile infrastructure is being destroyed, by Israeli missile strikes.  

So pressure must be put on Israel to stop this horror.  And those of us who live in the United States must pressure our government to stop funding and supporting it.  Every time I hear people (organizations, governments) calling for ‘an end to violence on both sides’ I want to scream? vomit? break things?  I’m not sure.  

According to the BBC, in 2007, 783 rockets were launched from Gaza into Israel, and 2 Israelis were killed by rockets.  And between 2000 and Jan. 2008, a total of 13 Israelis have been killed by rockets fired from Gaza.  Here is the link to that article:  http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/3702088.stm.  

13 Israelis killed by rockets in 7 years, compared to 400 residents of Gaza killed in the last 6 days.  All life is valuable, every death by violence is a tragedy, but to talk about ‘both sides’ as if either power or suffering were equal is ridiculous.  

It is late.  I am not making such good sense.  But here is a closing thought.  In the United States, we can’t or won’t find the money to rebuild our own crumbling infrastructure or prevent people from being foreclosed on.  Yet we find the money to support Israel’s destruction of Gaza’s infrastructure and civilian homes, not to mention Israel’s murder of Gaza’s residents.  

Some good sources of info:

http://www.gazatoday.blogspot.com/

http://electronicintifada.net/

http://www.alternet.org/audits/113143/israel%27s_%27crime_against_humanity%27/

I want to believe everything Obama says about change, and how can I not be moved by Jesse Jackson in tears, or a story, that Sheri put on her blog about a 109-year-old woman in Texas, whose father was a slave, who was so thrilled to turn in her absentee ballot for Obama.  Or a thousand other stories.  Sheri’s racially mixed, basically low-income, and usually-having-little-street-life-neighborhood, erupting with joy and hugs and conversations between strangers last night.  (I am not Sarah Palin and I know these last 2 are not full sentences )

But I also keep thinking about the article someone forwarded me from Counterpunch that said something to the effect of how can it be anti-racist to vote for a black man who supports the same old racist, imperialist policies.  Or the Z Magazine interview with Rosa Clemente, who was the Green Party candidate for Vice President, and works with Critical Resistance, an amazing looking prison-abolition group.  She talked about 3 out of 10 African American men in this country being in prison, on parole or on probation.  And 1 in 8 Latino men are in the same situation.  How prisoners, overwhelmingly black and urban, are counted in the census as living in the communities where they are imprisoned, overwhelmingly white and rural.  This increases the rural communities’ populations and decreases the urban communities’ populations, and congressional districts are drawn accordingly.  And so many related issues.  Police brutality, the war on drugs as a war on the poor, prison labor, etc, etc.  And where was this in Obama’s campaign?  

And yet, and yet.  I am so glad that Obama included a ‘planet in peril’ as one of the challenges his administration faces.  We are having 3 in a row 70 degree days in Michigan, and all around town so many trees look sick, and I am scared.  (Part of my freak-out is selfish.  I like the coming of cold weather, and while not dependent on it like the polar bears, I feel all out of sorts when it’s this late and still warm.  Out of sorts and wanting to run around like Chicken Little).  

I also have the same icky sort of feeling about the electionthat I had in school when I didn’t study or didn’t study well for a test and then did pretty well.  That something good happened, but as I didn’t earn it, I didn’t have the same right to celebrate as all the people who worked hard.  So many people worked so hard for Obama and I did nothing and I’m so glad he won, but I know I didn’t do my part, except for voting.  If I were working like a maniac at some other cause, I would feel better, because I know that no one can do everything, and I would be doing my part to make the world a better place.  But right now I don’t think I’m doing that.  I miss my days of being an activist, of being really involved in Amnesty International on campus, or with local groups working to close the School of the Americas or end sanctions on Iraq.  But when I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I accomplished that much.  I think I ran around like a maniac and gave this great impression of activity, but with relatively little result.  And I was all frenetic, ungrounded and with too much ego invested in everything.  

So I want to get back involved.  And I’m not sure what/where.  There are so many things that I’m interested in and think are so crucial: (while I’m sitting here stressing about what to do, the ice caps are melting and 2 million people are rotting in US prisons, etc,etc,) Criminal justice system reform, closing Guantanamo, closing the School of the Americas, getting all US troops out of Iraq and Afghanistan (and everywhere else, really) environmental justice, climate change, Palestine solidarity, labor solidarity, health care reform, something nice and simple like volunteering at the food co-op (but which one?? Ann Arbor or Ypsilanti) or the cat shelter.  So with all these choices, I do nothing, and feel useless and overwhelmed, and collect bottles by the side of the road.  (There are a lot of bottles).  And there are vibes in some groups that I really don’t like.  But I don’t want to use that as an excuse.  I think I’m altogether too much like the Simon and Garfunkel song ‘Hazy Shade of Winter’:  ’Time, time, time, see what’s become of me, while I looked around for my possibilities.  I was so hard to please.’  

I want to get involved in something that I can sink my teeth into and wrestle, like a terrier.  Speaking of too much ego, this post was supposed to be about the election, and has ended up being all about me.  Oh well.

The bad news is how little progress I have made on my lair.  Tonight, tonight, work, work.