Cow Talk

TURLOCK, Calif. – Hundreds of thousands of America’s dairy cows are being turned into hamburgers because milk prices have dropped so low that farmers can no longer afford to feed the animals.

You won’t find this AP story on the Real California Milk Web site amongst the Happy Cows merchandise, but if you are still in the mood after reading it, you can cast a vote in the contest to pick the next California Happy Cow, part of the California Milk Advisory Board’s (CMAB) integrated TV and Web campaign.

While People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) sued the CMAB over this ad campaign and lost, they haven’t given up on the issue as you can see if you visit UnhappyCows.com

You bet the CMAB campaign plays on myth and fantasy. Cows don’t talk, and for the most part, they don’t frolic around in green pastures under a canopy of crystal blue skies with puffy white clouds. Nor do they parachute onto football fields like the American chicken fast-food chain Chick-fil-A Holstein hucksters. Not even in California.

However, dear gentle readers, I have digressed. When I saw the story this morning, I felt sad. You see I struggle with a love of animals and yet have chosen to continue as a non-vegetarian. I am rethinking this position, by the way, in case the more militant PETA folks decide to get after me for this inconsistency.

Still, we have another example of the trickle downturn in the economy. Mr. O, my hope needs a boost today as I pass shuttered stores and street corners with store-closing sign holders, and I think of the loss and the loss to come.

Coffee Talk

Yes, I would agree with Consumer Reports taste-testers who picked Eight O’Clock Coffee as America’s best-tasting coffee. Put those beans in your grinder, Starbucks, and grind them!

Seriously, though, on one level , I respect Starbucks’ successful marketing efforts, but I do not especially like the robust products found there. And I know many small coffee houses were run out of business by the giant. But, hey, isn’t that the American way? Please don’t take my random ramblings as anti-Starbucks. Did I show just a tad too much glee that the mega company got bested?

I have written about the corporation before when the Glen Ellyn, Illinois, Starbucks ran afoul of one customer and garnered some media attention. A couple of years ago they apparently kicked a 70 year-old woman out of the downtown Starbucks claiming employees mistook her for a homeless person. She wasn't.

But I have a couple of new Starbucks stories.

One of the former interns for the nonprofit I work at rallied a bunch of Starbucks customers at the location where she worked as a barista, and they put up a Christmas tree with the names of needy kids and bought a bunch of Christmas gifts for them. Now that’s nice and it really helped our organization when toy donations were down.

The second Starbucks story comes via my daughter-in-law whose car got hit by a sign while she was in the drive-through. Apparently, everything was handled to her satisfaction—the car damage will be taken care of and they gave her some free coffee coupons. Good thing she likes Starbucks.

Well, I did digress dear gentle readers. Chock it up to too much caffeine this morning. And in case you wondered, I was drinking Trader Joe’s French Roast.

Obama Girls are Real Dolls

(Crain’s) — The nation’s first daughters, Sasha and Malia Obama, have joined the ranks of Barbie, Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake. Ty Inc., maker of Beanie Babies, released “Sweet Sasha” and “Marvelous Malia” dolls earlier this month as part of its TyGirlz Collection. Westmont-based Ty launched the line in 2007.

In our culture of celebrity, how can new First Lady Michelle Obama think her daughters will escape our American fascination? Yes, it’s celebrity by association but celebrity nonetheless.

Sasha and Malia Obama are cute enough for the genius who brought us Beanie Babies to name a couple of TyGirlz, “Marvelous Malia” and “Sweet Sasha.” According to Crain’s Chicago Businesss, at first a spokeswoman “confirmed that the dolls were created to resemble President Barack Obama’s daughters.” The next day that changed to, “They were not designed to look like any living person.” Really? It’s not hard to argue who might have inspired the name choice. I’ll grant lawyer-mom Michelle that.

However, despite potential legal issues this is a bit extreme. Mom, pick your battles. There will likely be bigger issues with protecting the girls than this--more egregious examples that do warrant attention. The dolls are not offensive and if they inspire sales for a Chicagoland company, isn’t that helping the local economy?

Most of the folks at the Huffington Post disagree with me. I read one page of comments and found one sole TyGirlz defender who said her daughters liked the dolls. Of course, everyone else seemed to jump all over her. Maybe y'all should go after Dover Publications and others making money on the Obamas. I prefer to concentrate on real matters of national importance. Let us not lose the focus that lead to Obama's election as President by silly and distracting diversions like this.

Mind-Boggling

(Peggy is crying after losing a game of Boggle)
Hank: You’re smarter than anyone in Arlen.
Peggy: Well, woopty-doo, I’m the smartest hick in hick town.

I think Peggy Hill is on to something. Remember Peggy? King of the Hill mom and Boggle player extraordinaire, Peggy is one of my favorite animated TV moms. Of course, with two sons who were fond of Mike Judge’s Beavis and Butthead when they were growing up, it’s only fitting that I’d like Judge’s Peggy—not that I identify with her. After all, I’ve never been the Boggle Champion of Texas.

Peggy came to mind as we have been playing Boggle lately, and I have been bested all too frequently. And then I discovered a non-intimidating time waster online. You can play interactive Boggle.

Seems I remembered reading that working with words improves mental functioning. Although I refuse to join AARP, I do occasionally look at their Web site, where I recently found 10 steps to an optimal memory. Number two right after exercise was “Keep Learning.” And evidentally, playing games like Boggle and Scrabble counts toward improving memory.

So, I guess the few minutes I spent on interactive Boggle was actually time well spent. Ah heck, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Poetic Justice for Somali Pirates

MOGADISHU, Somalia – Five of the Somali pirates who released a hijacked oil-laden Saudi supertanker drowned with their share of a reported $3 million ransom after their small boat capsized, a pirate and a relative of one of the dead men said Saturday.

This is my nomination for the best example of poetic justice I’ve seen lately. Am I callous to feel this way?

I don’t think so.

We have a love/hate relationship with pirates. Whether it was Errol Flynn portraying a dashing and romantic pirate in movies of a bygone era like Captain Blood, Billy Zane’s creepy psycho pirate in Dead Calm, or a playful Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, we never expect to encounter a real pirate. Pirates are supposed to be entertaining, belonging these days in the world of fantasy.

So, I don’t really feel bad for thinking the way I do. Modern day pirates have sullied what had become a safe fantasy and they got what they deserved.

Toys for Tots and Hard Time Reflections

As I shopped online for toys for baby Nic’s first Christmas, I came across an old childhood favorite, Careers. Oh the hours I spent playing that one with the cousins. I will teach Nic to play cards and board games and I promise to be more patient with CandyLand than I was with Nic’s dad.

Well, shopping and thinking about toys is something I haven’t done for so long that I’m kind of out of practice. My venture to Toys R Us last Sunday was a great disappointment. I felt so out of my element. I prefer to shop online and the toy I ordered from Amazon arrived in a couple of days.

Toys are a large part of my life at work too as they pour in as we prepare to fill the wish lists of the kids in our Christmas program. The folks at Toys for Tots where we get a lot of toys from are reporting that donations are down, and yesterday we got far fewer than last year. It’s been a struggle at our non-profit. We don’t know yet what the end result will be, but it is safe to say Santa is adjusting to leaner times.

Which all leads me to wonder, what course of materialism have we set ourselves up for? Have we built up our children’s expectations too high? Have we lived too far beyond our means for far too long?

I remember Mom talking about the Great Depression and being thankful to get oranges and peppermint candy canes at Christmas time. She knew the meaning of doing without. We Baby Boomers and our Generation X and Next offspring really do not yet know that lesson.

Mom’s Okie family fell on hard times and headed off to California when the Dust Bowl hit, wiping the topsoil needed for healthy crops off of their little hardscrabble farm. They got as far as Arizona. The kids old enough picked cotton alongside Granny and my grandfather. After a time, they loaded up the truck and headed back to Oklahoma and got by with the help of family. Not until WWII did things turn around. Mom went off to work for the government in Washington, D. C. and the country rebounded.

So, dear gentle readers, while I reflect and ponder these questions, I still am encouraged by the true spirit of Christmas. I see it everyday in the people giving to those less fortunate. Officemates who give up their traditional gift exchanges in favor of helping others. School kids who emptied their piggy banks and delivered an envelope stuffed with dollars and coins. Scouts, Key Clubs, Rotary Clubs, Kiwanis, Lions, churches of all kinds, businesses, individuals. They are coming through.

As one donor said to me, “I am doing ok—at least for now.” I like that. Me too—at least for now

She Stopped and Changed Course

With a slight layer of snow on the ground, a mostly flat prairie landscape has prepared itself for winter. Acres of cornfields as far as my eye could see now sport only stubs of the once flourishing crop. Almost overnight, we went from waves of green to stark barren ground sometimes dotted with flocks of Canada geese.

I almost cried the other morning on my way to work. The day, devoid of sunlight, was too much a reminder of the long, cold period ahead. How, dear gentle readers, did this former girl of the South find herself so far North? Do I dream of warmth and short winters? You bet. But most of all, I’d love to know that I wouldn’t have to worry about slipping on icy walks, steps and parking lots.

On the way back from dropping off Scott at school, a beautiful deer darted toward the road and I prayed she would stop before my car crashed into her. A small prayer was answered as she stopped and returned to the barren cornfield and I continued on my way.

I am tired. My days are busy. So busy there is little time for reflection. Maybe though this winter is just the right time—a time to beware of slippery dangers not always apparent, a black ice if you will. Maybe, just maybe, the long winter will bring a healing spring full of new growth. It’s something to look forward to.

Sewing Up Some Football

Months ago I wrote about my adventures in learning how to quilt. Maybe I should say my misadventures. I have ripped out more than I have sewn it seems (did that pun escape you?).

However, Nic’s quilt for Christmas, which I hoped to have finished by the Alabama-Auburn Iron Bowl game—it’s today dear gentle non-football-fan readers, is coming along.
I have discovered that this project, launched with nary a pattern to guide me, has been immensely fun as well as immensely time consuming. My day job is interfering in the progress of this seat-of-my-pants project.

I am not your grandma’s quilter, content to choose a pattern someone else designed. I have chosen to design my own. Yet, what you see here is not what I set out to create. It was much more ambitious.

There is much left to do but I have finished the quilt top. Next, I will attach the back and inner batting to the top and then “quilt” the whole thing by hand. Thank God it is only a crib-size quilt. And thank God for the little Project Runway Brother sewing machine I recently bought. I used it to appliqué the letters and footballs.

I will let you know how it turns out, but I have a football game to get ready for. ROOOLL TIDE!

NOTE: I like the new sewing machine from Brother but do not expect to see me trying out for Project Runway. Now if they had a show about designing quilts and such, I might give that a shot.

Favorite Childhood Christmas Presents & Memories

As Christmas approaches, I was thinking about what were my favorite childhood toys.
My first memory is of Tiny Tears. She cried tears and wet her diaper and I loved her. I must have been about four or five when she came into my life one Christmas. She became the favorite doll until that more sophisticated Barbie stole my heart.

But rooting around in my mom’s closet one pre-Christmas Saturday, I discovered that Santa has lots of help from you-know-who, and Christmas anticipation was set back a notch or two. That is until another Saturday right before Christmas.

During the week, Mom worked her secretary job at Maxwell Air Force Base, commuting 20 miles from our home in the country to Montgomery. Saturdays became her days for grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly, errands and trips to JC Penney’s to try on what seemed like hundreds of dress as I tagged along.

When I was growing up, downtown Montgomery was THE place to shop. Pre-Selma to Montgomery march, pre-shopping malls and strip shops. There were two five and dimes. A trip downtown usually meant a visit to S. H. Kress where you could find all manner of cheap stuff, some of it not made in China. Sometimes we’d get a blue-plate special at the lunch counter—the white lunch counter. Even as a child it didn’t make sense to me. Why was there a separate entrance marked “colored” at my pediatrician’s office? The water fountains, the lunch counters.

But I have digressed, dear gentle readers.

On this particular post-Santa Claus-enlightenment Saturday, Mom and I headed to Montgomery Fair Department Store. Yep, the same place where Rosa Parks once worked as a seamstress--work that wore her out so much that she refused to move to the back of the bus that fateful day that launched the Montgomery Bus Boycott.

I already knew my big present that year was going to be a bike. As I nearly raced down the stairs to the store basement and laid eyes on it, I could hardly believe what I saw—a pink and white beauty with handlebar streamers sure to fly once I mastered the art of bicycling.

Christmas was yet to come this year but no Christmas since could match how I felt that day. I learned to ride the J. C. Higgins bike with Grandpa Parsons’ hands supporting my wobbly first efforts. He held on and as I gained momentum, he knew when it was safe to let go and I sailed off, streamers flying.

I invite my dear gentle readers to share favorite childhood Christmas memories. Send me an E-mail and I’ll post your responses or leave a long comment.

Tis the Season

Matthew 17:19-20 “Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, ‘Why could we not cast it out?’ He said to them, ‘Because of your little faith. For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”

Long-time readers may recall a couple of years ago, I wrote extensively about Christmas. Starting about this time in November of 2006, I focused numerous posts on the topic of Christmas. Last year brought the 2nd Annual Christmas Countdown and with this post, I, as the proprietress of the Alabama Kitchen Sink blog, hereby and forthwith launch the 3rd Annual Christmas Countdown. TA DA and you may now pop the cork on the bubbly.

There’s a new twist this year. You see, my 9-5:30 workday is as one of Santa’s elves. Do you think I’m kidding?

Okay, I am not really an elf, but I feel like one and my days revolve around getting ready for Christmas, and I get paid for it. Wonder what Santa pays his elves? The nonprofit I work for, the Humanitarian Service Project, is helping 1,400 needy children and 115 low-income seniors this Christmas as the organization has helped those in need for nearly 30 years.

It all started that Christmas in 1979 in the spare bedroom of the founders. Year by year community support grew as did HSP’s reputation. A couple of years ago, the organization moved into a location with its own warehouse for storing the food and toys collected.

Located in central DuPage County, Illinois, HSP serves the forgotten in a sea of plenty. The people we help are hard-working families with children or seniors trying to stretch meager incomes to provide just the necessities like food. We wonder what the Christmas Project will bring this year. Already we have lost some sponsorships for our seniors.

Each day I talk to struggling families. Jobs are lost, illness strikes. A mother must tell her little ones Santa can't make it to our house this year. Why? How would you answer that question? Surrounded by the materialism of our culture, I would think this is a hard question. Some may say that we reap the rewards or failures of our own self determination, hard work, and choices.

One of my co-workers and I were talking about what makes people give to others while some choose not to help. An interesting thought best pondered another day.

The Humanitarian Service Project is an Illinois not-for-profit corporation, and a Four Star Charity Navigator Charity. If you’d like to make a donation, you may do so through Network for Good.

Mission Statement: It is the mission of the Humanitarian Service Project to alleviate the pain and suffering that poverty brings to needy seniors and children living in DuPage and Kane Counties, Illinois, without distinction of gender, race, creed, caste, or color.

Awake

Awake—Omar tells her
But she sleeps and
Barely hears my voice

I’ve been spending a few minutes this morning purging. I don’t mean the definition associated with bulimia nervosa. Sorry for that image.

Yet, it might be somewhat appropriate in a subconscious way. I have thought about writing about some things that have happened in my life in the last year, each time backing away for whatever reason.

This morning as I set out to clean up the files on my computer, I found constant reminders of a previous life. Reminders of good times--photos of trips to Italy and celebrations of family events like birthdays and my son’s wedding. Amidst these pleasant occasions, I opened a letter laying out problems to be dealt with or ignored. Then a poem. Work files that hold no interest for me now. Sketches not of my making. Remnants of another’s life intertwined yet with mine but no longer of my concern.

As I choose what should be deleted, I keep coming back to the letter. Only now after weeks of contemplation, do I begin to evaluate the truth, casting away blame on one level but not another. I decide to keep the letter as a reminder to awake.

Morning After in Obama Land

If you didn't vote for Obama, I guess you are a bit disappointed this morning. Here in Chicagoland, there was a buzzing energy all yesterday as we went through the day. Nervous, anxious and wondering if just maybe he/we would pull it off. I tried to get tickets to the Grant Park shindig but was wait listed, and I'm not sure I would have ventured into that sea of Obama if the tickets were forthcoming.

And now, the work continues. The election was the tip of the iceberg.

Look for a centrist Obama despite the Right-Wing fears of a Left bonanza. This is the only way to accomplish change. It's going to be interesting. Stay tuned. And get yourself an Obama t-shirt.

Pandora Rocks

I’ve been listening to Chet Baker Radio today as I re-immerse myself in a long-tabled project. I have son Scott to thank for turning me on to Pandora. I’ve added a link so that you can check it out, but I am enjoying my Chet Baker and company as I work nearby.

The way Pandora works is that you pick an artist and they pick music they think you’ll like. You can thumbs up or down it and create your own little “radio” station. Fitting, in that Scott is taking a radio production class this semester away from Hendrix College at our excellent community college, Waubonsee Community College in Sugar Grove.

And a rambling afterthought. One of my favorite bloggers, Marsha, is soliciting view on whether her high school daughter should go away to college next year or stay at home and attend a community college. Of course, I chipped in my opinion, which I must confess is also rambling. Do y’all see a trend here? My conclusion was to weigh the pros and cons but of course this blogger is well ahead on that front.

Me, I never wanted to go to college anywhere but the University of Alabama. So, I never struggled with that decision. However, decades later when I wanted to learn design skills, I found the Advertising, Design & Illustration program at College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn was excellent and my instructors were talented as well as great teachers.

Where was I? I am supposed to be working on a “long-tabled project” and not blogging. I told you I was rambling. Add distracted to that too

Hearth and Home

Politics and worry about the economy dominates my thoughts Monday through Friday as I listen to NPR on the way to work. I could talk about those fears. I could talk about Christmas. That’s on my mind 9 to 5:30 each day at work. Maybe I will write about that later since Christmas talk is a tad early for most of you, I know.

Instead, I will write about family. This week saw two milestones. Thursday, October 23, marked the eighth month of life for grandson Nicolas, and Friday, marked his Uncle Scott’s 20th birthday. While other pursuits capture much of my time, and the troubles and problems of the world can pull my head away temporarily, my heart is with my family.
Always.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Saturday in Batavia, Illinois

I miss blogging. When I do finally get around to it, my posts are long, rambling pent-up words that flow as slowly as the Fox River, which is nearby. But today is Saturday and I am free and the day is mine. Why not spend a few minutes doing something I enjoy before turning to more mundane matters like cleaning the clog out of the bathtub?

It is only October and the pumpkins and Obama signs on my street remind me that we still have Halloween to get through before the election. My favorite sign, however, was perched atop a hammock. And the sign count on my block—6 Obama to 1 McCain.

Chasing Bear Bryant

“It’s not the will to win that matters - everyone has that. It’s the will to prepare to win that matters.” Paul Bear Bryant

Georgia Bulldog fans dressed themselves in black to psyche out Alabama’s Crimson Tide for the Saturday night game. Frat boys painted their shirtless bodies with black. Little did they expect the evening to turn out as more of a funeral. Bama, under Nick Sabin’s coaching, came to play and play they did, ending the first half with a 31 to zip lead. While Georgia managed to adjust somewhat the second half, the game ended 41-30. I’d say that’s a funeral.

The real story is that when the Tide rolls like this, fans dream that the new coach is chasing Bear Bryant’s legend.

In August, Forbes magazine featured Sabin on the cover with the headline, “Sports’ Most Powerful Coach.” The story begins with this question: “College football has long been a big business. But the money and control Alabama gave Nick Saban raised the stakes to an unprecedented level. Is he worth it?”

Football, and especially football in the South, is akin to religion, and I am very religious in autumn when the boys are on the field and the leaves have only begun to think about falling.

Make no mistake, Forbes is right. This is big business. As University of Alabama President Robert Witt says of the recent $500 million capital campaign, “We have had 100,000 donors in that campaign, and a major reason they support us is football.” Tight-fisted Alabama taxpayers aren’t footing the bill for Saban’s salary or the athletic program. A higher caliber of student is attracted to the university and fundraising is easier. And many faculty members have quieted their criticisms for these very reasons.

But Bulldogs, remember, the good guys always wear white (and red). Roll Tide!

Photo Note: Nicolas Bryant and his daddy were all decked out in Bama attire for Nic’s first game watched on ESPN.

Voter Registration Deadlines Approaching

Y’all know my love of politics. Last night’s debate between John McCain and Barack Obama was a draw in my opinion.

I’m generally not into bashing and trashing since heavens knows there is a ton of that already on TV and online. I do think, however, that Sen. Obama came out looking and sounding more presidential and was the more gracious of the two candidates. Obama faced Sen. McCain, looking directly at him when he spoke to him. My Mama taught me to look at a person when I spoke to him, didn’t yours? And Sen. Obama was confident enough to agree with Sen. McCain on several points, a clear signal that this is the man who can bring us together and not push us further apart.

Debate and economic turbulence aside, I am finally getting around to my point today. Last Thursday on the way home from my new job, I stopped off at the library and registered to vote in my new hometown. The deadline for registering to vote is fast approaching in many states, including here in Illinois, which has a deadline of 28 days before the election.

A great resource for voting information on a state-by-state basis can be found at the U.S. Election Assistance Commission. In a quick perusal on my part I found that voters in Idaho, Maine, Minnesota, Montana, New Hampshire, Wisconsin, and Wyoming can register to vote on election day, and voters in North Dakota don’t even have to register at all, the only state which does not require such of her voters.

The rest of y’all unregistered voters better get yourselves over to the town or county clerk, library, or wherever they sign up folks soon. You can also register by mail in many states. And the Obama folks have a great voter information site to aid with registration too. But please vote! Too much depends on it to sit this one out.

Thinking Ahead to October

Thinking ahead to October, I am reminded that soon you all will be seeing a bunch of products to make us aware of breast cancer. Seriously, do we need any more reminders?

However, this is the third year that I have created a new design especially for October’s onslaught of the pink ribbon and here it is. There has been an evolution of sorts as the first year saw a design with the pink ribbon forming the “l” in “Believe.” I wanted very much to believe that things would turn out okay. Last year without a single pink ribbon, I focused on retro designs aimed at getting women in for those annual mammograms, and I have noticed several large purchases and imagine that health educators are behind them.

And now with this year’s design, I hope to offer a message that no matter where we are on our journey, we must continue to live our lives to the fullest each and every day.

Where a Fully-Read Book Might Take You

If you read yesterday’s post, you will recall that I recently completed reading a book. As a woman who has endured, survived and suffered through way too many changes of late, I see why Joan Anderson’s The Second Journey The Road Back to Yourself caught my eye.

I fully intended to sit in one of Batavia Library’s comfy chairs and read a bit of the book, which I did. However, when it was time to go, I took the slim volume along with me. You see, Joan Anderson had 10 years earlier lived out one of my fantasies when she left her everyday life and spent a year by the sea in a journey to self-discovery. I haven’t read that book, but there is a part of me that wishes I could go off to some isolated natural environment and contemplate exactly what course and direction I want to steer the rest of my life. I don’t suppose younger readers will get this. They are too busy raising families and building careers and time is way too short for this sort of self-indulgent exploration. While time is not endless for them, it is indeed not quite so pressing an issue as it is with the older among us.

It had been 10 years since Anderson wrote her first book, the bestseller A Year by the Sea, and she was again ready to explore how her life was evolving. Anderson writes,

Now, as part of my ten-year inventory, I reflect on what is outlived in my life today. I’ve known for some time that holding on to anything ruins it, as does clinging to old ways, outdated ideals, worn-out relationships, and lifestyles that have run their course. As a culture, we seem to prize permanency. Certainly the familiar is comforting. But the way we were is not the way we are, and why would I want to still have those parts of my life that have lost their zest? Perhaps one of the reasons I felt so compelled to come out here today was actually to witness massive change. None of us can control the way life passes: we can only adapt.

Before writing the second book, Anderson again found herself at what I call loose ends. The first book propelled her into a notoriety of book signings and retreats and a newly found status as a guide or mentor of women seeking self-discovery. By all accounts, she was successful. Yet, her busy life was not all that she desired, and thus, the author set out on the second journey, a journey that this time included a visit to the mystical and remote Scottish Isle of Iona.

Maybe when I write and publish my book, I will be able to jet to my island of self-discovery. She writes:

The call to a second journey usually commences when unexpected change is thrust upon you, causing a crisis of feelings so great that you are stopped in your tracks. Personal events such as a betrayal, a diagnosis of serious illness, the death of a loved one, loss of self-esteem, a fall from power are only a few of the catalysts. A woman caught thusly has no choice but to pause, isolate, even relocate until she can reevaluate the direction in which she should head. Should she stay the course or choose another path?

But alas, many of us inhibit our capacity for growth because the culture encourages us to live lives of uniformity. We stall, deny, ignore the ensuing crisis because of confusion, malaise, and yes, even propriety. Yet more and more, I come in contact with women, particularly in midlife—that uneasy and ill-defined period—who do not want merely to be stagnant but rather desire to be generative. Today’s woman has the urge to go against the prevailing currents, step out of line, and break with a polite society that has her following the unwritten rules of relationship, accepting the abuses of power in the workplace, and blithely living with myriad shoulds when she has her own burgeoning desires.

Anderson’s book got me to thinking anyway. And I actually finished a book. Not too bad for a woman who has endured, survived and suffered through way too many changes of late.

Guilt and the Half-Read Book (Part 1)

A week or so ago I noticed a link to an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education. “The Pleasure of Half Read Books” caught my attention. I thought to myself, well, at least I have company.

Blaming everything from mega-bookstores like Borders and Barnes & Noble with their coffee shops and comfy chairs to the Internet and Books on Tape (CDs), the author of the article writes,

But if you were to force me to accept responsibility for having given up on reading books to the end, I would trace my habit back to finishing my doctorate in contemporary literature years ago. I realized then that except for books that I might teach or write about, I never had to finish another book unless I wanted to. I wasn’t going to be tested on any book for the rest of my life.

That is as good an explanation as any I know. I have started more books lately than I have finished, but tomorrow I will tell you about one that I did finish. Meanwhile, take William McMillen’s advice,

So don’t despair if you have a half-read book taking up space on your desk. Don't feel guilty about not finishing it just because you are a professor. No one cares, and you shouldn't, either. Just move it over to the bottom shelf of your bookcase and find something new. You’ll feel liberated, trust me.