Catching up

I wrote about the anniversary of Women's Suffrage here in the states, and then got really busy and then got kind of sick (headache, fever; the fever's gone), and missed posting about Dr. King. So, I'll refer you to what my cousin had to say. She's good with the words.

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No, reading my blog does not substitute for giving me a call or sending me an email. Remember: I want to know what's happening with you, too.

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Sarah Palin? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh. *whew*. That was a good one. But wait. Those guys are RIGHT. I have ovaries therefore I must vote McCain-Palin, because I have to stand up for my own kind and get a woman--any woman--into the White House. It wasn't about Hilary, it was about sisterhood. Yes, I really am as ignorant, sheep-like and tractable as the McCain camp assumes I am. Um...not. If I wasn't still laughing so hard, I'd be insulted. Instead, I'm just bitterly amused.

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I'm off soon to work at my church's annual Greek festival. I'll be there, hawking jewelry and Greek coffee, from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. For my labor, I will pay myself with good Greek food. Yum. 

Suffer the women to vote

My dear women family members and friends: On this day in 1920, women gained the right to vote in these United States. According to today's Writer's Almanac, "Secretary of State Bainbridge Colby signed the proclamation that morning at 8 a.m. at his home. There was no ceremony of any kind. ... Colby just finished his coffee, and signed the document with a regular, steel pen." With that, half of America's population was freed to help determine their own destiny and that of their families, their towns and cities, their counties and states and their country. For suffrage we have a long list of people to thank. And we can thank them by voting, at every opportunity afforded to us; by teaching our nieces and our daughters to vote; by encouraging our jaded and wearied friends to vote; by hosting a polling station. We all are fortunate to be able to determine our own governance. We fought for that right in the Revolutionary War. But women had to battle twice, and they won their fight on August 26, 1920. I care deeply about who becomes our next president, who will sit in our Senates and Houses, and what are new laws will and won't be. But for whom and what you vote doesn't matter to me so much as I am concerned that you cast your ballots. Now, while there's still time to research candidates and issues, arm youselves with knowledge. And please, on November 4, vote.

Breaking for Dessert

Poetry writing is much harder than short-story writing. (It's also more satisfying--though I don't see myself dumping short stories in favor of poetry. More likely, I'll combine them somehow.) But writing a title for a poem I've been working on is turning out to be even tougher. I nearly gave my latest effort a title way too similar to that of one penned by Robert Frost. Erk. Thank GOD for Google. I find myself working on a short story and a poem in alternate cycles of sweat and research and muttered cursing. I like them both, which is a nice change of pace. I'm down in the weeds, hacking away and I'm hoping what comes out of all this is two decent efforts. 

Enough about writing. Back to procrastination! I must tell you about possibly the best dessert you could ever have on a summer evening. You need two things (besides a bowl and a spoon):

1. Very good-quality coffee ice cream (Turkish is best. Don't tell my Greek relatives I said so.)

2. Chocolate port (Recommended brand: Stanley Lambert's Choc-a-Bloc. It's Australian.)

Put two scoops of ice cream (one if it's late evening and you are sensitive to caffeine) into a cup or bowl and drizzle chocolate port over to taste. I use a jigger full. This is not a float; it's a sundae. But you won't need any whipped cream or nuts. Just the ice cream and booze. This is so good I do a little dance just thinking about it. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Researching instead of blogging

I haven't posted in a little while because my blogging time has been taken up with research. I'm writing my first short story that requires some earnest digging around. So I've been reading up on WWII info, particularly on battling in and around Huertgen Forest in Germany. On top of that, work has been particularly involved lately. I'll get back here and post again soon. I've got to catch you up on the weekend trip to the Reno area we just came back from. But right now I've got to get on the freeway and get over to Oakland for a work-related class. Joy.

Carb coma

I made macaroni and cheese tonight using a recipe from epicurious.com. I haven't made mac and cheese in so very long. This one had intense cheese flavor, just the right creamy texture, and a decadent crumb-cheese topping. Really, I wanted to just put it on the floor and roll around in it. But because I detest mopping and was famished after a monster weight workout, I ate a bowl of it instead. And now I am pleasantly sleepy. Mmmmmm.

Speed bag! Right cross! Front kick! Wait. What?

In an effort to mix things up a bit at the gym tonight, I went to a kick boxing class. The class was taught by a woman named Libby. Libby has a negative percentage of body fat, the enthusiasm of a cheer leader squad captain, and the energy of a chihuahua on speed. Plus she has a perfect tan. She is a tad frightening. Kick boxing class isn't all about just kicking and shadow boxing. No. There is line dancing involved, too. I could never line dance. I was always the person looking around and going "Wait. Which arm should be I be pointing with? What direction? Oh crap, now everyone's going the other way." This distresses me mightily. Anyway, I staggered through through 45 minutes, sweat like hell, and didn't kick anyone or barrel into any walls. For this I am to be commended.