Go read Nan’s story about her doggie, Towser. You might cry a little, but it’s so worth it. Someone else misses her black Lab, too.

Peace Frog
the Doors

“There’s blood in the streets, it’s up to my ankles
She came
There’s blood on the streets, it’s up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of Chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, it’s following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets it’s up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin’
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of Venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
There’s blood in the streets, it’s up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, it’s up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of Chicago
Blood on the rise, it’s following me”

from the Wacky Mailbox:

“On December 28th, a federal court issued an order preventing Oregon from implementing its new domestic partnership law until at least Feb. 1. The court’s decision was in response to a lawsuit brought by an out-of-state right wing interest group. This unnecessary delay has put hundreds of caring, committed couples in harm’s way. It’s up to us to ensure that Oregonians understand what’s at stake. Join Basic Rights Oregon at the Rally to Defend Equality on January 30.

Gay or straight – it’s time to stand up and be counted.

Support Oregon families by joining us at Wednesday’s Rally to Defend Equality. Bring your friends and family with you! (more…)

(From Word-A-Day — Wordsmith Anu Garg, thank you for the daily dose.)

lucent (LOO-suhnt) adjective

1. Luminous; shining.

2. Translucent; clear.

[From Latin lucent, from lucere (to shine). Other words derived from the same root are elucidate, lucid, and translucent.]

Thursday January 31 – Saturday February 23

Interstate Firehouse Cultural Center

Facets of Africa Gallery Exhibit

Makonde sculpture from Tanzania and Mozambique and the paintings from the students and associates of Congolese artist E.S. Tingatinga.

Opening Reception: Last Thursday January 31 5:30-7:30 p.m. (free)

Artist’s Tea: Feb 16, 3 p.m. (free)

IFCC
5340 N. Interstate Ave
Portland, Ore. 97217
503-823-4322

Have you been reading this blog for awhile? Do you remember last year when my dog died, then we got lice and were dirty sluts, then I got rilly rilly sad?

I don’t feel so sad right now, although of course I still miss my sweet little 100-pound dog. This is your friendly reminder to go check heads at your house, shampoo regularly with tea tree oil, and get some sleep. (I don’t know why I threw that one in. I guess we all could use more sleep. And hydration. So drink a glass or two of water, would you?)

Also, if you have a dog, go take him for a walk and give him a pat on the head from me.

Love,

WM

Just setting the record straight.

We met, we hung out, admired the kids, Lelo’s cool aprons (skulls and pom-poms and flames), Melissa’s cool books (her name is on the cover)… it was great. I want to do it again soon. Some very awesome people showed up and we had some good talk-talk. The revolution will not be televised, Gil Scott-Heron was right about that, but it is coming over the Internet.

Then I got take-out, came home, had the house to myself for a couple hours (whoa), TOOK A HUGE NAP, then woke up to my husband saying those magic words: “Dinner is ready.”

Now we’re watching the original “Parent Trap,” I’m knitting little snugglies for both kids, and we’re just kickin’ it.

This is my idea of a perfect day.

Don’t forget our “meet and greet” tomorrow SATURDAY JANUARY 26TH!!!, from 10 a.m.-noon at Ladybug Organic Coffee Company, 8438 N. Lombard St., here in bee-yoo-ti-ful Portland, Oregon.

Lelo is bringing aprons to sell; Melissa will sign and sell books; I have a case of kids’ books to give away FREE; and… we will drink coffee.

Hope to see you then.

wm

ps — wondering how Lelo made those cool signs? RedKid.net is how.

UrbanMamas, I’m sorry I called you a bunch of pussies and bitches. Also, since I posted that, we’ve decided not to move across town, so here I am, baby.

What I meant to say was the following: By transferring your kids hither and yon to go to school, you are being socially regressive. Also, you’re not expressing with your full capabilities. I heard from ProtestMama that you’re having a panel discussion about school choice options. Neither of us was invited to be on the panel, oddly enough. That’s fine, I get ya. I am working for Portland Public Schools now, doing community outreach, and I’ve heard you don’t really want to have PPS on the panel. ProtestMama does not work for PPS, she just knows her shit, but whatever. I’m sure you had your reasons. But you are saying that parents and others in the audience will be able to add their two cents.

I’ll probably add four cents, possibly nine cents, we’ll have to see. ProtestMama and I are planning to attend, if we can make it. Which brings me to my first question: Are we welcome at the table? Uh, no. Are we welcome in the room? I hope so. You have indicated that we are welcome, it is a public meeting and all.

Anyway. The discussion will be held at noon, next Wednesday, January 30th, 2008, in the U.S. Bank Meeting Room at Multnomah County Library’s Central branch, 801 SW Tenth Ave. My second question: We both do work outside of the home, as do many other mamas. Why noon? On a weekday? Ah, catering to the stripedy crowd, with their cunning hats and their stay-at-home UrbanMamas? Is that it? I would suggest holding another discussion, in the evening, and not downtown.

What would I like? I would like you all to please support your neighborhood schools, walk through the doors, tour them, give ’em a couple of years and a chance before deciding to transfer out (and I hope you do not transfer out, I hope you invest in your neighborhood schools). I want you to meet the teachers, administrators and staff. I want you to volunteer, so you get a true idea of what the school is about.

But most of all: I want you to please help us fight for equity for all of our students. If you want to know how you can help, go leave a note on my better half’s blog or e-mail one of us. A whole lot of us want equity for PPS students. You can start now, right this second, by e-mailing the school board, the superintendent, your neighborhood school’s principal. You can talk to your friends.

I thought it was telling that the little picture on the announcement for the panel discussion shows two suburban-looking ladies, gabbing at the back fence. Those “back fence deals,” (Should we fly? Should we stay?) those deals make and break our schools. Birds of a feather flock together and all that.

I started getting pretty involved in school politics the day I had two PTA moms, both white, in my home office. We were going over the books, figuring out fundraisers for the year. My daughter was entering kindergarten. They had older boys who were going into sixth grade, and both had decided to send them to a west side school, across town (loooooong train or bus ride) because they “couldn’t” go their neighborhood school.

“We’d be in the minority there!” one of them said.

“I know!” said the other.

My response: “I don’t give a shit about that — why do you?”

Blank stares. Blank. As blank and one-dimensional as those two women in the little picture on that post you ran.

“If we stayed, I mean, if we all stayed, we could make it better,” one of them ventured.

But they didn’t.

Did you know kids who transfer out of their neighborhood school are more likely to drop out? Feel like fishes out of water? Feel unwanted, and out of place, when the students who “belong” there let them know, You are not from our neighborhood?

Anyway.

I have the good fortune (or in her case, she might see it as bad luck. Ha.) to have a friend who is also a mom in the neighborhood. I’ve known her and her husband for more than twenty years. They’re not right in our neighborhood — they’re up the street a ways. But their kids dip in over here for a charter. The point is — we’ve been having some good discussions about what it will take, what PPS needs to commit to, what parents and community need to commit to, what changes need to be made in order to get people back to their neighborhood schools. To end the segregation in this town, the starving out of low-income children and children who are not white, to get as many of the goodies to as many people as possible. Complicating factors: The district’s radical open transfer policy. No Child Left Behind (will the Democrats rid us of this crippling legislation, if they get into office? I remain unconvinced). Classism. Racism.

She is going to start, in her own life, by volunteering at our neighborhood high school, Jefferson. Go, Demos!

I’ve finally started telling a Certain Group of Parents — let’s call them the, “We Are the World/We Are the Parents!” parents — that they are working against the greater common good by taking their little sweeties out of their own communities, where they live and (possibly? not often enough) play. The social fabric of our larger community is being damaged by all this me, me, me attitude. When you make sure your kid is getting a big enough hunk of whatever, and helping to ensure that other kids get a small hunk, or no hunk at all — you’re hurting kids.

I noticed this syndrome first at birthday parties, right around the time Wacky Girl turned nine months old. The chaos! The fancy cakes! The bounce houses, cotton candy machines, expensive, elaborate decorations and gifts. The kids, once they got a little older, weren’t as intent on playing and socializing as they were on something bigger: The Goody Bag. When would it come out? Where was it hidden? What did it contain? What if the parent forget to give them out???

If you are a parent who does not Give the Goody Bag, you feel shame. (I have been guilty, myself, of Goody Bag Overcompensation.)

Life, thank God, is not a birthday party. Education is not a birthday party, although it has become, as one of our local principals said, “A case of the haves and the have-nots.”

It’s about more than cake and goody bags. We’re talking about people’s futures, their healthcare, their livelihoods. Their self-esteem, the way they find (or don’t find) a place to fit in in the universe. It is important to me that we help our kids, our future, our collective national pride, that we help them however we can so they do not end up:

1) Shattered.
2) Addicted.
3) Abused.
4) Incarcerated.
5) Dead.

That’s important to me, for our children. They are our children, not just mine and hers and his and yours. Ours. I claim them. Do you? Because if you don’t, for real — and all you’re caring about is that goody bag and hunk of cake — you are a pussy.

Peace, yours in equity,

WM