Innocence and Justice

I listened to John Grisham last night at Wake Forest University. He sat as part of a legal panel, to discuss his work of non-fiction, The Innocent Man. I haven't read this book yet, though I've read almost everything else he's written.

The talk began with a brief overview of how Mr Grisham came to discover the story he would retell. Seems, like most of us, John is a big obituary reader. He said he likes the small town, old timey obits; that share interesting names and stories about the dead.

Later, Mr Grisham recounted several motivations for his work fighting for justice around the country, including forced confessions which are the inspiration for his next publication "The Confession". Can't wait to read that one.

He closed the talk with a suggestion to law students. He said he couldn't count how many times he'd spoken with those who have had the good fortune to have their wrong convictions overturned, who told him they "had no hope at all until they got a letter from a law student who was looking at their case". He told students to get involved in the system.

His suggestion to those of us who are not involved in the law was to consider that 2 million people are incarcerated in the US, perhaps 1-2% of them the result of injustice. 20,000 to 40,000 people in jail for a crime they didn't commit. Something to think about the next time you try to get out of jury duty.

Plan B Meals

When I was a kid my Mom worked. In fact, she worked my whole life. A great cook, but seldom home to prepare meals, Mom always had a backup plan. In fact several of them.

In the early years, when money was tight, Plan B was often Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with tiny flecks of tuna. Or we might find ourselves eating chipped beef on toast. And if Mom was really wiped out we'd get to have cold cereal for dinner.

The Mac and Cheese with tuna was my all time least favorite plan. We were living in Ohio, and seafood wasn't something we had often. Salmon patties (complete with eye socket bones) were the usual seafood choice, and were a favorite. So the first time we had the mac and cheese with tuna I did not know what the odd flecks of flavor were. And to be clear, these were not flecks of solid white albacore. Smelly, odd tasting and very tiny; they added an interesting balance to the creamy richness of boxed mac and cheese.

Chipped beef on toast was amazing. Creamy, beefy and crunchy, all at the same time. It was a mouthful of yummy. When I was an adult I tried to figure out how Mom made this dish. Today you can buy the Stouffer version in the freezer case.

Obviously, cold cereal nights were rare, and when we had one we knew Mom was dog tired, so there were never any complaints. But what's to complain about when you've got Cocoa Puff's for dinner?

At my house we've never tried any of these choices. I'm pretty sure my kids would die before they'd eat Mac and Cheese with "dark" tuna OR chipped beef on toast. I go for other options like an easy posole or pasta carbonara.

Another difference for me is that I haven't worked since the kids were little. Some nights I may be worn out but I can't ever claim to be as tired as Mom would've been. And I've got a microwave, fresh food options that didn't exist in the 60's and two kids who love to cook. And the phone number to Papa John's on my speed dial.

Working on my Spanish

As an American kid in Peru several lifetimes ago, I learned Spanish in self-defense. Arriving in Lima, with two years of high school Latin under my belt, was not the best preparation for an exchange student, but it was what I had.

Peruvian educators put me in their English classes, which sounded nutty, but actually worked pretty well. For a while. After a few weeks at Nuestra Sra de Carmen, I was advised that I was too distracting to the other students. Whatever that meant.

So, I hung at home with mi tias and the servants. Learned to knit, to shop in the market, and to travel Lima by bus. All good ground for learning new words in Spanish.

Then I went to la universidad de San Marcos. Where I also studied English, though this time with students who were not distracted. The problem at USM was that the teacher taught via immersion, so all I was learning was English. My academic advisor was at a loss for what to do with me, so I sat in the courtyard and soaked up culture instead.

Back at home, my family helped me see Peru. I rode a night bus from Lima to Chiclayo with mi tia Rosa, under a Spanish surname, with the plan that I should play the role of a deaf mute, so that no one would know I was American, in the likely event that the bus would be stopped, by bandits or "state" officials as we crossed borders. I probably should've been worried. We were stopped. I did play dumb. No one kidnapped me, so I must've been convincing in my portrayal.

A car trip down the coast back to Lima. A plane to Cusco. A train to Macchu Pichu. And buses, so many buses. And along the way, I learned Spanish. So much so that when I returned to the US, English sounded all wrong.

But now, years have passed and my Spanish is quite rusty. I've begun a personal effort to recover vocabulary words and verb tense usage. Es muy dificil, pero es importante hablo la lengua de America del Sur. Porque, contestas? It's very difficult, but it's important that I speak the language of South America. Why, you ask? Because I just found my Peruvian family again, after 37 years.

So, If I continue to ignore my blogs, at least you know why. Because I'm working on my Spanish. Happily.

Swagger Wagon

I saw an ad last night during the Olympics that made me rethink my ten year relationship with my minivan. I know what you're thinking: "Relationship?" It is a fact that I've spent a good bit of the last ten years inside my minivan, in spite of my "stay at home mom" job description.

I drive a Honda Odyssey, with the first Honda navigation system installed. The navigation system was always talking to us in the beginning (until we learned how to turn her voice off) and we had to give her a name. It's not terribly original, but we call her "Odyssey". To truly appreciate this creative instinct you have to know we adopted a cat from the Humane Society and they'd already given him a "cage name". Our girls felt that it was wrong to change his name, so "Trent" he remains. But I digress.

Anyway, in the ad a man called his van the "Swagger Wagon". So I've decided that's what I'll call Odyssey from now on. I'll admit, I'm not much of a swaggerer. As one of the older Mom's in my posse, I'm more hep than hip. I'll have to work towards swaggering, one step at a time.

I've considered the following options for Swagger Wagon. 1. Shiny new wheels Or Shiny, spinning wheels. Sadly: not in my budget. 2. New speaker system. Sadly: also not in my budget. And that's all I've got so far.

I have announced to my homies on Facebook that I've changed Odyssey's name. I'm getting mixed reviews. One person so far "likes" the change. Another says she thinks the name Swagger Wagon is temporary. But she doesn't know me. Swagger Wagon has at least another 100k miles left on her. And by then I'll have those shiny new wheels. Second hand of course. And I'm all over the new speaker system. I found this really cool set of portable speakers. They're called hearing aids.

I just want you to be happy and be a good citizen.

I remember the day my dad talked to me about what it meant to be a real adult. It was not long after I'd taken a stand at my school opposing censorship.

To make a long story short, our school held a service club competition every year which involved skits. My club's skit "went over the line" with the faculty censorship committee, because one of our characters behaved in a "gay" manner. The committee said that we'd have to remove this character and all references to his behavior when we performed for the competition. We tried to argue with the committee, explaining that the most popular tv show of the time ("Three's Company") went well beyond the trivial gestures and exaggerations of our character, but they disagreed.

As President of my service club, I met with the President of the boy's service club we worked with for the skit, and we talked about our options. When we met with our members we took a vote on two choices: alter the play or perform it as is. The clubs voted 100% in favor of performing it as it had been originally written.

On performance night, the skits were awarded points by judges in the audience. These judges were not aware of the faculty censorship committee's demands. Points were announced and clearly indicated our skit was the winner. The Vice Principal took the stage announcing there were "issues with the judging" and a conference of judges and school officials met behind closed curtains for 10 minutes before trophies were awarded. The result of this meeting was that our club had points removed for violating the ruling of the censorship committee. We were given last place in the competition. When club members met after the results we were not unhappy. We knew we had won, regardless of who took the trophy home. What we didn't know was the reach of the long arms of the committee.

My parents and I were called into the Vice Principal's office. We were all sternly talked to about my behavior. I was given time to explain my position for leading my club to violate the censorship rules. Mr Dawkin's listened. Then my parents told him that I had their support. His response was tough, though really only words. A letter would be placed in my permanent file telling the story from his point of view. I would be given the chance to reply in my own letter, which would also be place in my file. Mr Dawkin's seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. I felt his wrath but didn't really think he agreed with the path he had to take, but he had to take it.

So Dad and I, a week or so later, talked about what it meant to be an adult and a citizen. He told me that he thought I already knew the important things. I had already participated in an election, as a campaign volunteer. I had fought against censorship. But he told me he also hoped that in life I could find happiness. With work, with people and with my government. At the time I didn't really see the depth of what he meant.

Looking back I realize that personal happiness is just one part of a good life. He was right. If you aren't able to find happiness across the full spectrum of your life, you aren't doing your country or the world any good by being here. It's taken me over 30 years to "get" that. Thanks Dad!

Now, as a parent, I have the opportunity to create a few more good AND HAPPY citizens. They participated in their first election, as volunteers for two candidates who won. I explained that this will not always happen, but we bask in the joy of the present. They know that sometimes they will work hard and the person who appears to be the best candidate will not win, but the process must survive. They know they must be part of the process.

This year the oldest has Civics, and an outstanding teacher. Last night she drafted her first letter the the editor of the local paper. I was asked to proofread. Immensely proud of my daughter for taking a stand on the issue of campaign finance reform, I have to remember to have the "BE HAPPY" conversation with her. Because it still really matters.

Poor, poor Haiti

I was feeling sorry for our country until the 7.3 earthquake hit Haiti earlier this week. It's a sad reminder that no matter how bad things are, there is always someone worse off than you. Unless you live in Haiti, where for entire lifetimes - in our hemisphere at least - there is no one worse off than you. And now, as bad as it was (and it had been improving), it is much worse.

My husband spent part of his childhood in Haiti, as the son of a US AID worker with the US State Department. He remembers a poor country with a vibrant heart. The sounds of drums lulled him to sleep at night. The beaches were the most beautiful of his memories. The mountains held the promise of mystery.

As an adult my husband often meets Haitians who are always surprised to hear him sing the Hatian National Anthem. Haitians are always happy, graceful, spirited and, above all, KIND people.

So today I put away my whining about our economy, our political wrangling over health care options, my concern for where I will spend my next vacation, and I think of Haiti. It's lovely country, now covered in ruin. It's joyous people, now desperate in need. I direct my attention away from the tv and focus on matching gift programs that will generate double what we are able to contribute to help Haitians recover from this catastrophic event. I hold in my heart the story of the "windy goats" and the warmth of the sun on a glorious beach, and the sound of a strong voice singing a happy song.

Going in Circles with AdSense

I set up an AdSense account over a year ago. I didn't pay a lot of attention to it, didn't earn much money from it, and generally forgot about it. Then I got rid of the email address I set it up with.

Recently I got a post card from Google AdSense, giving me my new pin number. Then I tried to login to my AdSense account, but had forgotten my password. So, I thought: no problem, I'll reset the password. Except of course the email address doesn't work anymore.

Several months ago I did set up a gmail account, and I have other email accounts; just not the one I used initially with AdSense. But how do I tell the good folks at AdSense this... The "decision path" mapped out for me by AdSense to resolve this involves applying for a new AdSense account, which they say will be denied because I can't have TWO accounts. They say the "denial" will include a link that allows me to STOP the old account and transfer any balance over $10 to my new account. But I think I had a balance of almost (but not quite) $10 on the account... so I'll lose that. It took me nearly 17 months to reach that amount and I hate to lose it, but it seems the only way forward.

This earning big bucks through blogging is way harder than it seems. 17 months of blogging to get $9.72 worth of "money", in a system that doesn't send you a check until you hit $100. Only 14 years to go until I see a check from Google AdSense. :) I sure hope they send me my denial soon so I can get started again.