About rape

Rape, it seems, can be a gift that keeps on giving, in more ways than one. Let’s say that a raped woman bears a child: this, in itself, will forever remind her of that forcible intrusion.

But according to a lawyer — herself a rape victim — there are laws in 31 states that, incredibly, give her rapist certain parental rights over that child! The rape victim will therefore be legally compelled to accommodate her rapist about the offspring. And she can be required to share this relationship for up to 18 years.

Fatefully, that initial violation doesn’t seem to have an ending.


Good Samaritan

Not all voter suppression tactics are crude.

I found this note on my windscreen regarding the Obama decal on my Subaru.

Friend — I just wanted to let you know that some knucklehead vandalized your car by slapping an Obama sticker on it. The last thing you want is to be driving around all day, looking like an idiot, not knowing it’s on there.

Take care — Good Samaritan.

Back, at last.

Have been away since April, 2011. Nita and Frank are here, and Frank, a computer professional, upgraded things to make it possible to get back on track. I miss the blog, and have been using Facebook as a kind of blog. Let’s see where it goes from here.

Note to myself

In case I got a summons from the police about running a red light, I took down the following information right after the incident, to remember details of the incident.

Sunday, February 29, 5.57 pm, at the Hospital corner, I was driving at approximately 37-39 miles an hour, under snowy conditions. It had been snowing since Pinetop and I was driving gingerly, so as not to skid.

The road was slick with the temperature at 29 degrees according to the in-board readout.

Approaching the corner I was close enough to the amber light to consider proceeding. The decision to proceed, or brake, was based on whether braking would cause a skid on the slick surface. I thought it safe, and prudent, not to brake, and so avoid skidding.

Before completing the crossover amber turned red.

Mine was not a careless, unheeding, flouting of the rules. I was proceeding as I thought the conditions of the road required.

Dappled things

Yesterday I found a dog-eared copy of a New Yorker magazine at the car wash place with a piece on Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Adam Kirsch was reviewing the Hopkins biography by Paul Mariani, and since it doesn’t take them long to spruce up the Subaru, even after the snowgrime of winter, they were ready with the bill before I was quite done with the magazine.

Luckily I had cadged a pencil from the woman at the counter and noted the publication date, May 11, 2009.

Back home I took to the garage and the boxes of past New Yorkers, still too precious for the municipal landfill and, taking down the earliest box, found, on the second try, the furloughed copy in question.

Back inside I continued with the review and, this time, copied Mariani’s book to my wish list on the computer.

“Glory be to God for dappled things,” Hopkins once intoned. And for minor revelations, too, say I.


Gary and Elle spent most of Saturday in our drawing room coming to grips with the manual for a fireplace of which we had, practically on a whim, relieved the hardware store the day before, a prelude to the snowstorm we were assured would descend upon us on Sunday.

Their application allowed us to keep an appointment with the aarp experts providing a free tax preparation service two streets away; not that being at home would have enabled us to contribute much to their labors.

Then, in the afternoon, when the assembly was complete came the long, patient dialogue about re-arranging the furniture, the better to receive the benefit of flames now flickering from the cabinet housing the Visio TV.

Gary and Elle, remember, were the neighbors who drove us to Phoenix for my heart operation and housed Janice at their son’s place for a week while the surgeons performed their sleight of hand.

And yesterday, still awaiting the snow, we were at their place, along with neighbors Corky and Mal, to share Indonesian cooking which, strangely enough, they hadn’t undertaken since four years ago, when we were all in Phoenix for the operation!

The easy interaction, the almost family closeness, might lead you to think we were living in a climate of advanced tranquility.

Except that in Phoenix the legislators are putting their heads — if not their minds — together, to fashion legislation anointing Samuel Colt’s revolver as something they call a State Gun. This is the memorial the Republicans in Arizona want to set up about the shooting, and death of six, in Tucson, the other day.


Saw the first “Repeal Obamacare” bumper sticker in Show Low this afternoon when we stopped by the Walgreen’s. The contagion is spreading in our State, a fruitful ground for repealing everything Obama, while inflicting alien strictures on so many of our people.