Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Memorial Day

A time to remember those who gave their lives in military service during wartime defending the rights of others.

War. Daunting term. One I had to learn, accept and process early in life. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting at the dinner table, watching Dan Rather reporting from the jungles of Vietnam. Watching the protests against the war. Trying to understand rhetoric from both sides at a very tender age.

War. It was a constant part of our family vacations, in a very gentle, curious form. As we loaded into the family roadster and took off to visit kinfolk and see sights across the South, there was always a page or two in our AAA TripTik detailing the way to a Civil War battlefield. Kennesaw Mountain. Ft. Sumter. Manassas. Appomattox. Petersburg. Vicksburg. We saw ‘em all. As a tweenage girl, this was not my idea of exciting and I did my level best to at least feign some interest. Kind of. It helped if there was a gift shop in the visitors’ center. The battlefields were just places I read about in my history books – the details of the battles was just information to be learned and regurgitated on a test. Seeing them up close and personal – not thrilling.

That changed somewhat after I read, for the first of many, many, many times, Gone with the Wind. War now had a face for me – albeit a fictional and historical one. When we would drive through middle Georgia on our way to Atlanta, I’d look through the trees and try to imagine soldiers on horseback patrolling or fighting.

In relation to the way modern wars are fought, it seemed so primitive. But maybe that’s war in its purist form without a lot of bells and whistles.

The beginning of the end of war lies in remembrance.
~ Herman Wouk

True confession: I’m not crazy about wars or the reasons given for fighting them. That’s just me – your opinion may, and probably does, vary. While not a technical pacifist, I do lean that way. I’m the girl who once hummed “Give Peace a Chance” while at an air show at our local Air Force base. Again, your millage may vary.

I’d like to think, in my very idealistic fashion, that disputes can be solved with discussion and compromise. But grown-up me knows that’s not always possible, always the case. War is war. A necessary evil. It’s a tricky wicket, this war thing.

Over time, I’ve come to the realization that wars are part of the human condition – it was a war, in fact, that was a catalyst in our country being created. And why I can speak my piece in peace, freely without censorship. Why we still can enjoy our many, plentiful freedom blessings. And I don’t take any of those lightly or for granted.

I am, above all, a team player. And my team is that of my country. As David Puddy once famously said, with his face painted in the colors of his fave hockey squad “… gotta support the team.” And so I do. To the best of my ability. I love my country. Very very much.

I’m thinking about our team, composed of brave men and women, who are doing their thing on shores far away on behalf of our country. It’s not an easy job – the one they’ve been tasked with. It’s tricky and complicated and very dangerous, sometimes with a fatal outcome.

So today, on a day deemed as a time to remember those who gave their lives in defense of rights and freedoms and solutions, we pause to ponder. And say a most earnest and indebted thank you. Regardless of whether we agree with the involvement, the people who lived it first hand are more than worthy of our appreciation, care and gratitude.


Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

How important it is for us to recognize and celebrate our heroes and she-roes!

Protest: an expression or declaration of objection, disapproval, or dissent, often in opposition to something a person is powerless to prevent or avoid: a protest against increased taxation.

There is no place hotter than inland Florida during the summer months. Humidity clings to the air like tween girls to one other upon a Justin Bieber sighting. So to be dressed in proper ’80s business attire (it was, after all, the summer of 1986) which included hose, heels and an “I Am Woman Take Me Seriously” paisley silk bow tie scarf, it had to be some sort of important occasion. And it was.

I was blowing off summer classes in Gainesville and driving in a van with some pals to participate in my first protest. In Tallahassee. At the capital building. Outside. The cause: stopping tuition hikes.

In my world in the era of Reagan-omics, protests and other forms of political activism were relegated to the ideological fringe, even on a college campus. In those days, my personal resolve wasn’t developed or particularly strong and I, at least on the surface, went along to get along. I would look at the outspoken souls who chained themselves to the doors of the campus administrative building to protest economic involvement in South Africa (which in those days was still under the cloud of apartheid) and wonder what it would be like to join them. Never had enough nerve or self-confidence to do so. The pull of peer pressure and acceptance was too great.

When the opportunity to “march on Tally” came up, I jumped at it immediately. And march we did. Carrying signs, shouting chants “Stop Tuition Hikes NOW!” Making nice for the photo ops. Cameras still and video documented our activity – many from around the state. Cool! A rewarding day and good deed done.

Once back home in Gainesville, I checked the answering machine in my ghetto apartment (now that’s another story for another day) and found a message from my parents. Who wondered how my day was. They had seen me in a news clip about the protest. And until then, had no idea where/what I was doing. Yeah. That was a fun ensuing message.

Fight the power. Except if it’s paying your bills.




Unless you’re new here (and if you are, Hello! Welcome! Come on in! Can I get you something to drink?) you probably know that these days I lean a little to the left (HA!) on most issues political, social and the like. I don’t have many kindred spirits in this arena in my real life (I am but a curiosity to the many, many Republican conservatives I know) – and as a result, I try to keep my mouth shut and relegate my opinions and actions to speaking carefully when asked specifically to do so and blathering virtual words. Like these. Funny how that works, isn’t it…

The colossal brouhaha in the Gulf with gushing oil, smoke, mirrors, excuses and repercussions has, basically, gotten me all riled up. More than likely, it’s because this one hits close to home – literally. I live 10 minutes from the Gulf and if the breeze blows just right, I can smell the salt air on my patio. My casual poo-poo-ing of a situation usually just involves some research, maybe a letter ripped off to the appropriate governmental representative and a lot of verbal indignation.

Not this time.

I want to take some action. To make me feel like I’m doing something to help the situation. Make a difference. And at first blush, I thought protesting might be the answer. Marching with a sign, in the Florida heat, letting my voice be heard. Except this time, it would be for something slightly more global than what my college classes cost an hour. I found details of organized protests across my county, where people would stand and chant and wave signs in front of BP stations.

But. Something about that didn’t set right with me. And so I delayed my pursuit.

After thinking about it for a bit (and after a thoughtful conversation with the slightly more conservative Mister) I realized that while it would feel good – to me – to express my righteous indignation via a classic protest, it’s not all that pro-active. It’s the bigwigs at BP at whom I want to direct my ire – not the dude or dudette who owns the station. (And yeah I know that a protest of this nature isn’t just about that, but it’s not the route I personally want to take.)

I guess I’m just looking for something tangible to **do** to demonstrate how I feel – and to help. Not just to restate the obvious when it comes to blam and say “Bad BP, bad BP.” But to work to make the situation better.

Maybe that’s uber-idealogical of me. It’s how I’m wired, for better or for worse. Dwelling on pointing fingers for extended periods of time isn’t constructive, in my opinion. Getting about the business of pro-active assistance is.

So while you won’t see me on the news wielding a sign and chanting in front of a filling station, you might, should the situation have escalated so, see me with my bottle of blue Dawn on the Gulf coast here in my part of the F-L-A, cleaning oil off a precious sea creature and giving them some TLC. And you can be sure I’ll keep reading and learning and expressing my righteous indignation, even if only in words.

And someday, you will catch me in a protest for something when I believe it will be the most constructive thing to do. Make sure you call or e-mail me when you see me on the news. Thanks. That would be groovy.

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the girl who’ll decide where to go...

I have a long-standing love affair with the tomato. My precious pomme d'amour. My Uncle Mac, the gentleman farmer from Mississippi, grew them tall and plentiful in his backyard -- one of the highlights of our family trips to Jackson was helping pick the 'maters and then watching my Auntie Ruth slice them then, season with salt and pepper, and serve at every meal. Even breakfast. They stood on their own as highlights of the dinner table -- no balsamic affectations needed, no mozzarella accompaniment necessary.

The tomatoes I encounter these days aren't quite as lush as the ones of my Southern summer childhood -- I find the ones from the grocery need some accessories to get them palette-ready. This soup does the trick. The oven-roasting gives the 'maters a deep resonance, with the trifecta of onions, garlic and shallot adding a sweet note. It's a little taste of summer in a bowl. Just something else to love.

Roasted Tomato Soup

2 1/2 pounds fresh tomatoes (mix of fresh heirlooms, cherry, vine and plum tomatoes)
6 cloves garlic, peeled
2 small yellow onions, sliced
1 shallot, sliced
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 quart organic chicken stock
2 bay leaves
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil leaves,
3/4 cup heavy cream, optional

Directions
Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.
Wash, core and cut the tomatoes into halves. Spread the tomatoes, garlic, shallots and onions onto a baking tray. Drizzle with 1/2 cup of olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast for 20 to 30 minutes, or until caramelized.
Remove roasted vegetables from the oven and transfer to a large stock pot Add 3/4 of the chicken stock, bay leaves, and butter. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes or until liquid has reduced by a third.
Wash and dry basil leaves, if using, and add to the pot. Use an immersion blender to puree the soup until smooth. Return soup to low heat, add cream and adjust consistency with remaining chicken stock, if necessary. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper

It was my Labor Day weekend ritual as a teenager. Instead of celebrating the last days of “freedom” before the school bell rang on Tuesday morning, I found myself speed reading and writing to get my summer “homework assignments” done.

People think responsibility is hard to bear. It's not. I think that sometimes it is the absence of responsibility that is harder to bear. You have a great feeling of impotence.
~ Dr. Henry Kissinger

Fun fact: I am a liberal.

Yeah, I know. Guess what else? Water is wet and birds (save for a couple of exceptions) fly.

Miss Janey’s left-leaning tendencies are not exactly a secret – I’ve been called, more than once “everyone’s favorite liberal.” In a few cases, I’m the ONLY liberal some people know (remember where I live, y’all. I’m not a member of the Religious Left for nothing. ) I’ve a friend who swears there’s a file on me and my “activities” in some government building. The fact that I bought and now proudly display a phone that was used in a KGB building in Moscow during the Cold War pretty much probably confirms this.

My liberal interests over the years have been mostly regulated to the social issues (don’t get me started…) and fiscal side of things. That’s not to say that I didn’t care about the other prong in the liberal trifecta – the environment. But my passions lay elsewhere. I’ve protested, written letters, worn ribbons, donated time and finances.

Until that damn methane bubble went and blew. Spewing oil into my beloved Gulf of Mexico. That did it.

The toll this disaster is going to take on so many aspects of the economy of the Gulf region can’t even begin to be counted yet. Not sure how I’m going to help here – but I’m going to lend a hand somehow. Might be something as simple as donating Dawn (the blue kind) to help clean our precious Florida wildlife. Might be something more – something where Will can participate too. But I want to help in some way.

Because saving the environment just got personal.

And, as I am wont to do pretty much anytime when my eyes are open, I got to thinking. About being a better world citizen. About the little changes I can make in how I conduct the business of living my life.

So today I made a point to haul my grocery tote bags with us as Will and I did our post-school run to the store. He likes ‘em, as they are easier for him to help carry.

Today I also began participating in a little initiative helmed by Sir Paul McCartney and his daughters called Meat Free Monday. To quote the site: Meat Free Monday is an environmental campaign to raise awareness of the climate-changing impact of meat production and consumption. Many people are unaware that livestock production is responsible for 18% of global greenhouse gas emissions – that’s more than the entire transport sector.

As I am the OCG (Original Carnivore Girl), this was a challenge for me to even consider participating. But I made it. I think it will be a mutually beneficial exercise for me, the world and Sir Paul.

And in honor of Meme Monday, I found quite serendipitously this meme about my eco-habits. I’ve answered honestly – and while I’m a little ashamed of some of my responses, it’s nice to know exactly where I have opportunities to grow in this area. No, I’m not going to take off for parts unknown on a Greenpeace boat or become a full time vegetarian (not that there’s anything wrong with that.) or start a hemp wardrobe. But I am going to be more aware of what I do and how I do it.

Because it’s now personal.

Be the change you want to see in the world.
~ Mahatma Gandhi

Do you recycle?
No, but I should. I discovered just a couple of days ago that the neighborhood recycle area is about five minutes from the house. No excuses. I do now read the paper on line and on my Kindle. So there’s that.

Do you do you laundry with hot or cold water?
Cold, with warm for whites.

What kind of light bulbs are in your house?
For the most part, they’re the energy efficient ones. I think. We’re still moving in and I’m getting used to the joint.

Do you compost?
No – but I’m thinking about it. There’s space in the new backyard to set something up. On the list to research.

What kind of vehicle do you drive?
A Honda Pilot.

Do you use plastic or reusable bags when grocery shopping?
I’ll fess up – I had been using the plastic ones. Yeah. I know. But now that the reusable ones are found, deployed and back in the care, I’m on that track.

What are three ways you conserve energy?
*I try to turn off lights when we’re not in that room. However, the Junior Member of the Household like to flip switches on and off. I mean well
*I take super efficient showers with pretty cool water.
*I try to run major appliances during non peak-hours. Doesn’t always happen that way, but again – I mean well.


Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs,
To the silent wilderness,
Where the soul need not repress
Its music.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley "To Jane, The Invitation"