The United States of Tomatoes

At last, something we might all be able to agree on! Pulled these treasures out of a sack from a gardening friend and had a moment of unity and harmony, gratitude and optimism.

Maybe we could all just agree to agree about one thing.  In our divisive, polarized, obstructionist, toxic political climate could we all just get together behind homegrown tomatoes? I know you know deep in your core that there is nothing finer than a homegrown tomato.

An opportunity to savor the freshness and tangy juiciness, not to mention the glorious color, is just too good to waste with bombastic rhetoric, mud-slinging, or filibusters.  Nobody would hurl that gorgeous fruit at an opponent across the aisle if they could eat those lovely slices instead. Let's pass the globes gently with open hands.


We don't need to agree if the tomato is a vegetable or a fruit*.  The debate would keep us from the moment of bliss. We don't need to agree about bacon for a BLT.  How we each enjoy the homegrown tomato in the privacy of our own home is okay.  I'm just hoping for one simple point of agreement across the extremes. From that one tiny intersection, maybe a new spirit of compromise and constructive collaboration might spark.  


Maybe we could blur the lines a bit between the divisions in our country so that we could move on to cooperative efforts like pasta sauce and tomato/basil bisque. We could be less shrill and more savory.  And when we sit down together for a meal we might be able to agree to be grateful and polite, and then enjoy.


*So, the answer to the question is that a tomato is technically the fruit of the tomato plant, but it's used as a vegetable in cooking.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Today a different pink

I would go get some Pepto Bismal but it seems like way too much trouble. The preschoolers have shared their stomach virus, so here I am under two sweatshirts and six blankets waiting to see how the slice of toast and warm tea will sit.

Yesterday before the arrival of the intestinal insurrection, I began reading Stephen Glain's State Vs. Defense : The Battle To Define America's Empire. If I can make it through it may be as upsetting and eye-opening as The Omnivore's Dilemma.


My mom seems close. There is a busy junco out on the patio looking for soggy treats between the potted plants. The sun is finally out. Oh, now there are three juncos. It won't take many more than that to lift  Dad and fly him away.

A nurse called to tell me the skin on Dad's heels is breaking down. Hospice says this is part of the process.


© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

The work that must be done

Labor Day weekend is leading into a presidential speech about job creation.  Like many families, our holiday dinner of barbecue pork, potato salad, corn-on-the-cob, and iced tea included job discussions.  I spent the weekend with wonderfully bright, educated, articulate and frustrated young adults.  They are part of the generation that is unlikely to achieve the standard of living of their ancestors, and who will struggle to pay off the student loans that should have guaranteed a middle class income.

We all agreed that the best job in the world is creating the special birthday Google homepages.  Thank heaven Freddy Mercury would have been sixty-five on the Tuesday after the long weekend.  That was the boost that got me going back into the work world.

Perhaps the very most "shovel-ready" job is maintaining a healthy family. It is time to cut the workday to seven hours, or the workweek to thirty-six hours so parents can have more quality hours with their offspring.

When parents can be parents, it cuts costs for education, health care, and child care.  When family members care for their elderly similar savings result.

Don't create jobs.  Recognize the work that is already being done.  Help families live with one or 1.5 full time  income.  Improve opportunities for part-time workers who also raise children or care for elderly.


© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Believing in peace

Good design, bad idea, don't get bogged down:

Today I planned to write about the splendid architectural spaces in the new headquarters of the United States Institute for Peace.  Instead I learned that Republicans are trying to kill the agency forever.  Excuse me!  Did those guys and gals grow up sitting on their hands when the rest of us were clapping to save Tinkerbell's life?  Were they rooting for the flying monkeys?

I'm pretty discouraged about the prognosis for peace.  My current preschool students wear glittery peace symbol t-shirts with their sequined shoes and purple sparkle nail polish.  The peace symbol seems to be enjoying a marketing resurgence while the real concept gets flushed.  This could send me into a real slough of despair, except that I would have to admit never reading Pilgrim's Progress even though I wanted to be Jo March when I grew up, nor can I pronounce "slough", which seems to be the past tense of creamy cole slaw when it gets too warm and runny and potentially bacteria-filled at the picnic.

Keeping me out of the slaw-slew-slow-bog, I'm celebrating not having to use the plunger at work yet this week.  Also, Eeyore the tailless squirrel just ran across my patio fence top.  

In the dean's address to the graduating students of the Elliott School of International Affairs at GWU, he kept it simple.  Go forth, he told them:

SAVE WORLD,

HAVE FUN.

The employees of the U.S. Institute for Peace have a softball team, just like every other agency and Congressional staff in D.C.  The U.S.I.P. folks work hard and play hard.  Their team is named the Screaming Hawks.

Henry Kissinger was addressing a group about China and Pakistan in this space when I arrived for my tour.  The window faces the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall.

I love the building.  I love the agency and its mission.  Glad, too, that my son is still employed there for the summer.


Let's choose for peace, and not just for cheapo t-shirts.  SAVE WORLD, HAVE FUN.


Go, Mavs!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Twinkly health care reform

When I am in charge of the world, there will be four national health care plans for all Americans.  We will have a choice, of course, because Americans are all about choosiness.  The options will be:

 Blue--For folks who want peace on earth and need a little piece of quiet for the holidays.

  Red--For people who turn on the rear burner but put the pan on the front burner.

  Green--For people who take reusable bags to the grocery store.

  Multi--For people who like people...the luckiest people in the world.

All the plans would be essentially the same.  All would guarantee that you see your doctor within 45 minutes of your scheduled appointment time or the visit is free.  All would fully cover mini Christmas lights as preventive Mental Health care for up to $15 in new strings per year.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Magnets on the move

Have appts. Need magnets. Sounds like a cheap classified ad.

My walking buddy moved her father out of his apartment into an "independent living facility with amenities." You would think the amenities would include fresh refrigerator magnets, but we are not living in utopia! This is not a nanny state. Sometimes we have to tough it out on our own.



Medicare doesn't cover refrigerator magnets even if yours are pitiful and don't stick anymore. My buddy's dad has doctor appointments to keep track of so he needs magnets.

Medicare doesn't cover my own dad's wheelchair now because he is in a skilled care facility instead of assisted living. This post cannot detail the convoluted thinking behind this ruling. I'm thinking that Dad's wheelchair has a lot of metal parts where we could use magnets to post advertisements at a price--Sort of like a slow-moving sandwich board to promote crocheted kleenex holders handmade by some lady named Ruby.

When I visit Dad it is depressing to see the family photos on the old fridge. My sister, brother, and I are gathered in these freeze frames from the weekend after our mom died in 2005. We look exhausted, stiff, and weepy stuck up with assorted magnets, frozen for the long haul at a very bad moment in time.

I'm opposed to grimy, old refrigerator magnets, and support No Refrigerator Left Behind. The other day I followed a pickup truck hauling a refrigerator. The fridge had been wrapped in many rounds of Saran Wrap to hold the door shut and all the magnets and photos in place like a sandwich-wrapped appliance mummy in situ. I tried to take a photo with my phone, but took a photo of myself instead!



© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Wednesday attitude adjustment

This in from the You Just Thought Your Day Was Rough Department:

When I left work at 5:15 or so, I turned on the car radio. My NPR station was still in its fall pledge drive, so I switched over to WRR 101.1 for some classical music. But, no, my favorite soap opera was still on the air. The Dallas City Council convened today at nine a.m., and WRR was still broadcasting live from the meeting.

The Council was considering Agenda Item 55 at that moment, and Deputy Mayor Pro Tem, Dwaine R. Caraway, was calling for the men "with the motails in the back row to please stand up." Now Councilman Caraway from District 4 is best known for his anti-sagging pants campaign, and he once appeared on Dr. Phil's t.v. show to promote it. The slogan for that campaign is, "Grandma says: Pull 'Em Up!" That's why I thought a "motail" was likely either a fashion statement or a bad hairdo.

The Deputy Mayor Pro Tem was actually asking the men in the back to rise so he could commend them for their plan to build "an unseedly motail," an extended-stay hotel that "meant quality." Don't know about you, but just contemplating this Candlewood Suites in all its unseedliness brought a smile to my tired face.

Next, Agenda Item 54 was reopened for consideration. Seems there hadn't been a proper request for speakers opposed to a drive-through bank in Subdistrict B-2 of Planned Development District 749, aka the Baylor Hospital Special Use District, the first time around. The opposed speakers were even more agitated than they would have been if they were called the first time, if that is possible, and even further off the topic.

The first woman directed her fury at the Council for "sitting up there eating your grapes and your prunes and not letting us comment..." The next speaker went off about Baylor Hospital, and how "they are killing people up there with surgeries they don't even need and the security guards threw me in jail when I walked out the back door of the lunchroom with a plate lunch even though I had a paycheck in my pocket and $8000, so I didn't even need to cash my paycheck, like I couldn't pay for the plate lunch, and they're killing people in there, I know 'cause I worked there."

I spend a lot of time trying to get my preschool council members to eat their grapes and their prunes. They tell rambling stories that often have nothing to do with the agenda item. Some of them have a lot of trouble pulling up their pants and remembering to flush. Still, most of them can tell the difference between a drive-through bank and a hospital.

I'm humming a little WWI ditty:

Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
And smile, smile, smile.
Tuck in your motails, and smile, boys, that's the style.

And [Note To Self] next time, remember to buy the unseedly grapes at Albertsons!

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder