May 11, 2008 by susan . . . that lots of people don't listen to their religious leaders. (A tangential ramble on the road to motherhood.)
The Pope has reiterated the church's ban against artificial birth control as well as its ban on any methods of artificial procreation. For years Catholics have had a wink-wink attitude towards the no birth-control rule made by those who don't play the game, and will continue to do so. But most of them aren't walking out of their churches because they think the Pope's message is -- nuts.
The church also opposes in vitro fertilization. "No mechanical technique can substitute the act of love that two married people exchange as a sign of a greater mystery," Benedict said. So, who's stopping them? It's just that sometimes to get a baby -- which for mysterious reasons doesn't always happen -- some non-divine intervention is required.
Papal nonsense, cont'd.
May 09, 2008 by susan In the thread following Chit-chat at the Clothesline (before Barb's bunny poem -- a palate cleanser, I presume) there's been talk of how to treat Hillary, now that she's the presumptive non-candidate, with "do unto others" being my theme.
But also some flip-floppin' on my part about whether in fact Hillary has a point when she says she's more well-suited (read, willing to morph into whatever persona the moment demands) to beat John McCain. Can the Dems win without that great body of testosterone known as the working class white male? Or, in Hil's words, the "working, hard working Americans, white Americans . . ." (As opposed to whom, exactly? Don't go there.)
E.J. Dionne Jr. takes that on this morning in the WashPost, citing the recent election of Democrat Don Cazayoux in a race for an open congressional seat in a traditionally (33 years) Republican district. Cazayoux's opponent was long-time Repug state house legislater Woody Jenkins, a solid Christian conservative known for displaying plastic fetuses to gain attention to his strong anti-abortion stance.
More.
May 08, 2008 by barbara barbara borrows poem:
There is nothing so sweet as a bunny
A dear, little, sweet, little bunny
He can hop on his toes
He can wiggle his nose
And his powder puff tail is quite funny.
May 06, 2008 by barbara barbara and Susan write
(check back as this illuminating exchange grows over the course of the day)
UPDATED: 10:00 pm CDT. Booyah!
barbara says: Hullo, Susan and CLBers. Looks as though spring has finally made its way to MN. For this week, anyway. Booyah! The birdies are ecstatic and so are we. We ate dinner on the deck last night for the first time in 2008. A nice ending to a long day. Showed up at the oncologist’s office at 8:00 a.m. and didn’t get out of there until after 4:00. Crikey.
Found myself tilting southeast this morning. Oh, yeah. The primaries. Hey, everyone know Indiana and North Carolina are having primaries today? Just thought I’d mention it, in case. Predictions, Ms. Susan?
Susan says: Wait, we go from ecstatic to this? To the primaries? This is like going from May in MN back to March. But, as long as you asked, it ain't pretty. (You know the day is off to a bad start when you're agreeing with David Brooks. Read on, Macduff.
May 01, 2008 by barbara barbara writes
UPDATE: In the spin-til-you-puke department, John McCain said today that the now-famous May Day "Mission Accomplished" banner is not George W. Bush's fault. I just wanted to clarify that for you. It's what we do here at CLB. See end of this post for late-breaking updates.
The Court of Love / author unknown / 1561
And furth goth all the Court, both most and lest,
To feche the floures fressh, and braunche and blome;
And namly, hawthorn brought both page and grome.
With fressh garlandes, partie blewe and whyte,
And thaim rejoysen in their greet delyt.
May Day. Paean to spring, borrowing from medieval pagans. Boy howdy, does this day ever bring me waaaay back. Simpler times for sure. Grade school. South Minneapolis. Anyone remember May poles? Multiple streamers affixed to the top of a vertical pole. Students took turns grabbing the free end of the streamers. Then with some direction from the teachers, we made up our own dance, weaving in and out out and under and over each other. It was inevitable that some hyper kiddo would get carried away and before long, detached streamers were lying on the playground. We’d be laughing like crazy and a wacked-out teacher would yell, “Children . . . children . . . be nice. Settle down! Stop it! I mean it.” More on May Day.
