Alternative Reality

Clearly, I live in an alternative reality.  One where this is no such thing as "legitimate rape," a truly horrid phrase that I am still trying to get my mind around.  I mean, what makes a rape legitimate? I  just can't figure it out. Is it legitimate if the rapist doesn't beat you, use a gun or a knife, but just verbally threatens death and disfigurement.  Or is it legitimate if the victim is at wearing a mini skirt and tank top and knocking back a few beers? Or, looking through the other end of the telescope can someone tell me what makes a rape illegitimate?

The women at the Republican convention haven't figured it out yet either.  According to Irin Carmon who paid a visit to the so called Women's Pavilion at the Republican National Convention in Tampa, the women there just think men are "clueless."  They're not angry just a little aggravated. Boys will be boys, even congressmen.

Maybe they've decided to live in an alternative reality.

Night Time

 They say that August is the month of shooting stars but I haven't seen one yet this year.  (Time is running out.  I leave Maine on Sunday.) But instead I've witnessed a succession of incredible, technicolor sunsets no one alike, each one setting the sky ablaze with different colors and patterns. 

The last few nights I've walked down to the dock by myself before going to bed to watch the moon set over the lake.   For some reason I don't know and wouldn't understand anyway, the moon--first a sliver, then a crescent and tonight a half moon--is orange. The lake is dark and deep except for the faint orange glow cast by the setting moon.  When I look up I can see the Milky Way stretching overhead. I like to sit on the bench and breath in the quiet for a little bit.   And then I walk back to the house and go to sleep.

I Live in Dog World Now

Wilbur gets first dibs on the New York Times.

Wilbur and Ackee take over the couch.

Ackee travels first class to the dock.

The Akin Fuckery

As usual, Irin Carmon at Salon.com tells it like it is:

It’s not that I don’t understand why people, including pro-choice organizations, like to talk about rape or life endangerment exceptions. They illustrate how incredibly cruel opponents to abortion are, how divorced they are from the difficult and knotty circumstances of real life. And they help people who can’t understand what kind of woman has an abortion — despite that real 1-in-3 statistic — realize that all kinds of women have abortions, including ones they find sympathetic. Women who have abortions have been so demonized that storytelling helps make that essential empathic leap that so many people are missing. But as Akin shows, once you start haggling over reasons, you’re giving up half the fight — which is that this is about bodily autonomy and respect for women’s ability to determine their own lives.  

You can read the entire column here.

It is a blessed day as they say in Jamaica and a quintessential Maine day as I say in Otisfield--all blue and green and golden.  I spent the morning walking around the lake--some 11 miles--with a friend.  We do that together at least once a summer.  Today when we passed the white clapboard church on the road I could hear the sound of the congregation singing hymns.  When I got back to the house, it was time to eat lunch on the deck, read the paper and contemplate what the next activity should be.  Lots to choose from including doing nothing but taking in this perfect day.  That's hard for me but I'm working on it.

I woke up this morning--way too early as usual--to a smear of grey on my windows.  Looking out over the rooftops, I could almost believe the streets and sidewalks were dusted with a thin layer of  snow but then the air conditioner clicked on to remind me what time of year it really was.  In this summer's relentless heat, it's hard to believe winter will ever come.  But Labor Day--the unofficial end of summer--is almost here.  Now at the tail end of the summer season, I am finally going back to Maine where the air will be fresh and cool in the morning and at night I will go to sleep snuggled  under a comforter, the windows wide open and no air conditioner pumping out a stale and manufactured version of winter.

Seize the Moment!

 

Visions of Arcadia

I am getting ready to head down to Jamaica this weekend which means that I am blasting Bob Marley on my sound system while I pack as little as possible in my suitcase.  I will be staying at Yellow Plum with Liz and Giul. . . .and Rocco, Pella and Biggins, of course.  I can already picture myself sitting on the veranda looking out over rolling green hills to the ocean and the sky far in the distance.

Last night while looking out at a spectacular sunset streaked sky from my favorite window seat, I realized that except for a week in Maine over the Fourth and this quick trip to Jamaica,  I will have spent most of my summer right here in the heart and heat of the city.  This is a first for me.  Even when I was working full time, I used to rush up to Maine every weekend, happy to escape and then always sad to come back.  

I think of the lake a lot.  I see it in my mind's eye covered with acres of diamonds by the afternoon sun.  I imagine sitting on the dock at sunset and watching the sky turn colors as the sun disappears into the lake.  Does the house miss me? Does it wonder why I've stayed away this summer?

Earlier this week, I went to see Visions of Arcadia at the museum, a truly transporting exhibit of paintings full of light and feeling.  At the end of the show, the viewer is asked to sketch his or hers vision of arcadia.  That used to be Maine for me.  I'm not so sure any more.