Burning Prairie’s blog

Or, How Greed and Bigotry Drive Up Housing Costs

By now, unless you live in an undisclosed mountain enclave (and sometimes even when you do, Hi Bob!), dear reader, you must certainly be aware of these terms: sub-prime, housing crisis, housing bubble, foreclosure. A phrase you will also hear a lot is average home price.

(There are going to be some statistics, but bear with me, they don't last long.)

Average is an imprecise term used to denote any of a number of ways to calculate the center of a set of data. When people talk about averages what they are generally talking about is called the arithmetic mean. It's when you take each value in the data set, add them all together, and then divide that number by how many values are in the data set. Like this: 3+6+9+50+100=168. 168 divided by 5=33.6, the arithmetic mean, or simply mean, is 33.6. A frequently more understandable way to look at the data is using a median, which the middle value in a data set when the values are lined up in order from smallest to largest (or vice versa). It is the number in which half of the values are less than the median, and half are more than the median. So in a data set of 3, 6, 9, 50, 100, 9 would be the median. Wow, turns out that Statistics course was good for something. As you can see, the average number is heavily influenced by the larger numbers in the data set, where the median number more accurately reflects the reality of the data set.

In calculating housing prices, it is extraordinarily important to know which method is being used, mean or median. The U.S Census Bureau has just such information available. Let's start with the median price of housing and the median wage in the year I was born, 1968. It was at the end of an economically stable decade, and before the oil crisis and inflation of the 1970s. In 1968, the median wage for men was $5980.00 per year, for women it was $2019.00. The median home price in 1968 was $24,700. That is roughly four times the median salary of the American man, who was usually the sole breadwinner of the family at that point in history. In 2006, the median price for homes in the U.S. was $246,500 and the median income per family (no longer just the sole, male breadwinner mind you) was $32,265. That is 7.64 times the median family income.

If we were still operating on the 1968 model, median housing prices would be about $133,200. So what has caused this top-heavy housing market? Two things: greed and bigotry.

The recent arrests of hedge fund managers points to the greed of Wall Street. Mortgage financing companies displayed their greed in pushing sub-prime mortgages and ARMs, even to more credit-worthy borrowers. Real estate developers, with their general disregard for the surrounding houses, build McMansions for in-fill development in more moderate neighborhoods. Or they clear-cut vast tracts of land and squeeze as many monster houses as they can onto that land.

And then there is the greed of the consumers themselves. The people who saw the value of their homes soar into rarified territory and "cashed-out" that new-found equity were greedy. And for what? College educations for their children? Or boats and RVs and vacation homes? How about all the things you can stock your home with to make the neighbors green with envy? Never has "keeping up with the Joneses" been so toxic.

Then there were the home-buyers who, forgetting the axiom "buy low and sell high", thought they would get rich by buying high and selling higher. I have no sympathy for those folks. When someone deliberately tries to game the system and drives housing prices higher for everyone, then they lose what little claim they had on my good graces. For decades real estate was considered to be one of the most stable investments you could make, it lacked the volatility of the stock market and value grew at a slow, but steady pace. Until the last, oh, eight years or so, when unbridled greed and and a distinct lack of compassion for one's fellow human came back into style.

Then there is a greed of spirit, a desire to be seen as more than you are. People of modest means all of a sudden wanted to appear wealthy. What better way to look wealthy than to have a mini-mansion all of your own? I knew one lady and her mint-new husband who pulled just such a caper. Way back in 1998, when houses were still reasonably priced, this couple purchased a house so huge and so expensive that they didn't have enough money left over to furnish it. The dining table was a fold-up affair, there was one sectional in the living room, and each huge bedroom contained little more than a mattress and single dresser. Whole areas of the house were just closed up, not being used. Tell me, what in the world is the point of having a huge house when you aren't even going to enter half the rooms? The point seemed to be that from the outside, they looked rich. It wasn't until you actually entered their home that you saw their absolute poverty and greed of spirit.

How does bigotry play a role in our current housing crisis? Well, many urban areas are going through "gentrification," a process which prices lower-income residents right out of the neighborhood and frequently these residents are members of a minority group. This also prices a lot of older people and single-parent families right out of the neighborhood as well. Gentrification is literally pushing diversity out of the city, or at least into rigidly-defined areas.

We have something else happening in Tulsa, a kind of "white flight" in which people eschew the smaller houses in the more affordable mid-town neighborhoods to move to the wealthier, whiter south part of town or the suburbs. Mid-town has a large mix of housing, from funky apartments to the old homes of the oil barons to modest middle-class dwellings. Anybody, with any budget, can find a place to live in the main, middle parts of town. Therein lies the problem for some people.

Oh, they never come right out and say it, but they don't want to live next to African-American people, or Hispanic people, or Native people. They are willing to live at the very edges of their means so that the only black or Mexican people they ever see in their neighborhoods are there to mow lawns or pick up the garbage. And they all have so many excuses and I've heard them all. "You get more house for your money out in _____" "They have better schools." "Mid-town is too pretentious and trendy, it's more real out south." These are all code for: "I wanted a nice, white neighborhood." Check it! Next time you hear somebody say something similar in your town, you better believe that's what it really means! Even people I thought I knew have come out with these lines, their hidden truths. It's really disturbing when I find out something this nasty about people I used to like.

So, where do we go from here? First, we have to stop being greedy bigots.

As houses sit unsold longer and longer, housing prices will be forced lower. Some people are, unfortunately, going to take a hit on property values. But maybe that's a good thing, it's time we changed our view of real estate as cash cow back to humanity's traditional view of housing--as shelter. Housing is not an investment or a path to wealth, it is a very old technology for protecting and nurturing ourselves and our loved ones, and keeping our stuff dry. As housing prices are forced back to reasonable levels, houses will cease to be tools of greed.

Then we have to start putting the resources we are no longer bleeding into the housing market into making sure that all neighborhoods are as safe as we can make them and that all schools are good schools. And we have to stop letting small-minded idiots tell us that property values are affected by the skin pigmentation of the people who live there. And we have to challenge the very people who Stephen Colbert mocks with his "I don't see color."-schtick. We have to tell them that seeing color is o.k., discriminating based on that color is not. We have to stand up and say that discriminating because someone is older and on a fixed-income is not o.k.; discriminating because someone is a single parent is not o.k.; discriminating because someone is gay is no o.k.; discriminating because someone doesn't go to the right kind of church is not o.k. We have to change this mindset and the only way to do it is to call attention to it every chance we get. I suggest loudly saying, "I find your racism (or sexism or ageism or homophobia or classism, etc.) offensive and I demand you apologize!"

"That's all well and good, Burning Prairie, but how am I supposed to save money on housing right this very minute?" you may ask. I'm getting to that, hold your horses.

I worked in a bank for many years and one of the things I learned (besides facing all my bills the same direction) was that not everybody should buy a house. There are a lot of reasons to not buy a house. Of course, the folks that would be pushed into the sub-prime market should stop thinking that buying a house will magically solve all their problems and just not buy a house at this time. Some big cities are terrible markets for buying and are better suited to renting. We lived (and rented) in Chicago for a while and with housing prices that expensive, we would've been long-term renters had we stayed. If you have more than the usual instability with your jobs, don't buy a house! And by that, I don't just mean the always-present danger of losing a good job, but also the possibility that you may need to change jobs or job markets soon, or that your employer may be one of those that likes to move people around. Better to pack up and move an apartment than a whole house, trust me. Don't buy a house just because someone told you it's a waste of money to rent, even if that person is your dad.

Don't buy just because you want the freedom to paint things any color you want or to knock out walls and add on. Condo boards and housing covenants will have something to say about that. If you are very young and fresh-out of something--high school, college, the Navy, whatever--think about it long and hard before you make such a permanent decision. You may be thinking that you can just sell if you ever need or desire to move, but it is hard to unload a house. And it is even harder to unload a foreclosure from your permanent record. If you are not rock-solid sure that you are in a place you want to stay, just keep renting.

So, you've weighed all the options and you still want to buy. Your credit is good and you know better than to fall for that beguiling ARM. You are all set, now what? How do you save money while buying a house?

Rule number one: don't buy too much house. If it's just you, do you really need a 3-bedroom, 2 bath single-family home or would a small condo be a better fit? If it's just the two of you, or even just the four of you, do you really need a McMansion? Or are you just trying to show off? Exactly how many extra rooms does each member of the family need? A larger home is going to cost more to run than a smaller home. There will be larger heating and electric bills, possibly even larger water bills. And then there are the intangible costs. Who is going to do the cleaning? If you have stretched yourself to the breaking point to buy too large a house, it won't be hired help, you won't be able to afford them. Hope you like the smell of bleach. And what about the stress of trying to maintain a large house? I wouldn't want that. Mid-town has many post-war neighborhoods, with tiny little houses in which people raised whole passels of kids. Why do you need such cavernous spaces if you only plan on having one or two kids, or maybe none at all? Start by questioning these motivations.

Rule number two: don't get fooled by the "houses cost less out here" illusion. With gas prices this high, anything you may save on housing and more will go right into the gas tank every time you drive to work or to the closest real grocery store, which isn't all that close. And long commutes take a very real toll on your personal relationships.

Rule number three: don't spend extra money to move into a small, "safe" town or suburb with "good" schools. Mayberry never existed and small towns and suburbs are no safer per capita than most city neighborhoods. And by the way, the elementary school that is close enough for us to walk to? It got the state's highest rating for elementary schools.

Rule number three: if a particular neighborhood that you like is kind of pricey, cross the closest major street and check out the adjacent neighborhoods. They may be just as charming at a lower cost.

Rule number four: wait. Just wait out this housing-bubble-burst. At the end of it, housing prices will be something closer to reasonable in relation to wages. But you may be thinking about interest rates, what if they go up? Trust me, a low interest rate isn't going to help you pay the mortgage on a house that you can't afford. Or just wait until you are at a better spot in your life, because being shackled to a house payment isn't going to help if you aren't there yet.

Rule number five: buy an existing house in an established neighborhood. It is no secret that I don't care for new houses. I prefer a house with some love behind it, some history in it, and even a ghost or two. My favorite neighborhoods are fifty to a hundred years old, with interesting architecture and mature, graceful trees. I hate the faux character that is being built into new houses. Irish Provencial? Really? In Tulsa? Come on, you may like pretending you're in County Cork while you're standing in front of your cultured-stone fireplace, but leave your gated community and drive west, what will you see? The grand, sweeping prairies of central Oklahoma. Drive a little way east and what will you see? The green, rolling hills and rivers and lakes of northeastern Oklahoma. Because you. Are. Still. In. Oklahoma. And don't ever fool yourself into thinking that you are "having a house built" just because the builder lets you pick out the carpet and paint colors. If you are ever at the point where you can hire an architect and a private contractor and have a house designed and built for you then you do not need my money-saving tips.

I will continue to have posts on what the House does to save money on various things and how you can, too. I'll even warn against some of the mistakes I've made so you can avoid them. And be prepared for stories about my Gammie, who grew up in the Great Depression. She could really stretch a dollar! And if you have any tips and tricks that you'd like to share, speak up! We'd all like to hear them!

Sources:

http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/income/histinc/p05ar.html

http://www.census.gov/const/pricerega.pdf

http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/housing/census/historic/values.html

Now I realize that nobody knows what really goes on in a marriage except the two people involved. But.... Exactly what kind of bargain does a person have to strike with what kind of devil to stand up in public with the person who has destroyed them, and act supportive? This ground has been trampled flat by better known people than I, but I just don't get it.

It seems that a disproportionate number of people in politics are drawn from the pool of folks that don't have a problem with treating their spouses like garbage. I have also been following the personal blogs of several women who are dealing with rather intense challenges in their marriages. Things like drug- and sex-addictions; and even falling in love with someone while still married. I don't want to sit in judgement of another's marriage; marriages, good or bad or in-between, break up for all sorts of reasons. I suppose my disconnect is with the women who stay in what I would consider to be intolerable situations.

There is this curious puritanical streak in the American society, one that labels most sexual expression as "sinful". Unless, of course, that expression takes place between a man and woman who are married to each other, and some people add the caveat that it should be for the express purpose of reproduction. Everything else? Sin, the fruits of the devil, forbidden fruit. And don't we all know how much sweeter forbidden fruit can be? Anyone who has raised a toddler or teenager knows that children instinctively want to do what you tell them not to do. From personal experience, drinking alcohol lost most of its allure once I turned 21. The only thing that gave drinking any kind of cache was the idea that I was getting away with something by pouring my ill-gotten Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler in cup and drinking it on the sly. Now I drink a beer only on the rarest of occasions; my vice-of-choice is an icy cold Dr. Pepper.

So, when normal, healthy sexuality is portrayed as sinful then it becomes difficult for some people to distinguish between the healthy stuff and the twisted stuff. If all sex is sin, then what's the difference? If we could re-frame these attitudes as healthy vs. unhealthy, and save sin for the truly harmful aspects of sexuality, then maybe some women could recognize when it's time to say, "I'm not doing that." Sin related to sex should be about consent and harm: lack of consent or presence of harm constitutes sin. Rape, molestation, adultery, exposing someone to an STD, sabotaging birth control, sex or sexually explicit material involving those unable to give consent (children, mentally disabled, unconscious, drunk, etc.), anything against someone's will. The list may seem endless but any reasonable, ethical person would look at the examples and say, "Yeah, that's bad." Healthy vs. unhealthy is more personal. What's healthy for one person may be unhealthy for another. If your sexual practices are fun and edifying and safe for you and your partner(s), great. If you are taking unsafe risks, aren't happy, or feel bad about yourself afterwards then it's time to step back and realize that you aren't expressing your sexuality in a healthy manner for you.

These, mostly male, public figures trot wifey or loyal girlfriend out as if to say, "See, she doesn't have a problem with this and neither should you." We can self-righteously look at these women and think that we would have walked out on the slob, but would we, really? Women stay with men who hurt them all the time and I, for one, am sick of it.

There has to come a time when, "But I loooove him!" just doesn't cut it anymore. Spouses end up having to overlook quite a lot of irritating behaviors in order to make a marriage work. And not everything is battle-worthy. Toothpaste, trash, toilet seats, sometimes we just have to give up on nagging and do things for ourselves. Wives-don't like to sit down on the bowl? Look down before you sit. Husbands-don't like the trash to build up? Bag it up and carry it out yourselves. Some issues are definitely worth the work: communication, children, respect, personal pursuits, health, the future, etc. And some things have to be deal-breakers.

To me, addiction to illegal drugs and blaming "sexual addiction" because you don't care to keep it in your pants would be deal-breakers. People can become accidentally addicted to prescription drugs or alcohol, but not so with heroin or crack or meth. Someone actually has to do that on purpose. And then why would you want to stay with that person? A substance has become more important to them than you are, the addict is not the person you married. Decide how much pain you are willing to cause yourself and don't tolerate one bit more. I say that because you are harming yourself by staying in the relationship. Same thing applies to randy, old tomcats who claim that they can't help it, they're addicted. Wah.

Sometimes, a person has to look out for his or her own best interest because nobody else will do it. Who has these political wives' backs? Certainly not their husbands, and not the media, and not a goodly portion of the public. A lot of people think that wifey did something or didn't do something that caused her husband to act out. Bull. The only thing wifey could possibly be doing wrong is not taking care of herself amidst all of her taking-care-of-everyone-else. Poor thing, she's not even a person anymore, just a get-out-of-jail-free card, a prop, a scapegoat.

Along with a twisted view of sexuality, a large portion of American society also has a very puritanical outlook on marriage. Wives aren't full and equal participants in their own marriages, because they're supposed to submit to their husbands. It is a wife's responsibility to stay in a crappy marriage and take whatever her husband chooses to dish out. Even if you buy that disgusting notion, the rest of that passage from Saul of Tarsus (not Christ, btw), says that the husband should in turn love his wife as Christ loves his followers. And correct me if I'm wrong, but cheating on your wife with anonymous strangers in bathrooms or $5000 whores just isn't all that godly. So, wives, if your husband is doing these or similar things to you, you don't have to submit. You don't have to stay, you don't have to put up with it. You aren't a bad person because you put yourself first for a change.

As a nursing student, I am taking a lot of science classes. Mostly life sciences, to be sure, but science none the less. And one thing, in all my studies, that I have noticed is how all life is intimately tied together in evolution's intricate dance. Just look at mitochondria. Another thing I've noticed is that my science professors either side-step this entirely or refer to it only obliquely. Yes, this is Oklahoma, the buckle of the Bible Belt, but still. I wish that at least one professor would come out and say something along the lines of: "Life on this planet, over the course of billions of years, evolved from single-celled organisms to the myriad life forms we see today."

One of my professors, who happens to be demonstrably conservative, very nearly came close to acknowledging this, but stopped short. He was discussing the harmful effects of artificial fats, like partially hydrogenated fats, on the human body. He told us that naturally occurring animal fats were more easily processed by the human body because.....then he stopped himself here. What he didn't want to, couldn't, acknowledge was that humans process animal fats more efficiently than laboratory-created fats because we evolved on this planet eating the other animals that also evolved on this planet!!!!!! But his conditioning could not allow him to admit to this simple truth. (I am in no way advocating the eating of animals or animal by-products to my readers that might have a problem with this, I am simply illustrating a point.)

But I have to say that I get it. I know why professors are reluctant to state the facts of evolution, a lot of christians get all bent out of shape and scared by the very thought of evolution. For folks that frequently decry "political correctness", they sure are hypersensitive about this; and they stamp their widdle feet and get all pouty when presented with things that don't fit into their neat little packages. To me, this speaks of a very childish kind of faith. If a person's faith is shaken and devastated by learning about The Big Bang and evolutionary fact, well it wasn't much of a faith to begin with, so he or she isn't out much.

As a Christian, my faith is in no way threatened by evolution, or the Big Bang, or the true age of the Earth or the Universe, heliocentrism, and that the earth isn't flat. But I don't find it necessary to completely segregate faith and science. For most other christians, I would have to say, please separate science and religion, you aren't any good at mixing them. Setting aside the fact that I do not hold with biblical literalism, the bible is not a scientific text!

So why do people want to use the bible as a science book? That's easy: fear. Let's look at the number 2 billion, that's about how many years multi-cellular organisms have been on earth. 2,000,000,000. Looks harmless enough, right? But that is not an easy number to truly contemplate. Once a person starts really thinking about how many years that is compared to the 80-odd most people get, well, bless their pea-pickin' little hearts, they just can't abide it. 80 (one zero) to 2,000,000,000 (nine zeros), not really a fair fight is it? Don't even ask most people to start thinking about the age of the universe. Which is, according to Cosmology 101, 13.7 billion years old! If we were to state that comparing the age of the universe to that of a human, with 1 year=1 billion years, then the universe is a teenager! And multi-cellular life on earth, at 2 billion, is but a mere toddler. As for homo sapiens (that's us!), according to The Smithsonian Institution, we've been kicking around for only 130,000 years. If I'm figuring right, we haven't even been conceived yet. This is where the analogy breaks down, I tend to think of humanity as in its toddlerhood. Currently raising toddler number two, I know how destructive, selfish, and unthinking toddlers can be. And yep, that's pretty much us as a species: given to tearing stuff up and throwing temper tantrums when we don't get absolutely everything just the way we want it and in a timely manner.

Seems like a lot of people have a real problem with not being the biggest grown-up on the block. How many among us would be comfortable admitting how scary everything can be? This fear of fact, fear of the astronomical, is a form of agoraphobia, some people have it and some people don't. I can stand under the big, Oklahoma sky and love it, not fear it. My physical position on Earth is much like that of a microbe clinging to the surface of a soccerball, but I never fear that I will loose the bond of gravity and go spinning off into space. While I can't truly grasp the enormity of 13.7 billion years, I don't fear it, I don't have to deny it. I embrace it in whatever dim fashion I can.

As for faith and science, I see the Hand of God in the majesty of the Big Bang. I cannot claim to know the mind of the Almighty, but it seems more probable to me that He is more present in the terrifyingly large number of 13.7 billion than in the mere 6000 or so that young earthers want to grant Him. As if we could box God into a less fearful package for our own comfort! The sheer sacrilege of such a thought is undeniable.

And why should my faith be threatened by the notion that my ancestors were much hairier apes and didn't just spring from the mud wearing the latest style hat, as it were? Please don't burden me with the "In His image" line. Here again, people want to limit God, make Him just like us, only older.

And to those who don't want their children to learn about anything that isn't in the bible, like dinosaurs (I'm not kidding), well don't come crying at my door when your precious babies finally learn the facts for themselves and hate you for deceiving them. Didn't God give us these questioning minds? These searching souls? If so, why would He want us to freeze our knowledge base at that level more suited to a nomadic, desert tribe 5000 years ago, at that time void of education and rife with superstition? The Creation Story is just that, a story, presented to a people with no scientific knowledge, in a manner that was comprehensible to them at the time. Humanity has matured in the intervening years, even if only a little and only in some ways.

I have my Truth, you have your Truth, everybody has their own, individual Truths, but facts are the same for everyone, whether you like it or not. My challenge to other Christians, heck to anyone who needs to grow a little, is this: don't try to make God, or your Truth, more manageable by trying to shrink Him down to your size. It won't work. Grow in your own faith, or Truth, until you can accept that others might not share that Truth or faith, but that the difference doesn't lessen yours at all. And try not to fear the astronomical, it can't hurt you. The only thing that will weaken your faith is fear-fear of the unknown, fear of the different, fear of feeling insignificant.

But science, science is not to be feared, but embraced. The God of Abraham, the God of Jesus, the God of the Big Bang, the God of evolution, He gave me a scientific mind and I won't deny His gift.

Cross-posted

Today has been a day of anticipation and hope. For the first time ever, I voted for a woman running for president of these United States. But I had to wait all day to do it, until after Hubby got off work. I had a slight butterflies-in-stomach feeling all day, kind of like how you feel during those few minutes between peeing on the stick and finding out if you’re pregnant or not. If you’re a girl, that is. Or maybe it’s the same for guys, I don’t know. But I digress. It was a long day. But half-way through my day I saw something that just thrilled my little heart-a group of Hillary supporters holding placards and cheering at a major intersection in midtown. One of the ladies smiled and waved and pointed at her homemade “Vote for Hillary” sign and I hooped and hollered like a madwoman and gave her “thumbs-up”. Pumpkin didn’t understand why mama was yelling like a fishwife, but she liked the signs. She waved at the people on the corner and they waved back.

Later, we picked up Hubby from work and went voting. We vote as family, not that the kids are really much help, but it’s good for them to see us vote. The poll workers were very nice to the kids and gave them “I voted” stickers that were proudly displayed for the rest of the evening. I cast my vote, Hubby cast his and we all prepared to walk back out in the cold rain.

Then something happened. I’m not entirely sure how it all transpired, but Hubby is convinced there was some kind of supernatural angle to the whole thing. As near as I can recall this is the exact sequence of events: I was  thinking how proud I was of my country for the first time in too long a time and whether I should carry Pumpkin or let her hold my hand and walk to the car. Then a very young adolescent boy walked in the door we were leaving out of. Our polling place is in a church (a liberal one thank goodness) and  he was probably a member, there for some activity. It was cold and rainy outside and the boy was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. So on top of everything else, I was also thinking about how cold he looked and how very polite he was for holding the door. As I always do whenever someone holds the door, I said “Thank you”. Or I tried to anyway. Apparently I had reached some kind of theoretical synaptic limit in my brain and something had to give. Pumpkin took that very moment to stumble, and my brain, having used up the last synapse, couldn’t make my feet work. I went down like a sack of wet cement.

I landed somewhat on the Pumpkin, but as I am an old pro at falling I was able to keep my weight off of her by taking the fall on my butt and my right hand. She was understandably scared and began to cry. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even look back at the kid who held the door, but he was probably appalled, just like everyone else.  I got up, picked up Pumpkin and checked her for visible injuries, there were none. She was fine, just a little shaken up. Me? I’m a little sore, thanks for asking.

Hubby had quite a bit of fun at my expense once he knew that I wasn’t really injured. He said that one moment he looked back and we were upright, but then he heard a commotion and turned back to see us on the ground. And he jokes that he saw a puff of smoke. He also says that my falling has taken on a supernatural tone, that there must be ghosts involved. Not that he believes in ghosts, mind you. No ghosts, just me and my debilitating lack of grace. But I did have to agree when he said, “You have done this our entire marriage! We’ll be walkin’ along one minute, there will be a commotion, I’ll look down and you’ll be on the ground.”

We laughed all the way to the grocery store and back to the House. Hubby said, “There’s a blog post in there somewhere.” And here it is, my story about how I fell for Hillary Clinton. I swear this doesn’t happen to anyone else.

A girl can change her mind, can't she? Can't she!!! From the unbelievably early start of this whole election season, I endorsed Obama. I, like many others, had reservations about Hillary Clinton, not so much about her competence to govern, but about her reputation. Can you believe it? I was worried about her reputation, like some 1950's high school drama. Lordy. Senator Clinton has changed my mind, she has carried herself with grace and dignity in the face of the harsh and unforgiving light of the mainstream media.  She has endured witless criticism and baseless fear-mongering. And some of that criticism points more to the moral bankruptcy of her critics. The sanctity of marriage is a favorite dog whistle of the right, as is the "ease" with which people can obtain a divorce. Those on the right encourage spouses, but especially wives, to "stand by your man" no matter what. Well guess what, Senator Clinton did just that, she refuses to throw away her marriage and she stood by her man. And she was pilloried for it. I guess the central dogma of the republican party is "Damned if she does and damned if she doesn't". And ladies, that "she" is all of us. We can't win with those people, so the least we can do is make sure one of us wins the White House from them. So without further delay, here is something I posted on one of my other blogs earlier this evening:

With two absolutely fine choices open to me on the primary ticket-Obama and Clinton-the House was having no small amount of difficulty choosing between them. It’s like being asked to choose between cupcakes and cookies. Or Star Wars and Star Trek. Or Hostess and Little Debbie. Somehow it always gets back to dessert. But voting for either one of those fine individuals is like finally having dessert after a meal of endless tripe. There are so many analogies I could use: oasis in the desert, port in the storm, the whole raining-soup-bucket thing. We’re back to food, I must be hungry or something. Seriously, the political field like the proverbial raining of soup and I’m bringing my bucket.

But, I have to choose one. And that is no small task; both have so much more to offer than anybody over on the other side. I wouldn’t have to hold my nose to vote for either Obama or Clinton, I would mark my ballot gladly for either. But I have to choose one, just one. Prominent people that I respect have endorsed both candidates and until today none of those endorsements pushed me over either edge. Today I learned that Wilma Mankiller, former Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation (of which I am a registered member), endorsed Hillary Clinton for President and I will follow her fine example. The House of the Burning Prairie officially endorses Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. For what it’s worth.

With this caveat-should she not garner enough votes to win my party’s candidacy, I will proudly support whoever does. After years of embarrassment, I’m ready to proud of my country again. Oh, and girls rule!!!!!

Addendum: I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I base my voting choices on endorsements or pet projects or voting record nitpicking or any other one thing. Except for being a staunch Democrat like my maternal grandmother, I approach voting as a gestalt. But sometimes, when all else is equal in my mind, a good word from people I respect can help. Not that I am induced to vote in a way that I normally would not, but that realizations floating in my mind, unformed, are crystallized when I hear others put voice to my thoughts.

Look, I am NOT a Hillary Clinton supporter, it has always been my intention to only vote for her should she get the Dem. nomination. But I have to add my voice to this fray about her supposed emotionalism and say "What?!" That poor woman is damned if she does and damned if she doesn't. Maintain a stoic exterior and get accused of being a cold bitch. Show the slightest hint of emotion and all hell breaks loose. She shows anger, which in a man is totally acceptable, and she's unstable. She shows the barest hint of frustration or exhaustion or whatever (her voice cracked but she didn't cry) and she's just a big ol' weepy girl who isn't tough enough to be president. Tough? Tough?!!!!! That lady is many things and tough tops the list.

But that is no surprise to me, after all she IS a woman. And not to be sexist, but women have to be tougher than men. We put up with more crap in our everyday lives, we have to be all things to all people, and physical pain comes with the territory. Oh, and a goodly portion of men think we have no business having thoughts, opinions, and rights of our own.

Every woman in my family has endured hardships and/or pain that would put any man down. Not to make light of any physical pain my male family members have endured, but  my mother walked and worked for years with knees destroyed by arthritis before she finally had them replaced. I asked her how she tolerated it and all she said was that she had a high pain tolerance. My grandmother was widowed young and raised two children all by herself with very little help. They were poor but she would've considered outside help (but not family help) charity that should be used the truly helpless. She resented her lot in life and grew bitter, but she endured and fulfilled her obligations to the best of her abilities. My cousin is going through a divorce after a long, seemingly stable marriage because her husband cheated on her. She refuses to be ashamed and is busy with the task of getting on with her life, including working after many year of being a SAHM. My husband teases me about my low pain threshold, but the pain in my hips doesn't stop me from walking my oldest to school or cleaning the house or helping to clear the fallen limbs from our recent ice storm. I hurt all the time and I soldier through it and I try my damnedest not to complain. I love the men in my family, don't get me wrong, but it has always been the women that have kept the family strong.

Hillary Clinton is a strong woman, maybe that reminds some men (but of course not all) of how weak they are in comparison. Maybe all the Religious Wrong's insistence on the subservience of women traces back to their intimate knowledge of their own weakness. If you can't control yourself, at least you can control your women. Yeah, right. No woman can be controlled without her express permission. They are only letting the men think they are in control. Hillary reminds them of that. Not only is she the power behind the throne, she's sitting in it and not even bothering to pretend she's subservient. If a woman stands a decent shot at being President, who will get their dinner? Who will iron their shirts? Who will allow them to stay in eternal infancy if Mommy goes to work?

Well, to all the scared little boys masquerading as real men, Mean Ol' Mommy's come to town and guess what? She wears the Daddy pants. Tough on that, baby.

Congratulations Mr. Gore! If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right.  

Luciano Pavarotti has died and we may never see his like again. If there is a Heaven, he is surely there, outshining the angels. Godspeed, Maestro, and thank you.

Dr. Pepper, O Dr. Pepper,
O Sweet nectar of life,
How thou dost tempt and beguile me
With thine complexities, Divine.
My shame, my love,
My angel, my demon.
My drink.

There is a ghost in my house, mostly in the kitchen. We think the ghost came with the house, and there are limited possibilities as to our ghost's identity. My house is a mid-century modern, flat-roofed model a la Eichler (but designed by a local architect named Donald Honn) built in 1955. We are only the third owners I believe. We bought the home from a widow lady, and have always supposed that the ghost may have been her husband.
From the time we moved in to this very day, we have heard our ghost in the kitchen. But we never hear him when we are in there, we always hear the noises from the kitchen when were are sitting at the dining table or watching TV in the den. The noises are not associated with the stove, fridge, or dishwasher; but we have never been able to tell exactly what causes them. So, we just smile and say "Kitchen ghost!"
My husband and I have also both seen things that are odd. No apparitions or ectoplasm, nothing "Ghostbusters" or anything, just odd things. Like things seen out of the corner of the eye, when you think someone is standing right there and you turn to look and no one is there. More times than I can count, I'll see movement and think Hubby has poked his head into the room but he will be back in the bedroom and the kids will be sound asleep. He has the same experiences and thinks that I am looking in on him.
I don't scare easily and I'm not superstitious; and I'm not going to go all New-Agey and start yelling "Go to the light!" If my ghost wants to stick around it's ok by me, after all it's "lived" here longer than we have. But I did have to have a talk with the ghost this morning about some things that have happened the last couple of days.
Last night while I was getting new school clothes ready for the laundry, something came into the den. I was standing facing the fireplace when a little white column of vapor floated in front of me. I saw it enter the den through the doorway, float in column form to a stop right in front of me. The base of the column was wispy and hovered above the floor about 6 inches; the top was rounder and "stood" about 4 feet tall. It stayed stationary in front of me, and as I stared in surprise, just vanished gently away. I shrugged and said aloud, "Huh, the ghost is pretty active tonight." Told you, I don't scare easily.
This morning after my husband left something else happened. Every morning I iron a shirt for him then put the iron on a silicone hot pad on the kitchen counter facing the wall so I don't accidentally get burned, then I lock the baby gate behind me when I leave. Hubby had already left for work and the kids and I were watching "Yogi Bear" when I heard a noise in the kitchen. Just a small thud, no loud clattering, no crashing. Both kids were with me, so I didn't worry too much. Later, I walked into the kitchen for a drink and found my iron face-down on the floor. Now, I had set the iron firmly on the counter away from the edge and a drawer was open right under the spot. To fall to the floor, the iron would've had to bounce off the open drawer, making a terrible noise all the way down. But that's not what happened. The iron looked for all the world like it had been set on the floor. While it was still warm, no less. It stuck to the linoleum when I picked it up, luckily the floor wasn't damaged. I called my husband to confirm that he hadn't knocked it the floor, he hadn't.
So I talked directly to my ghost. I told him he was welcome to stay (does he or she even have meaning when discussing ghosts?), after all, he had been here longer than we had, I wouldn't try to make him go to the light, but  please, just don't scare the children.
This is not going to set me off on some mad search to "find" my ghost; I will NOT be having any seances and I don't own a Ouija board. To me, having a ghost is part of the charm of living in a 50-year old house.