Revisiting Capital Punishment

Once more I find myself sitting on the fence regarding the issue of capital punishment due to two high profile cases in the news. Generally my political stance has been to believe no one should be put to death in spite of the legality of the law saying it is o.k. to do so. Now, however, I find myself ambivalent.

Last week a woman, Teresa Lewis, was put to death in Virginia for ordering the murders of her husband and stepson--all for money. To me this case was particularly unfair for several factors. She did not actually carry out the murders herself, she was a woman (yes, I know that I typically argue for equal rights for women), and she had an IQ of 72. I believe life in prison, as her colleague in crime received, was justifiably the better decision.

On the other hand, the news media have been engrossed with the crime and its horrid details of the Petit family in Connecticut in 2007. Here a mother and her two daughters were raped and set on fire while still alive. Her husband escaped narrowly after a severe beating, but he was unable to save his family. As is typical, both of the defendants are blaming the other for the most heinous of the events. To me this case is one that requires me to rethink my position on capital punishment. If there was ever anyone who needed to be put to death, it is these two.

I believe I would speak for the majority of Americans. It is a complex topic as we all know.

In the Stars?

Although I have been fascinated for years by the moon and the stars, I have never been a believer in the idea of astrology. I do read my horoscope, however, at times. Last week I was told that a person I had not seen in years would come back into my life, someone that I had never had a complete break with. I said to myself, "That will never happen."

About three p.m. though, the phone rang. It was a young friend that I had seen grow up, but whom I had not seen for several years. She was writing a story she hoped to market and wanted my advice. Her mother and I had had an argument a number of years back, therefore, the silence for years.

Our book study group this fall is now reading a book together entitled Goddesses in Every Woman by Bolen. It has been interesting to discover the feminine archetypes and to realize that I am most closely related to Artemis, the goddess of the moon. I take it all with a grain of salt.

I guess it is our human nature that compels us to explore our self-identity throughout our lives. The more we know about who we are the more we can understand ourselves and those around us.

Snakes in the Garden

It seems that I have always been aware of snakes from the beginning of my memory. When I was three, my parents went out to a swimming hole in Mississippi for a picnic with their friends. They took my sister and me to wade in the shallow water. I remember two events from that day--my father and some of his male buddies picked up my mother in her halter top and shorts and threw her into the water. She was screaming--good-naturedly though--that she didn't intend to go for a swim. The second memory revolves around seeing a rather large snake beside the water; I learned later it was a water moccasin so common in Mississippi lakes. My parents grabbed me up and begin asking me frantically if "the big bug" as I called it had bitten me. Of course, I liked the attention I seemed to be getting from everyone and kept pointing to numerous places on my body where the snake had bitten me.

As I grew a bit older and began to attend Sunday School at the Second Baptist Church of Greenville, Mississippi, I learned about another snake, this time in the Garden of Eden. It seems that this one was beautiful and even talked to the first woman, Eve, convincing her to sin against God by tasting the forbidden fruit. As a five-year-old, I had more trouble believing that a snake could be beautiful than believing one could actually speak.

As a teenager, I often went on fall walks with my friend Linda and her family around Lake Enid or Lake Sardis in the delta. On one occasion, the two of us noticed a snake hanging from a branch above our heads. We backed slowly away and told her dad who was back at his truck. He immediately took his shotgun--which all good Mississippians still carry--and shot the snake, bringing it out on a stick for us to see.

When I became a mother, my husband and I often took our fold-out Apache camper to our favorite state park in Arkansas, Devil's Den. We, along with our young children, enjoyed watching the naturalists present various programs during the day and occasionally at night. One of the most memorable for us all occurred around a large campfire. The naturalist was speaking on some topic when at least three small copperheads came crawling up into the audience's sight. The naturalist simply took the long stick already in his hand, picked each one up without missing a syllable in his presentation, and tossed it back into the dark night.

My position these days regarding snakes in that they are typically just trying to survive in an ever-more-difficult environment where humans continue to encroach upon their land. My grandson and granddaughter are city children and don't care to be out in nature as much as my children did. Charlie, our seven-year-old, however, recently was brave enough to attend a week's "snake camp" in which he learned about the habits of snakes, made models of snakes with clay, drew snakes, and even held one. It gave me hope that we could all get along.

Standing By Me

It's easy for me to work myself up into a frenzy of worry about money. I guess it must come from my single mother's constant concern over paying the bills when I was a young child. After all, it could not have been an easy task to work a split shift as a waitress at a restaurant and also support all the needs of her family alone. This week's news focused on the usual predictions of more gloom and doom for both the foreclosure market and the economy worldwide. Since we still own two houses in retirement, I started thinking once more about alternatives: Should we sell one or both at a great loss, or should we try to hang on making those payments every month in hopes that the market will eventually improve? As I was contemplating this question, I read a passage from I Samuel 7:12 which read, "Thus far the Lord has helped us."

The context of the biblical passage reminded us that stones were often used in ancient times for a variety of reasons: to cast at the enemy or to build a monument either to God or to someone who had died. I immediately remembered the popularity of small stones now sold in stores like Coldwater Creek that contain a single word like "believe," "faith," "hope," etc. While I am not a strong supporter of icons, it seems reasonable that one could place a small stone on a desk or in a prominent place to remind ourselves of God's faithfulness. I might wish the stone would say "sell" or "hold" in order to give me a sign about our dilemma. In the meantime, however, I will keep reminding myself that a stone is a great reminder of God's promise to stand by us.

The Anawim - With Us Forever?

The word "anawim" is a Hebrew word that means, "the poor seeking God's deliverance." It is mentioned in Psalms 37:11 and other places in the Bible. Even Christ spoke of always having the poor with us. Statistics last week here in America have reported that the number of poor has grown to record highs with some one out of seven in poverty, under $22,000 yearly for a family of four. The debate rages between Democrats and Republicans in this election year regarding the future of entitlements. Should we continue to extend unemployment benefits to the least of us, or do we cut off benefits to help reduce the deficit?

My political persuasion is an odd mix, but I suspect it's not too different from most people. I believe in fiscal responsibility; my husband and I have struggled to pay two house payments in retirement because we cannot sell one. Thus far, we have been able to make those payments. On the other hand, there are many children in our American families in dire poverty and that simply must be fed and clothed and educated. Last night's news revealed that the so-called Octomom (yes, the one with the fourteen children conceived at a fertility clinic) is on the verge of bankruptcy. She indicated that she does not want welfare for herself and children, but she has just another week of money in her account.

My position is that the unemployment compensation must continue, as well as welfare for those who need it the most. Hopefully, we will not have the situation continuing forever as we now hover around ten per cent of those without work. Let us in the meantime take care of the children. They are the true anawim.

Remembering Charlie

For the past several years, my husband and I have been a part of a Sunday Brunch group. This group, typically around twelve of us, meet every week at a restaurant and not only enjoy a great meal but also discuss the events of the week. In a political city like Little Rock, there are always many interesting comments not only about upcoming elections but also about literature, science, religion, and other subjects. One of our group, Charlie, was outspoken on many of these issues. He often spoke very loudly because as an octogenarian he had lost a lot of his hearing and wore a hearing aid. We could often hear him before saw him. He typically was late for our gatherings. He and his friend Nonnie, or Naomi as we call her, would arrive either separately or together. Likely because of their respective canes or walkers, they took a while to sit down at the table.

I quickly observed that Charlie seemed to be mad at the world. He often griped about the poor service at the restaurant whenever a server failed to bring him immediately a small request such as a knife to cut his sandwich. I often wondered if this impatience was a result of simply aging accompanied by the frustration of increasing physical limitations. I later discovered that Charlie had had a hard life.

It seems that his first wife, suffering from a mental problem, picked up their twelve-year-old son from church one day, took him out to a road by the river, and killed him and then herself. Some twenty years later he lost all his investments in the savings and loan debacle. How does one recover from such a tragedy? Is it even possible?

One of the positive aspects of Charlie's personality was his passion for baking bread, and supposedly he perfected a perfect French baguette. He loved to canoe on the Buffalo River here in Arkansas and was known for a famous bumper sticker he had on his car, saying in Latin "not random." He worked diligently to preserve the Buffalo as a natural habitat for generations to come.

Charlie died suddenly last week doing what he loved best--eating and discussing his favorite topics with his friend Bill. Today we can only hope that he has joined a new brunch group and can bring his uniqueness to a different group--wherever he is.

Daughters of an American Revolution

Last week I received an invitation to visit a D.A.R. meeting here in Little Rock. Since I was a young woman, I remember my Aunt Pauline from Jackson, Mississippi, being very interested in the organization. She had the genealogical research for my father's side of the family that showed our ancestry back to the 1700's. As I was watching the news from the primary elections this week, I became struck by how many Republican women are now prominent in these races, most notably Christine O'Donnell from Delaware, Nikki Haley in South Carolina, Meg Whitman and Carly Fiorina in California. Of course, Sarah Palin was the first national Republican woman to receive national attention as a Vice-Presidential candidate. I am still amazed that Republican women, who have traditionally remained behind the scenes in support of their candidate husbands, have now become Daughters of an American Revolution themselves.

Indeed, it appears that, at long last, the year for American women has come. The media have reported this week that more women are now in the majority for receiving Ph.D. degrees--at 50.4%. The visibility of women in professional roles other than teaching, nursing, and secretarial work has increased remarkably.

I doubt if I'll live long enough to see on a genealogical chart listing women's names as heroes of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, but it is interesting to contemplate such a change for future generations.

Dying to Live

I just finished reading Debra Dean's novel The Madonnas of Leningrad which centers on the second World War and the siege of Leningrad by the Germans in the winter of 1941. Dean relates the story of a young woman who, along with her extended family, spent the long, cold winter in the basement of the famous Hermitage Museum. Food was only available, and in small amounts only, through the black market. As a result, many of the people died of starvation during this time.

While I was walking around my neighborhood in NW Arkansas recently, I contemplated whether or not I could have had the stamina to have survived without any substantial food for such a long period. Co-incidentally while I was meditating upon that question, NPR ran a story similar to the novel I had just completed. The subject was also on the World War II siege of Leningrad, but this time the setting was a seed-protection facility which carefully guarded seed potatoes for the sake of future generations. Many of the scientists refused to eat these potatoes even though they also starved to death.

I am afraid I have always had food issues that have ranged from being practically anorexic as a teenager to being some thirty to sixty pounds overweight as an adult. I remember that my grandmother's favorite statement as she aged was, "I have two luxuries in my life: eating and watching t.v." As a teen and coming from an environment that had been out of my control from birth to age twelve, I know that my refusal to eat food came from a deep psychological need to have control in my life again. As a more relaxed young married woman, I found myself overeating. In other words, as the old cliche goes, I found myself moving from an "eating to live" to an "living to eat" philosophy.

Today I hope that I have discovered that small portions of food and exercise are the key to maintaining a healthy body weight. I can't imagine the pain that the Russians experienced during this horrendous time of their history. I am afraid I would have eaten the seed potatoes then if given a chance. The immediate need would have triumphed over the future good.

The Grandma on the Hill

When I was eleven or so, my grandmother used to take my sister Judy and me often to a lake about thirty miles from where we lived. It was always fun to go not only with them but also with my Aunt Elise and her son David. Mam, as we called our grandmother, would set up her lawn chair on the top of a hill overlooking the swimming area. The children would swim as the two sisters on the hill talked about television programs, fresh vegetables like sweet corn, and--of course--us. The two sisters in the water talked about boys and school and tried to get away from our pesky cousin in the water. It was always a comfort, however, to look up at any time during the swimming process and know that the adults' eyes were still upon us. We rather doubted that if we had gotten into trouble swimming that they could have physically saved us, but we hoped they could attract the help of someone who could.

During the Labor Day holiday this year, my son, husband, and two grandchildren--ages 7 and 11, plus a girlfriend--went to Devil's Den State Park near Winslow, Arkansas, for the afternoon. We set up our lawn chairs at the top of a hill under a shade tree. The air had a touch of fall in it; the sky was clear of even the hint of clouds. My husband started the fire in the grill for the hot dogs and hamburgers, my son tossed a soft football back and forth with our grandson, and I watched as the two girls could not resist the lure of the creek. It first became a simple game of wading in the creek in their flip flops but eventually turned into a shedding of shorts and tops in favor of their two piece swimming suits underneath. Soon the scent of the meat on the grill engulfed the area and made us all hungry for the upcoming meal of chips, soft drinks, fruit, and burgers. It was then that I realized I had become "the grandma on the hill" watching over my own grandchildren. As the girls got waist deep in the water, they would often glance us at us to make sure we were still there.

In spite of the fact that tweens often yearn for more independence as they move into the teen years officially, I believe they still enjoy that sense of comfort that I experienced myself just knowing the adults' eyes were upon me and keeping me from harm.