TR words

 7:21 a.m.

My husband I were curled up in bed reading. The dog was between us. Rain played a beat on the skylight. I was sipping my tea and we shared a chocolate biscuit -- my husband and I, not the dog.

Mornings like this, as the MasterCard ad, says are priceless. We share certain things from what we read, plan the day, enjoy being. Yesterday this was one of our conversations.

Rick: Trump says the doesn't know what a burner phone is. John Bolton said he discussed burner phones with him.

Me: The letters TR are about the only connection TRump has with TRuth.

Rick: Other TR words?

Me: TReason, TRaitor, TRouble.

Peaches and Pens

 

PEACHES

Don’t tell me the sale price of peaches.

Tell me if you bought them at the green grocers

where the woman chats about recipes

while her fingers dance on the register keys.

Or were they stacked high

between apples and apricots?

 

Had you been searching for peaches,

or were you looking for carrots

when peaches caught your eye?

Did you fight temptation

thinking yourself weak to give in?

 

Tell me about their perfume,

and if fuzz tickled your hand

when you dropped them in a bag.

Did the first one taste sweet

or was it tasteless,

over engineered,

traveling well and

looking pretty in a bowl,

but never meant to impress taste buds?

And when you finished

Did you want another?

PENS 

I feel the same way about pens as some people feel about their cell phones or cars. 

 

Every time I put one in my hand, it is special. It doesn't matter if I'm signing a document or making a grocery list. The feel, the color, the weight all become a sensual experience for me. 

 

Despite my minimalism, I've a collection of pens: The one in the photo is like the one I found in a silent auction in Barcelona at the World Council of Credit Unions annual conference. A minute before the auction closed I rushed in and upped the price by $20.

 

One of the most precious pens I have is the silver Carn d'Ache given to us by the village. Not only is it delicately beautiful with a tip that improves my handwriting, we signed our marriage documents with it.

 

Thus the other day when I was in Annecy France. I passed a pen store, the black fountain pen decorated with delicate yellow flowers in the window made me stop. 

 

"How much?" I asked the owner.

 

"1150 Euros." That's $1,279 or 1,186 CHF. 

 

Despite being economical on almost everything -- yes, I reuse tinfoil, a dab of toothpaste and I don't replace things that still work for the sake of replacement. By being economical in almost everything, I can splurge at time but no way.

 

"I have one that's less." He led me into the store -- Pen Paradise.

 

The one he showed me was also beautiful, although it had a few less blossoms, but still was beautiful. I debated holding it.

 

"540 Euros," he said. That's $600 or 557 CHF.

 

I walked out of the store penless.

I thought about my poem Peaches written in the 1990s. For me a peach will always be a treat to see, feel, smell, taste. Likewise, a pen every time I go to put a mark on paper, will be something I savour doing. As for that pen in Annecy, I'd love to have it in my collection. 

 

Just not at the price.

Blue Cars

I've long commented that almost all cars in Switzerland and France are black, white or gray. Walking through a parking garage or riding on a highway with all those depressing colors or lack there of, is like living in a country where there is only haze and rain. 

Lately however, I've noticed there are several royal blue cars. They pop up like flowers after a horrible winter. Then, I've also seen a few red, light green, baby blue and some color on half of one of the depressing ones. And I've seen several copper-color cars that look interesting.

I know cars serve a purpose, to get from place to place. Some are really technological interesting. And of course there's the whole status symbol thingie...I'm a better person than my neighbor because I drive a (fill in the blank). I've driven some high end cars and there's a certain pleasure in that. Sadly, the high end cars were all black and I wasn't driving to a funeral.

I wish cars could be more interesting to look at. It could be a way for an individual to establish his identity rather than just say, "Look at me, I can afford a ..."

Cars should be decorated. A person could select the decoration based on his interests. For example, my husband's car could be painted like a golf course. Or I could have books all over mine assuming I had a car. Decks of cards for bridge players, horses for people who love to ride, a football pitch...the choices are endless.

And I thought famous paintings could be on the cars for those that still need status. Some could even be original. Imagine a car painted by Banksy. 

Wait, maybe not Banksy. He might arrange for it to disappear mid highway.

Local artists would have a whole new market place for people who couldn't afford a more known painter. 

I can just imagine not having to work to not be depressed looking at a plethora (always loved that word and can't always find a way to use it) of those blacks, white, grays, those mechanical rain storms.

 

 

Nag vs. Subtle (Marriage)

 My husband has my number. Consider this conversation.

Me: Sherlock, when you go for a walk, you'll have to go back to the car to get the cinnamon rolls I bought and left in the glove compatment.

Rick: (He's next to me). That is your way to remind me to get the rolls.

Me: Subtle? Better than nagging.

Rick: Silence.

Daylight Savings Time

 

We set the clocks forward last night. Another sign of spring. 

There are those that want Daylight Savings Time all year round. No, no, no.

I love the short days when I can get into my PJs early, settle down with a book or movie, and a glass of wine or a cuppa. There is something so cozy about it.

But I also enjoy the lengthening days and I do love the French summer long days (but hate the heat and humidity) when after dinner we can take a walk, go to l'Hostalet for a wine, beer, fruit juice, or tea whatever we feel like. There we often meet up with friends and neighbors for a chat. It's like an Argelesian Pub.

If we're in Geneva we can sit on our patio or the garden and watch the sunset over lake Léman, chat about our day before going inside for bed.

I like watching the lengthening and the shortening of the days, which will happen with or without changing our clocks. After all, time describes a phenomena that takes place with or without humans.

When we put the clock backs, I won't change the time until late in the day. Then I can be "surprised" and I have more of my Sunday. I've been given another hour of life.

That hour is stolen from me in the spring. I set the clocks before I go to bed. It makes the "theft" less painful.

Benjamin Franklin was the first to suggest DST to conserve on candles. It has been said it also saves energy.

However, no matter what we tell our clocks tell us is the time, there is still 24 hours in a day. Make the most of it.

 

I reached my grolle

 

My first grole was served by my landlord when I'd been in Switzerland only a couple of months back in 1990. 

I was intrigued when he set the contents of a wooden bowl on fire, which was quickly extinguished by putting the top on. 

We handed the grole from person to person as they sipped from their own spout never setting the grole down. At the time I didn't have enough French to ask about it.

I eventually learned and found my own to use at the end of a dinner party.

What is a grole? It is a carved, wooden bowl with a small lid and multi spouts. They come from the Savoy in France and the Aosta Valley in Italy.

When I moved in 2003, I gave mine away and then regretted it. I've looked for another, but I couldn't remember the name.

Then when we were in Annecy, France this week, there were several in a window. Although I'm not given to sudden purchases, there was no way I was not going to buy it. I probably will have to wait until the end of the pandemic to use it. 

Here's the recipe:

• Boil a cup of coffee per person and pour it into the grole.
• Pour a small glass of a liquor per person, brandy, rum, cognac, orange on top of the coffee.
  
• Sprinkle sugar around the edge.
• Light the alcohol and let it burn until all the sugar is burned.
  
• Cover the grole to put out the flame..
  

There are other methods described on the internet. Use the words friendship cup in your search.

I've seen alternative spelling for grol, groll, grolle.

Café not a restaurant

 

I'd seen the pretty blue of what I thought was a Swedish restaurant. I was only half right. It was more a café than restaurant which I discovered when we went there for lunch. 

There was the smell of baking goodies. The two charming Swedish women owners I discovered were mother and daughter, although they could have been sisters.

They did have a shrimp salad and a soup. I also saw a cheese and meat platter with fruit that looks wonderful for another time. And the blueberry tarte with a vanilla cream with the most wonderful crust -- yum.

 

The decorations are simple and cozy, but the chandelier with the horns was especially interesting.

The café filled quickly. Two dogs, a family with a baby, an older couple. My bank's customer service person came in with her husband and was joined by a younger couple. 

Fika means relaxing with a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. Works for me.

Associate Luddite Card

 

I am about to apply for my Associate Luddite Card. No, I'm not as bad as the cartoon protest.

There was a time in the 1990s when my company changed to a modern system from its old green and yellow screen. I was there to help, having my own modern (for the day) computer.

And don't try and take my laptop away. I'm on it several hours each day. I happily use many programs and will always consider things like word processing, Excel, power point something close to a miracle.

The internet is wonderful.

What is making me nuts is forms on the internet that I suspect are created to drive me to insanity.

Also, I admit I'm lazy. I used to love when planning a trip to call my travel agent, tell where I wanted to go and where. She would check, give me alternatives and prices. I'd say "book it." A few minutes of my time and I could get on with my life.

My husband, bless him, does it by internet. Sometimes he can spend an entire morning and I will admit by not taking the travel sites at face value saves us a lot of money, although the travel agent used to have many price alternatives. There can be problems with codes, forms that aren't suited for a foreign address, things that have been entered more than once. He says he enjoys it. Normally, he is not a masochist.

Five minutes vs. a lot of time stolen from my life...? Hmmm...unfortunately travel agents are rare these days. Off hand, I can't think of a place I want to go badly enough to put myself through the hassle. Good thing I've done a lot of traveling in my life.

I tried to buy my husband's birthday gift. I found exactly the right gift. I filled out the form including the credit card and pressed ok. A message "we don't ship to Switzerland." I tried a second time and they wouldn't let me in. I had planned to change the mailing address. Fortunately I had my daughter order it and I'll pick it up in Boston when I see her next month a little after his birthday.

I originally loved e-banking for my credit union, until the changed my password and it was hassle to replace it because I hadn't listed a phone number. They have added several "security" steps making it more secure --FROM ME.

Phone numbers seem to be a requirement these days, preferably a mobile. I want to limit my phone number to a few select people. I DO NOT WANT PHONE CALLS except from a few exceptional friends. Every time my mobile rings, usually for marketing reasons, I want to smash it into a million pieces. I'm not usually violent, but phones are interruption to what I'm doing. I don't even want to mention the number of sites that are not set up for a non-US number.

E-banking in Switzerland used to be a nightmare of numbers and a special card reader. Now they've reduced it but codes do not come in before the time to enter them has expired. There have times the codes did not arrive until next day.

I've read articles where they want to make it even safer. I suspect the banks will ask for your blood type or a sample of your DNA to make sure you are you.

I've come to the conclusion that there's nothing I want enough to go through it. Life is too short. 

An outstanding read

 

 

 "How many books that you read do you find outstanding?" My husband was dressed to go for a walk on a cold Sunday morning not sure if the dog would want to walk to the lake, tennis court or farm.

I was still in bed reading when he asked. 

I tally the number of pages I read, partially out of curiosity, but if I'm thinking about getting a book by a prolific author, I can make sure I hadn't read it, two or three years before. I read 30,000+ pages a year: fiction, non-fiction, politics, biography, history but mostly fiction.

"Enjoyable," I told him. I think most of the books I read as enjoyable. I like it when I feel the characters are real. I'm living with them, wherever they may be. I can smell what they cook for dinner, share their worries, celebrate their accomplishments.

I also think about the structure of the novel, short chapters, long chapters, mixed. Told chronologically or in flashback. How does the writer  manipulate the language. I'm more apt to find a sentence outstanding than an entire book. 

So many times, even if the ending is perfect, I miss the characters when I finish.

Reading non fiction is different. I'm learning something or sometimes confirming what I already know. At times, I'm surprised about how wrong I was about this or that person or event. 

I read pop writers such as Alexander McCall Smith, Jody Piccoult, the late Maeve Binchey. I will read anything Margaret Atwood has written even a grocery list if if were available. 

Because I live in France and Switzerland and even with the English Library in Geneva, and without the wonderful bookstores of my old stomping grounds in Harvard Square, I'm left with less choice.

I'm thrilled that old phone booths are now dropping off places for gently-read books including a few English ones. I will often pick up one only because it is in English.  I've found a few treasures. I will also sometimes pick up a French novel but it has to be fascinating.

So what about outstanding?

As a child I loved Summer at Buckhorn, about five city children enjoying the freedom of a farm.

As an adult John Irving's The World According to Garp and a Prayer for Owen Meaning have for decades been my favorites. So much so, I did my masters thesis on repeated symbolism in Irving. The MFA was in creative writing from Glamorgan University in Wales.

Other books such as Grapes of Wrath, I would call outstanding. Very seldom do I reread a book, but that is one I've read more than once.

I think poet Rita Dove said, "Reading lets you live other lives." She wasn't the only one to express that thought. I found some more.

"Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body." — Richard Steele                                             

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies," Jojen

"The man who never reads lives only once." ― George R.R. Martin                                                   

"Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are." - Mason Cooley  

Sometimes when I'm homesick for Boston, I'll read a book set there. Robert B. Parker was great for that. Other writers take me to my loved Scotland. These are voyages without the hassle of packing or airports, although enhanced by the memories of my time there.

Outstanding? A few. Enjoyable 99% of the books I read.

The artwork above is by Lori de Boer, the talented artist from Colorado who illustrated my novel Day Care Moms. She captured my idea of happiness, several books left to read maybe with a good cup of tea.

102 US Wars

 

I've come to the conclusion the human species is not programed for peace. Probably back in the cave man days, a group from one cave would attack another group from a neighboring cave for whatever reason: a need to steal their mammoth skins perhaps, a kidnapped woman, desire for their larger cave -- whatever.

Today the weapons are far more dangerous. Man advanced (?) in their weaponry from sticks and stones to bow and arrows, guns, cannons, missiles and bombs.

Americans talk a lot about peace. If asked to named American wars, most who know history at all would mention the American Revolution, Civil War, WWI, WWII. Others might add Korean, Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq.

In reality America has fought in 102 wars. I'm defining war as armed conflict.

Don't believe me? 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_wars_involving_the_United_States

There are the little known two Barbary Wars, the Texas Revolution for example.

How about the Banana Wars 1898-1934 in Central America and the Caribbean?

Did you know America participated in the Russian Civil War? And the Laotian Civil War lasting 22 years? The U.S. Invasion of Grenada in 1983? The Tanker War against Iran in 1987-1988?

How many of those wars were necessary. How many were more like one group of cave men attacking another. The reasons, if relevant then, are not relevant now. How many people died too early?

Reading through the list at best is depressing. 

Today's news on channels all over the world are covering Ukraine. The destruction, the cost of human life is horrendous. 

Will there always be humans who want to conquer and destroy? Will peace ever be possible anywhere?

 

Snoring

 

I'll admit it...I'm neurotic when it comes to snoring. My first experience was at university. There was no dorm space, but a widow rented her extra rooms in her two-family house to students.

The first night I barely slept not with excitement about starting university, but with snoring of the person above me.

It was with great relief when other students moved in and I moved to share a room with Betty, who didn't snore. My mother was furious and insisted I be given my private room back. Mrs. Power and I agreed we'd let my mother think I'd moved back.

My next problem with snoring was with my father. I was waiting to join my new husband overseas. He was in the room next to mine, but his snores penetrated our adjoining wall.

My new husband, now my ex, didn't snore. Several decades later I don't know if this is still the case or not.

My current and last husband does snore. It varies from cute little putt-putts to window rattling emissions. He was always willing to turn over, but as a not-great sleeper, I was getting more and tired.

Enter stage right: our landlords who told us about SnoreTek. This is not a commercial. They had an office near the station Cornavin. 

We went.

Rick was fitted with the mouth piece which he finds comfortable.

Since he has worn it for several nights, we both have slept, a far better solution to my having to escape to another room.

Oh, and I am told I snore too, which I believe. However, there was the night my daughter and I were in the same room and she woke me to turn over because I was snoring.

Awake, I could hear loud snoring. It wasn't me. It was our Japanese Chin, Mika. I doubt if I would have bought a mouth piece for him.

 

Pens

 

My husband often shakes his head when I refuse to use any old pen. 

Because I'm a minimalist, people are surprised that I collect anything. However, my writer side wins out over my minimalist side. 

Here are two of my favorites. The silver Caran d'arch was presented to us almost seven years by our village at the mairie when we signed our wedding documents almost seven years ago with it. It has a lovely weight.

The dusty rose stone pen was bought at Christmas marché in Ferney-Voltaire when we spent the day with my French "daughter" and her family. It is handmade. I probably us it more than any of my other pens.

I have wooden pens, feather pens with engraved silver tips as well. There's something about dipping a pen in ink when I write a thank you. I have been known to seal the envelope with wax and a ring.

Somehow picking up a ball point, just doesn't bring memories. Do I need memories when writing out a grocery list? Well, maybe if I remember to add butter. However, my handwriting is better with a good pen.

Refugees

 

They arrive in endless lines. They carry babies and even their pets too old to walk. Their faces show how tired they are. Despite puff coats and  knit hats some with pom poms, they look cold.

Three months ago they were safe in their homes, preparing for Christmas. What will we eat on Christmas day? They look forward to Christmas Eve Mass. Conversations over the dinner table might include things like "Granma needs to be picked up Christmas Eve and I just found out I'm working till 4, can you do it?" or "I caught Galyna snooping in our closet for her Christmas presents." Ordinary family stuff.

They were safe then, the way we are safe now.

Now they their homes are rubble. Their future is limited to where they will sleep tonight. Will there still be a free cot in the wall-to-wall cots provided on the other side of the border. Someone will give them food, water, hopefully. When will they be able to take a shower or even brush their teeth?

In one way, they are luckier than the refugees from Syria and other war-torn Arab countries. They are often met with barbed wire, dogs and guns. They at least they survived the boat ride where others simply drowned. Maybe a future in tents is better than no future.

Not all refugees flee war. Some flee poverty. Others gangs. At the Mexican-American border they are called immigrants. They were not faced with bitter cold, but with their children being wrenched from their arms. 

Refugees aren't new. Most people don't know about 100,000 people fleeing Franco who walked over the Pyrenees in January's winds and snow to end up in concentration camps on the French beaches of the Côte Vermeille.

And after the war? Prisoners, living skeletons, released from German death camps, survived but just barely, alone having lost not just their homes but most of their families.

These are refugees from war, but weather, earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis and other disasters can turn any one of the planet into a refugee.

I sit here in a warm flat. Outside is a garden that is breaking into its spring clothes. I can walk to the lake and look at the ducks. My question about my next meal? Should I heat up left overs or cook something from scratch. Maybe go to a restaurant. 

The big thing in my future? A Garou concert in nearby France, tickets a Christmas gift from my husband. 

I have everything I need in life. Most of the refugees have no place to go to and no place to go back to.

I think there but the grace of God go I. And you.

 

 

 

Heidi is alive and well

 

Heidi is alive and well and living in Switzerland.

I fell in love with the Heidi story when I was five and listened as my grandmother read me the book by Johanna Spry that was written in 1881.  I imagined what Heidi's home looked like and never thought I would be able to see it in reality. My imagination almost matched reality. That it didn't quite match is that the beauty of the region exceeds the imagination. Photos only hint at it.

For some reason, I thought her bowl of fresh goat's milk would be delicious even though drinking Bosco-free cow's milk made me want to gag. And going barefoot in my imagination never hurt my feet. A straw mattress would be more comfortable than the one I slept on.

I wanted to frolic with Peter and the goats and be a friend to Clara both before and after she recovered. Frankfort, when I visited it, was no where as dreary as it was for Heidi.

Thus when returning to Geneva, where I now live, after a golf match and we saw a sign for Heidiland there was no choice acceptable but to go. Heidiland refers both to the region and a park. Unlike many Disney-phony parks, this was the reality of my childhood imaginings right down to the goats. No rides, not terribly commercial although there was a store.

So often when we are in small villages in the Alps we can imagine that Heidi, Peter and the goats are coming down the mountain. The goat bells aren't necessarily imaginary.

 

Buying food

 

A kid, who was in my homeroom a lifetime ago, and I reconnected on Facebook. He told me how he taps his trees and how much maple syrup he gets. Sometimes it is hard to get Vermont or Canadian maple syrup. When it appears, we stock up.

It triggered memories of my grandmother heating the syrup and pouring it on fresh snow to make a candy. The pieces were assigned equally between my mother, brother and me.

But it also reminded me of the way we food shop.

In Geneva for a whil,e we had a local farmer deliver a bag of groceries every Monday. He had a list  of things we didn't want like fennel. It was a fun surprise to see what each bag contained and how we would use it. 

We did discontinue it because there were weeks when too much went to waste. Also we discovered the same farmer set up a stand every Friday in front of the elementary school and we could control quantity while still enjoying freshness and supporting local business.

 When we are in France our local green grocer meets all our veggie needs and some of our cheese needs. In season cherries come from the nearby village of Ceret, wild asparagus will be brought in from a local man, and the honey appears in combs. Also, in the fall, she will have the walnuts from Grenoble. When we're lazy we'll buy the ones already shelled.

At Chez Elisbaeth's there can locally made yogurt, wines from local producers, and more than once we find friends or other customers to exchange news or theories on life.

I should add, we can also visit a farm and meet the goats that produced the milk that made our goat cheese. We've learned that two of the goats are friends, which one is more of a loner by choice and who was a great mother. 

She has some specialty cheeses with different herbs. My favorite has nettles, something I would never have thought of. 

It's a place we've taken guests, especially kids who have no idea where their food comes from. If we don't go there, we can buy some from the same producer at the Saturday marchés.

The same with honey. There's a man on the marché that has his own bees. He sells honey-related products like candles and candy.

Joel is our olive dealer. He has many kinds culled from his trees and displayed in pans. I buy less olives now. However, when I do buy them, I can buy half a handful and mix black, green, spiced, stuffed, not stuffed. 

Another dealer has big bottles of his olive oil from the local co-operative.

Before I married, I seldom bought meat, but there are two local butchers I use from the four available. One is lovely young Muslim couple. They also have Mideastern food that I would have to go to Perpignan to find. The other has equally good meat and supplies our Thanksgiving turkey each year. Both places are a pleasure to go into with their smiling faces and helpful attitudes if I have questions.

I'm sure the other butchers are as good, but I can only spread my business so far. I want to support the locals wherever I can.

In Geneva, there's a local butcher who has side dishes as well. He always has a big smile as we chat.

If I'm going to buy sausage , I usually do it on the marché. What a choice of about 10 different kinds!

Bread? Baked the same morning when we buy it in ASM. We have two favorite bakeries within walking distance of the house. If we walk the dog early, the baking smell fills the air.

 Rick has one favorite bread bought at the supermarket in Vesenaz. Yes, I said supermarket. We call it Julia Bread for the woman who introduced it to us. I have another favorite bread bought at the train station in Geneva. It reminds me of the Portuguese bread I used to buy when I went to Rhode Island regularly. And there's the chestnut bread we get from the bakery shown above. More than once we will come out with one of their fruit tartes.

Maize bread is bought both in Geneva and ASM. 

When Rick is away or playing golf at lunch time in ASM, I will buy fish from the fish monger. Most of his wares were swimming in the Med yesterday if not that morning. 

In ASM, there's also a man who makes things like couscous, roast meats, and some regional dishes that we can buy when we're too lazy to cook and don't want to spend time in a restaurant. His store front opens up onto the street. 

We eat well, very well. Food shopping is an experience that adds to the quality of my life, not a chore that takes time from my life.

 

Go to jail for getting medical care

 Idaho

In Idaho H.B. bill 675 was passed  55-13 that makes giving gender-affirming health care to transgender youths not only a felony, those who do it could face life in prison. It is also a crime if parents, guardians help a child leave the state for such care. The Governor Brad Little is expected to sign it -- he may already have.

Missouri

 In Missouri there are laws pending preventing pregnant women from leaving the state to get an abortion. Since the bill preventing abortions after eight weeks, some 10,644 women have done just that according to one Planned Parenthood clinic on the Missouri-Illinois border.

 A new proposal by Rep. Mary Elizabeth Coleman would let private citizens to sue anyone who helps a woman get an abortion.

Texas

Parents may be under investigation if they try and treat their transgender children in Texas, according to a directive signed by Governor Greg Abbott. The Texas Children's Hospital is the largest U.S. hospital to provide this care has stopped this service. 

Texas is also the state that created bounty hunters against women seeking abortions.

Government and medical care

At the same time many of the people supporting this legislation wanted to stop vaccine mandates saying government had no right to enforce medical care on people. However stopping medical care seems to be okay. Imprisoning people for getting the care they want or need seems to be okay.

Some 300 different pieces of legislation are floating through various Republican-controlled legislators that limit a person's right to care for themselves or their loved ones. 

I wonder if carried to the extreme, could people be sent to prison for seeking treatment for cancer or having their gall bladders removed. Or maybe the idea of turning a person into the authorities and get a reward could become a good income-producer. I'm sure some wacky religious reason could be found by those legislators who want to control their constituents bodies.

If my neighbor wants to help her transgender child, it changes nothing in my life. If a friend needs an abortion, it doesn't change what I cook for dinner or what movie my husband and I will go to see. What their actions do, help themselves and their families.

That the distinction between legislation that hurts and that helps such as food stamps or child care isn't being given more shrive. I find it terribly sad when moralistic idiots not unlike the ones that enforced people into stocks in New England or burned witches still have power to destroy lives that they should be serving.