Musings

I’ve been quietly celebrating the very important decision of the Supreme Court on Thursday when they declared that Congress and the President had no power to strip away the right of Habeus Corpus. I’ve been listening to the news while I cleaned up the kitchen, and heard John McCain at a town hall meeting.

I know the media has been presenting this guy as a maverick and a moderate. _He Is Neither!_ He has voted in support of Bush’s disastrous policies 95% of the time in the past year. Prior to that he was rated by a Conservative think tank as a proper right wing voter 85% of the time. He has backed away from his stance against torture. (I guess torture is now just fine), he is anti-choice, and he will pack the court and destroy the country.

The reason I know he will destroy the judicial safeguards that protect our Constitution is what he just said in this town hall meeting. He excoriated the court’s decision on Thursday, and sided with these absolutely terrifying dissents from Roberts and Scalia. McCain railed against unelected judges legislating from the bench. This man wants to be President, and the primary duty of the President is to defend the Constitution, and apparently McCain knows nothing about the Constitution, or at least doesn’t understand it. It is the function of the Supreme Court to rule on the Constitutionality of laws passed by Congress and actions taken by the President.

The Right claims to hate and fear government, but then they tell us to trust them. The stripping of Habeus Corpus only applies to these detainees. It would never be used against American citizens. Tell that to Jose Padilla. And how long until some new convulsion of fear has the president and congress deciding that certain ethnic groups need to lose their rights? Or certain religious groups. Trust us. We’re the people who tell you to fear government, but _trust us_. We’ll never take your rights away.

Consider the quote by Martin Niemoller. There are a number of versions as he made this speech several times, but I’m offering up the most famous version for your consideration.

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out–
because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out–
because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out–
because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out–
because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me–
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

John Scalzi has written a stunning, funny, brilliant rebuke of the pinheads at Fox News. (I just hate to append the word “news” after Fox) Anyway, this will brighten your morning.

So, Ty Frank and I were chatting on Sunday morning while I watered the day lilies, and casually discussing whom Obama might select as his running mate. The governor of New Mexico, Bill Richardson, is an terrific politician, has a great deal of experience in foreign affairs, and he’s Hispanic, so he was on our list as we ruminated.

I began to muse that such a selection might send any would be racist assassins into vapor lock (rather like a killer computer when faced with Captain Kirk’s astounding logic). At present these evil jerks would have to work their way through three people before they got to a somebody who would meet with their approval ie white and male. That would be Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia who is the President Pro Tempore of the Senate. Which sent me off to research the actual line of succession because it’s been a long time since I’d considered such matters, and this exciting election season has me thinking about all things political.

So, for your consideration and general bemusement: Drum Roll — the Succession.

President
Vice-President
Speaker of the House
President Pro Tempore of the Senate
Secretary of State,
Secretary of the Treasury
Secretary of Defense
Attorney General
Secretary of the Interior
Secretary of Agriculture
Secretary of Commerce
Secretary of Labor
Secretary of Health ad Human Services
Secretary of Housing and Development
Secretary of Transportation
Secretary of Energy
Secretary of Education
Secretary of Veterans Affairs
Secretary of Homeland Security.

Today is New Mexico’s primary election day. We hold a presidential caucus in February, but this is where we vote for the candidates for Congress, county commissioners, etc. I’m one of those “super voters” I vote for the school board, I vote in the primaries.

As I walked into that elementary school I had a deep shiver in my chest, a real thrill because I was going to vote. This probably sounds corny, but when I vote I seem to see this ghostly line of people extending back into history who fought to bring me this right. Because I’m a history buff and a former lawyer it starts for me in a field in England in 1297 with Magna Carta. Since then we’ve seen abolitionist and suffragists, the power of a court declaring that “separate but equal” was by definition not equal, and attacking head on the American original sin.

And tonight an African American will carry the standard for the Democratic party. AS Keith Olberman said — “I wonder what Lincoln would think tonight.” Again, I felt that shiver.

Obama’s speech was amazing. He did his brilliant jujitsu on McCain, he brought the crowd of 17,500 people to their feet. He brought back to me the emotions I haven’t felt in far, far too many years. We’ve witnessed history tonight. That doesn’t happen too often in a person’s lifetime.

It’s hard for me to express how deeply I’ve been moved by this night.

Saturday I went out on my first real garage sale crawl with my friend, the amazing, fun, funny, elegant, Patricia Rogers who is one of the people who makes our local science fiction convention so wonderful. She is a very knowledgeable antique collector, and she has a technique for this that puts many military commanders to shame. First she checks the newspaper ads, then she marks on a laminated map the locations of the sales, she then plots the route for maximum coverage with minimum driving.

We set off at 8:00 am. Pat picked me up and we headed into the wilds of El Dorado. Most of our stops consisted of baby cloths, toys, and general junk, but at one house there was a small collection of insignia pins and medals from the civil war to WWII. I happened to mention that I was more interested in English insignia, and the man went into the house and returned with a box and a plastic grocery sack filled with more items. His father had been a collector, and the son didn’t particularly care so he was selling them at ridiculously low prices. I got a remount pin from WWI — very elaborate with a brass frame holding a rearing silver horse, and a Berkshire pin which is a copy of one of the prehistoric chalk horses that you find on hillsides throughout England.

Among the pins and medals was a Polish ribbon and medal issued to Auchwitz survivors. I looked at it long and hard because I wrote a book about the Holocaust (which I’ve been unable to sell. Maybe someday) Anyway, it was an incredible piece of history, but I find that entire episode so deeply disturbing, that I ultimately put it back. This is not to say that I want to sweep it under the rug, or not look at these episodes of human barbarity. I think “never forget” is an excellent policy, but it was just too much for me emotionally.

Next we headed into town and an estate sale at a beautiful compound up near Museum Hill. There was a main house, guest house with loft, separate garage on a lot of acres. Everything was for sale. Furniture, rugs, dishes, pots and pans, etc. etc. I love seeming houses, but there was something disturbing to me about strangers arriving and breaking up this home. It made me reflect on how I have no children, and that will, most likely, be how my estate is settled. Not that I’ll know or care — I’ll be dead. I mentioned my reaction to Pat, and she had the most beautiful response that I found very comforting.

Kids usually don’t want their parents “junk”. Think about the son selling off his father’s collection of medals and insignia. They have their own interests, and they shouldn’t be forced to honor yours. When your property is sold after your death it will go into the hands of people who share that interest, and they will be thrilled to have that small object and will treasure it. As Pat said, “I think we just borrow things for awhile and them we pass them along.”

We didn’t find anything else of note — oh, I did buy a deviled egg container complete with little dished trays and a lid — because I make really great deviled eggs, and I’m constantly asked to bring them to parties and barbecues. Do you know how hard it is to transport deviled eggs on a plate?

We had lunch at a nice Indian restaurant, and then toyed with going to see Sex and The City, or go to see Vento. We both voted for Vento. Pat was a great sport, and even let me ride him. She took a lot of pictures so maybe some will come out okay and I’ll post them here. It is really hard to photograph horses, especially with digital cameras.

I ended the evening dining on part of a Stouffers lasagna, a tossed green salad, and I watched a tiny bit of the Andromeda Strain. It struck me as kind of pointless. It was a really good movie, back in the day. Now I really have to get to work on my paladin story, and get it finished.

I realize I haven’t burbled about Vento for weeks. So prepare for a horse neep. I was supposed to ride in a horse show over Memorial Day weekend, but the day I was going to enter the show Vento started this strange behavior where he’d do these little bucks, and then a little rear. It was like being on one of those plastic horses on springs. This is not a horse with behavior problems so I knew something was going on with his back.

Sure enough when I pulled the saddle, and palpated his back I found two giant knots in his low back just in front of his hindquarters, and he was sore in his withers. I’d tried to have Pi’s saddle refitted for Vento. I now had to face the fact it wasn’t going to work. (I can’t help but wonder if the Iberian Prince was offended at having to wear a “hand-me-down” saddle. He wanted his _own_ saddle.)

So, we did a tracing of his back, and sent if off to Custom Saddlery so they can make me a new saddle. I called the vet/chiropracter, and the equine massage therapist. The boy got a massage and his back popped on the same day, and as I stood there, with my back hurting, I reflected that I wished I could have a life as luxurious as this horse’s life.

Next stop was the local tack shop to put my two Schlesse saddles up for sale. I’m hoping they sell quickly to help offset the cost of the new saddle. I opted to go with Custom because they seem to fit the Lusitanos better. Schlesse seems to be more geared to warm bloods.

So, I’m back to borrowing saddles and working around other people’s schedules which is a huge pain. I’m hoping this saddle comes quickly. It’s usually ten to twelve weeks, but they said it might come faster.

More on the horse front. Lauren is planning to spend January and February in California at Brookside where I bought Vento. I’m going to try and save up to send Vento out, and spend a lot of those months in the warmth of C.A. This past January we had days where the high was 17 degrees here in Santa Fe. Even with an indoor arena it’s tough to ride when it’s that cold.

I’ve had some great lessons the past few days. I’m really beginning to understand the concept of “straightness” of the horse, and how to achieve it, and how to ride almost totally off my seat, legs and back, and only rarely touch the reins, and then only for minute positioning of the horse’s head. It’s fascinating the subtle differences. Let’s say I’m doing a half-pass to the left. In that case my right hip and seat bone is back, and pushed close to his spine, and my upper right thigh is sending him sideways. At the same time I’m bending him around my left leg and the left leg is also giving him the impulsion to keep moving forward while he crosses his legs over and travels to the side.

Now let’s say I want to canter on the left lead. This time my right seat bone is pushed forward to send his right hind leg jumping up beneath my seat, and my left seat bone is back and pressed in toward his spine. Depending on the direction you are travelling and which leg is leading, and the maneuver you are executing you have to switch which hip is forward, which is back and in. You have to remember to keep even weight in both strirrups, you have to play him soft in his jaw with tiny half-halts on the reins that feel for the corners of his mouth. You have to keep your lat muscles strong, and pulled down your back, and you have to use your stomach muscles like you’re doing sit ups. (The sit ups, lat muscles, reins you are doing _every_ step.) Your upper thigh muscles are rolled onto the saddle, and are dictating the direction you are travelling and turning the horse, and your upper calf is resting lightly against the horse’s side to give him a squeeze in order to keep him moving forward at the gait you have selected, or vary the speed of that gait. Oh, and the leg is always used in conjunction with a half-halt. But you can’t ride stiff. Your arms have to be elastic and follow the horse’s movement, and your hip has to be able to flex or you will stop his forward momentum.

Riding, or at least riding well is exhausting. It is also the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve danced point when I was a serious ballerina, and I’ve sung opera, and this is far tougher than either of those. Because of course you have to add in communication with and control over another living creature.

Thus ends the horse neep. Boy, I bet you’re all relieved.

I find myself very sad today. I learned about Ted Kennedy’s cancer yesterday, but I guess it didn’t really sink in until today. He is the last of the brothers. The last of a dynasty that worked so hard to serve this nation and her citizens. Ted Kennedy was a lion in the Senate. He fought for the poor and the powerless. And now he has passed the torch to a new generation — a man who, in his way, is as inspiring as John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy.

My father knew Ted Kennedy very well. I never had the good fortune to meet him, but it feels like a connection and a loss that I’m having trouble expressing. Tonight it’s like the cold hand of mortality has given my heart a brief squeeze. Just a little reminder that life is fleeting.

Sorry I’ve been a stranger at my own blog. I’m currently curled up in bed at the Snow Bear condos at the Taos Ski Valley. Today we have been treated to thunder, snow, sun, snow, and a bit of rain. I’m attending the Rio Hondo Writers Workshop and it’s intense and wonderful. More on that later. I thought I ought to give a report on the mirage pretending to be a city in the middle of the desert.

I can report that despite the downturn in the economy the Zombie Apocolypse is alive and well, the membership are still clutching their beer bottles and shuffling down the Strip in search of their luck.

The City Center is going to be an amazing site. Carl took me up in the construction elevator to the 22nd floor of the Mandrin Hotel, and we watched the cranes swinging gigantic buckets of concrete through the air and onto the floors of the other buildings under contruction. The bleat of the air horns, warning us that a crane was moving a load was like the hoarse, mournful cry of some great animal. We then walked down 22 flights of stairs while Carl showed me the spa area, and the restaurants and the ballroom, and he made notes of mistakes and problems he located.

After a day wearing a hard hat and a bright orange vest, it was fun to put on a slinky “Little Black Dress” and go to the MGM theater to see Ka. I’ve never seen the Cirque live, and it was an overwelming sight. This is more of a ballet than a circus act, but it was just stunning. The gymbol stage is a stunning piece of engineering, and watching the performers negotiate this moving surface was utterly amazing.

I also saw IRON MAN while I was in Vegas and I really liked it. I’ll write a review at another time. I wanted to do a few tourist things so we drove out to see Hoover (Boulder) Dam on Sunday. I just loved it. I have this affinity for large superstructures, and big machines. We signed up for the short tour, and got to see the turbines and generators, one of the diversion tunnels and the museum.

It was impressive, but also depressing because it started me wondering what has happened to the United States. After the waters of the Colorado were divereted the workers constructed this monumental dam in _Two_ years. How long did it take L.A. to dig the few miles of their subway system?

Before I get jumped on, let me hasten to say that I’m glad we have safety standards, etc. that weren’t in place in 1933, but we ought to be able to do more than we’re doing. We could solve global climate change if we had the strength of will an purpose that existed when that dam went up.

I think we can have it again. I think we just have to believe in ourselves again, and not be afraid.

Well, greed, stupidity and an unwillingness to admit to a problem has killed another beautiful animal. Thank god, I didn’t actually watch the Derby on Saturday. Instead I was happily watching IRON MAN (more about that in another post). It wasn’t until Sunday morning that I heard the news about Eight Bells, and the ended up seeing her collapse on Monday morning. I had been trying to avoid it, but they snuck it in on me.

Okay, time for a rant. The problem is that the thoroughbred is a hideously in-bred creature who can no longer withstand the task for which they have been created. They have gone the way of the German Shepherd. The stud book was pretty much fixed back in the 18th century after the admixture of Arabian blood into the English and Irish sport horses. What is desperately needed is an infusion of new blood into the line. They need to pick some terrifically fast Arab stallion from Dubai or Saudi Arabia, and pick some superb Olympic jumper (a German or Dutch sporthorse stallion), and allow them to be bred to thoroughbred mares.

There are farms where a great racing stallion is being bred back to his granddaughters. It’s never a good thing, and certainly not when you’ve been doing it for two centuries.

Then there is the issue of American greed. These horses are broke and start running at two years of age, and are expected to run in world class races when they are barely three years old. This is like asking a seven year old human to run a marathon. These horses are babies. My Vento has just turn six, and Christine Traurig (who rode in the Olympics) calls him “the baby”. If we waited to run these horses until they were at least four years of age they would hold up better. It still wouldn’t undo the damage of generations of inbreeding, but it would help.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a jockey. (Everyone told me I couldn’t because girls couldn’t be jockeys. That’s the subject for another rant, at another time.) I watched racing, I got to breeze a racehorse, I loved it. Now I won’t watch a televised race or go to a track because I’m pretty sure that sometime during that day a horse is going to breakdown and have to be euthanized. It’s like I’m being stabbed every time I have to see that, and it brings back all the awful memories of the night Steppi died.

People need to start demanding change or this situation is just going to continue to get worse. I’m not a PETA nut, but this has become abuse.

So, I’m off to Las Vegas this evening to visit Carl, and get a tour of the MGM City Center construction site. This is the largest privately funded construction project in the Western hemisphere. I don’t gamble, and the sight of all those people shuffling down the strip, clutching their beer bottles, and searching for the big win, I found to be unbelievably depressing. Sort of a zombie apocalypse lit by neon. We’re going to try and see Ka and that’s exciting. I’ve only seen the Cirque de Soliel on television.

I’m looking forward to a trip that has nothing to do with writing, but I also hate to leave my horse. I spent a long time just standing in the stall, resting my head against him, and stroking and scratching him. He had his eyes half-closed, and his upper lip was quivering because it felt so good to have me getting to the itchy places. Occasionally he’d swing his head around, and press his forehead against my upper arm. He is the best horse in the world. (But then I’m biased.)