Book Review: In The Woods by Tana French

In The Woods, Tana French (2007)(***1/2). When I picked up this mystery/thriller for Julie's birthday, I had never heard of it and knew nothing about it, but apparently everyone is reading it these days because suddenly it's everywhere. The story is told by the possibly unreliable narrator Adam "Rob" Ryan, a Dublin murder detective who, along with his partner and best friend Cassie, is assigned to investigate the murder of 12-year-old Katy in the same Dublin suburb where Rob grew up. Rob has not returned to his home town since he left for boarding school at about Katy's age, after a horrifying experience in the woods near his home that left him bloody and with amnesia, and his two best friends vanished and presumed dead. The unsolved mystery of his friends' disappearance and Katy's murder become intertwined, at least in Rob's rapidly deteriorating mind. Part psychological thriller, part police procedural, this mystery is cast with several compelling and rich characters, though not all of them, including the narrator, are entirely likable. For the first third or so, I thought I had hit the jackpot with In The Woods, maybe even The Best Mystery Ever. However, for reasons that would mostly spoil the book if you intend to read it (and it seems to be the thing to do this summer!), I was pretty darn disappointed by the end. In a nutshell, there were some significant issues left unresolved, and while I don't always have to have every loose end tied up, even in a summer-fling-of-a-mystery, it seemed to me that the promise of resolution had been dangled pretty blatantly, and that not actually following through served no good purpose. Also, there were parts of the story that got unnecessarily long. But still and all, if you like mysteries, I think this one is worth reading, and Julie says the sequel, narrated by Rob's partner Cassie, is even more compelling and definitely more satisfying.

Book Review: The Calling by Inger Ash Wolfe

The Calling, Inger Ash Wolfe (2008)(****). My partner Julie's birthday is at the beginning of June, which neatly corresponds with the beginning of summer (although this year the semester dragged almost to the end of June, poor dear), so as a gift, I bought Julie a whole stack of mysteries at our favorite local bookseller. Of course, the lag between her birthday and the end of the semester gave me plenty of time to get a head start. The Calling is set in a small town in Canada, where Detective Inspector Hazel Micallef -- near retirement, divorced, living with her spirited mother, overweight, suffering from back pain, and despairing of ever receiving a promotion to CO -- is faced with a once-in-a-career sort of murder. The victim is the terminally ill woman whom her father had an affair with years ago, and she has been killed in a bizarre and ritualistic manner by someone she appears to have known. It soon becomes clear that hers is one in a string of similar deaths all across Canada, and suddenly Hazel and her band of nicely characterized colleagues find themselves with a serial killer on their hands. In the manner of "Law and Order: Criminal Intent" (see how shallow I am?), the question in this mystery is not who the murderer is; in fact, the narration switches back and forth between the investigation, and the killings themselves, committed by a man named Simon, whom we learn more and more about as the mystery unfolds. This is not so much a "whodunit" as a "why'dhedoit?" and "a how'retheygonnachatch'im?" This is not probably the most brilliant mystery I've ever read, but it was certainly engaging, and as mysteries go, pretty satisfying. I really enjoyed Hazel Micaleff, and hope she might be a recurring character in future mysteries.

Dispatches from a Recovering Bleeding Heart: City Bureaucracy

24 June 2009

Inspector S. Durant
Code Enforcement
Housing Division
990 Spring Garden Street
3rd Floor
Philadelphia, PA 19123

Dear Inspector Durant:

Thank you for taking time today to speak with me about the Violation Notice dated June 3, 2009 regarding my property at 422 [Naomi] Street. In the Notice, you cited two violations: 1) failure to obtain a permit for use as a community garden on a vacant lot; and 2) failure to obtain a vacant lot license. You explained that a neighbor had reported a community garden on the lot, and that you verified this by visiting the lot, which you said “looks like a community garden.” As I assured you over the phone today, and as I would have been more than happy to explain to you before the Violation Notice was issued had you asked, the garden at 422 [Naomi] (as well as the garden at 420 [Naomi], which I also own) is NOT a community garden. It is my private garden, on which I grow vegetables for my family. Thank you for clearing my case of that violation.

As we also discussed on the phone today, I will send my application for a Vacant Lot License immediately. As soon as I receive the license, I will notify you of that fact, and then I will appreciate your sending me written verification that all Violations, including the community garden permit violation, have been resolved, and that my case is closed.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions. I can be reached at home at 215 [123-4567].


Sincerely,



Marta [last name deleted]

cc: Mr. and Mrs. Barnett Meadowland

**********************************

24 June 2009

Department of Licenses and Inspections
License Issuance Unit
Public Service Concourse
1401 John F. Kennedy Boulevard
Philadelphia, PA 19102

To Whom It May Concern:

It has been brought to my attention by Inspector Durant of the Code Enforcement, Housing Division, that I require a license in order to own a vacant lot. I received a Violation Notice regarding 422 [Naomi] Street, Case No. 201770. I also have recently purchased the adjoining vacant lot at 424 [Naomi] Street. Enclosed is my application for Vacant Lot Licenses for both of these properties.

Please note that I am a private individual, and I do not operate a business in the City of Philadelphia, or anywhere else. I own these two vacant lots in order to grow vegetables for my family’s private use. Therefore, I do not have a Business Tax # (see question #4 on the application). I also have answered question #16, but I am not sure it actually applies to me; please note that I do not own a corporation or partnership. I am merely a private owner of two vacant lots.

Finally, I have not received the booklet Partners for Good Housing, and I suspect that it does not apply to me, but if I need to receive it in order to be issued a Vacant Lot License, please send it to me immediately. If I do not need it, please save the paper and the postage.

I look forward to these licenses being issued at your earliest possible convenience, as I am eager to clear up any violations. If you have any questions, or if I have failed to provide you with all the information you require, please do not hesitate to contact me at 215 [123 2467].

Sincerely,


Marta [last name deleted]

cc: Inspector S. Durant, Code Enforcement, Housing Division

Diary of a Mad Housewife: Nuts and Bolts

This is "blogging lite," for Jeffrey.

I have tried all sorts of organizational strategies in my life, most of which have been utter failures.  I'm good at setting them up, but not so great at following through consistently.  I find the more technological they are -- for example, anything requiring a computer -- the less likely I am actually to use them.  My calendar on my MacBook still flags on-going meetings that haven't been going on for years, and to-do lists from 2007.  Finally, this year, I hit on a very low-tech strategy that seems to work for me.  Right before the New Year, I bought a pretty, red Moleskine notebook with blank pages.  At the outer top corner of each page, I have written the date, beginning with "Th Jan 1."  Today is "June 15 M."  On the inside front cover are a few recurring checklists for housekeeping and self-care, which I try to check occasionally, but mostly now can check mentally.  On the blank pages for each day, I write appointments, of course, but there is still room on each page for my daily to-do list, which is the sum total of my organizational strategy: pencil and paper and a list.  What doesn't get done one day can be put on the next day's list.  Sometimes I work off the same list for a couple of days, but I find it's better, and more satisfying, if I write a new list each morning.  

Here's today's list (pretend I have hand-written a small square in front of each item, for checking off when complete):

• morning chores (this is one of my lists from the front inside cover, and includes breakfast dishes, making beds, a load of laundry, putting away clothes and shoes from the day before, and cleaning the bathroom sink)
• send email to school board re: revision of bylaws for tomorrow's retreat
• take car to shop
• take a walk (home from car shop)
• call re: garden permit (did you know you need a permit to plant a garden on your own property if it is not adjacent to your house? I just got a letter in the mail Saturday informing me of this fact.... and Marta leans just a little bit more libertarian...)
• laundry
• vacuum/mop
• dust
• clean bathrooms
• hang dining room curtain cat recently pulled down
• meal planning/make grocery list
• shell peas
• freeze strawberries
• grocery shop
• put this list on blog (check)
• Melissa arrives @4:00!!

Holding the Laceys in the Light

I recently received heartbreaking news from my friend Patrick Lacey, whom I blogged with awhile back about homemaking, that his brother James was killed in a car accident.  Patrick was headed to Philadelphia this weekend for a visit, but instead is making his way back to Indiana to be with his family.  Patrick's father, Paul, was one of my and Julie's English professors at Earlham College (now retired), and is currently the Clerk of the American Friends Service Committee.  I don't know Patrick's mother, who is a writer and homemaker as I understand it, or his sister, who is also an English professor at Earlham, but I am holding them in the light, along with Patrick and Paul, and of course James.  I hope you will too.  

Patrick has written a beautiful tribute to James on his blog, Loose Ends.  I didn't know James, but feel like I do at least a little bit after reading Patrick's blog.  He sounds like he was a very special guy.  

Dispatches from a Recovering Bleeding Heart: Abortion

I have lots of thoughts about the awful murder of Dr. Tiller in Wichita, Kansas this past Sunday morning, and about abortion in general, but unfortunately no time or energy to get them out of my head and onto my blog.  But I have been so very moved by a series of testimonials at The Daily Dish over the past week called "It's So Personal."  These are emails Sullivan has received, mostly from women, a few from men, describing the excruciating and heartbreaking circumstances that led them to consider, and in many cases choose, a late-term abortion.  You can read them here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Updated:  Sullivan has published one post with a compilation of links to all the posts here, which will make it easier to read them all if you want.

Before he read all those testimonials, Sully was firmly opposed to all late-term abortions. Hearing all those women's stories has him rethinking his position. I am just so moved by all this, and it gives me hope, even in the midst of this terrible moment in the abortion debate.

I never stop being amazed at what happens when people stop lobbing bombs at one another (both literal and metaphorical bombs) and actually start talking and listening to one another.  I don't mean to be naive:  I know that really talking, and really listening, is not enough to change the world, but it seems to me that it is necessary, if not sufficient.  And I don't mean just talking and listening when it's easy; I mean talking and listening when it's really really hard -- being willing to tell your story even when it makes you terribly vulnerable, and having a mind and heart open to being changed by what you hear in turn.  I'm enormously frustrated by how infrequently we let ourselves do that in this polarized culture.  I know for me, sentimentality and ideology are a lethal combination that shuts down dialogue.  That's why I'm a recovering bleeding heart:  I'm pretty sure there's no cure for my tender heart and my passionate sense of justice, and truth be told, I'm not looking for a cure.   But I sure am willing to talk and open to persuasion.

Dispatches from a Recovering Bleeding Heart*: The Case Against Gay Marriage

Via Ta-Nehisi Coates, you've just gotta read this argument against gay marriage at The Weekly Standard.  It's far better than the absurd and offensive argument recently made -- apparently with a straight face (no pun intended) at the blog Secular Right -- that gay folk shouldn't be allowed to marry because it will further deteriorate the breakdown of the Black family (because all of those deadbeat Black dads are gonna really run away from marriage if they think it's, you know, queer).  But I have to grant that Sam Shulman's argument that "The Worst Thing About Gay Marriage [is that] It Isn't Going to Work" has, at the very least, some intellectual honesty.  You really should go read the piece for yourself, but in a nutshell, here is his argument:  Gay marriage is not so much offensive or immoral as it is irrelevant because it cannot, by definition, accomplish the four main purposes of marriage, all of which have to do with creating and enforcing a system of kinship.  Those four purposes are:

1.  Controlling women's sexuality and reproductive lives;

2.  Enforcing incest taboos;

3.  Keeping extra-marital sex illicit;

4.  Creating male bonds (such as hunting and business) between fathers and their sons-in-law, and female bonds (such as conspiring to control the men-folk) between mothers and their daughters-in-law.

Now, while I am glad to grant Mr. Shulman props for intellectual honesty, I would probably give him a D+ at best for his analytical skill.  If I were grading his paper, I might note, for example,  that #3 and #4 are really just subsets of #1, and that #2 is a total non-sequitur.  But for intellectual honesty, I give Mr. Shulman a B+, because what he's really saying (and I would give him an A+ if he'd just come out and say it already) is that The Worst Thing About Gay Marriage [is that] It Will Undermine Patriarchy.  And you know what? He's right about that. And if you think patriarchy is a Really Neat Thing, and you're a smart (thrice married) boy like Mr. Shulman, gay marriage is definitely something to be worried about.

In other gay marriage news, lots of good folks are keenly disappointed in the California Supreme Court today, but I am choosing to look on the bright side.  I have not read the whole opinion (it's really long), but it strikes me that 1) the argument the plaintiffs were making was creative, but a bit of a stretch and that 2) the Court's opinion is reasoned and reasonable, even if reasonable minds can disagree.  The issue in the case (upon which, in the fine tradition of law students everywhere, I feel perfectly qualified to opine, despite the fact that I have not read the entire case) is whether Proposition 8 -- which restricts the equal protection provided under the California Constitution to same-sex couples by eliminating their previously-existing right to marry -- whether that Proposition constitutes a revision or an amendment to the California Constitution.  In a nutshell, a revision constitutes a "kind of wholesale or fundamental alteration of the constitutional structure," and can be undertaken only through a constitutional convention, whereas an amendment is a more discrete change to the Constitution, and may be undertaken through a ballot measure, such as Prop 8.  There is apparently a lot of law in California distinguishing the two, and it seems the Court interpreted that law somewhat conservatively, rather than expansively and creatively as the plaintiffs had hoped.  This is certainly disappointing if you like expansive and creative constitutional interpretations in the cause of justice (and I have been known to like them; for example, Roe vs. Wade is such an expansive and creative interpretation that I have on occasion vigorously defended against the argument that it may be good policy but it's bad law).  But it is not, as some are quite understandably in their disappointment suggesting, a grave miscarriage of justice. And don't forget this good news:  the Court upheld the same-sex marriages that have already been granted in California.

Indeed, at the end of the day, I continue to believe, as I have since I spent a lot time thinking about such things in law school, that political solutions are generally better than legal ones. Which is not to say that legal strategies are always misguided, because they are not; indeed, a legal strategy must often precede a political one, because it primes the pump.  In the case of gay marriage, Massachusetts and Connecticut served that purpose, but Vermont and Maine and New Hampshire are the true victories (you know, those activist legislators legislating from the legislature, as one dear friend put it -- kinda hard to argue they are thwarting the will of the people).  And we could have had the same victory in California, but for, by most accounts, a totally inept and botched campaign against Prop 8.  A well-run campaign some years down the road is very likely going to bring us the victory we all wished for in November, and again today, and it will be all the sweeter for being a political victory, the voice of the people, the will of the majority.   I would say that it's time to take a long view, but then I remember that only a few years ago, the long view put marriage equality sometime in my grandchildren's lifetime, maybe with luck in my children's, but most certainly not in mine.  It's good to be impatient with injustice, but it's not good to let that impatience steal our hope.  

This summer, Julie and I and our two children are going to Iowa (Iowa!) where we will be married.   Less than a generation ago -- indeed, since I have been an out lesbian -- that was inconceivable to me and most other queer folk.  The California decision notwithstanding, I remain full of hope.

*I realize in retrospect that my open letter to Andrew Sullivan was the first in my newest series, Dispatches from a Recovering Bleeding Heart.  I meant to write a witty piece here at the end explaining what I mean by that, but I am tired, and so you will have to wait.  Bet you're all holding your breath in anticipation, huh?

Book Review: The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression by Andrew Solomon

Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression (2001)[*****].  I heard Andrew Solomon speaking about depression recently on the NPR radio program Speaking of Faith, and he struck me as thoughtful and eloquent, so I got his book.  I was not disappointed.  Broken into twelve chapters -- Depression, Breakdowns, Treatments, Alternatives, Populations, Addiction, Suicide, History, Poverty, Politics, Evolution and Hope -- this book lays out just about everything one could ever want to know about depression.  Each chapter weaves careful research, moving yet unsentimental stories from Solomon's interviews and correspondence with people who suffer from depression, as well as many candid and compelling stories of Solomon's own battles with depression.   I especially appreciated the chapter on poverty, and was easily persuaded that basic, and often highly treatable, depression is both a cause and an effect of poverty, and that any effort to end poverty must include aggressive mental health outreach.  I was also very moved by the many personal stories, in particular in the first three chapters.  I was heartened to learn of pretty effective treatments now available, including several "alternative" treatments that Solomon investigates with exceptional openness.  Some of the science felt a tiny bit above my head, and the history chapter dragged a little bit for me, but overall The Noonday Demon is very nicely written and quite accessible.   Anyone who suffers from depression, or loves someone who does -- which includes most of us -- will find this eye-opening and compelling.

The Cost and Joy of Discipleship: Now THAT Was Church!

When Trixie was born, I had not yet joined the church; indeed, I wasn't even so much thinking of joining the church.  Old First was a community I loved -- Julie had been a part of it since she was a volunteer there in college, and she joined immediately upon our move to Philadelphia, five years before Trixie's birth.  I loved the people, loved working at the homeless shelter (where we were known as "the ice cream ladies"), but I was actually exploring Judaism at the time, and was pretty sure that wherever I landed, it would not be as a member of a mainline protestant church.  

As it turns out, Old First worked its way into my heart and soul, and through that community, I found myself casting my lot with Jesus and his wacky band of disciples.  If conversion is a "turning around," I've always thought of mine as a 360, rather than a 180, degree turn; my dad, the born-again atheist, lives the most Christ-like life of anyone I know, and my conversion to Christianity has simply given life and community and rhythm and story to the values of simplicity and hospitality and love and stewardship that are my birthright and my family's lifeblood.  So on the one hand, my conversion was simple and easy; but on the other hand, it was oh-so-difficult, and it was precisely baptism that was the stumbling block.

I was not baptized as an infant, much to the chagrin of my staunch Episcopalian Grandma Rose. My parents held firm though; their baby would not go through what felt to them like a meaningless ritual simply to appease the grandparents.  As it turns out, I am forever grateful for their choice on my behalf, because their choice not to baptize me meant that I had to very actively and consciously choose the church, rather than just falling into it.   Had I been baptized as an infant, I could have quietly joined Old First without having to think very hard about it. But baptism! Wow, that felt really big.  How would I know when I was really ready?  

How would I know if I really was a Christian? What if all those lingering doubts just made me a big old fraud?   It was my friend Donna (there she is, taking some of these pictures) who finally distilled my dilemma for me:  "Marta," she said, "It sounds like it's time to shit or get off the pot."  Yup! On the day of my baptism, though, I did not feel like a new-born child of God. Mostly I was in a really grumpy mood, and wished everyone would stop asking me how I felt, implying that I was supposed to feel something in particular which I most decidedly did not, confirming my own secret fears that I was, indeed, nothing but a big poser.  

I like to think that baptism, like conversion, is something we grow into, forever, and not something that happens and then it's done.  I had clearly come to the point in my conversion where I needed to continue my journey inside the church, so it was time to "get washed up." But I'm always glad to have the chance to renew my baptismal vows, as we do at St. Vincent's at Easter Vigil, where older children and adults are baptized -- with lots and

lots and lots of water!  I've been going to Easter Vigil (with Pat, Trixie's confirmation mentor and our dear dear friend) for years at St. Vincent's, the Catholic church in my neighborhood where I also sometimes attend the mid-day Mass.  And I've always loved all the water, big copper urns of it, poured over the heads of the kneeling candidates.  My own church's tradition is sort of a desert version; water is apparently scarce in the UCC, so just a few drops must do.  That was my own baptism, but I wanted something different for Trixie.

It felt important to both me and Julie that our children have a choice, especially since, when Trixie was born, my own spiritual quest had not yet landed me in the Christian faith, so Trixie and Micah were both dedicated as infants, but not baptized.  As it turns out, we did not give Trixie so much of a choice; she has been very much raised in the Christian church (so much so, that once as a toddler, when we pulled into our church's parking lot, Trixie declared, "We're home!"  It occurred to us then that perhaps we were spending too much time at the corner of Fourth and Race.)  But whether or not we have really given her a true choice, her baptism is something that she has been able to actively and fully embrace as part of her year of exploring her faith in anticipation of Confirmation, and I am glad for that. Normally, she would be quickly baptized, with a few drops of water, prior to the confirmation ceremony (scheduled for Pentecost, on the 31st), but she, Julie and I all wanted something more special, and with LOTS MORE WATER.

Lucky for us, our dear ones Woody and Joey have a heated pool, which, if you're in need, is now full of a whole lotta holy water!  This seemed an especially perfect place as Woody played John the Baptist in Old First's production of Godspell a couple of years ago. And Trixie is an avid swimmer, so a plan was hatched, and a wonderful service and pool party followed.  In the words of our friend Wanda, who co-officiated with Julie's father at the service:  "Now THAT was church!"  Indeed.

I will leave you with the lovely Prayer of Baptism from the UCC Book of Worship's baptism liturgy, which I have always loved:

We thank you, God,

for the gift of creation

called forth by your saving Word.

Before the world had shape and form,

your Spirit moved over the waters.

Out of the waters of the deep,

you formed the firmament

and brought forth the earth

to sustain all life.

In the time of Noah, 

you washed the earth

with the waters of the flood,

and your ark of salvation bore a new beginning.

In the time of Moses,

your people Israel passed

through the Red Sea waters

from slavery to freedom

and crossed the flowing Jordan

to enter the promised land.

In the fullness of time,

you sent Jesus Christ,

who was nurtured 

in the water of Mary's womb.

Jesus was baptized by John

in the water of the Jordan,

became living water to a woman

at the Samaritan well,

washed the feet of the disciples,

and sent them forth

to baptize all the nations

by water and the Holy Spirit.

Bless by your Holy Spirit,

gracious God, this water.

By your Holy Spirit

save those who confess

the name of Jesus Christ

that sin may have not power over them.

Create new life in Trixie

baptized this day

that she may rise in Christ.

Glory to you, eternal God,

the one who was, and is, and shall always be,

world without end.

Amen.

Lots more photos on Facebook (Margaret? Marjorie? I'm just sayin')

Diary of a Mad Housewife: Gratitude in the Garden

On Mother's Day, Julie took the kids to church and then to visit her Auntie, who lives in a nursing home about an hour away, and I had the whole day to work in the garden.  It was cool and sunny, a perfect day.  When I arrived in the garden, though, I realized that the wheelbarrow -- the bright yellow, new, very expensive wheelbarrow -- was missing.  The night before, Micah had been done with the garden, so I sent him ahead with the keys.  I planned to follow minutes later, when I realized I couldn't lock up the shed because the padlock doesn't work without the key.  So with every intention of returning, I left the wheelbarrow full of weeds in the middle of the garden and went home to attend to the squirrelly six year old.  Upon my arrival at home, I was felled by an allergy attack of epic proportions, the sort that only sleep-inducing antihistamines will allay.  And I forgot all about the wheelbarrow.

When I arrived in the garden on Mother's Day, I immediately noticed it was missing.  I also immediately noticed that Mrs. Meadowland was standing on her front steps, talking to someone and shooting the evil eye at the garden.  My rational mind knew that she had nothing to do with the missing wheelbarrow, but I wasn't feeling particularly rational just then.  I burst into tears.

Another neighbor, a very dear man named Vlad, happened to be walking by just then and asked after me.  I poured out all my venom at Mrs. Meadowland to poor

Vlad, who used every single one of his considerable 12-step counseling skills to talk me down.  He could not have been more kind.  He went to get me his wheelbarrow, and said he'd be back in a couple of hours to fetch it.  He also recounted a story of a particularly difficult, bitter relationship he'd had, and how he decided to pray, for two solid weeks, that his adversary would get everything he needed. Vlad said that relationship was transformed, and there was nothing else he could attribute the transformation to.  He also observed that I really need to figure out a way to let go of the specter of the Meadowlands, which always feels looming when I'm working in the garden, so that I can really enjoy myself there.  "She's a small, bitter woman.  Imagine being her," he said. I felt so very very cared for.

While I moved mounds of compost around in Vlad's old, beat-up wheelbarrow, I thought about what I wished for from the Meadowlands.  All I want, I realized, is to have a cordial, polite, neighborly relationship.

A "Hey, how you doin?" sort of relationship.  That's all.  And I realized I could have that sort of relationship, even if they refuse to reciprocate.  Maybe an hour later, Mr. Meadowland pulled up, parked in front of their house, and began walking to the front door. 

"Good morning, Mr. Meadowland!" I called, in my most neighborly voice, but without stopping my work.  

"Hi! How are you?" he called back.  But I'm pretty sure he didn't see me, or know who had called out to him.  Still, I felt better.

I will admit that when Mrs. Meadowland came out a little later, I couldn't screw up the courage to call out to her, but I'm working on it.

Later in the day, my neighbor Tom, who is helping me build a fence (okay, let's be real:  I'm helping him build a fence; he's a master carpenter, and I can follow simple directions if he speaks slowly and clearly), stopped by, and apologized for not bringing the wheelbarrow back.  He had taken it with him and a whole load of weeds that he was dumping at a worksite where they needed landfill.

And I knew that.  I had completely forgotten.

I don't really believe that things happen for a reason, I really don't.  But I was feeling pretty grateful by the end of the day.  It was, as at least half a dozen young men passing by said to me that day, a "Happy Mother's Day."  

Photos, again, from my dear Donna.