George W. Bush’s body of work, “The Art of Leadership: A President’s Personal Diplomacy,” opened Saturday at the George Bush Presidential Library and Museum at Southern Methodist University. The exhibit includes paintings of world leaders as well as Bush in the bath. Continue reading
Shit. The cat was going outside the box. But I’ve dealt with the personality disordered and knew this particular challenge might be within my purview. I just needed to think outside the box. Continue reading
As I sautéed locally caught fish for guests recently, I thought of Duke Energy’s coal ash spill into North Carolina’s Dan River and began to feel sick. I imagined that body of water and others across the state where the energy company has 32 coal ash containment ponds. And I visualized the toxic sludge in those ponds as huge bowls of marinade in which the fish swim for however long fish live until they’re caught, filleted, packaged, routed to market, bought by consumers, and prepared for plating. Continue reading
By the time you read this, I may have a grandson. May be on my way to spend a week with him. I’m excited yet anxious, thinking of years ago and the way I felt when I was pregnant, unconcerned with gender, caring only about a healthy baby. Continue reading
It’s Wednesday. For some reason, I think of Wednesday’s child, full of woe. And I’ve just glanced up and out to see large snowflakes dancing between the two towers of my complex, swirling indecision, whether to rest or continue performing. Continue reading
On February 2, the Super Bowl opened with a military recruitment prompt, a freedom flyover. This propaganda extravaganza occurred just hours after an announcement—that Philip Seymour Hoffman was dead. The actor was found with an ultimate freedom syringe in his arm. Continue reading
After the move to Baltimore in the ‘80s, we drove to Kentucky at least six times a year to visit family. I remember the landscape and skyline of Kanawha River Valley, now appropriately called Chemical Valley, and of course that stretch of interstate highway carved into West Virginia towns that include Nitro, Institute, and Charleston. Remember because of the odor. Ashland, Kentucky’s across the state line, another area where haze drifted through the air, settling in and on the ground, water, clothing, skin, and mucous membranes. Continue reading
“The world is mourning the passing of Ariel Sharon.” Yes, that’s what I read, and perhaps my reaction is insensitive, especially since I’ve mourned and still mourn with what feels like an evisceration. But this mourning of Sharon by the world seems strange. After all, he was in a coma eight years. Did the world anticipate his recovery, say somewhere during year nine? Continue reading
I didn’t know my son J was in Mexico until he wasn’t. He texted he’d landed safely in Texas and followed this with magnificent photos of Oaxaca’s coast. Continue reading
Last June 15, 16-year-old Ethan Couch turned the ignition of a Ford truck, drove 70 mph in a 40 mph zone, and killed four pedestrians who were working on a disabled vehicle on the side of the road. Couch had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit for an adult. He tested positive for Valium. Among Couch’s seven passengers, two were critically injured—one so severely he is paralyzed and communicates by blinking his eyes. Sergio Molina’s parents are suing Couch and his father’s business (the Ford was owned by the company) for $20 million, the expected cost of their son’s care. Continue reading
I’d like to age in peace. Peacefully. I suppose this is impossible. And despite saying nothing surprises me anymore, I’m often outraged. I shouldn’t be astonished though by a resolution intro’d by Senators Robert Menendez, Chuck Schumer, and Mark Kirk that gives Israel unprecedented power and subverts the Constitution. After all, AIPAC’s influence on American foreign policy is no secret. Continue reading
Prior to Diana Wagman’s participation in Operation Santa 2013, she anticipated letters written by children, asking for toys. Later, overwhelmed to read “pleas from parents,” Wagman wrote a moving op-ed about her expectations and the clash with reality. Continue reading
I walked past the bar near my building. It’s where John Edwards kicked back when he was at the apex of his nadir after he’d been exposed for taking that all-too-common trek traversed by those who think they’re destined to work and play above the rules. Generally, I don’t care about the private lives of the rich and notorious. Still, I can feel sadness, sadness that a family has been devastated by deceit—sadness that Edwards didn’t just father a child with Rielle Hunter while married but that he denied it and convinced a married staffer to lie, to say the baby was his. That he made excuses for his actions even as his wife Elizabeth battled metastatic breast cancer. And also that Elizabeth knew about the girlfriend, knew the truth, as she and Edwards campaigned, appearing as the perfect couple. Continue reading
Laura and Erma had a solution for my anxiety. “We’re calling a moratorium on reading news articles after dinner. Start The Walking Dead.” Continue reading
The stage was almost dark, quiet, but we could see 36 (Erma counted) tiered boxes with red curtains. Each was bordered with globes that were illuminated softly. Suddenly, a stringed instrument broke the silence as the lights brightened and the curtains of one of the boxes opened to reveal a cross-legged, turban-wearing musician playing the kamancheh. Then another curtain opened. Another musician behind that curtain. And another. And another. Continue reading
I’ve said it often, written it: “How do they sleep at night?” Seriously, I’m sure I posed the question in plenty of articles during the Cheney-Bush reign and then after Barack Obama took the oath. How incredibly naïve I was. Continue reading
Another school shooting. Another candlelight vigil. On Monday, October 21, a Nevada teacher was murdered and two 12-year-old boys were wounded. The shooter, described as a “nice kid,” killed himself at the scene. Continue reading
My name’s Missy and I’m a piñata of anxieties. This is what I’d say if I were in a support group. Continue reading
Sunday, sister Laura and I went to a festival a block from my apartment. We walked past the vendor artists, their booths of pottery, jewelry, paintings, and metalwork, and opened our portable chairs near a stage where musicians performed. An event organizer took the mic and said someone mentioned the strangeness of having a festival when the country’s facing so many problems. She’d responded that art makes the world go ‘round. Continue reading
We sat around the dining table in my new place, drinking Prosecco, eating, talking. Continue reading
Mr. President, Mr. Secretary General, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen: Each year we come together to reaffirm the founding vision of this institution. For most of recorded history, individual aspirations were subject to the whims of tyrants and empires. For recent recorded history, individual aspirations will be subject to the whims of US tyrants and Empire. Continue reading
Daily, we learn more about Aaron Alexis and all the troubling signs. Continue reading
According to Barack Obama, the use of chemical weapons is an act that must be punished. If the USA fails to smite the Assad regime, we could lose our moral authority, our street cred, our interests in a region vital to our supremacy. And there you have it—the necessity for those words that conclude the speeches: God bless the United States of America. Continue reading
After Charles died, I tried to convince friends and acquaintances that complaining—squandering even a minute of happiness—is an extravagance they’d regret. Eventually I realized that death of a spouse or loved one couldn’t be understood until it’s experienced. Maybe that’s protection, insulation. Really, how could we approach each day if we knew at the molecular level the agony of bereavement? Continue reading
The Empire marches on. Next stop and drop, Syria. Accomplishing missions. Continue reading
I saw the dime when I was running. I continued on and then circled back, picking up the coin to throw to the gods for an unselfish wish. I thought about the mythology, a ritual I usually associate with finding a penny. Continue reading
I’m pretty visual, and therefore visually overloaded while keeping abreast of the sleaze. Continue reading
I think I have a story going. My stream of consciousness is overflowing. With run-on sentences and dangling phrases. Thoughts are tumbling to the pages. Continue reading
Warning: My circuits are overloaded, breakers tripping. There will be interruptions in the flow of this piece. Continue reading
“That sounds like something Bernie would do. This is Bernie,” I’d said to Charles, years ago. He shook his head no. Continue reading
RSS
Really paying it forward
Posted on April 21, 2014 by Missy Comley Beattie
Recently, I read an article about the aging population, specifically, those who have Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia, and the burden placed on families, society, and health care. As always, I looked at reader reactions. A man said he’s saving for the likelihood of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis, long-term care in a facility, so his children won’t have to bear the responsibility. I agree with the person who said she’d take her own life if diagnosed with a mind-robbing, progressive condition. You know, go while the going is good. Continue reading →