So Long Ago And We Still Don't Get It

As some of you may have noticed, I didn’t post a week ago Monday. I feel guilty when I don’t and then I remind myself that this is something I do for pleasure. I’m not going to receive a grade or win a prize—a free trip to the Caribbean?—or have my name put on a brass plaque because I write a blog.

Nonetheless there is some promise I make to myself and to all of you, who so kindly read Life Opening Up that I will turn up with something to think about or laugh about on Monday mornings. I regret breaking that promise.

The problem has been the election. It is all consuming, isn’t it? Or maybe some of you escape the drama and, more sensible than I, spare yourselves the morning and evening news.

Backing up a bit. In church last Sunday, the thoughtful and creative Reverend Laura Whitmore led the Pastoral Prayer. She began by eloquently thanking God for all the blessings of our lives and also for life itself. Then she said, “Still, Lord, we weep” and my bowed head popped up.

I thought. That’s it! I weep! My insides are weeping. I am not writing because I am made speechless by weeping.

I weep for our country caught up in the outrageous bombastic, uncivil turmoil of this election time. I weep for the inflated egos of our politicians who are too power-hungry and self absorbed to cooperate, compromise and lead. I weep that most have become professional politicians, more interested in their political future and re-election than in serving the country. (Maybe a term time limit would be a good thing?)

I weep that it is rare to hear a politician disagree with an opponent without some personal insult. I yearn to read about a politician saying to an opponent from the other side of the aisle, “Let’s find a way.” 

I remember dignified elections, even when they were tight and tense. In 1948, Truman defeated Dewey and the Chicago Tribune had already published an early “Dewey Defeats Truman” headline. Total upset. No rancor. None.

And now I weep for Belgium, unexpectedly blasted at a major airport and metro station. Thirty-one people killed and two hundred and seventy injured.

For those of the Christian faith, Easter is upon us: a time when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus who willingly died an excruciating death on the cross.

Why did he have to die? Simply put, because nobody really got what he was saying about the brotherhood of all human beings: about the need to love one another, to care for one another, to care for the poor, and to forgive and to make every effort to understand one another. Whatever you believe about the resurrection, Jesus' teachings are unambiguous and eternal.

We are immensely challenged to love our enemies, especially in these days of terrorism, but “love” them we must: understand them we must, seek to know their fears and desires we must. Most of all we must find ways to talk with them if we are ever to create peace in this world.

How many millions must die before we get this?

 I weep.

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FYI: "Koobface" is a scam. I was taken. Expensive lesson learned. 

Are You Kidding Me? Koobface?

All I set out to do was to update my Kindle as instructed by an email from Amazon. My Kindle is a pathetic “Generation 3” which suits me fine. But it appeared from the notice that it would die a sudden death if I failed to update it.

So I tried. I followed all the steps and allowed my Kindle to remain charged for the requisite eight hours, but at the end of that time there was no sign that my Kindle had been up dated.

Yesterday a second Kindle update demand arrived from Amazon. This time I searched Google for a phone number to call for help, and miraculously I found one. 

 In the process of attempting to complete the update, the pleasant Indian technician discovered that both my Kindle and my computer had been hacked by a “worm” called Koobface.

“What? A worm? My Kindle works fine. And I just had my computer professionally cleaned and cleared.”

So with his arrow flying around my computer screen, the technician pointed out the many deficits that Koobface had created.  In addition, my IP had been compromised—I now know what an IP is—etc. etc. I was horrified.

Koobface? You have got to be kidding. It sounds like a name one of my grandsons would have called one of his brothers when they were eight or ten.

But here is Koobface, in part, anyway, from Wikipedia:

Koobface
Type	Computer worm
Subtype	Malware
Point of origin	Russia

Koobface is network worm that attacks Microsoft Windows, Mac OS X, and Linux platforms.^[1][2][3] This worm originally targeted users of the networking websites like Facebook, Skype, Yahoo Messenger, and email websites such as GMail, Yahoo Mail, and AOL Mail. It also targets other networking websites, such as MySpace, Twitter,^[4] and it can infect other devices on the same local network.^[5] This infection allows an attacker to access users' personal information such as banking information, passwords, or personal identity (IP address). It is considered a security risk and should be removed from the network..^[6]

How scary is that? If you want to know more you only have to check it out. It’s all there.

Hours later, with some fast talking, and funds exchanged, my computer is firewalled to a fair-thee-well, my Kindle is brilliantly up dated and my computer, my I phone and my Kindle are “protected for life” by a company who shall remain nameless in case a blog-cruiser in cahoots with the notorious Koobface decides to blast through this inevitably obsolete wall.

I make the point about obsolescence because when I asked the tech guy from this computer- plus protection company if they were technologically capable of staying ahead of the inventive and destructive Koobface, his answer was vague and not exactly to the point.

I don’t blame them. It is the world we live in, isn’t it?

 Nowadays we barricade ourselves into what we believe to be safety, whether it is policemen around schools, firewalls built into our computers, dead bolts on our doors, sensor lighting, I D checkpoints or Doctors Without Borders’ outposts fenced safely, presumably, by international agreement.  

One way or another those who are determined to do damage, those who have watched, waited, listened and learned, manage to blast huge holes through our carefully woven safety nets, thereby forcing us to mourn, wring our hands and restring once more. 

One tries not to despair.

As this lengthy telephone conversation about the invasion and the healing of my computer progressed, none of which I really understood, I found myself wishing that I were twenty again. At twenty my communication life was simple: straightforward, landline, rotary phone calls. A missed call from a boyfriend the only possible tragedy.

Echoing Through Generations

Yesterday, March 2, my daughter-in-law, New York lawyer, Janice MacAvoy, addressed the rally for Access to Abortion, from the steps of the Supreme Court Building in Washington.

She spoke clearly and powerfully as she told her story of being the first woman in her family to graduate from High School.  She had a scholarship to college and wanted to be a lawyer.  She became pregnant at eighteen and was able then to have a “safe, compassionate, legal abortion.”

“I am not a lawyer who had an abortion,” Janice declared. “I am a lawyer because I had an abortion.” She went on to say that when she married and gave birth to her first child, a daughter, “I was prepared then to be the kind of mother that my daughter deserved.”

Cecile Richards leaving Supreme Court. Janice on her right.

Along with colleagues, Janice MacAvoy has rounded up one hundred and thirteen lawyers who have had legal abortions.

Their personal stories supporting abortion rights constitute one of the briefs—known as the MacAvoy brief-- that was submitted to the Supreme Court yesterday when the court began hearings on the Texas Abortion Case. The court is reviewing restrictions imposed by a lower court in Texas that strongly effect accessibility to abortion procedures at Texas Planned Parenthood clinics.

I am so proud of my daughter-in-law!

And I am remembering my mother, who, finding herself pregnant four months after my sister was born, went to New York to have an abortion. That would have been in 1933. She told me she had some form of contraception called “A Woman’s Friend” which was totally useless.

It wasn’t long after my brother and I were born, that, with my mother in the lead, she and a few friends raised sufficient funds to rent an appropriate space for a birth control clinic. They found a willing gynecologist and nurse and opened the clinic in Bridgeport.

In spite of the clinic being absolutely illegal—see Connecticut Comstock Laws -- it ran successfully for a number of years. Women were examined under sterile and respectful circumstances; volunteers and professionals listened to their patients’ stories and patients were given contraception advice and devices.

Then one day the clinic was “raided” by police and closed. My mother was taken into custody, fortunately for only as long as it took for my father to get to the police station and retrieve her. We children, sitting on the floor in front of our big radio, heard about our mother on the evening news. I remember thinking that our mother was the bravest, most amazing person ever.

In 1968, as chairperson of the Mid East Region of Planned Parenthood, World Population, I, an Ohio resident at the time, was asked to speak in favor of the repeal of the Comstock Laws at the Ohio State Legislature. At that time Connecticut and Ohio were the last remaining states to have laws restricting the dissemination of birth control information and devices.

I thanked God for the years I spent in school plays and, compelled by memories of my mother’s extraordinary bravery,  I went to Columbus and addressed the entirely male legislature on the reproductive rights of women.  

The time had come.The law that had closed my mother’s clinic all those years ago was repealed.

Generations of my family are with you, Janice MacAvoy!
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One cannot help but wonder if this issue will ever be settled.