3 Ring Binder

Despite the fact that he's right regarding the failures of conservativism in general, Sam Tenenhaus, the author of The Death of Conservatism , hangs his pragmatic hat on conservatives' inability to limit their remarks to money, and foolish penchant to evoke principles. Hear the NPR seven minute interview here . We need the conservatives to ask the tough questions: to be very skeptical about the idea of an ever- growing welfare state, not because it isn’t a virtue in and of itself, but because it can get out of control. That if we have a government that promises us too much, then maybe all the different conflicting demands we have will clash in a way that creates trouble for us. Conservatives should be using this moment to ask in a very reasoned, detailed, logical way, where are the policies of the present administration going to take us? Not are they evil. Not are they socialistic. Not will they deprive us of our freedom, but what will the costs be? Surely, even Mr. Tanenhaus u

“What,” you may ask, “is an iliac furrow?” A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I’m going to try to describe it for you before I show you. An iliac furrow, alternatively known as Apollo’s belt or the Adonis belt , is the indented line on the human body that runs from the hip bone (aka the iliac crest) to the pubic bone on either side of the abdomen. Can you picture it? “Why do you care about this?” For years it has been my second favorite part of a male body (hands first), but until this weekend, I never knew what it was called. Why this weekend? After seeing a stunning sketch of a basically naked male torso, I knew that a line so prominently featured in most beautiful human forms had to have a name, so I went looking for it. While Henry Grey says the iliac furrow is most pronounced in “fat subjects”, the fact that the more poetic terms are used in art history to describe the area on paragons of the human form makes perfect sense. The fashion of low slung jeans may well be f

but my daughter does not. Searching one of my three desks (that could be the problem right there) yesterday morning, I blurted out, “I don’t even know where the checkbook for that account is.” Seeing the quizzical look on my daughter’s face, I added, “Oh, I’m just talking to myself.” “You’re talking pretty loud for someone who’s talking to herself.” “I’m deaf." Then I proceeded to laugh hysterically. She, however, did not find me nearly as amusing.

(Scottish, traditional) By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond. O you'll take the high road and I'll take the low road And I'll be in Scotland afore ye For me and my true love will ne-er meet again On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond. 'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen On the steep, steep sides o' Ben Lomond Where deep in purple hue, the hieland hills we view And the moon comin' out in the gloamin'. I love this song and was reminded of it this evening by a post on HBL on the singer Deanna Durbin, seen below.

My youngest daughter has her own "by invitation only" blog. She goes through periods where she can't get enough of it, and those when she forgets all about it. When she does post, she also comments profusely on those posts - immediately after publishing. This may be due to the fact that she has only five readers, and among those, only two of whom read it regularly. Clearly, she thinks comments are the best present ever, even if they are from her. I think she's very funny (but don't tell her I said that - it'll go straight to her head). Recently, she's been posting little intelligence tests. Yesterday, I took one of them, regarding animals and bananas, with the results: "You are a moron." 5 comments: (little Bourque) said... It's a funny test. I hope you didn't fall for it, though I wouldn't think you were hopelessly stupid. Well, if it was my mum, it'd be close. August 26, 2009 11:54 AM LB said... I'm a moron. This is not s

I seriously had no idea that's what they were saying. The internet is a fabulous place. This video is only made better by the addition of the youngest Gibb brother, Andy. He was my first major crush. I mean, look at him. Can you blame me?

As it has been too hot for me to go outside lately, I’ve been hanging out on my computer and wanted to share some of the interesting applications of morality to politics I’ve recently read or watched online. The Good: On the Peak Oil Malthusian Dilemma (NYT OpEd – I don’t remember what directed me here, but it’s a good refutation of that crisis); An excellent essay regarding collectivism vs. individualism and Misconstruing the Cause of Waste (found at Pajamas Media ); A moving personal essay on the unseen costs of socialized medicine My Father and Socialized Medicine (found at The New Clarion ); Here is a twenty-four minutes interview with Peter Schiff which I found quite worth my time. His views on the economy and government intervention are not only a breath of fresh air, but terribly exciting when one considers that he is a potential candidate for the CT Senate (also found at The New Clarion , and for the record, I did disagree with two minor points he made). The Bad: More waves

In a startlingly accurate description of the reason for business failure, today’s Boston Globe reports on the demise of Biopure , a Massachusetts biotech company working on a substitute for human blood. The article reports that the company “could never clear regulatory hurdles that would have turned the substitute into a mainstream medical product.” Hemopure showed many benefits compared with real blood: a three-year shelf life, the ability to be used by patients of any blood type, and freedom from diseases and pathogens that could be transmitted by human blood. The path to Food and Drug Administration approval, however, was rocky. Although the Navy was interested in using the experimental product to treat military personnel wounded in battle, the FDA consistently rejected efforts by Biopure and the Navy to test it in clinical trials, citing safety worries and other concerns . [emphasis mine] I’m glad the FDA was on the case because without their power to stop experimentation with the

(via Facebook friend)

I wanted to share this sculpture, Serenity , by Gwen Marcus who is new to me from a blog that is also new to me, art, love, & philosophy . It's simply beautiful.

3 friends 40+ 2 wheels each 15 miles 75 degrees F 95% humidity 1 flat tire -75 cents 35 other riders 16 walkers 11 dogs 1 suicidal chipmunk ¾ mile with no hands + 3 iced coffees with extra cream One Good Morning

While this isn't perfect (for instance, Sweet Caroline is the only Neil Diamond song I find inspirational, and then only at a Red Sox game), I think this is a good video touching on the importance of immigration and the morality of a more open policy based on individual rights. (via Facebook friend)

You want to protect the world from the impacts of man, You want to give the unfortunate all manner of things, You want life to be fair, and you think you have a plan. Your giving requires taking and all that that brings. You need me to behave in accordance with your will. You need me to produce and give others what I own. You need my compliance for your plan to work, and still, Your giving requires taking, this must be better known. You compel me to work for the benefit of others. You compel me to meet law after specious law. You compel me to replace your will for my druthers, Your compulsion takes my freedom, but to you, this is no flaw. You feast on false premises: promoting welfare means giving; I starve for secured liberty: my fundamental right of living.

On leaving the hotel room to go to breakfast this morning my youngest daughter said to me, "Nice shorts." Being a little self-conscious about the whole short-wearing thing, knowing that my shorts were old, but still fit fine, I was pleasantly surprised by the compliment. "Really? You think so?" I asked. "Yeah. I didn't know the rodeo was in town." It seems that the closer I get to becoming Miss Patty, my youngest is turning into Emily Gilmore.

I just returned from a women's outdoor adventure weekend. I know what you're thinking: LB, say it ain’t so! You HATE the outdoors! There are bugs, and it’s hot in the summertime, and that makes you crazy (not to mention everyone around you by extension)! Well, despite your valid concerns, I thought it high time to exorcise my very old demons against outdoor exercise and get better acquainted with a few strategic large muscle groups in my body – bugs, sweat, and tears be damned! So I went. When I signed up for the weekend, I did not understand the magnitude or implications of the big ‘W’ women’s, little ‘a’ adventure. As time to leave for the weekend drew nearer, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the unfolding flavor of spiritual self-improvement and female bonding the weekend was to hold – not because those things are bad, but because neither of them really interests me as an organized activity. (I think I may be more like a man in that respect, but that exploration is for

Whilst I was gone on a women's adventure weekend (hopefully more on that later), one of my ladies laid an egg! I was both horrified and delighted! Horrified that I was not home for this momentous occasion, and delighted that they're starting to lay! Eggs! Yay! Stephen found the egg on the ground (not in the lovely nesting boxes he made for them) and had no idea which of the ladies laid the egg. One look at the egg and then at the birds and it wasn't hard for this farmer's wife to tell. It was Barbie. The eggs (oh,yes - now there are two) are a blue-green typical of an Easter Egger, and Barbie has been doing some rather strange dropping, droopy dances leaving the coop. Until I saw the eggs, I thought it was probably Starburst as she is by far the fattest bird and has taken a mother hen role in the coop. Now that she's started laying I think Barbie needs more time in the coop and less time outside. Eggs Inthedirt is not a favorite of mine.

The other day we were in the car listening to a program called "Swing Time" featuring songs from big bands in the 1940s. We heard a few lively tunes (yes, I'm angry that I can't remember the specific numbers) when my 11 year-old made this interesting observation: All the old songs are about getting together and all the new songs are about breaking apart. Clearly, this isn't true in either case, but I thought her differentiation between the upbeat sounds of swing music and the maudlin country-pop she's been listening to an excellent one.

In a child’s mind everyone around her must be at the ready; Ready to jump into her thoughts when she chooses to give them voice. I am barely hanging on to the threads of her imagination when, I suddenly realize that she’s working to make the right choice. “Then she said she wanted to go, and I was like, ‘Is it the boys?’” “Do you think Taylor Swift is more country than pop?” When I work to tune into her frequency, I can omit the noise, Find the intent, and never want her searching self to stop.

Today we were in a Starbucks waiting for my daughter's first pair of eyeglasses to be made (the Doctor told her that she must wear them when driving the family car or sightseeing - she is 11). Suddenly, without warning or even an attempt at a segue she stated that her "Plan E" is to work at Starbucks. Of course this prompted my question about her plans A through D. "Plan A: Actress." I guess I knew that. It was singer until this year. "Plan B: Writer." I was sort of hoping that this would be Plan A, but as she's 11, there's still time to change her mind. "Plan C: Creative Writing Teacher-thingy. You know, English Teacher." Clearly this is an inherited skill as my father, the sign painter, always said, "Words is my business." This was particularly obvious after the "North Shore Retarted Citizens" sign incident. "Plan D: Marry a rich man." This is a completely new addition to her plans. Does this mean we ha

It’s summer. I know it’s summer because the hot (brutally humid) weather is finally here. With the hotter weather comes the incessant noise of room air conditioners for those us not fortunate enough to have central air. But don’t cry for me (because I can scarcely hear myself think let alone you crying), for while I can’t possibly watch TV amid this noise, I’ve been reading. Reading, reading. I’ve already talked about rereading Atlas Shrugged , which, after a few bouts of narcolepsy, I’m happy to report is now progressing nicely. But I’m also reading several other books at the same time (important to note: without confusion between them). Non-Fiction The Food of a Younger Land , by Mark Kurlansky, © 2009. I finally got this from the library and went straight to the recipes and anecdotes about America’s eating habits as collected during the late 1930s and early 40s. It’s a quirky and interesting collection, and I can’t help but smile at the slices of American life presented. The Autom

Not to be confused with Art History, History Through Art is a unique program where art is used as the tool through which to learn history. My daughter has done this on an elementary level for some years now. I know the solid connections she's made between her history class and the art work discussed. To learn more about the program, please visit History At Our House . I'll be there and I'm very excited about it! Hope to hear some of you there, too.

The rain has gone, and with it goes my naked soul. The time has come to dress and stand out in the sun. One would not eclipse the other if I were living whole; Light now burns away what I thought to leave undone. I mine my daydreams for bits of Truth I unearth, For it, like me, cannot keep underground well. While I flirt with Possibility for all it is worth, I recognize illusion is no place for one to Dwell. So what studied Truth has my wandering mind shown? What exciting new path must I now define? No more than this reminder of what I’ve always known: No less than my one life, body and soul, is mine. Without fear of indulging what my half-life might reveal, You watched as I collected, both embracing what is Real.

Found at Not PC , the art of David Knowles from New Zealand speaks to me. It's beautiful and uplifting - exactly what art should be. To Fly Creativity with Beauty and Joy Check out more of his work here . And then to Not PC where I discovered Mr. Knowles' work through the post introducing Candle , one of Mr. Knowles' latest paintings. It's stunning.

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, and at the request of Kelly Elmore at Reepicheep's Coracle , I am herein posting the only picture of myself breastfeeding that I have. I'm sorry to report that it is quite discreet, but I think the image wonderfully illustrates the beautiful bond between mother and child that breastfeeding fosters. My husband painted it when our daughter was four months old and I get to see it every morning when I wake up. The name of the painting is the title of this post.

The Separation of Church and Church-State Picking up where my post She is Not Taught by Laws regarding John Locke’s A Letter Concerning Toleration ended, I’d like present the following bit from one paragraph in that same document for your consideration: We have already proved that the care of souls does not belong to the magistrate. Not a magisterial care, I mean (if I may so call it) which consists in prescribing by laws and compelling by punishments. But a charitable care which consists of teaching, admonishing, and persuading which cannot be denied unto any man. The care, therefore, of every man’s soul belongs unto himself, and is to be left unto himself. But what if he neglect the care of his soul? I answer: What if he neglect the care of his health or the care of his estate, which things are nearlier related to the government of the magistrate than the other? Will the magistrate provide an express law that such a one not become poor or sick? What seemed like reductio ad absurdum

English ( possibly Scottish ) traditional The water is wide, I cannot get o’er. And neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat, that will carry two, And both shall row, my love and I. [I leaned my back up against an oak, I thought it was a trusty tree. But first it bent, and then it broke, And so my love did unto me.] There is a ship, and she sails the sea. She’s loaded deep, as deep can be. But not so deep, as the love I’m in. I know not how I sink or swim. Love is handsome, and love is fine. And love’s a jewel when first it’s new. But love grows old, and waxes cold, And fades away, like morning dew. Because it is a folksong, the words have been altered over the years and are sung at the discretion of the performer. The beauty of this piece is not in the ultimately sad story it tells, but its ability to instantly evoke pensive reflection when set to its traditional tune. Hear it performed by James Taylor here. Hear a guitar instrumental version here. Since I’ve been going to James T

My daughter has recently discovered the art of self-portraiture using her cell phone. Not one to be satisfied with the standard images, she has begun experimenting with the filters and seemed most fond of these two macabre photos that she shared with me last night. Using the AQUA filter, here she is representing her blue period. Before you faint, let me assure you that her right pupil is not blown, nor is one eye larger than the other. It's just a product of funky lighting and a bad lens. Did I mention that she's a big Tim Burton fan? (But even she didn't realize how scary it was until I showed her on my computer screen.) But this one, using the NEGATIVE filter is even scarier if possible. She calls it "An Accidental Picture of Me and Jesus" because that's exactly what it was. Did I also mention that she has never seen The Blair Witch Project ? Me neither, but this is what I imagine it to look like. When not snapping scary self-portraits, she can usually be f

My friend posted this to facebook this afternoon. It's not exactly new, but I hadn't seen it before and just can't resist posting it here. My fondness for Edward Cullen and the Twilight series having been documented elsewhere , as has my affection for the work of Joss Whedon , I found this remixed nexus between them to be hilarious. The moral of the story? Intense feelings built on the the smell of edibility and an inability to read another's mind is always trumped by the kick-ass, no-nonense chick. Don't even get me started on the sparkly skin!

Immediately after OCON09, Stephen and I started rereading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged . Together. At night. Out loud. To each other. Despite the fact that our last read-aloud endeavor, The Three Musketeers , failed miserably in that we read almost the entire novel only to abandon it in the last 25 pages due to a serious lack of interest in the characters, plot resolution, or even having the satisfaction of finishing the book, I thought rereading AS together would be great summer project. I call it Project Atlas Snugged . (Hey, I heard that groan, which is why I didn’t use that for the title of this post.) We both love the novel, wanted to reread it, and enjoy each other’s company. But, boy, was I wrong about it being a great summer project. First, I think we read Dumas in the winter when the house was cold and invigorating rather than warm and sticky, making all that togetherness somehow a little less enjoyable. Secondly, unless Stephen’s voice becomes suddenly less somniferous to me, an

I often wonder about the structure of language and how standard usage expands and contracts. But this post is about how I transformed myself into a cartoon MadMen character. I’m the one in red. Sure, I look like a cross between my grandmother and Anne Bancroft in The Graduate , but I’m good with that. I dislike the hair, but it came with the hat – and you know I had to have that hat! On the plus side, I have a fabulous furry dead thing around my neck, my legs are spectacular, and Don Draper seems to like me. Who could ask for anything more - you know- in a cartoon world? If you’re a MadMen fan, you should go to MadMenYourself right now and get your own MadMen icon! If you’re not, I can completely understand. There are no heroes in the show (with the possible exception of Joan Holloway, the curvy office manager in the blue, and perhaps once Bertram Cooper who is now more doddering than dazzling), but it is compelling to watch nonetheless. The ubiquitous smoking, incessant drinking,