Truth and Consequences

     “District faces bullying probe” is the headline in the local section of the STrib today.  Feds are investigating allegations of GLBT harassment in Anoka-Hennepin schools reads the heading above the article.  The article goes on to reveal a probe by the U.S. Department of Justice and Education, on the harassment and bullying of young people, in Minnesota’s largest school district, who either are, or are perceived to be GBLT. They are also reviewing suicides and their connection to bullying.  Under scrutiny are the district’s handling of GBLT issues, and the district’s sexual orientation policy aka “the neutrality policy.”  This began last November, and is ongoing. 

     The Southern Poverty Law Center, and the National Center for Lesbian Rights have taken a stand against the “neutrality policy” and are threatening a law-suit to end it.  According to the article, “The district defended the neutrality policy Wednesday and said ‘the community is split and opinions vary widely’ on GLBT issues.”  Naturally.  This school district is in Bachmann country.  This is a district that has elected Michele Bachmann, who promotes homophobia. 

     This is happening in Minnesota.  This is not nice.

     Consider this.  Michele Bachmann, has taken The Family Leader Marriage Vow for Presidential Candidates, which seeks to defend marriage against homosexuals, glorifies slavery for African-American children, and promotes the oppression of women. She has taken a position that women are to submit to their husbands and is married to Marcus Bachmann. Her husband owns two “Christian” Counseling Centers (this is not MY Christianity – but that is for another post), which pathologize homosexuality, and seek to “cure” it. 

     I have worked, in-depth, long term with a fair number of Lesbians in therapy.  None of them have sought treatment to be “cured” of homosexuality.  They have come for all the reasons heterosexual people come for therapy: anxiety, depression, and trauma.  However, there is something unique about working with gay women – in addition to all the travails of life as a human being – they have been traumatized by the very culture they live in. 

     The Bachmanns reinforce this trauma through trying to “cure” homosexuality with damaging counseling techniques, promoting hatred though The Family Leader Marriage Vow, and institutionalizing bigotry in school district policies. 

     The STrib article ends with the tragic story of a 15-year old boy, Justin, who committed suicide after open bullying and shoving in this school district for TWO YEARS – which was never reported to his parents!  Is this neutrality?  For who?  The bullies?  I have a teenager, lots of teenage nieces and nephews, and I have worked with teenagers, of all stripes, in the course of my career.  Justin is my child.  He is your child.  My head is exploding.  My heart is breaking. Tears. Rage.  

Harry Potter: Part One “The Problem With Loyalty”

     I know you all saw Harry Potter 7.2 this weekend, because according to box office figures everyone saw the movie in the last few days!  We too had a glorious couple of Potterish days, with my niece, Winona joining us for the festivities.  She and Daisy made pumpkin pasties and butter beer, which we took as our contribution to a dinner and movie night (a refresher on Harry Potter 7.1) with friends, before reconvening Saturday afternoon for the final episode. 

     When I went to purchased the tickets for the movie I got sucked into another loyalty program.  It gives ten dollars off every one hundred I spend, but costs twelve dollars.  This basically means I have to spend a hundred dollars at the movies to ALMOST break even. 

     However, there was an added enticement – free upgrades on popcorn and soda.  Now, as you all know, the theatres make almost all their money on popcorn and soda.  Think about it: popcorn, soda, and their containers all cost pennies – the profit margin on these items is ASTRONOMICAL.  Please do not ask me why anyone would want a free upgrade on popcorn and soda which could feed a family of four already, but I do know that it makes the theatre look good, and costs them nothing.

      Anyway, I generously gave the girls my new loyalty card when they went out to get concessions.  I figured they would save by only getting one popcorn – which they did – medium upgraded to large (which comes with free refills, as if…) But they did not use it for sodas – going for slushies instead!  What were they thinking?

     So, now I have to go to lots more movies in the theatres to get the benefit of my loyalty card, and eat popcorn - which gives me migraines from all the sodium.  Brilliant.  Not only are they a lot smarter than I am, but the loyalty program brings out a kind of craziness. 

     I have had troubling experiences with loyalty programs in the past, so this might just be stirring up old issues.  First, there are the problems of the bulging wallet and keeping track of the cards.  I have so many cards at this point that I leave them all in one compartment (where the cash should be), and shuffle them every time I have to pay, present membership, or get my rewards.  And then, there is attachment.  My favorite coffee place had a wonderful loyalty program – so wonderful, in fact, that my coffee addiction increased exponentially.  Then they changed to a new loyalty program, which is a loyalty-program-in-name-only to save face for giving up the old loyalty program.  It is far too complicated to use and I have not been able to adjust to it.  So the new loyalty program left me feeling deprived, and I just stopped drinking coffee.

     Loyalty is a big issue in the Harry Potter stories.  There are the overt loyalties, like between Harry and Dumbledore, and the covert loyalties, like between Snape and Harry. Ultimately, loyalty causes the biggest problem for the Malfoy Family - who realize too late that they are stuck on the wrong team.  In fact, I feel a full analysis of Harry Potter 7.2 coming on, but that will have to wait for my next post.  I am considering going to the movie one more time – because I really want to see that Gringott’s scene in 3D (even though I know it will make me barf).  Plus I need to build up my loyalty card.  You will just have to stay tuned for Harry Potter: Part Two.

Middish Yiddish

     Yesterday I kicked off the morning by watching video clips of Greta Von Susteren interviewing Michele Bachmann.  In the course of the interview Bachmann demonstrated her amazing ability, once again, to be totally unflappable; this capacity is supported by the Continuous Vacant Smile. 

     The Continuous Vacant Smile is a trait which is a nasty by-product of the famous Minnesota Nice demeanor which is used to cover all sins of thought, word, and deed.  It is a cultural condition that seems to be caught through exposure (kind of like a virus). In fact, I had to move to New York City for twenty years to combat the Minnesota Nice germ – and found that it can only be treated as a chronic condition – it is not really curable. 

     The Continuous Vacant Smile is in the same category as the Fade-by.  The Fade-by is used when a person does not feel like interacting with another human being.  This is how a Minnesotan can walk down a busy sidewalk in a small town (where you know pretty much everybody), and not say hello to a single person.  The way it works is as follows.   Basically, you walk by someone – and avert your eyes – usually down at the curb as if there is something really, really captivating in the gutter – and walk right by that very person without saying a word.  All Minnesotans know how to collude in this and will not interrupt to say hello. The primary reason the other party will not interrupt is shame – either it is shame because they know that the person on the street does not want to talk to her (shame as a result of rejection), or shame because she does not want to talk either.  In this fashion a Minnesotan can avoid embarrassing encounters, forgotten names, anxiety producing requests for further contact.  

     When I explained the Minnesota Fade-by to my sister-in-law, Inga, she experienced a shock of recognition, that made us both crack-up.  She knew exactly what I was talking about, and was both a perpetrator and victim.  See, all those years in New York City taught me something! 

     Anyway, it takes a lot of Chutzpah to break through a Fade-by, and Minnesotans are not famous for their Chutzpah (except, perhaps Hubert Humphrey – and these days, Mark Dayton)  The use of Yiddish, is rare in Minnesota - only heard in special parts of the metropolitan area. So, I was shocked to hear Michele B. slaughter Yiddish in that interview with Greta, yes I kid you not: she said “Chitspa”.  Chits-pa.  This was void of the tangible “h” on the other side of the “c”, the “u”, and there was no “z” anywhere to be found.  The nerve. I would accuse her of having Chutzpah – except that it would be a compliment – and a mistake, because I think the correct word for her might actually be Hubris.   Now, how’s that for a recovering Minnesota Nicenik?

Poem: Severe Weather Advisory

I have been busy editing some poems to submit for a collection.  So, I thought I would post a poem that I wrote two years ago.  As you know, there is severe weather out there these days - of all sorts.

Severe Weather Advisory

Now, we emerge, breathing the deep air of survival
     in a stunning moment refracted through rain dappled windows
     bird song embellishing trees dark with damp.

I am freed from the bonds of anxiety
     that tethered me to the radio and phones and National Weather Forecast
     that kept me checking the zip, the county, the exact location
     of your campground, which was right in the path
     of the red patch moving up the pixel green
     flashing screen: tornado warning, not watch - warning.

I knew that although the afternoon
     was suddenly crystal bright here
     you were still there
     and I could not reach you with a warning – because, of course,
     you had turned off your phone for a genuine camping experience.

Not that you would have listened to me
     any more than you did
     on that bluest September morning
     when caught in a manmade storm
     I told you to run, not walk – run up to Chinatown.

Except that this time our daughter was with you
     and your paternal instincts
     are stronger than your self-protective instincts.

Even as my own father called to check up on you,
     and we took a moment to wonder
     about the tornado hitting Central Lutheran Church downtown
     at the very time over a thousand delegates of the ELCA were there.

Yes, it actually hit the steeple of the church
     and blew apart the tents.

Cradling the phone on my shoulder I googled the news
     to find the twisted tubes, upended white cloth and
     dangling steeple. 

Interesting, Dad and I thought,
     given that they were debating the sexuality question,
     specifically: can a homosexual in a committed relationship
     serve as a minister in the Lutheran church.

With a dark chuckle my father said, “maybe
     this could be seen as an act of God
     and sway the debate.”

“No way.”  I protested.  “Lutherans would never indulge
     in such mysticism.

He countered, “They better make the right decision.”
     And muttered, “the church should
     stay out of people’s sexuality.”

Meanwhile, you call, and are safe
     in a hotel in Hinckley.

The sun is still shining
     and we’ll all eat junk food in the evening’s glow, because
     who can cook after such a helluva day.

And I thought I heard something about a storm

     in New York, Manhattan to be specific,
     that had also uprooted trees.

I only listened enough to think, in passing,
     that it was a weird coincidence – God acting up again?

It all came out of nowhere and passed
     so fast, and now the sky is so fine
     just like the other time.

We better make the right decisions.
     This time.

Red, White and Blue Plaid

     “Ooooh, aaah, that was a good one.” Slap.  “Pass me the bug spray.” Slap.  “Ooooh, aaah.”  The fireworks in Plaid, Minnesota were beautiful last night!  We joined neighbors who had set up camp in a completely dark street to watch the display above the trees. It was the first time we had watched from this location – and it was especially good for the sightlines.  Only once did we almost get run down by a surprised motorist – who was going way too fast for such a quiet suburban street with no lighting!

     Plaid is the perfect in-between place.  It is a first ring suburb and firmly established an identity as a small town before the metropolitan area gobbled it up.  So, it has an urbane small town feel.  Its ambivalence can be observed in its curbs and gutters.  Downtown Plaid has full sidewalks, curbs and gutters.  But only a few blocks away you will find neighborhoods in which the lawns run right into the street.  Our neighborhood has resolved this conflict with a compromise: curbs but no sidewalks.  We use the street as our sidewalks – which we can do with out too much risk.  The only problem is that cars are getting so quiet these days, and people in Plaid are too polite to honk their horns.  I am not afraid someone will run me down when I am walking the dogs, but am left with icky guilt feelings when an occasional motorist is forced to trail me for half a block before my sixth sense tells me to turn around.

     Anyway, Daisy is devoted to the Independence Day Parade.  This auspicious event exposes Plaid’s very charming small town roots; it goes from city hall, along one of the central arteries, to downtown.  People turn out in force, but there is room for all! 

      After I secured a spot on the curb for Daisy and her friend, I retreated to the sidewalk in search of photo opportunities.  There was lots of plaid, but my phone was running low on battery, so I missed a bunch of great things – like the pooper scooper ladies behind the horses. 

      Daisy has a talent for catching candy that is thrown to the curb, and advocating for freebees.  She secured an iced coffee sample for me, and got herself pizza coupons, a Frisbee and magnets.  She likes to play lady bountiful with the toddlers nearby, distributing the candy as she collects it.

      It was a joyous occasion.  This is especially notable because Plaid is pretty much evenly split between Democrats and Republicans.  We all were shoulder to shoulder at the parade, however, and no discord was evident.  There was enthusiastic applause for one and all: the Police Department, the garbage truck, the fire truck, local merchants, our U.S. Senator, Grandmother’s for Peace, the bands, and the clowns.   The longest, deepest applause was for the military contingent – clearly we have learned one lesson from the war in Vietnam: no matter how we feel about the war itself – we must honor our warriors. 

     I did begin to wonder, at one point, whether this parade was really just an occasion for adults to dress-up.  We had lots and lots of clowns, guys and gals in western garb (one cowboy was even standing on top of his horse’s saddle, twirling pistols – that was impressive), there were people on stilts, Wonder Woman and Bat Man along with a few other assorted super-heroes.  And, I regret to say, one very cute super-sized Bunny (yet, another victim of Delusional Bunny Syndrome).

     The absolute highlight of the parade was the jugglers. There were a couple of hundred jugglers, marching in formation – and juggling!  It was an awesome display.  Plaid is an epicenter for juggling.  In case you didn’t know – there is absolutely no way to watch juggling and not smile.  Try it sometime – sadness flees in the face of jugglers, along with discontent and divisiveness.  Come to think of it, maybe we should send the Plaid jugglers over to the capital in St. Paul. 

     Oh, yes.  Jugglers are most definitely in my Suburban Survival Kit!

Kids These Days

     I keep trying to tell other parents that I know: kids are different these days.  They are way different than we were as kids.  I had sensed this for quite a while, but now I have evidence.

     As Daisy glided through the tween years and approached thirteen, with no signs of rebellion or major personality changes I grew suspicious.   During the latency phase of childhood I expected open signs of attachment, but I had been bracing for major disruptions as she got into middle school.  Nothing.  Then one day I heard a friend of Daisy’s say to her mother, “I love you, Mom.”  Mel heard it too.  We nodded at each other with approval, thinking that Daisy had made such a nice friend.  But I thought it was an aberration.  Then, a few weeks ago, we were pulled up to the ice rink, and I witnessed another young lady telling her mother that she loved her, as she dragged her figure skates out of the car.  Now, I was intrigued, but figured it could be a coincidence.  However, last week,  at the warm -up for Daisy's lacrosse game, I heard a girl say, “I love you, Mom” out loud and in front of the whole team.  Now this is a pattern!

     When I was thirteen I was separating and surly.   I have checked around, and found that this was pretty typical.  Our generation wanted to get out of the house and away from the parents.  We were filled with angst, and vilified the older generation. Remember: “never trust anyone over thirty”?

     Times have changed, families have changed, and so have the kids.  There are a couple of sociology Profs from the U of M who have been doing longitudinal studies of young people, and they have found that this generation of young people is attached to their parents emotionally, socially and financially.  In other words, these young people are more likely to call their parents for advice than anyone else, would prefer to go to a  family cook-out over other social activities, and feel they can turn to their parents when they need help. 

     We have all heard a lot of kvetching about the “failure to launch” kids.  However, this may be our silver lining.  Think about it – all our child-centered parenting is creating parent centered children!  Talk about family values!  This is the real deal.

     I decided to do some field research, myself, and interviewed Daisy and her older cousin, Winona.  They agreed that saying “I love you, Mom,” is typical behavior for girls their age.  Wow, I thought, how lucky am I – to have those loving children in my Suburban Survival Kit!

Oh, the Pressure

     People are starting to ask for names, and suggest that I write about them.  Daisy, my daughter, started this morning: “Mom, you haven’t written about Daisy, yet.”  Then Mel chimed in, “I think it’s time for a Mel story.”  (I have a whole bunch of Mel stories in my back pocket – none of them flattering, and he knows it – but he harbors this fantasy of being on a billboard, like the Marlboro Man, or a on a bus kiosk, like the Gap ads – so maybe he doesn’t care what the stories are about.)

     I picked Mel’s name a couple of years ago, and he was fine with it; but now that I’m asking people to pick their own names I think he’s jealous.  When he heard that our daughter picked Daisy, our niece picked Winona (after a Dakota Princess, plus it means ‘first born’), and my sister-in-law picked Inga he started complaining about his name.   He said he wants something like “Lance” or “Buck”.  Come on, let’s not be ridiculous –the names have to fit the person, or I’m going to hit a terrible writer’s block. 

     All the excitement about picking names seems to be a sign that people are on board with Suburban Survival Kit 411.  Clearly, I haven’t been too offensive, yet.

     I was talking with some senior citizens, who live in Michele Bachmann’s district, and are not happy with her representation.  These people are tea drinkers, but not tea partiers.  If we took a poll of the Tea Party Caucus – how many, do you think, would be actual tea drinkers?  I, myself am a tea drinker.  (I love coffee too, but have a much more ambivalent relationship with coffee, as it makes me crabby and keeps me up at night.  I see tea as a more refined, less pushy option.)  In fact my brother brought back some first flush Darjeeling from Fortnum and Mason a couple of weeks ago – and I am hoarding it as if it is gold bullion. 

     Who are these Tea Party people anyway, and how did Michele Bachmann get to be head of them?  The over all impression I have is that they are the kind of people who expect dinner to be on the table, but have no sense of the shopping and preparation that went into the meal.  This is much like wanting roads without potholes, but not wanting to pay for them.  The other thing, which I am quite worried about, is that in the photos I have seen of Tea Partiers they appear to be baby boomers.  This means they really should be part of the T-Party - those who broke the dress code barrier back in the 60’s: liberating t-shirts from the underwear category.   How many of you remember when a person could disrupt  the status quo by wearing a t-shirt and jeans?   Well, I’ll bet a lot of the Tea Party members wear t-shirts and jean – and they probably don’t even remember the history of the fight for casual attire!

     

AnthropomorPhobic

     When I posted my first entry Mel insisted that I tell you who I am – specifically that I am a Psychoanalyst and Social Worker.  I was hesitant, but he argued that these are my credentials, and going to be the reason people want to read this blog.  I hesitated because I know the restraint this puts on me – if this is a “credentialed” blog then I have professional and ethical responsibilities; in other words, I could get into trouble if I try to diagnose people I have never met - like Michele Bachmann or Sarah Palin (who will be appearing here as soon as she throws her tea bag into the ring).

     So, here’s the disclaimer – this is not a professional, diagnostic or therapeutic blog (except, perhaps, for myself).  Words like crazy, madness, or insanity are not intended for professional use here, and should be taken in the most colloquial sense.  However, that being said, I am not going to be able to completely avoid the lexicon I have worked in for decades.  I will try to limit mental health jargon as much as possible, and only use it to describe cultural issues as necessary – such as the Delusional Bunny Syndrome.

     As you know, I am having an issue with rabbits.  Notice that I do not call them bunnies.  Bunny is the name for rabbits that makes them cute.  The rabbits that have eaten hundreds of dollars of trees, shrubs and flowers in my yard ARE NOT CUTE.  Or are they?  See, I am struggling with the indoctrination I received from Beatrix Potter who corrupted me from an early age with anthropomorphic animals.  Images of bunnies and squirrels, in fetching Victorian garb, are seared into my mind.  

     The Delusional Bunny Syndrome is the reason that whenever I look out the window and see a rabbit or squirrel I go “awww”, why I secretly root for the rabbit whenever our red dog barrels across the yard after one, and why I still break for those pesky critters in the street – it is an automatic response.

     Children’s literature is replete with anthropomorphic characters.  Some might say that they reflect a child’s inner animal or are meant to help master anxiety, others might assert that they will foster empathy with other species.  These sympathies become quite confusing, though, when dealing with real wild animals.  Sometimes I feel like I am straddling a personality split between Mama Rabbit and Mr. MacGregor.  

     I do not believe there is a cure for Delusional Bunny Syndrome, so I will just have to hope the local foxes will do the dirty work of rabbit control – especially since my dogs couldn’t catch one if their lives depended on it. 

     Ok, ok, I can hear you screaming at me already: just yesterday I was talking about symbolism - what about the symbolic meaning of anthropomorphic animals in children’s literature?  True. True.  There is plenty of symbolism surrounding rabbits – but much of it is not cute at all.  In fact there seems to be a thread of sexuality, transcendence and psychosis associated with rabbits.  All that will have to wait for another posting.  For now, my survival kit has to contain Reality Testing as an antidote to Delusional Bunny Syndrome.

      

What's in a Name?

     This in from Popeater: on Naughty But Nice, Rob Shuter reports that Bristol Palin is accusing Michele Bachmann of stealing her mother’s look! Actually, this is old news – anyone who followed the 2010 mid-term elections witnessed the spawn of Sarah Palin across the country.  I call them Stepford Candidates. 

     Michele Bachmann positions herself as the Serious Sarah.  But I do detect something of the wannabe in her logo – yes, I’m talking about the sash across the H in Bachmann!  

     There seems to be a complete misunderstanding of symbolism in the Bachmann campaign.  I mean, really, who launches a campaign from Waterloo?

     Yesterday, in the Minneapolis StarTribune, Bachmann’s announcement to run for president was covered with the headline - Bachmann: ‘America is at a crucial moment’.  They refer to her as U.S. Rep. Michel Bachmann at the beginning of the article and then Bachmann throughout.  This is an article that is Minnesota Nice at its finest – focusing on the positive no matter the darkness lurking underneath. 

     I preferred the restrained, but ironic approach of the New York Times.  On the front page they refer to her as Representative Michele Bachmann of Minnesota – this is stripped of the gravitas of "U.S.", and has the embarrassing tag – "of Minnesota".  However, they primarily referred to her as Mrs. Bachmann and end an essentially respectful article with the following:

            “…But as she stood in her old neighborhood, she misstated a piece of Iowa lore as she explained the important role that Waterloo had in shaping her character.

            “John Wayne was from Waterloo, Iowa,” Mrs. Bachmann told Carl Cameron of Fox News in an interview.  “That’s the kind of spirit that I have, too.”

            The actor was actually bon in Winterset, Iowa, which is about 150 miles southwest of Waterloo.  It was John Wayne Gacy, known as the killer clown who raped and murdered 33 teenage boys in the  1970’s, who lived in Waterloo.”

     Breathtaking, isn’t it?  What is she saying?  Is it remotely possible that Bachmann did not know that the town’s most famous citizen had been John Wayne Gacy?  According the Wikipedia, in 1967, John Wayne Gacy was named “outstanding vice-president of the Waterloo Jaycees.”  Is this what she is referring to?

     Ok, let’s make this perfectly clear: the ability to symbolize is absolutely crucial to complex thinking.  The newspapers both seem to be able to figure this out.  But what about Bachmann???

Foxes vs. Rabbits

     You may have noticed that a stickball bat was in my Suburban Survival Kit – for coyotes.  And you may have wondered how I was planning to defend our land against foxes.

     Actually I see foxes as a valuable part of the animal control team. They are an essential counterpoint to the rabbits and squirrels.  A couple of years ago we were almost lucky enough to get a hawk to move into the neighborhood.  But a murder of crows took care of that.  I watched those old crows hector the hawk even as the rabbit and squirrel population was exploding on the ground below them.  The hawk got the message and left for a more friendly place.

     Last winter the rabbits ate everything they could.  And it all happened in the dead of night, behind my back.  I would look out the window in the morning and see an evergreen striped or another tree girdled – they always went for the unexpected, and I was always one step behind.

      As I was doing remediation this summer, I assumed that there were plenty of greens available for all.  I dreamily awaited the Stargazer Lilies that I planted last year.  I had lost one to winter, but the other two resurrected in late spring on sturdy stalks with a spiral staircase of leaves.  Last week I walked out to pull a few of the many thousands of thistles on my font lawn and this is what I found:

Why?  Why?  Why?  The voracious rabbits were at it again.

      A neighbor told me that a whole fox family is currently laying up under a shed a couple of blocks away.  He agreed that foxes are our friends because those voracious rabbits have cost us all a fortune in trees, shrubs, heartache and stress.  Foxes are definitely part of my Suburban Survival Kit. 

      Now, lest you think that I have forgotten about Michele Bachmann, I want to reassure you that I have not.  The articles in the Strib and the NYTimes today were fascinating - and tomorrow I will send you a particularly juicy quotation from the Times.  But for tonight I am going to stay in my pastoral idle - in other words - my survival kit would not be complete without some denial.  

      

Suburban Foxes

     Survival.  Psychic survival.  That is the point of this blog.  Why suburban survival?  Because this is where I live.  I have not always lived in the suburbs.  I grew up in a small town, and then moved to New York City for a couple of decades - where I became a social worker and psychoanalyst.  A few years ago my urban family moved back to Minnesota. We settled in a lovely suburb because it is close to the city, has great schools, and is free of all the intimacy of a small town.  I will call our suburb Plaid.  Oh, that reminds me, I will be changing names of most of the people I talk about in this blog.   Public figures, however, will retain their names – because that is part of my Suburban Survival Kit.

     A fox sauntered across our front lawn the other morning!  I was staring out the picture window, wrapped in a green chenille bathrobe, and obsessing about the location of the rose bushes that were to go in the no-man’s land by the curb. The dogs, who bark at the slightest movement of a rabbit, squirrel or crow, lolled on the floor waiting for their morning cup of coffee.  I ran to the bedroom to wake my husband, Mel – but by the time he staggered out of bed the fox was gone, and he was threatening to buy a gun (for the fox, not me).  At least this time he believed me.  Over the last couple of years I had tried to impress Mel with my sightings of wild things that could be coyotes or foxes, as well as rumors of deer. Of course the gun seemed extreme, and more dangerous to us than anything else – as neither of us knows how to handle such a device.  The suburbs keep getting wilder and wilder.  Who would have thought?  

     Last week I had taken a photo of the front our late 50’s rambler to the St. Paul Farmer’s Market in search of a rose expert.  I had been informed that he would know exactly what kind of rose would survive the piles of snow, ice and salt that gets thrown on to the lawn each winter.  “Foxy Pavement Roses” was the verdict of the rose expert.  So, I was gazing out the window, dreaming of Foxy Pavement roses, when an actual fox ambled by. 

     And the week before there was an article in the local paper about “human resistant coyotes” which were to be eliminated by animal control.  These are the coyotes that will not be chased off by humans, when they are going after their small dogs in fenced-in back yards. Mel has placed a stickball bat by the back door for just this purpose. 

     Anyway, yesterday I was wailing and gnashing my teeth about Michele Bachman’s poll numbers in Iowa, when my sister-in-law said, “she’s dumb like a fox.”  Again, with the foxes.  But I’m afraid it might be true.  How on earth am I going to survive this election cycle on top of human resistant coyotes, voracious rabbits, and insane weather? 

     Today survival is on the top of my mind because Michele Bachman has officially tossed her tea bag into the ring. 

     So, here’s the 411.  My suburban survival kit as of today: for human resistant coyotes - a stickball bat; for voracious rabbits -yards of chicken wire; for salt and snow – Foxy Pavement Roses i.e. a strong constitution: for politics in general - hair to pull, nails to bite; for Michele Bachman - a sense of humor; for tornados - the basement.