Seattle has hosted a couple of foreign captains of the false peace industry this week, and now I see that Lani Guinier is coming to town. At least the Sonics are probably leaving.
Cancer is trivial compared with untreated menopause. Some female trial lawyers sued Wyeth last year on behalf of clients who developed breast cancer and blamed Prempro. I’m still annoyed. Did it ever occur to them that Prempro gave them a desire to live? It must have, because despite all dutiful warnings, the women took the drug. When they won their windfall, one of their lawyers exclaimed to her clients before the court, “You so deserve this!” They deserve untreated menopause.
Milestones. My mother-in-law celebrates 50 years of motherhood and her 75th birthday this year. She’s been good at motherhood and good at life. She’s phenomenal.
I received an invitation to a baby shower requesting that everyone in attendance bring a photo of herself as a baby. No photos of me before the age of three exist. I was born well into the Kodak era, but my father evidently waited a couple of years to buy his Brownie Hawkeye. My parents probably had the same thought then that I have now, that all babies look alike anyway. But they can be accessorized into distinctiveness with colorful caps and things, so I need to get busy. . . .
My spirit of adventure has kicked the quelch. I am charging camera batteries and packing the tripod for our imminent trip to what Puget Sounders call the Outer Coast. We are heading out in Grunhilde’s heated seats to enjoy the unseasonably cold temperatures and thunderstorms at Westport. Everyone please welcome Al Gore to the planet.