A Fairytale

Edited to add context: This story is the result of an exercise I set myself: to draft a tellable adaptation of a traditional "fairy wife" tale that would be appropriate for my Renaissance Faire character (a prosperous carpenter's wife" to tell. I chose to adapt "The Sky Woman's Basket" because its themes moved me very deeply. That said, I recognize the problematic history of American and European individuals and entities co-opting the culture of a colonized people for their own entertainment. This is not a story I would tell, I think. In performance I would not move the action to England, but remain truer to the original tale. The version I heard can be enjoyed here.

Once in this village there lived a man with a flock of sheep. The yarn spun from their wool was as light and fine as Venetian silk and every day he took them to pasture in the fields with the greenest and sweetest grass. Each year when the time came to shear them, his sheep gave him the finest wool in Derbyshire.

One year, the night before shearing day, the man gathered his sheep and locked them in their pen. He slept that night, dreaming of the fine wool he would gather the next day. When he awoke, he gathered his tools and his helpers and went out to the pen. There he found half the sheep already shorn! “There is a thief in the village,” thought the man. “Tonight I will keep watch and catch whoever it is when they come to finish the job!”

So that night the man locked his sheep in their pen and pretended to go to sleep. While he watched, nine beautiful maidens walked out of the nearby forest, each carrying shears and a basket. The maidens called to the sheep, who came willingingly and lay down for them while the maidens harvested their wool. Then the maidens turned to go back to the forest. The man ran after them crying “Stop! Thieves!” but they faded back into the trees.

He managed to catch up with the last maiden, who had dropped her basket and had to stop. He grabbed her arm as she started to retreat into the forest. “Woman!” he bellowed, “Thou art a thief and must repay me for what thou hast stolen. Stay and work for me for nine months and thy debt shall be paid.” The maiden thought a moment and said “That is fair. I will stay and work for you for nine months.”

Now the day came when the nine months had passed. The man went to the maiden as she kneaded the day’s bread and said, “Thy debt hath been paid, thou mayest leave me this day. But I have grown fond of thee these nine months, and I pray thee, stay and be mine own wife.”

And the maiden thought a moment and said “Thou art a good man, and I too have grown fond of thee. I will stay and be thy wife an thou makest me one promise. Promise me thou shalt ne’er look inside my basket.”

The man looked at the closed basket in the corner where it had sat ignored these many months. He laughed. “I promise thee, silly woman! What care I for baskets?”

So the man and the maiden were married and lived very happily for nine years. She bore him nine children, all tall and beauteous and wise, and their fields and flocks were most prosperous. From time to time, the man would look at the basket whither it sat in the corner and wonder what it contained, but then he would look at his beautiful and clever wife and think “What care I for baskets?”

One day his wife had gone to the market in the village and as he worked throughout the day, his thoughts returned to the basket again and again. What secrets did it hold? What did his wife hide from him? Distrust grew in him like a canker until he could stand it no more. He went inside, threw the lid from the basket, looked inside and saw—nothing.

He laughed at his foolishness, and that of his wife and turned to retrieve the basket’s lid. As he did, he saw his wife standing in the door. “What hast thou done, husband!” she cried. “Silly woman,” the man laughed, “there is nothing in this basket!”

His wife looked him, picked up the lid, and replaced it on the basket. Then she picked it up and walked out the door and back into the forest, never to be seen again. And when the man called to their nine handsome children to come home that night, they too had disappeared.

The man spent the rest of his days searching the forest for his wife and children. His sheep grew thin and dirty, his fields turned to weeds. The men of the village have always said that she left because he dishonored her. A promise is a promise, after all, e’en one made to a woman. And their wives nod their heads in agreement.

But at the well and oven and market stalls, the women tell each other their truth. They say the maiden from the forest left because the man saw nothing but an empty basket.

This story is my adaptation of a traditional story (possibly Zulu) called "The Sky Woman's Basket" as told by master storyteller David Novak. It is inspired by the work of storyteller Janice Del Negro of Dominican University in Illinois, as well as by "The Seal Maiden", "The Crane Wife", "The Tale of Melusine", and other ancient stories of betrayed fairy wives. It also owes a little debt of gratitude to the story "A Jury of Her Peers" by Susan Glaspell.

Reflections on a Gold Bikini

The husband and I watched Fanboys not too long ago. We’d seen a preview for it AGES ago, and kept waiting for it to come out, being Star Wars fans and all.

All in all, it was an entertaining film. A little on the dudely side, but what could I expect from something call Fanboys, right? It was filled with references to them calling their right hands Leia, that kind of stuff.

And then, the one fangirl—the one who is tough and smart and brave and excellent with logistics (because that what the token girl is for—organizing the superfocused boys into some semblance of efficiency—but that’s another rant altogether)—finishes out the movie in Leia’s gold slave girl bikini from Return of the Jedi. And it sort of squicked me out, but I couldn’t really identify why.

We were inspired to watch the original movies again, something we hadn’t done for a long time. I used the opportunity to try to figure out why the fanboy love of the gold bikini sat so poorly with me.

From a feminist perspective, Leia is a great, and pretty unusual, character. She’s a fully developed human being. She has authority and is treated with respect because of it. She has expertise in strategy and is deferred to because of it. She has a romantic relationship, but it isn’t the focus of her character, nor would I even call it her primary relationship in the films.

Throughout most of the films, Leia’s costuming reflects these aspects of her character. She has dignity. She dresses appropriately to the situation. When she’s in battle, she dresses like she’s in battle—the hair is out of the way, the shoes are good for running, the appropriate camouflage and protective gear is present. When she’s acting as a dignitary, her clothes are flattering (well, as flattering as 1970s scifi costuming could be expected to be), but modest, designed to command respect for her and for the office she is filling.

The one time we see Leia in something conventionally sexy, she has had all power stripped from her. Even when she is being held prisoner by Vader in the opening of Episode 4, she retains her rank as princess and ambassador. In Jabba’s “court” she has been literally objectified—reduced to an ornament. Her gold bikini is emblematic of her lack of status and control. She is exposed, vulnerable.

And therein lies the crux of the fanboy lust issue for me. For all that so many of them say they love Leia for her strength, the fantasy focuses on the 10 minutes out of three films when she is forced into submission. The iconic image of sexy Return of the Jedi Leia is one of subjugation and powerlessness. In focusing their desire and fantasy on the gold bikini, the fanboys are identifying not with Han, who loves and desires Leia as a complete and autonomous person, but with Jabba, who sees her as a possession and a decorative object.

A younger friend, a young woman who I think falls more into the Third Wave than I do, has indicated to me that she thinks the gold bikini can be reclaimed from the fanboys and given a feminist spin. It is an idea that intrigues me, but I have my doubts. I’m not sure how to reclaim something that wasn’t ours to begin with. An argument can be made, I suppose, that if women are choosing to put on the costume that it becomes emblematic of the choice to be seen as sexual. I think that this requires removing the costume from its context, though. The gold bikini plays into a very old, traditional frame of female sexuality—powerlessness, vulnerability, and submission.

And while it is true that choice as to how to live one’s life is the basis of feminism, I would argue that not all choices are feminist. The choice to play at submissiveness, to purposefully step into a powerless role, is certainly a valid one that I respect an individual’s right to make. In our current society, however, where female sexuality is still based almost entirely around objectification, I think it’s harder to argue that the choice is a feminist one.

I hope to see the day when I am proven wrong about this. But for now, when a fanboy tells me he loves strong women but has fantasies about the gold bikini that don’t involve Leia strangling Jabba with her slave chain, I keep my guard up. My experience tells me that what he probably means is that he may think he loves strong women, but what he really loves is strong women made helpless. Ask yourself this question: At the end of Return of the Jedi, when the teddy bears are done dancing and the celebrations are over, do you think Leia would have put on the gold bikini for Han’s benefit?

Tribute

My grandmother died this morning, a week short of her 95^th birthday. The last couple of years her health had started to deteriorate and she spent quite a bit of time lately in and out of the hospital. I’ve been prepared for this for a while now, though I feel keenly for my mother and my aunt.

This is how I remember my grandmother:

She was a Southern Baptist who loved to go dancing.

She loved Gospel music,hymns, and Big Band.

When she was a little girl, in the early 1920s, she bullied the barber of her little Arkansas town into cutting her hair in a bob like the big girls had. She told him her grandmother (who raised her) said that he should just do it and stop arguing. Said grandmother was not amused.

During WWII, my grandfather got a job in Oak Ridge working in the lab (I’m not really sure what he was doing exactly). He had told my grandmother to get some new tires from the rationing board to make the drive from Texas to Tennessee. The man at the rationing board refused to give her the tires. When she told him she was going to meet her husband who was working for the government in Oak Ridge, he refused to acknowledge the existence of Oak Ridge. She stood there in front of him with two little girls and argued with him until he gave her the tires.

In the 1950s, she was one of the first women to work in appliance sales in her Sears store. At the time, only men were allowed to sell appliances, as the work was considered too strenuous for a woman. It was also considerably better paid as appliance salesmen earned commission and the ladies selling brassieres did not. She fought her way into appliances and was soon meeting and topping the commissions earned by the men.

In the 1980s when my grandfather died after a long battle with Alzheimer’s Disease, she moved from the town in Idaho where they had retired to Glendale, CA to live with my aunt. My aunt was a long-time employee of the Los Angeles Unified School District--first as a teacher, then as an administrator--and had quite a diverse array of work friends, including at least one gay gentleman. My grandmother, a conservative at heart, seemed to accept this gentleman as a beloved part of my aunt’s life. I don’t know how she felt about him, or how she spoke of him when I wasn’t around, but I never heard her talk about him with anything but respect.

When my husband met my grandmother for the first time, we were sitting in her living room with my mother and my aunt. My mother was chiding my grandmother for being too stubborn. My husband told me later that as he looked from me, to my mother, to my grandmother, he caught a glimpse of who I would be in the future and that it was both intimidating and really cool.

I love you, Grandma. Give Grandpa my love and do a little foxtrot in Heaven.

Willie E. Merry 1914-2009

Sent to President Obama

Dear President Obama,

At a press conference in December 2008, you described yourself as a fierce advocate for gay and lesbian Americans. At the time I was skeptical, having seen little evidence of fierce advocacy, particularly since the comment was in response to criticism of you inviting noted homophobe, misogynist, and religious bigot Rick Warren to speak at your inauguration.

Since that time, I have scoured the news for reports of your fierce advocacy. Here is what I have seen:

· Since April of 2008 your office has pledged to fight to overturn Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. As Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces, you could have issued an executive order restricting enforcement of DADT while working with the Democratic majority in Congress to overturn it. Instead, your administration has issued briefs supporting the policy and has backpedaled on your pledge, claiming that you are too occupied with the economy right now to do anything at all about DADT. Additionally, you made light of the situation at a fundraising dinner in Southern California when you joked that you couldn’t remember what promise the protesters outside were talking about.

· You have, on numerous occasions, expressed your desire to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act. However, when faced with a challenge to DOMA, the Justice Department chose to respond by supporting the law, not just on the legitimate standing issue, but by comparing same-sex marriages to those between an uncle and niece and between an adult and a 16-year old. Language tying the marriage of two consenting, unrelated adults to those that are bordering on incest and pedophilia is what we have come to expect from homophobes, not allies.

· Perhaps in response to criticism of the above stances, your office announced that it will extend fringe benefits to federal employees in same-sex partnerships. However, since DOMA is still in effect, the federal government is barred from extending marriage benefits to same-sex couples. If no benefits will actually be extended, your announcement is an empty gesture.

In short, Mr. President, I have yet to see the promised fierce advocacy. I see political expedience, hollow promises, and appeals to bigotry. While I do not expect instantaneous change in long standing policies, I do expect you to take steps to fulfill the promises that were, after all, the reason I voted for you and not the Green Party ticket.

Until I see that your administration is taking steps to fulfill its promises to the LGBT community, my monetary support will go only to those candidates and organizations that are actively fighting to make substantive changes in the way the federal government treats LGBT citizens. You will receive no contributions. The Democratic Party as a whole will receive no contributions.

Die Already!

A few days ago I was flipping channels and I came upon Joe Solmonese, head of the Human Rights Campaign, and Pat Robertston, Blowhard Extraordinaire, on Hardball. I don’t usually watch Hardball because Chris Matthews gives me a twitch in my right eye. Seriously.

Anyhoo, because it was Joe Solmonese, I stopped. Unfortunately, I had missed what Joe had to say and only caught Robertson waxing rhapsonic on the dangers of “Activist Judges.”

I want the activist judges meme to die. I want it to die a horrible, painful death. I want constitutional scholars to kill it dead.

I want the next person on Hardball with Pat Robertson to stop him when he starts talking about the activist judges and say the following:

“You know Pat, I’d like to clear something up for the viewers out there. When people talk about 'activist judges' not having the right to overturn legislation passed by either a legislature or by a majority of a state’s citizens, what they’re really doing is challenging the concept of judicial review. Let’s look at that for a minute.

Judicial review, the power of the courts to review legislation and determine its constitutionality, was established in 1803 by the US Supreme Court in Marbury v. Madison. It has since been written into numerous state constitutions as not just a power of the court, but a constitutional mandate.

If you want to challenge judicial review, that’s fine. You can do that. But people need to recognize that 1) you are challenging 206 years of American jurisprudence and that includes cases that were decided in a way you like 2) the ability to challenge the constitutionality of judicial review is established by the same case you would be arguing was decided wrongly. How’s that workin’ out?”

Then I want every supposedly reputable talk-show host and moderator to accept the power of judicial review as a given. Whenever Pat Robertson or one of his ilk starts spouting off about activist judges, I want Chris Matthews to say “Pat, as you know judicial review has been the law of the land in this country for over 200 years and we’re not here to debate the relative merits of that. Please stay on topic.”

I want the standard for television news programs to be “If you don’t have any arguments other than ‘Activist Judges’ you’re not ready for prime time. Please come back when you can formulate an argument based on facts and current American jurisprudence.”

Here’s the thing. I detest just about every position held by Antonin Scalia. I think his interpretation of constitutional doctrine is completely backward. As far as I can tell, just about every decision he’s ever written as a Supreme Court justice has been flat out wrong. I think he’s out of touch with reality. I think his Catholicism influences his decisions more than he thinks it does. I think he’s mean-spirited.

But I would never in a million years suggest that he doesn’t have the power to make a decision just because I disagree with his stance. Because that’s not the way our Constitution is set up.

I want that meme dead.

It all starts at Toys R Us

The Husband and I were in our local Toys R Us about a week ago looking for kite string. Oh Joy.

I find shopping at Toys R Us to be a soul-crushing experience at the best of times. It's funny, I don't remember the store being so gendered when I was growing up. I remember the toys themselves being gendered--the picture on the front of the Battle Ship box showed the dad and the brother playing the game while mom and daughter were shown behind them in the kitchen washing dishes. But I remember Toys R Us having a "girl" section where all the Barbie and My Little Pony stuff lived, a "boy" section with the robots, cars, etc., and then all the games, sporting equipment and that kind of stuff had their own home.

Not anymore, at least not where I live. The games and sports equipment are all in the "boy" section. Except for these:

Yes, that really is a pink Monopoly game. They also have pink Scrabble and, my hand to God, a pink Ouija Board. All marketed on a pink, flowery endcap with signage about sleepover night fun.

Seeing these sent me over the edge and the Husband had to get me out of Toys R Us as quickly as was humanly possible. Pink Ouija Boards? Seriously? You know who uses Ouija Boards? Twelve-year-old girls at sleepovers. The same ones who freak themselves out trying to hypnotize each other and playing "Bloody Mary" and "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board." I swear to whatever deity is out there listening that the day twelve-year-old girls need their Ouija Boards to be pink is the day the world comes to an end.

Is there really an epidemic of girls not playing board games because they're not feminine enough? If so, I don't suppose it could possibly have anything to do with the fact that in the store, the regular board games are now surrounded by toys that are heavily gendered "male". This is where it starts, people--the social conditioning that hurts us all and makes us all incomplete. It starts with playhouses that teach kids that vacuuming and washing dishes are fun, but are pointedly marketed only at little girls by nature of their lovely pink plasticy goodness. It starts with Scrabble being buried between GI Joe and the Transformers on the opposite side of the store from Barbie. It starts with our children's entertainment.

It starts with Toys R Us.

ETA: I realize the pink games have been out for a while. But seeing them all together on an end cap next to the Barbies when the regular versions were all the way across the store with the Tonka Trucks was a huge slap in the face.

Jesus Wept

I have found myself distracted all week by this story out of Brazil. A nine-year-old girl was discovered to be pregnant with twins when she was taken to the hospital for severe stomach pains. The rapist who fathered those twins? The girls 23-year-old step-father who has been raping the child since she was six.

Her doctors determined that she was too small, and her uterus was too undeveloped for her to carry the fetuses to term without her dying in the process. Between that and the fact that she was raped by her step-father, she definitely fell into Brazil's narrow exceptions for legal abortion. So her mother and doctor arranged one.

The Roman Catholic Church, by way of Archbishop Jose Cardoso Sobrinho, excommunicated the mother and doctor.

That is bad enough,but that's not what has gnawed at me for a week.

What haunts me is this quote:

"God's law is above any human law. So when a human law ... is contrary to God's law, this human law has no value," Cardoso said Thursday.

He also said the accused stepfather would not be expelled from the Church.

Although the man allegedly committed "a heinous crime ... the abortion — the elimination of an innocent life — was more serious," he said.

Just chew on that for a second. I'll wait.

It gets even worse when you read what comes next in the article:

(Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, head of the Roman Catholic Church's Congregation for Bishops) agreed, saying, "Excommunication for those who carried out the abortion is just," as a pregnancy termination always meant ending an innocent life.

Need another minute to mull that one over? Go right ahead.

Yes, you read it right. Vatican officials came right out and said that while raping a six-year-old child for three years is bad, procuring a medical procedure that will preserve that child's life is worse. Not only worse, but, at least for the mother, potentially unforgiveable.

Procuring an abortion results in automatic excommunication. The excommunicated is usually able to return to a state of communion with the Church is he or she admits the action was wrong, undergoes appropriate penance and makes amends as far as is possible. In this case, the girl's mother would have to admit that saving her daughter's life was wrong.

Could you do that? Could you say "Father, I recognize now that by listening to my child's doctor and procuring a procedure that would save her life, I was wrong."

I couldn't. And I would question any parent who said they could, and mean it. The Church has essentially placed this woman in the untenable position of having to choose between saving her daughter and saving her soul.

There are actions that are unforgivable by human society. I acknowledge this. Hell, I even agree with it. And, since the Church is a human institution, however divinely inspired, I don't really even have a problem with some actions being unforgivable by the Church. But chew on this:

The Church claims that God is omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent. If this is true, how can He be bound by the rules of men? Is the Church's view of God really so small? Is it possible that an omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent being would, when faced with this mother, this girl, this doctor, say anything to them other than "You did the best you could under untenable circumstances. You are forgiven and beautiful to my sight"?

The Church's view of God is petty. They are more interested in maintaining their own power and privilege than they are in leading their flocks in compassion and grace. Their actions damage the Church and its unity by failing to take into consideration all we have learned about human nature since the Church's founding. They divide the faithful when they protect those who use place of position and power to hurt those they should cherish. By their own rules, every single official who was part of this travesty, or complicit in the covering up of the rapes of hundreds of children by priests, should be automatically excommunicated for causing unhealable breaches in the fabric of the Church.

And somewhere, Jesus is weeping.

A Life in Six Words

There is an event at Books, Inc. in San Francisco tonight that I would love to attend, but probably won't because I'm just too darned tired. Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, compilers and editors of the book Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure and Six-Word Memoirs on Love and Heartbreak: By Writers Famous and Obscure will be reading some selections from their books and encouraging audience members to share their own six-word memoirs.

In the spirit of participation, here is mine: There's always something to fight for.

Or possibly: I eat M&Ms in rainbow order.

Anyone out there should feel free to share theirs in comments.

Happy Friday.

Turnabout is Fair Play

So I've seen article after article analyzing the First Lady's choice of gown for the Inaugural balls. What I haven't seen is anyone write anything about the new President's choice of garb.

I have two words for you. Faux. Pas.

Now maybe I'm just old fashioned and out of it (always a possibility), and every god up there knows I'm no fashion plate, but last time I looked, white tie is as formal as evening dress gets. That means you wear it with tails. Period. If you are going with less formal evening dress, you wear black tie. There is no mixing. So will someone please tell why President Obama is wearing a dinner jacket with white tie?

See photo here.

Humph.

Things that make me happy

A Secretary of State who recognizes that the "Human" in human rights includes women and children:



Please do your best to ignore Chris Matthews, who is annoying, and Michelle Bernard who usually is annoying, but not as much here, although I'm not sure what the heck she's talking about when she mentions a shift in left-of-center feminism.

Blog for Choice: Happy Birthday to Me

Roe v. Wade and I are the same age. Seriously. As the U.S. Supreme Court was handing down the decision, my mother was giving birth to me at Columbia University Medical Center.

It’s interesting because my original due date was January 4, in a time before obstetricians decided that induced labor and caesarian sections were preferable to letting a pregnant woman’s body decide when the baby was done cooking. Were I a believer in signs, I might think it meant something that I, a feminist and activist at heart, entered the world 2 ½ weeks late on the same day as one of the most important and embattled reproductive rights cases in history.

I remember the moment I recognized the significance. I was a freshman in high school, and my public speaking class was working on debates of controversial topics. My topic was abortion. I don’t remember which side I was assigned. I don’t remember who my partner was, or even if that partner was a boy or a girl. I remember this: As we sat in the library doing research, my classmate said “Hey, you were born the same day Roe v. Wade came out. Lucky for you it didn’t come out any earlier.”

I don’t think my classmate meant to be cruel. I think he or she was simple a thoughtless 14 year-old making a bad joke. I also knew that I was a planned baby—my mother and I had talked about birth control and how she decided to have children after 10 years of marriage. But at that moment, all I could think was how horrible it would be to know you only exist because your mother was legally obligated to have you. I made my decision about abortion and where I stand in that instant.

My parents married when my mother was 20, under pressure from her mother. My grandmother discovered my mother was using birth control. To my grandmother, a Southern Baptist woman born in Arkansas in 1914, using birth control during pre-marital sex was worse than getting pregnant. Birth control meant you had planned to sin, after all. I suspect they would have married eventually, though probably not before my mother had finished college. Though they are still happily married 46 years later, I know the statistics. Had they had children when they first married, it is not unlikely that they would have divorced. That they have had a wonderful partnership for nearly half a century is thanks in part to my mother being able to control her fertility.

If I am a well adjusted adult who grew up secure in knowledge that I was loved and wanted, it is thanks in part to my mother having access to birth control and the training in how to use it.

More than 20 years after my abortion epiphany, my understanding of reproductive rights is more sophisticated than that of the girl I was then. Legal training has helped me realize that Roe v. Wade, while important, is also a deeply flawed decision, cobbled together from concurring opinions and overly reliant on outdated technology and medical knowledge. Awareness of reproductive rights issues has helped me recognize that a constitutional right to a medical procedure means nothing if one has no practical access to that procedure, and that prevention of a pregnancy is just as important as the ability to terminate one.

According to the Guttmacher Institute, in 2005 there were only 1,787 abortion providers in the United States. To put that in perspective, a health insurance industry report estimates 50,059 active OB/GYNs in the U.S. Eighty-seven percent of U.S. counties do NOT have an abortion provider, and 35% of U.S. women live in those counties.

Thirty-five percent of public school sex education programs teach abstinence as the only form of pregnancy and disease prevention. Teachers are prohibited from discussing contraception, or may only discuss it in terms of ineffectiveness (Guttmacher)

I had the benefit of growing up the child of educated, well-off, forward thinking parents in an educated, well-off, forward thinking part of the country. I received complete, accurate information regarding contraception in school. My mother encouraged me to talk to my boyfriends about sex and birth control and to take control of my own medical care. As a result, I felt confident when the time came to make a decision regarding contraception.

Had I grown up in a different family, a different time, a different place, would I have been able to make those decisions? Would I be happily married to a wonderful partner? Would I have completed college and later law school? Would I have been able to follow the dreams I dreamed when I was 14?

If I am a successful, productive member of society, it is due undoubtedly in part to my ability to control my fertility.

If I am a happy, active participant in my life and the lives of those I love, it is surely because I have access to contraception and the training to use it.

Mr. President and Democratic members of Congress, the only gift I ask of you on this, my 36^th birthday, is that you take a stand for women. Most of you were elected as pro-choice candidates, and the time has come for you to prove it.

Make it clear to medical and pharmacy personnel that they either provide women with the legal contraception they require or find another line of work.

Get rid of abstinence-only education requirements and give girls (and boys!) complete and accurate information regarding their reproductive choices and health.

Provide incentives for doctors who learn to perform abortions and offer their services in counties that currently have no abortion provider.

Admit that thanks to Democrats inability or unwillingness to stand up to the forced-birth advocates on state and local fronts, Roe v. Wade is not the towering pinnacle of reproductive choice it once was and stop using it as a stick to beat women with at election time.

And while you're at it, you might look into providing the national healthcare and paid family leave that will bring us in line with the free world we're supposed to be leading and make keeping an unplanned baby a more viable option.

And most of all, trust that, given complete and accurate information, women will make the best decisions for themselves and their families that they can, regardless of whether you would make that same decision.

Trust women. That’s all I want.

Happy birthday to me.

An Inauguration Question

Would it have killed them to have one of the prayers done by a Rabbi?