Last night, I had to write a paper with my response to a class film on abortion, as well as an assigned article. The movie was made in the 70's, but it followed a woman in each of five countries. In each country, the laws restricted access to legal abortions. In some cases, there were no exceptions made for women if the pregnancy was the product of rape or incest. It was heartbreaking to watch each girl go through difficult channels in order to obtain an abortion. In England, a young woman had to travel from Dublin to London to have her abortion performed because at the time Ireland banned all abortions, no exceptions allowed. I watched scenes of women in Japan endure thier pain in silence because while abortion was accessible, it was considered a shame the women had to bear alone. In Peru, there was a section of a hospital where women went to die from their botched back-alley abortions. It was a miserable scene. Because the women fear prosecution for their abortions, they wait to go to the hospital until it is too late to get help.
Currently, El Salvador, Columbia and Nicaragua criminalize abortion. In El Salvador, a woman can recieve up to 30 years in prison if her abortion was found to be a late term procedure. The person who performed the abortion, as well as anyone who helped the woman attain the abortion, are also subject to criminal prosecution. Naturally, this has not effected the number of abortions. The amount of women who are seen for suspicious vaginal bleeding nearly equal those women who came for help before the total ban. This is not a successful detterent.
When are pro-life organizations going to understand that they cannot regulate others' lives?

For the last hour, I have been alternately staring at my blank blog entry screen and watching American Idol. Then it dawned on me that I should write about this strange television phenomenon. I say strange because, while watching it, I am entertained. Afterword, I realize very quickly that I have just wasted an hour of my life on a bit of television rubbish. The judges have annoyed me, or in Paula Abdul's case, has made me feel embarrassed. Also, I know that if I heard the performances on the radio, I would change the station to stop the assault on my already failing eardrums. So what is it that draws me to this show? The only reason I can think of is that it is the television equivalent of watching a train wreck. You know it will be a disaster, but you cannot avert your eyes. I anticipate the inevitable vocal crack when the singer tries to reach a note that they were not meant to sing. I anticipate Paula Abdul's nutty remarks and gestures. I also anticipate Simon Cowell's blunt criticisms of the poor schmuck who provoked them. These anticipations would suggest that I enjoy watching the failures of others, but there is one other thing I look forward to seeing. Once in a rare while, a singer happens to choose the exact song that applies to their level of talent, and they turn in a remarkable, memorable performance. That somehow seems to make the waste of time worthwhile.

Viva Alaska!

In about a month, I will embark on my third cruise vacation. Also for the third time, it was not my idea. My other half of 14 years, Barry, loves cruises ever since he took his first trip to celebrate his 8th grade graduation. I think what he loves most is all the food that is available for consumption. He loves food. He loves to eat it, think about it and carry on lengthy monologues about it. Naturally, he remains slim despite this minor obsession. This year's cruise is to celebrate another 8th grade graduation, that of his nephew. I am hoping that this cruise is more of a success than my last two trips on the open seas.
My first cruise was not really that bad. Our travel companions included his parents, sister and nephew, and we were to travel along the Mexican Riviera on a Carnival Cruises ship. The morning we were to board, Barry's father, Curt, checked online to see that the ship was leaving on time. As we stood in line to check-in before boarding, Curt noticed that the couple in front of us was a bit upset while looking at a sheet of paper. When he asked if everything was OK, the couple showed us the flier that announced the cruise was being diverted to Canada. They had been handed the flier from a man that was randomly dispersing them. If the couple had not gotten the flier, none of us would have known until we were on board and already sailing. There was no official announcement made to the hundreds of people waiting to board. The new destination was not even disclosed when we went through processing. Some people did not know until dinner that night that plans had changed. The bummer was that there were people that had flown in from Canada to take this vacation. Many of the Canadians disembarked when we arrived at our new ports, Victoria and Vancouver. I actually did not mind going to Canada. In fact I preferred it to Mexico. I had never been there before and had never desired to go. So in a way, the destination change was a good thing. Our group really enjoyed the cities that we visited even though Barry's parents had traveled there before.
Barry and I took another Mexican Riviera cruise with Carnival the following year. Barry was intent on visiting Mexico again as he really likes the country and thought that I would too. Our port stops included Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlan and Cabo San Lucas. Despite our successfully getting there, the trip was a disaster for me. While I enjoyed Mexico more than I expected, there were some incidences. First, while in Puerto Vallarta, we took an excursion to a private island known for its beautiful beach. I am not an ocean swimmer. I prefer pools where there are no animals larger than me, hunting for their next hearty meal. However, the water was so warm and beautiful that I finally took the plunge. It was great until my arm brushed some seaweed. Unfortunately, floating in the seaweed was a jellyfish and I got my arm tangled in its tentacles. For those who have never been stung by a jellyfish, I do not recommend it. It is quite painful. Needless to say, I stayed out of the water for the rest of the time, boiling in a temperature exceeding a hundred degrees. I looked forward to a more successful visit to Mazatlan.
My boyfriend and I had booked an excursion that included lunch on a beach, and a horseback ride. This was the excursion I most looked forward to because I love horses and had not rode one since I was a kid. Everything was great, again, until I got off the horse. The man holding the reigns just stood and watched as one foot landed on the side of a big hole in the ground and my other foot remained stuck in the saddle. I have never broke or even sprained anything before, but I suspected the loud crack that came from my ankle was not a healthy thing. Barry and I had to be driven back early to the ship where a very German nurse enthusiastically informed me that my ankle was sprained, possibly fractured, and there was nothing she could do about it. She did offer up some crutches which was nice. Especially for a very uncoordinated girl like myself.
The beach trip was not a total waste. We were able to eat our lunch before the horseback ride. I enjoyed a very tasty fish dish with a side of salmonella poisoning. Now, while my particular strain of salmonella encourages one to prey for death, I was able to lose 15 pounds in less than two weeks and you just can't beat those results with any standard diet. Needless to say, I was not fit to visit Cabo, much to my boyfriend's disappointment.
This year, Barry and his family hoped to visit Mexico again, and this time, on the Royal Caribbean Cruise line which is much nicer than Carnival. I reluctantly agreed to go along. Just as I was beginning to look forward to the trip, Royal Caribbean cancelled our booking due to the swine flu. So, Barry's parents decided that we would take another route to Alaska, a trip that they had taken and enjoyed before. I have to say, I am much more excited about this than I was about Mexico. I was beginning to think that I was going to be, inevitably, eaten by a shark. I am pretty sure that that will not happen in Alaska.
I cannot tell you how happy I am about this new change in plans. Thank the gods for the swine flu!

Shiloh

Last night, while reading The Economist, I came across an article that made me smile. It was about dachshund races in various parts of the country. I have seen a dachshund race on television and, no worries, they are not at all like those horrible greyhound races. They are usually small family events and are just meant for fun, as evidenced by the dogs themselves. It is not unusual for some of the dogs to simply wander about when the starting announcement is made, making for a hilarious spectacle. However, some of them do tear down the lawn like their tails are on fire and the author was right when he wrote that "A wiener dog at full throttle, flying down the lane with his ears inside out and tongue flapping, is a sight worth seeing."
This article made me think of my own dachshund, Shiloh. Well, she wasn't just mine, she was the family dog, but since she was the only family member I liked, I thought of her as mine alone. Actually, "like" is the wrong word. I worshipped that dog. First, she was the prettiest little dog I had ever seen. She was supposed to be a miniature short-haired but she grew to become what I would call a mid-sized compact. She was quite a character. She enjoyed a run herself and she would participate in her own single-participant races along the backyard fence. Fortunately, my parents have a very large yard, so she had a good track to work with. At some point in her life, she had determined that birds were a threat to the family and she often stood guard on the deck, ready to scare away the enemy. If you yelled at her for making such an unnecessary ruckus, she would give you a very indignant look, as though she was informing you of what an ungrateful creature you were. Then she would flip over to sun her belly. Also, she liked to clean us. Of course, my family and I shower regularly, but it seemed we were never clean enough for her. At every opportunity, she would pick a face or a limb to endlessly lick. In my case, she inexplicably found my forearms and feet to be an offense to her delicate sensibilities, and she personally saw to it that they became fit for polite company, i.e., her.
She adored my father, but judged every other man to be some sort of deviant. When I would walk her, I would have to remind her to "be social" whenever we passed a human male. Curiously, she understood that command, and would then just eye them suspiciously. It's probably a good thing that our mail person was a woman.
She snored like a sailor and I adored her. She was put to sleep in September, 2005, when the vet found that she had a tumor that could not be removed. My chest hurt for more than nine months. Up to that point, I had not yet experienced the loss of someone, or something, I loved. Even though Shiloh was just a funny little dog, I still miss her today. I truly hope I never have to feel that pain again.