Don’t Fear the Chicken!
A small but expanding group of Lawrence residents are taking the next step in growing our own food: we're raising chickens. Specifically, hens. And now the city is considering banning the practice.[In a May 5 memo][1], City Staff Attorney Scott J. Miller requested a change to the Lawrence city ordinance, which does not currently prohibit chickens within the city limits. (It does not specifically allow them, either, thus creating a legal gray area.) The memo cites concerns voiced by Midge Grinstead, director of the Lawrence Humane Society, and Gail R. Hansen, State epidemiologist and public health veterinarian, regarding the possibility of zoonotic diseases that can be transmitted from animals to humans.Hansen's letter directly mentions salmonella infection. According to the CDC, most cases of salmonella poisoning transmitted from live chickens are from a baby chick to a child under 5. Careful parental supervision followed by responsible hand washing prevents the vast majority of these cases (which are not common to begin with). Same goes for campylobacter, another pathogen found in chickens.In contrast, dogs are host to a bevy of transmissible diseases and parasites: campylobacter, leptospira, tapeworm, hookworm, ringworm, and roundworm. Ticks on dogs can carry lyme disease. The CDC lists the same precautions when living with dogs: wash your hands well and often. Yet dogs are not being considered in this ban.It's apparent the real issue is that urban chicken rearing is, well, weird. Fortunately, the sustainable food movement is buttressing a resurgence in urban chickens. In an age when salmonella poisoning is more common in conventionally raised chicken-where the disease can take over a flock like wildfire-being responsible for your own food sources is gaining popularity. In addition to the more humane treatment of family-owned chickens, their eggs pack more nutrition than those that come from the mega-chicken compounds: two times as much vitamin E, two to six times more beta carotene, four times more omega-3 fatty acids, and half the cholesterol.Many city governments are noticing this trend and are taking strides to protect residents' rights to raise their own chickens within the city limits. The keeping of hens as pets and for eggs is allowed in Topeka, Kansas City, Madison, and Portland. Even the nation's largest cities, like San Francisco, New York City, Seattle, and Houston, have ordinances specifically protecting the rights of chicken owners.In general, urban chickens are well cared for and treated with the same respect and affection as other household pets. Many responsible Lawrence chicken owners welcome a new ordinance that protects the humane treatment of chickens within the city. It is now our job to educate the current members of the City Commission regarding the health benefits and safety of keeping chickens in Lawrence.The [Chad Lawhorn Lawrence Journal-World story][2] on this subject spawned MANY comments from locals. Find all these comments and post your own at: [http://lawrence.com/chickens][3]. [1]: http://www.ci.lawrence.ks.us/web_based_agendas/2008/05-20-08/05-20-08h/fai_cover_memo_ordinance_8214_domestic_fowl.html [2]: http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2008/may... [3]: http://lawrence.com/chickens
and 5 others
I Heart Roundabouts
A graceful dip to the right, then a long and fluid swerve around to the left, and there I am: Barker Avenue.So much nicer than Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Internal Doubt: Was I here first? Should I just go? Mexican Standoff! Asshole! Ah, Barker Avenue...Roundabouts are so vilified, so much more demonized than the horrors of public transportation, it's as if traffic engineers were butchering babies in the center of these lovely constructs. "Roundabouts confuse me. They are the beginning of the End!" the haters wail. "Surely rape and pillage are nigh!"I love roundabouts because they force drivers to be engaged. I miss driving in the big city, where it's sometimes defensive, often offensive, and always requires full participation. It's odd and terrifically boring to me how passive driving in Lawrence is. Roundabouts require a wee bit of strategy and planning, and passengers always make comments about them, which in turn spark conversation. Traffic lights are so Pavlovian. Roundabouts keep us in the moment.As a big believer in city planning on a grid-no infuriating cul-de-sacs-roundabouts provide nice, softening circles among all of the sharp corners, yet still retain structure and precision. I like to think of roundabouts from an aerial viewpoint: a crude but graceful ballet of steel combining people from all walks of life. Imagine.Nostalgia plays its hand in this, too. I spent a few years of my childhood in Europe, where roundabouts are a city norm. One evening in Paris was spent with our bus lodged in a multi-lane roundabout while soccer fans whipped around and around waving flags and woo-hooing their Franco hearts out. That's right, I said multi-lane roundabout. Evil! But also damn fun.Ultimately, however, I must admit that my favorite aspect of the Age of the Roundabout is the visceral reaction it has elicited from my fellow citizens. Just when the boondoggle screeching over the "T" quieted down and I was left with the daily dirge of anti-war letters to the editor, a new crop of geriatric reactionaries have risen up in defiance against the stupidity of traffic-calming devices. The roundabout is their focus, and God bless 'em, their missives may work on me yet. This afternoon I do intend to check my Revelations again; perhaps the Four Horsemen are expected to emerge from a roundabout, and here I have been, a fool happily doodling my family around these little portals to Hell.
Oprah Winfrey Wants Your Sex
I hate Oprah Winfrey. I just do-always have. I softened a bit with her book club, but when Jonathan Franzen refused, in his whistledick way, to bow to her throne of literary taste, she reacted like such a petulant child that my hatred went full-throttle again. Her body obsession! Her God complex! Her disdain for the masses! Her boring, boring life! Why suburban moms latch onto this somnolent You Go Girl is beyond me, but it does add to my sport of Oprah-hating. Why so many tears, ladies? Why do you think she can help you? She's an idiot treadmill runner who wears too much makeup. She thinks hanging out with Maya Angelou is fun. Yet like the Queen of TV herself, I'm a busy gal, and I've let my pastime of yelling at Oprah go by the wayside. Lucky for me, last week I tuned in to actually encounter a woman more despicable than Dame O herself: Ayelet Waldman.This darling sex kitty (er, I mean chubby, overdone mystery writer) evidently is Oprah's newest tool in her latest campaign to make suburban moms hate themselves. It turns out that Oprah is concerned that none of us mothers are having enough sex with our husbands. Mom is just so passionately involved with her kids that by the end of the day she's too tapped out for nookie with dad. Dad, the poor soul, must console himself with an affair, which ruins the marriage, and there you have it: the old lady and the kids bringing everyone down.Fortunately, Ayelet and Mr. Ayelet are having loads of sex, and she's here with the secret: She loves her husband more than her kids. Yes. She loves her husband MORE than her kids. (This is in writing, [check it out][1].)Ayelet went on to explain that she could live on if one of her kids died. Sure, she would be sad, but you know, thems the breaks. She could not, however, live without her husband. Seriously. She has that in writing, too. (Oprah, meanwhile, sits and nods approvingly.)Holy sumbitch, is this woman on crack?It must be easy to live in a world as simple and linear as Ayelet's. No shades of gray, no variations in type. Life for her is one steady continuum: must love the big one more, he makes more money. Place the little ones in a line along the yardstick of my love. Simple. Worried I was missing something, I checked in with Mr. Eastside. (Communication! Oprah benevolently smiles upon us.) Sure enough, he was as shocked and disgusted as I was.The thing is, my husband and I realize the point we are in our lives. The love I have for my husband is quite different than the love I have for my kids. Right now I have to love my kids with more immediacy because they are very young, and they need me. It is also clear to me that my husband's love for them is more raw, more intense right now, than his love for me. It does not mean he doesn't love me anymore, or that I'm a consolation prize. Interestingly, this love I see he has for them feeds mine for him: If the kids and I are in a burning building, I know he would save them first. He should. They are our children. (This protection of our brood, by the way, is quite attractive.)Yes, I know the divorce rate statistics, and I'm not so arrogant to think we aren't at risk. These statistics cannot, however, scare me into piling on the makeup and declaring on national television that there is limited room in my heart, and that the kids are losing out. Even if it would give me a prime opportunity to kick Oprah right in the shin.Instead, I feel compelled to implore women across the country to reject Oprah and her minions. Everything will be okay. There's more to life (and love) than losing weight and having sex. But then my selfish side flares up: if we reject Oprah, she will go away, and then I'd be left with my hatred of Katie Couric, which isn't nearly as much fun. [1]: http://www2.oprah.com/tows/booksseen/200504/tows_book_20050420_kmose_b.jhtml
The Center of Everything: Discussion
To me, The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty is both a coming-of-age story and a character study. I found Evelyn, Tina, and Eileen to be rich, very real characters whose actions convincingly revealed who they were. My favorite character was, surprisingly, Tina. Maybe I related to her because she's a mother like me, but I also felt she grew the most. Really, the story is a coming-of-age for both Evelyn and Tina. They each triumph over their predicament and grow into self-actualized women. Evelyn must overcome her situation as a poor but gifted kid in a small town, and Tina must overcome the poor choices she's made once Samuel is born. She learns sacrifice and comes out as a loving, committed mother, which is not what I expected in the beginning of the novel.I also have a few scenes I'd like to gab about, but I'll stop for now to let you post initial comments. What did you think of the book?
Discreet
Interesting, this death of the breastfeeding bill, considering all of the fat, hairy man teets on display today.
Parades and Murder Convictions
Here are a couple of things I'd like to get off my chest, admittedly in a surlier than usual mood of self-righteousness.When It Comes to Parades, Stick to the Classics: Yesterday's St. Patrick's Day parade was a decent enough way to burn some daylight: the bagpipers, the wheelie lawnmowers, and the Sandbar float rocked it. But some of us have to admit that it was, well, a bit of a snoozer overall. My revelry was impeded, admittedly, by my sober state, but I would like to make a couple of suggestions to the town's parade organizers: marching bands and Shriners. Also, if you are walking down the street handing out candy, thank you. But if you approach a group of six kids, don't hand one piece to one kid and walk on, leaving us with one gloater and five pissed-off whiners. Share the love or keep walking. Free candy is an all-or-nothing enterprise.Drop the Pillow and Call Me Instead: The town's recent trend in offing one's irritating wife rather than divorcing her is bizarre. There are worse things than paying a lawyer to legally block your ex from taking your daughter to California or being unable to serve on the board of some prissy private school no one has ever heard of, and that is spending the rest of your life being Bubba's bitch in prison, not to mention the agony of seeing your grown children fighting your parole in 25 years. Husbands would benefit from a little critical thinking prior to wrecking numerous lives. I'd also like to point out to Lawrence's divorce lawyers that there seems to be an untapped market out there: "Husbands: You Don't Have to Off Her!" Okay, I'm no good at catchy ad copy, but my point is that a little effective advertising could help ease our current stupid frantic men/prison overcrowding problem.
Burning Out. I. Gee, I’ve Got It All!
Last week I was chatting with my former employer about a new job opening. This was to be a lesson in humility: I secretly expected his reaction to be, "You want to come back? Wait right here while I roll out the red carpet!" We did, after all, work tremendously well together, and he generously gushes recommendations on my behalf.Instead of the kissy fest I prepped for, however, I was met with a reserved, "Leslie, did you ever get your Master's?" No, I haven't. Yet. Been meaning to, but, well. A brief and awkward silence followed, one that implied that I've wasted my talent. I've become lazy.I wanted to defend, to throw the nutshell at him: I've been birthing children, diapering them, organizing healthy meals, grappling with principles regarding daycare and Disney and McDonald's, wrestling with the existence of God, worrying about asthma rates and my family history of diabetes, reading and writing and painting and going to the park and studying Suzuki piano techniques. Maintaining a publishing career, courting clients, learning style sheets and coding systems, balancing meetings and telephone calls and taxes and deadlines. Losing baby weight, walking the dog, trying to drink more water, keeping up with friends, maintaining a sense of self. Noticing my husband, the love of my life, and occasionally waving to him over the river of obligation that rushes and swirls between us. Sleeping an average 5-6 hours per night for the last 5 years.I didn't say any of this, though. Instead: "Oh, you know. Been busy." I hung up the phone feeling very tiny and stupid. A complete and total loser. I knew I was in trouble before this, however. Last summer I bought a postcard of a perfect 1950s-era woman standing in her kitchen with a hand towel. The text reads, "a career...a family to care for...gee! I've got it all!" I laughed really, really hard at this. It's me she's picking on.I found myself wishing my little family unit did indeed live in the 1950s; June Cleaver may have craved liberation from her boned girdles, but she had the whole damn day to keep her house tidy. No one expected her to write a thesis or restructure the tax code. Her life, in my distorted and burned-out view, had been _easy._Like thousands of other go-getters, I approached motherhood with the I-can-do-it-all concept minus the sarcasm. I wanted to stay home, but I also wanted to maintain my viability in my career field. I tried to do both. As I was learning the parenting ropes, I was also hustling for clients and contacts and networking. I wasn't setting boundaries, and I was sacrificing the basics: sleep, proper meals, and lazy afternoons with my family. I never said no to a client because I wanted to matter; I wanted a rock-solid reputation that wasn't marred by the negative SAHM stereotypes.The result is that I do have it all. I have everything I wanted in life, give or take a few inconsequential details. This is nothing to spit at. I am, however, beat to hell. I've come to realize that when you have it all, you also need time and space available to appreciate it all, and to be grateful for it. I don't know what the answers are. I swing back and forth with questions instead: What happened to the feminist fight for the regular jane? Why is the economic climate such that most mothers need to work? Why is it that women, rather than both women and men, are crippled with guilt when the kids-and-career subject arises?Like I said, I don't have the answers. In the meantime, I'm trying to develop the fine art of saying no. Maybe sometime soon this will free up an afternoon so I can engage in one of life's true pleasures: opening a beer and watching the grass grow.
EBS Book Club: The Center of Everything
The next EBS Book Club selection hits close to home: The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty.And this rocks: The author has graciously agreed to participate in the online discussion. From the book jacket:"In Laura Moriarty's extraordinary first novel, a young girl tries to make sense of an unruly world spinning around her. Growing up with a single mother who is chronically out of work and dating a married man, 10-year old Evelyn Bucknow learns early how to fend for herself. ![][1]"Offering an affecting portrayal of a troubled mother/daughter relationship, one in which the daughter is very often expected to play the role of the adult, the novel also gives readers a searing rendering of the claustrophobia of small town midwestern life, as seen through the eyes of a teenage girl. Evelyn must come to terms with the heartbreaking lesson of first love-that not all loves are meant to be-and determine who she is and who she wants to be. Stuck in the middle of Kansas, between best friends, and in the midst of her mother's love, Evelyn finds herself . . . in The Center of Everything."Online discussion begins April 11. ((There will also be a real-life meeting to discuss the book sometime near then, perhaps at the Replay or other beverage-selling establishment. Watch for details!))As of February 27, the Lawrence Public Library had three copies, all of which are checked out, so reserve it ASAP. The Topeka Public Library has two available copies, and lucky us, they will mail them if you ask with manners.If you are looking for the Willa Cather discussion, please click [here.][2]Interested in being on the EBS Book Club email list? Write me at leslievonholten@yahoo.com.See you April 11. [1]: C:My DocumentsMy PicturesMoriarty.jpg [2]: http://blogs.lawrence.com/vonholten/2005/feb/21/archbishop_discuss/
Discussion: Death Comes for the Archbishop
Like My Antonia, the only other Willa Cather novel I've read, Death Comes for the Archbishop struck me as a collection of stories grown from a fierce landscape and anchored around a character sensitive enough to recognize them for their deep worth. I think we should begin with a discussion of the major themes. To me, these were (1) friendship, (2) landscape, and (3) legends and stories of the Southwest. (Curiously, I found religion to be a minor theme, but please argue your point if you disagree with me.)To start, I found Father Latour to be a lovely character, true and kind, and I was touched by his friendship with Father Vaillant, a character in my eyes who was complex and often unlikeable. I'll admit to getting misty at this: "He knelt, and Father Vaillant, having blessed him, knelt and was blessed in turn. They embraced each other for the past-for the future" ( p. 260).[[Being nerdy and sensitive to these things, I also want to declare that the most poignant use of an em dash I've ever seen. It's absolutely beautiful.]]Now it's your turn.
More Eastside Haiku
Good shape, starts most days A 400-dollar truck It's Easy Street now Hey Brook Creek burglars! We know kung fu, know crazy! Our dog, she's part Rot! Man on the levy Carries heads in those Merc bags Mumbling madman More coffee now [please] Bitch mama worked all damn night Pleasure to live with Boy missed the toilet Puppy crapped over there, too Where's the girl's diaper? Snow and ice are fun With front wheel drive and bald tires "Yee-haw!" yells the boy. I think it's possum Smooshed--no maybe someone's cat? Closer--oh! no! skunk!
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