A friend of mine lives in one of those helpful European countries with nationalized health care and social services and everything you could want. And I know from experience that these systems can work pretty well for a lot of people. I understand the appeal.
But my friend’s recent struggles to get the care she needs (nothing wildly expensive) leads me to think nationalization of social supports is a very bad solution. Here’s why:
Government-run services are much harder to shut down if they become corrupt, incompetent, or unsafe. It takes, literally, an act of Congress. (And then some). In comparison, privately-run services can be boycotted by consumers, or in the case of safety-violations, legitimately shut down by government regulators.
When the system doesn’t work, there is nowhere else to turn. Taxpayer-funded, universal-enrollment systems squeeze out private providers. The money I could have spent on private fees has already been mailed to the government in taxes. I no longer have that cash on hand. The vastly diminished demand for privately-provided services also means therea are fewer private providers available to choose from.
“Universal” services shortchange the poor. The supposed reason for creating nationalized services is so that the poor have access to the essentials they need, such as medical care or education. The reality of government-run bureaucracies, however, is that they favor the upper-middle class — the people who have the resources and connections to work the system to their advantage.
How, then, to help the poor? By helping the poor.
Those who truly cannot provide for themselves do indeed need our assistance. One can reasonably argue that in a large, diverse, and mobile society, government-provided alms are a legitimate way of caring for those who might otherwise be overlooked by private charities.
But the whole nation cannot need alms. It is a mathematical joke. We cannot all be poor all the time.
At least it isn't Saturday. I could have done worse.
1.
The bookshelves are in! People say my library method makes sense! Or at least haven’t complained! The countertops still need to be finished. Photo coming sometime after that.
2.
If you have an e-mail sitting in my inbox, yes I will reply soon. I’ve been sidetracked by regular life.
3.
Cleaning my house. Yes, really. That’s what I’ve been doing all week.
4.
Because Lent is only 40 days away. And this year for Lent, our family is going to Clean Up After Ourselves.
5.
It’s not that we’re slobs. It’s that I can write a sentence beginning with, “It’s not that we’re slobs,” and no one senses any kind of irony or sarcasm there. They await some other explanation, thinking skeptically, “This better be good.”
But let’s just clarify right now: I could never ever qualify for one of those slovenliness reality shows. We do like order and cleanliness. We do. Almost obsessively, in some pursuits. But housekeeping? There’s always another project that’s just a little bit more pressing.
You know all those movies where they tell you to slow down and enjoy life? Or spend more time with your family? Or focus on __________ that really counts? We should be banned from those movies. We need the movie where the family-centered protagonists have an amazing revelation about their misplaced priorities, and learn it might be okay to put dishes straight into the dishwasher after dinner.
6.
But you can wait just a second before you put away that glass, and say a quick prayer for Allie Hathaway.
7.
So we’re having a Carnival of Cleanliness, in an effort to make Lent less penitential than it otherwise would be. You remember that line in A Mother’s Rule of Life, where she mentions in passing that before you begin, make sure there’s A Place For Everything, and Everything In It’s Place? Yeah, we’ve been working on that sentence for half a decade now. And we’re close. So close.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is just going to have to shut his eyes, or else pretend he’s a mom-blogger. Why isn’t there a vast network of dad-bloggers? Because what exactly is the guy equivalent of these topics below?
We're still cleaning up after the party here. Click for links to the responsible people.
1.
The in-laws called to find out why I’d posted a link to the Baby Name Wizard in Facebook. Was there something they should know? Yes. My nine-year-old had to write a piece of historical fiction as part of her Caddie Woodlawn literature study. She picked depression-era. I pointed her to the name wizard because I had this sneaking feeling “Kaitlyn” wasn’t such a period name. She’s found her new tool. Those graphs. They are addictive.
2.
Take, read.Betty Beguiles has a free e-booklet out: Dressing with Intention. I completely 100% recommend it. Excellent advice for building a workable wardrobe that you can afford. Accountant-approved. Short, readable, encouraging, spot-on absolutely right. You cannot get better than that. Stop now and click the link, then come back later to finish here.
3.
My friend Sandra sent me these pics:
She’s thinking of sewing her wedding dress along these lines. Is that not seriously cool? I told her to do it. No question. She has serious Jane-power going on, so it will be fabulous.
(Do you understand how relieved I am when I learn that someone I really like is also a Jane Austen fan? I mean, yes, I have a couple very dear friends who don’t get the Jane-thing, and we adapt and focus on our common ground. But see, this is why there are more mom-bloggers. Because we can talk not just about Jane Austen, but about dressing like Jane Austen, and how our friendships are affected by Jane Austen . . . you begin to see. Football is not the same. Not.)
3.5
Not always, but sometimes, when your daughter is in the Pit of Oppression over things that she can’t control and really are upsetting, even though no one else seems to understand that, but being nine is Not As Easy As People Say, the best thing is to put the littles to bed, pop a giant pot of popcorn, fire up the DVD player and watch
The bookshelves in the living room are halfway installed. (The “during” picture is too depressing. Sorry no photo.) SuperHusband complains that my method for organizing books is incomprehensible. I was determined to load these new shelves in some orderly way that even an engineer could understand. I’m already having trouble. Hrmph.
2.
We found a long lost library book! Someone had helpfully shelved Changes for Kit in the magazine file for Invention and Technology. I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there.
3.
Do you know what I hate about submitting work to editors I don’t know? Wondering if they even received it. New experience for me this year. In the past I’ve always written for people who had already hired me to do the writing. People you could just e-mail or pop into their office and ask, “Did you get my thing? Let me know when you’ve had a chance to look at it.” And it’s not pestering, because those people know you and wanted your work and told you exactly what they wanted. They aren’t dreading looking to see what you’ve sent.
(Strangers rightly dread. With people you don’t know? You just don’t know.)
So of course the solution to the wait-a-thon is to move on to the next project, which is easy enough when you are too busy anyway. And then it’s helpful to already have a back-up plan for “What will I do if this editor isn’t interested?”. Again, pretty easy.
But at 5AM when you wake up with a busy brain, and you feel bad about always using The Doctors of the Church as your insomnia remedy, because you know it’s going to influence your book review unfairly? That’s when the weird fears kick in: “What if my submission got lost in the spam filter?” “What if I accidentally did something that causes me to look like a completely different kind of idiot than the one I actually am? Because the one I am, an editor can work with, but maybe I came across like a different, less-manageable kind?”
The solution to that is to think up more likely and less ominous reasons, such as, “The editor has a lot of other work to do.”
But I also think up other things, like, “Maybe his farm was hit by a tornado,” or, “Maybe she’s come down with a pox and won’t be able to work for a month.” Which leads to a weird prayer life revolving around things like, “If my editor’s house has fallen into a sinkhole, please let everyone be okay, and console him with Your peace, and let my file be safely stored at the office where he’ll eventually get to it sometime this spring.”
UPDATE: But it is so lovely when you get an e-mail back saying, “My house did not fall into a sinkhole.” (Actually it said, “Thanks, got it, we’ll get back to you.” )
4.
My typoese is getting weirder than ever. I begin to suspect a rogue “auto-correct” function.
5.
Mr. Boy’s been having a hard time waking up lately. Winter + Night Owl + Early Adolescence + School Is Not Fun = Low Motivation. SuperHusband has started rousing him from bed to take the dog for a brisk walk as soon as it’s fully light out. The first day he went straight back to bed after and slept two more hours. Second day I cleared a work area for him in front of a window that gets direct sun all morning. He hates it. But it works.
Also I am working on dimming the lights after dinner so it isn’t so bright inside at a night. Jon bought the house in the mid-90’s. Early this century he managed to diagram most of the wiring. I am still being surprised by which switch does what.
6.
Good news! Allie Hathaway’s gotten 2nd and 3rd opinions that offer a much better prognosis. (And they agree with each other and seem to be the real thing. Yay.) Alleluia. Thank you for praying. Don’t stop.
7.
Why is it that we act as if we’re omniscient, when we know that we are not? We kick ourselves for guessing wrong about this investment or that career choice, or the new outfit or the right haircut. Even when we had honestly made the effort to make a good decision. Even when we cannot know the outcome of our decision, because it involves events beyond our control, or variables that can only be known with time.
And then we are mortified by the ignorance and immaturity our younger selves — selves who had no way of knowing what can only be learned by time and experience. And note: Those of us still breathing are, still, younger selves.
It’s nonsense. Bad habit. Rooted in bad theology no less. I wonder if it’s easier to quit than the complaining thing?
Me: Get your work done while I take a shower. I’m going to do the check-off at 2pm, because I have the catechist meeting tonight, so I can’t check you off after dinner.
Child: I want to go!
Me: ? Um. Why would you want to go to a catechist meeting?
Child: I want to hear you talk.
Me: You hear me talk all day long.
Child: I want to hear about catechist stuff.
Me: The DRE might switch plans and not have me talk.
Child: There might be soda.
[Ah. Yes. Now you sound like a normal child. Whew.]
Me: Yes, there will almost certainly be soda. They are serving pizza.
Child: Pleeaaase can I go?
Me: It’s out of the question if your homework is not done.
–> Child panics, drops toys, runs to desk, starts working diligently.
Is it the soda or the catechist talk? I don’t know. If she gets the homework done, I guess I let her come? Or tell her she can stay home and watch Anne of Avonlea instead. That would work.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is willing to count me among his minions, even though I’m also one The Jen F.’s minions, even if I did forget my 7 takes last Friday because I didn’t remember it was Friday. Nice thing about Fridays is you get a new one every week.
1.
The people I’m trying to be nicer to are not helping me. You who chew with your mouths closed? I have no difficulty being nice to you. It is the people who pick fights at the breakfast table. Those people. I’ve had to switch acts of contrition, not just because I blank out in the confessional so I need something short and easy, but also because, well, I can’t exactly avoid “whatever leads me to sin”. No sense pretending. I think my pastor gets it. He can’t avoid me all the time either.
2.
Speaking of bad influences: I was having some trouble with the new Mass translation at first, not because it isn’t beautiful and everything, but because the first time I heard “like the dewfall” during the consecration, I giggled. Not out loud. But my lips sort of twitched. I hope everyone else was looking at the altar. My trouble is the people I spend my days with. They are so . . . juvenile. It rubs off.
3.
This morning I read the wrong day’s Mass readings. The page marked in my missal had both January 3 and January 4 on it, and did I know what day it was? No. I didn’t even wonder. I just read. But hey, you have good stuff to look forward to tomorrow.
–> First let’s just admit it, 1st John can be a little overwhelming, hmmn? Even if it does fit right in with that whole “resolutions” theme we’re all talking about. But I like this bit here, I think makes a good hinge for the could-be scrupler:
It was to undo all that the devil has done, that the Son of God appeared.
So that’s my consolation when I read in Psalm 97, “Let the rivers clap their hands,” and my brain goes all middle-school on me, not in a good way. But look, here’s a nice river picture to clean the imagination:
The funny thing about poetry and photography, is that they aren’t like the real world. Rivers don’t have hands that clap. If you stand in the Narrows of Zion Canyon, this picture is not what you see. The water isn’t all pearly and shiny. It’s wet and icy cold, and you aren’t thinking about how it looks (normal old water), you are thinking: Snowmelt. And the walls of the canyon are not so flat and washed out; they surround you, and make you forget the entire rest of the world, and you can touch them, and you would never have believed in them if you had not seen them yourself.
But people like the photo. I think because the shiny-pearly water makes it feel like fairlyand. Like rivers with hands that clap. Like the world as we know it is supposed to be, if only the wreckage were undone. Which is how you feel standing there in the canyon. You know that whoever made this is so much bigger than you. And entirely able to undo the madness. And that you were meant to be a part of that.
3.5
. . . sidewalks.
Please. Cut it out with the weird car ideas. Just build a sidewalk. A good one. Wide. With proper curb cuts. That goes all the way to store. Just like roads — we don’t build roads that stop abruptly because one of the neighbors didn’t want to cede a right of way, but hey, just drive over the grass and through the ditch, road picks up again in half a block. Real sidewalks. Don’t call yourself an environmentalist, or a fuel-security guru, and then make it impossible for people to walk places.
I finally thought up some reading resolutions for 2012. Usually mine work opposite — I resolve not to read things. But this year is different. I resolve to read:
1. The children’s homework. Every day.
2. The children’s reading assignments*. Most of the time. (Thank you Teacher’s Manuals for the rest of the time.)
3. Book review books right away. Even if His Holiness is not actually as exciting as an American Girl Mystery.
4. The mail. From that red box thing at the end of the driveway that USPS visits 6 days a week. Just because it’s on paper doesn’t mean it’s not important.
Non-reading resolutions:
1. Permanently place a recycle bin next to the USPS mailbox? For all the stuff that needs to not come into house?
2. Be nicer to people.
3. Everything else.**
* “Learn Latin” is the unwritten 2A on this one. I think we’re at that point where I can’t keep faking much longer.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who has me so well trained I had this ready to go before even finding out if he means to continue. Updated to report: Yes! And check out the stylish Christmas theme:
Click to find out if Larry D. received his underground Lair from Santa this year.
1.
This week we are Bunny-sitting. Cinnamon and Jenny-Bunny look delicious, but they are not for eating. We are working hard to avoid bunny-tragedy. The dog sits at the glass door looking out on the screen porch and whimpers. The cat sneaked in from outside when someone left the screen door open, and there was much bunny-scurrying in the cages. But bunnies remain both safe and entertained, because also on my screen porch is . . .
2.
Ping Pong! I felt un-American, having no ping-pong table all these years. I still don’t, but I talked the 5-year-old into buying a package of balls for her brother for Christmas. (She bought her sisters scented hand lotion; I didn’t think He Who Is Doubtful About Bathing would want the lotion.) I sprung for two paddles. Christmas afternoon we set up my 2×5 folding table on the screen porch — true Table Tennis. Perfect size for children, and for adults who want to sit while they play, plus it is more compact than a regular table. And you don’t feel bad about eating on it. The balls don’t bounce well on the plastic table, so SuperHusband loaned us a sheet of luan plywood to place over top, and that both improved the bounce and gave us the happy ping-ponging sound.
The family is divided between the bitter minority that thinks we must have a net, and the large, superior-reasoning majority who observe that we’d just have 10,000 net balls. Screened porches are the ideal place for ping-pong, because the balls can’t get far. Plus, covered. No rain. But still outside. Children + Balls = Outside.
NEWSBRIEF: LIVE FROM BOY’S BEDROOM: DOGS EAT PING PONG BALLS. Don’t store them in the house. That’s the other reason dog sits whimpering at glass door. All those balls, bouncing back and forth, and that horrid glass between. It is the week of Dog Torment.
3.
Also seen from the living room is this view, which I included in the homeschool photo-fest this past fall not because it had to do with homeschooling, but because I was so excited about my invention.
Taken in warmer months. It is not this green in December.
Here’s what happened:
Our dryer attempted death.
My dryer-repair guy was going to be preoccupied with gainful employment for a while.
No problem. Neglected laundry tree out in the back yard.
Wait. Rain.
Plus mosquitoes.
I’m not complaining just observing.
Did I mention dryer-guy not home to fix dryer?
Meanwhile, we had a patio table out front on the, er, patio. (Actually the driveway, but we don’t drive on that part so we call it The Patio. Pretend with us.) I pulled the umbrella out and stuffed it in the shed, then dragged the table into the screen porch. Placed the umbrella stand in position under the table.
I used tools we don’t want to talk about to dig the laundry tree out by its roots where it was determined to be permanently affixed in the yard. [If I have one superpower, it is furniture-moving. Laundry Tree you met your match.] Put old socks from the cloth bin on the pokey edges of the laundry tree, and very very carefully, with would-have-been-horrified-and-cringing spouse safely away in a neighboring state, erected the laundry tree in the hole in the center of the table where the umbrella used to live.
It works great! The mesh top of the patio-table is perfect for laying things flat to dry. Only caveat is that since the laundry tree is not in the ground, it stands taller than normal. I’m 5’7″ in a pair of sneakers and can reach fine, but it doesn’t work for shorter people. So now I’m commissioning child-height under-eaves laundry lines for the small people, because they seriously need a feedback loop about how much laundry they are generating. Plus, see “Decrepitude”, “Plague”, etc., I would get a much more reliable flow of smug superiority if my ability to hang laundry didn’t depend on standing* quite so much.
I think SuperHusband is willing to take the job, because now the dryer is getting serious about its death threats (it wails pitifully), and it pains the man to spend money on something you technically don’t need, plus costs more money to operate, when all that cash could be spent, on, say, camera lenses. He thinks that if we are serious about hanging out laundry all the time, maybe he can nurse the dryer along a few more years with urgent-case-use only.
3.5
So. Smug superiority. Hanging out your laundry, if you are the grumpy, complaining type, can make you downright peevish towards so-called environmental groups that are advocating for this and that alternative fuel, but can’t be bothered to push a serious campaign to cut American energy usage in very simple ways. Laundry lines being #1. And #2 on the list is
***
Something I’ll rant about next week. Hope your 12 Days are fantabulous — is anyone else having a Chocolate Year of Christmas? I’ve been getting the stuff from everybody. Let me just say: Best gift ever. Okay and single-malt scotch is right up there, but not everyone is the SuperHusband, and plus you don’t have to be so moderate on the chocolate.
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*If you’ve been sitting on the edge of your chair wondering when on oh when I’ll post the next decrepitude-watch post, the short version is: All is way better than a year ago, not so good as two years ago. Reliably walking maybe 2 miles? And then I can fit in another hour or so of other house-yard-etc activity. Depending on your perspective, that either seems like an extravagant plenty or a laughable pittance. I agree. Anyhow, it is enough to hang laundry, plague not withstanding. I happen to love hanging laundry, so long as I can get the other people to leave me alone while I do it. Silence. It’s all about the silence.
Eldest daughter has learned a few tricks from the OxFam catalog, and posted these signs throughout the house:
WANTED
Small bedroom for 9-year-old girl.
Consider giving this gift of joy.
Thank you!
The 5-year-old, meanwhile, has been praying for snow for Christmas. We’ve had a talk about how God sometimes says “No” to our prayers. But in the event we get a freak snowstorm, you’ll know what happened.
