Prepositions: Are They Necessary?

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This weekend, in one of our marathon discussions of life, the universe, and everything, my spouse and I came around to: Prepositions–Are They Necessary?
It started with his bringing up the expression “down to” being used where he would expect “down at”: she works down to the hardware store. He had thought it a U.S. Midwesterism, though I think of it as U.S. Southern, but he ran across it in a British work.
We then went to the observation that prepositions seem to be the most idiomatic words, not just in English but in many languages. When I edit work by authors whose first language is other than English, even those whose other usage is impeccable stumble on prepositions; this holds true, in my experience, for native speakers of European, Asian, and African languages..
For example, the Spanish word de can be translated into English as of, by, with, at, about, out, and probably others I have forgotten. The English word from can be translated into Spanish as de, desde, various phrases, and probably others I have forgotten. Spouse says the same is true regarding French.
From there, we went on to whether prepositions really serve any purpose. In spoken language (at least for people who have sight), in many cases they don’t, we decided, because the meaning is obvious from the visual. If my cat is ON the table, and I say, “Get the table!” to her, the meaning is obvious to a bystander (and to one of our cats, but not the other, but for the latter, a preposition doesn’t help). Even if the person can’t see the visual, if I say, “Cat, get the table!” the meaning is reasonably obvious.
In written language, however, usually a preposition is needed. “Get the table” could mean get off the table, get on the table, get [gather] around the table, get behind the table, and myriad others. With no preposition, it is more likely to be understood as “Go get the table” or maybe in slang, “Wow, dig that crazy table.”
Well, that’s the kind of conversation we have.

The right to die


Upfront: I do not want to have a religion-based discussion. That is another topic for elsewhere. And I will delete any incivility.

I understand, I think, the concerns of people who have disabilities or have loved ones who do, regarding the “right to die” (in whatever guise). But I always come back to this: who has more right to say whether a life is worth living than the person living that life ?

Unfortunately, the only metaphor I have come up with to make this point is able-ist, but because it is based on a well-known saying, I am going to use it here: we may try to walk in another’s shoes, but we can never walk with another’s feet. We can never truly know another’s pain (or lack of it); we can only know what ours is in the same situation (or even more remotely, what we think ours would be in the same situation).

Yes, societal forces can pressure people in making the decision to die. But if the problem is societal forces that pressure a person to die who might otherwise not choose to, is the answer to build societal forces that pressure the person NOT to die, even if it is what the person wants?

Yes, acknowledging a right to die can lead to a slippery slope by which people with disabilities are pressured to die. But does taking away the right to die from those who want to exercise it increase the rights of people who would choose to die because of societal forces rather than personal choice?

Yes, one can view acknowledgment of the right of disabled people to kill themselves as telling others that death is better than disability. But that view is wrong. One person’s choice, even many people’s choices, does not equal universal truth. An individual’s choice is exactly that: one person’s choice, as the person lives an individual life in an individual body.

I don’t understand how anyone can be pro-choice regarding abortion and anti-choice regarding the right to die. For that matter, I don’t understand how anyone can be anti-slavery and also anti-right-to-die. All are about ultimate bodily autonomy.

In a real sense, if society controls my death, it also controls my life.

Roe v. Wade

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Today is the 43rd anniversary of the Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade. I have a lot of mixed feelings on the subject of abortion, but I am pro-choice in the sense that I do not want to see abortion be illegal. Among my fairly close relatives, there are women who have had an abortion; women who have placed a child for adoption–in pretty much every permutation: closed adoption but reunited with the child later, closed adoption but never (to date) reunited with the child, somewhat open adoption, completely open adoption; women who have raised their child alone. We also have family members who are adopted (not just my kids).

I have an abortion story, but it is not mine. However, I have told it once before, to a limited audience, and I think it’s time to tell it again.

She was 15 years old. She lived in a small Midwestern town, in a Catholic family, in the days before Roe v. Wade. The only sex education she ever had was what she saw on the farm. When she had her first period, a couple or three years before, she had no idea what it was and thought she was dying; when she turned to an older girl for help, she learned what it meant and how to take care of it.

When the cute older guy at school asked her out, she was flattered. When he said, “This is what people do on dates,” she went along. When she didn’t get her next period, she was terrified.

She couldn’t tell her parents. The boy never spoke to her after that first date. She had nowhere to go.

I don’t know who told her about someone in town who took care of this problem for unmarried women (and, I’m sure, for some married women whose health or finances couldn’t withstand another child). She didn’t tell anyone about her problem, but that name undoubtedly was whispered among the girls and young women of the town, as such names were in small towns and big cities throughout the country. Fortunately, this name belonged to a real doctor. And so she had a safe, but highly illegal, abortion.

Later she married and had children. She always felt guilt, but she never felt regret, for the abortion. “What else could I have done? What would have become of me?” Certainly she would not have married the man she did, and therefore she would not have had the children she had.

She never, in her whole life, told anyone this story–except me. She’s gone now. Everyone who knew her then is gone. I’m not sure there is no one who will judge her, if they read this story. But [before the one time I shared it] I kept this confidence for nearly forty years, and it’s time the story was told.

She was my mother.


What I really want is changes in society so that–just for starters (not in order of priority): (1) no woman or girl (because I don’t care if she can physically get pregnant, most 12-, 13-, and 14-year-olds are still “girls,” and some who are older as well) is stigmatized because she is pregnant; (2) families are more fluid, so that open adoption is common; (3) resources are available for a woman or girl to raise a child on her own, and to continue her education if she chooses; (4) birth control is easily available, and its use is the norm among sexually active people; (5) people with disabilities are fully accepted members of society, and families with a child with a disability get the help and support they need. Those changes would go a long way in reducing the number of abortions.


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I’ve been trying to think of a way to say this that doesn’t sound smug and doesn’t offend people who aren’t as fortunate. I don’t know if I have succeeded, but here it is:

I am grateful beyond description to the universe, to fate, to any power that might have had a hand in it, for giving me the family I have today.

My family of origin was not a happy one, for reasons that need not be repeated here, but when I hear of the circumstances of some others’ growing-up years, my family looks–especially for its time and place–not so bad at all. As my father, then my brother Dennis, then my mother passed, I was on good terms with all of them, and I miss all of them. And despite our having some political differences (though we have far more core values in common), I have a close relationship with, and much admiration and respect for, my brother Steve and his daughter. I have solid contact with my great-niece and her adoptive sisters, with one nephew’s family, with another nephew.

Jonathan and I see his sister and brother-in-law far too seldom, but we are all compatible and (to the extent I can speak for the others) enjoy each other’s company. My mother-in-law and I are of very different personalities, but we like and respect each other; I felt honored when she once asked me to be the one to accompany her on a short road trip.

In parenting, we seem to have avoided repeating our parents’ mistakes (though we have undoubtedly made our own new and different ones). I am so happy to see that many of my extended family have also done so; some cycles have been broken.

There is no one in his or my extended family that we would not be glad to have a visit with. He has few cousins and I have many, but we would enjoy time with any of them. Sure, there are some we have more in common with (and a few we definitely can’t talk politics with!), but none we don’t want to have contact with. Our kids have friendships with their own cousins and some second cousins.

And closest to home, we have great relationships with our kids, and they with each other.

How did I/we get so lucky? Yes, we try to do our best, and if I may say so, we are good people. But that’s true of many.

I am the most fortunate of humans, and I want to remember that every day.

“Agitated with pain”

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In conversation with my spouse this weekend, I came up with the word for what I have been feeling.

Distraught: “agitated with doubt or mental conflict or pain” (Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary).

Mainly the pain part.

Nearly fifty years ago, when I was wearing my Another Mother for Peace medallion to work every day, writing my antiwar letters to periodicals, and sending cheerful chatty letters and care packages to the guys I knew who were in Vietnam, I thought that Barry Goldwater and Richard Nixon were the worst mainstream presidential candidates I would ever see. Now I can only wish that the Republicans would once again give us someone as decent and intelligent.

In my worst nightmares or my wildest imaginings, I did not foresee, could not have foreseen, that nearly half a century later a mainstream presidential candidate–the frontrunner!–would feel free to publicly make racist remarks about Mexicans, Muslims, African Americans, that he would speak favorably of identity badges for members of a religious group and of torture as a tool. That a physician candidate, a highly educated surgeon, would spout anti-scientific nonsense. That a candidate who is the son of an immigrant who fled a repressive regime would oppose allowing in refugees fleeing oppression and war.

How have we come to this? My younger self, who thought my generation (at least parts of it) would lead us to a better world for everyone, who thought that by the time I was almost 70 the U.S. would be living up to the best ideals of every generation from the founders forward, simply could not have believed that we would come to this. I could not have accepted that we would have learned nothing, nothing, from history.

I remember that somewhere in the intervening years, a friend, in speaking of Nazi Germany, challenged me: “You think it can’t happen here.”

“No,” I said. “Not it can’t, but it won’t. We have seen, we have learned.”

And so I am distraught.


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Over the years, I have written often about my not really grasping the concept of “forgiveness.” Here i try to consolidate years of pondering. I will probably have to revisit and edit this many times.

First, what is it that people are doing when they “forgive” someone?

Does “forgive” mean “act as if it never happened”? My approach to life is that what has happened has happened, and all I can do is go on from here. Everything that has happened in my life has contributed to making me what I am, to making my life what it is. Nothing–in the universe as I know it–can change what has happened. It happened. It will forever be part of my past, of the formation of my present and my future. So no, I’m not going to act as if it (whatever) never happened; to do so would be contrary to my concept of what I am, of what my life is.

Does “forgive” mean “make you feel better about what you did wrong” or “take away your guilt”? Sorry; you are responsible for your own reactions. For myself, if I do something wrong, my guilt over it becomes part of who I am and how I live my life. The best description I’ve ever heard of my feeling about this is Captain Kirk’s words in The Final Frontier: I need my pain. It’s part of who I am.

Does “forgive” mean “not hold a grudge”? Well, I either never hold a grudge or always hold a grudge, depending on what the definition of “grudge” is. If you did something unfair to me, in all my future dealings with you, I will take into consideration that you once did something unfair to me. If you acknowledged that you did such a thing and apologized, in all my future dealings with you, I will take that into consideration, and if you never acknowledged it and/or apologized, I’ll take that into consideration. My relationship with you will always be the sum of all its parts.

For me, past experience informs my present rather than controls it. What has happened in the past has shaped the person that I am, but what I, as that person, do in the present is an ever-renewed possibility.

Recently I heard Rabbi Harold Kushner talking about forgiveness. He said that it is something we do for ourselves, not for the other person. We stop permitting other people–their actions, their words, their opinions–to control our emotional lives. When I mentioned this to my spouse (J), he burst out laughing, because he knows that I stopped doing that when I was 11 or 12.
I once wrote, “I try to live my life in such a way that I have as few things as possible to forgive other people for.” People were confused by that statement, and legitimately so. What I was getting at was what Rabbi Kushner talked about: I need not stop giving other people’s words and actions emotional space in my brain because I don’t let them lodge there to begin with. As I wrote above, I absorb an immediate experience into the gestalt of experience and move on. If someone does something that hurts me or harms me, or that hurts or harms someone else and I am aware of it, it has happened; it has become part of the structure of our relationship and it will always remain so. What is, is.

I don’t get offended, and I very seldom feel “hurt” in an emotional sense. I think that “It’s not all about me” is one of the keys to this, and to my feelings about forgiveness. I have a very hard time for myself with the concept of my being hurt by, and even more so with my forgiving someone for, something that person does for their own purposes, out of their own needs, wants, or weaknesses. A person might hurt or harm me as an unintended consequence of doing something to fulfill their own responsibilities to themselves or others. They might even have known that I would be hurt or harmed incidentally, but saw the action as one they had a moral or legal obligation to take. “Forgive” the person for not making my interests their priority, over their own? I don’t see myself as the center of everyone’s universe! So when I say, “I try to live my life in such a way that I have as few things as possible to forgive other people for,” one of the things that I mean is that I try to live with the awareness that people are who they are, not who I think they are, and “forgiving” them for being who they are would be megalomania.

A pertinent quote:
Don’t Take Anything Personally
Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.

–Don Miguel Ruiz, The Four Agreements

I wouldn’t say “nothing” as in the quote; I’m leery of “always” and “never” applied to human behavior, of universals applied to humans at all. But people do things for their own reasons, from their own needs, wants, desires, experiences, knowledge, hopes… Even in the rare case where someone does something specifically “because” of me, they are still doing it because they want to affect me in some way, for their own reasons.

The more I think about it, the more I look back at what I have written on this over the years, the more I think that “It’s not all about me” is the simple core of my approach to human relationships.

Autism, thinking, society, gender, Foyle’s War, AHA!, and me

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I am not autistic. As far as I can tell, I am not on the spectrum. Yet often things I read about being autistic resonate strongly with me.

I do not think in words; I think in what I have always called “patterns,” though that isn’t exactly correct, but–how do I describe something that is not-words in words? I had never encountered anyone else who said they thought this way–and had encountered people who denied that anyone could think in other-than-words!–until I read something by Dr. Temple Grandin in which she discussed word thinking, visual thinking (her style), and pattern thinking. It was a huge AHA! moment for me.

What she says in an article here–http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/temple-grandin-on-a-new-approach-for-thinking-about-thinking-130551740/–makes me change my description a bit: I think in patterns with a strong visual component. She says, “Each of the three types of thinking is a continuum,” and I agree, but I think they have, or can have, intersections. I was good at both algebra, which to me is patterns, and geometry, which to me is mainly visual. Yet I am also good with words; that seems strange, but I think it’s because I have to think ABOUT words, rather than think IN words. It’s probably part of what makes me a good editor.


I recently mentioned that I seem to have more female friends on the spectrum than many neurotypical women do. A couple of my AS women friends agreed that they find a friendship with me easier than with most neurotypical women. Today my spouse showed me this link: http://ownshrink.com/aspergers/female-aspies-explained/. The writer says, “Having Asperger’s Syndrome as a female is to live in a world that is aggressively and consistently assumptive.” Another AHA! moment. I have frequently talked about not having had many of the experiences that some women claim that ALL women have. When I have brought this up in a discussion on some “women’s” issue, I have been told that I am in denial, or that if I haven’t experienced it I have no right to talk about the issue–it has even been implied that I don’t count as a “real” woman if it is true.

“Aggressive and consistently assumptive”? Yeah! Actually we all live in that world, of course, but some people fit the assumptions so well that they never notice them–in either applying them to others or having them applied to themselves. I don’t fit society’s assumptions about “woman” in many ways, however, and I try never to apply society’s assumptions to other women–or men, or other-gendered people, little kids, the elderly, teens, and so on. (“Try” I say; in this as in all my other goals, I am not perfect.)


I have been watching the series Foyle’s War. In a recently watched episode, Christopher Foyle, who is an extremely reserved English police detective, was forming a friendship with another man. The way it was transpiring pleased me–do you know that feeling when you are watching a show and you just get a kind of “oh, I like this, I like what’s happening, this is nice” feeling? And there it was, another AHA! moment.

I have always had male friends, going back to my earliest years. While I was friendLY with various girls, throughout childhood and teens, I was usually closest friends with a boy. In my adult years, whoever has been my life partner, or in between those, the person I was dating most seriously, has been literally my best friend, but I have had other male friends as well.

I gravitate naturally to the way that some men do friendships. I don’t mean the sports-and-beer, never have a real discussion kind–if those actually exist in real life and not just in stereotypes. But sharing another’s company without having to talk all the time, enjoying activities together, discussing movies or politics or the best contractor or, yes, sports, if you both feel like it. And then at a certain point knowing that you can trust this person, he has your back, you can tell him things and he can tell you things–but you don’t have to, it’s OK to just be. No drama. No judgment. No BFFs one week and not speaking the next. Did I mention, no drama?

I am NOT saying that two women never have this kind of friendship or that all men do. But in my lifetime experience this kind of friendship, the kind I prefer, has been by far easier for me to find with men. The women I have the best friendships with these days are generally (1) friends of very long standing –going back to high school, 50 years and more, so we know pretty much all there is to know about each other; (2) my cousins, again with a long history–and I am fortunate in that both sides of my family generally get along very well with each other; (3) women on the AS spectrum.


I don’t have a grand conclusion for this. It is what it is, presented for your consideration, should you care to consider it.

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Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not. -Ralph Waldo Emerson


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