Kevin, It is not just THAT or another culture. Men everywhere feel superior to women, which is a form of disrespect. Please read Jane Juska’s thoughtful, “Unaccompanied Women.” Thanks.

Absolutely! This is an important forum, weakened in my view by “favorite recipes,” etc. We are stereotyped so easily by men. OK, yes. Hillary would be great…perhaps taking time to talk, negotiate, rather than hurling weapons. I belong to “Grandmothers for Peace.” Michelle Obama would make a wonderful leader as well. Unfortunately this discussion is theortetical; in reality, women are still seen as companions, help-mates, supporters and not national leaders. At least, in this country, we are plagued with racism, sexism. And my guess is that even “us” women are not listening to each other in this forum, but are speaking OVER each other. Anyone care to weigh in?

If you haven’t read Jane Juska’s books, you are missing a brilliant writer. “Unaccompanied Women,” and “A Round-Heeled Woman.” Explores issues of finding sex after 60…in first-person stories. Funny, sad…opens your world. It opened mine…at least on paper.

I had worked at a great job for 30 years, but crashed soon after retirement in 2005. Symptoms included anxiety, becoming hyper-aware of time, and hating my body, which was—in turns—emaciated, then puffed up. For almost two years, I sat on my living room couch almost all day, medicated and depressed. I quit driving, quit cooking, had a caregiver, watched non-stop television, and essentially said “feed me, it’s easier.” Then, I discovered NIA, first at The Well in Ellicott City, Maryland, then at Ridgeley Retreat in Annapolis. Of course, a return to health and functionality is gradual and multi-faceted, but NIA opened me to the outer world and acceptance—even celebration—of my body. I find myself writing: I want to fly, I want to SING And dance! I feel joy in knowing I am a divinely sensuous being of infinite worth This is my birthday month. I will be 70 and have never felt better and some say, looked better. My NIA form may be lacking a bit, but there is never judgment in class and always support, community, warmth and joy. We are free to be ourselves. Thank you Carlos and Debbie, and especially my daughter and first teacher, Alison Weeks, and Black Belt teacher, Lauren Kelly-Washington!

Mugsy, That is because women tend to use language to do battle, while men use weaponry and fists. I do not think either are very productive…in fact, NOT productive. The other day, I went to an activity at a senior center, which had promised emus would be featured. While, the chicks were there in a cage, while the women said, “awwwwww…” and the speaker talked about killing adult emus for healthy meat and oil. I walked out.

Mose, I have come to this opinion as well. Hillary is not an “effete snob.” Remember that term? Obama is NOT that; however, he does not have a simplicity of language to address people who are not educated. Hillary’s speech last night was really dumbed down and not eloquent. Somewhere in the middle. If Hillary is on the ballot, I will vote for her. So, here is ONE lady.

My cat, Camilla Parker Bowles, a British short-hair. So, how do you post a picture?

Elizabeth, I agree with you completely! I have said, if men do it with their fists and weapons, women do it with words. Hillary is a marathon runner…I admire her greatly for her passion and commitment. I believe I am going to change my vote, if I have a chance!

re/ an Obama-Hillary ticket—it would be exciting to pair the minorities, but I fear that someone would protest violently. If the blogosphere is harsh and gossipy, it is my view that words precede physical action, e.g. violence.

I am offering a short poem, perhaps two, to speak to this topic. Of course, we all compete with our Mothers, try to avoid their weaknesses, try to move beyond them, ultimately forgive them, and, in many ways, we are our mothers. I find myself saying things that my mother said that annoyed me, such as “hope deferred.” She was born in 1899. Now, before mother’s day, I am drawing objects of memory, such as her glasses frames to honor her and revere the connections. This is my truth I tell you no other I wear a mask I have a cover. This is my truth I tell you no other I miss my Father I am my Mother.

Oops, I meant to say one LINK…to another web site, per submission. OK, off to watch a film!

I wish we were only allowed one line per submission. This gets to be too obtuse…and more like training. This is supposed to be like a living room conversation, isn’t it?

Robert, You make a point…but you know down deep that women are working for change—political, economic, health care. We are caregivers, nurturers, leaders. We also like to talk to each other. Instead of criticizing, which men are wont to do, why don’t you join the conversation in a positive manner? Thanks!

Is this conversation, then, really about fear? And did fear give rise to religious beliefs and the concept of a God and mortal intermediary who can save us? I read something that says it all for me: “The highest form of wisdom is kindness.” The Talmud. We could practice it without metaphysics. It is an end in itself and a kind of earthly “salvation,” which is all we have. The rest of sheer speculation and the source of much human suffering—the war of words about whose religion is better and who is going where. We are not going anywhere, so we need to make the best of it here and now.

The Vacation Two weeks before, My body began to say no, So all the more fiercely at first, I kept faith with returning, This rhythm secure as a theorem. Though barely at first, My body began to tell me To bend toward Some broadly familiar painting Of how it would be again: Arriving together On the usual Saturday afternoon, Laden with games, That afternoon, as always, Indoors moving tables and chairs about Making peace with the place So it would seem to be our own. And that first evening, Rushing toward perfect clarity, Away from what I had come for— Wind and waves and sand, Collapsing early from a surfeit of words. How it would be each morning, You to buy the newspaper, Me to pursue endless rounds of exercise, You returning to eat, Pretending to care about local real estate, Vague acquisition, ever to own. Me not listening, not saying. Then, at noon Going down to the beach, Bodies flat-out on the sane, Held firm all day In a monotony of silence You took for meaning; Later, raking the shore for shells To adorn tops of toilet tanks Which I took for meaning. With the sun cooling, Fixing and eating dinner In perfect mechanical harmony, Cleaning up, Walking the peaceful streets at dusk, You noting the piecemeal collapse Of old buildings, Me feeling the change, Not saying. Then into bed, You, hauling my body about Which you took for passion. Me, routinely climactic, Cleaning up, Feeling the soft sheets between us, Hand in hand, sleeping. For seven days the same, Our pale bodies Turning to tan, Which we both took for something, Some move toward warmth— This we agreed upon. What slight reckoning That began off-center As a nudge Then grew so bold It finally gave voice In surprised connection, Body moving back and back, Then hurling itself forward Like some monstrous wave? Saying no I cannot go I will not go Not ever again—- Saying I am the foam and the wind and the sane, I am the body Alone in my bright energies, I am the body Bound unto itself And its telling and saying and telling. I am the body Alone as it journeys forth And back and back. I am the body Plotting for safe harbor, Heading for home. KDW 6/14/83 Coda: We stayed in the relationship until 2003, at which time he left me for another woman.