Sherry Chandler

It takes a lot of nerve for George W. Bush to go to Beijing with Henry Kissinger and scold China about its human rights record. He coulda stood home. Little wonder China told him to mind his own business.*

But, on a more positive note, the story of our flag bearer Lopez Lomong is one that we should all celebrate, not just because our country played a very positive role in his life but for what he has managed to survive and accomplish. You can listen to his story on Morning Edition or read a fuller bio at his website.

Lopez speaks from experience about what it is like to be separated from home and family. At age 6, he was abducted from a Sudanese church by a militia faction that wanted to turn young boys into child soldiers. He eventually escaped the militia camp through a hole in a fence with three older boys who carried them on their backs as they walked for three days until they reached Kenya, where police arrested them and sent them to a refugee camp. He spent 10 years in the camp, living on one meal a day.

Those of you who have been reading me here for a while know that one of my great griefs is the use of children as warriors. So I urge you to take time to learn a bit more about Lomong and also to explore the Team Darfur website.

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*I’m agreed with Avedon on this one:

It’s not just about whether a bunch of Democrats will be cranky if the criminals don’t go to jail, it’s about throwing away what was probably the most vital resource our nation had for over 200 years - our position in the eyes of the world. Without the rule of law, the only thing we have is bombs.

You can sign Dennis Kucinich’s petition for impeachment here. Likewise, Wexler.

The kitten on the keys is Bubba, who lost a battle with a rat some years ago.

Here are the first few lines from Ed Ochester’s “Poem for a New Cat.” The poem is found in the collection Changing the Name to Ochester (Carnegie Mellon University Press). It’s a poem I suggest you look up and read in its entirety.

Watching her stand on the first
joins of her hind legs like a kangaroo
peering over the edgoe of the bathtub
at my privates floating like a fungoid lilypad,
or her bouncy joy in pouncing on a crumpled
Pall Mall packe, or the way she wobbles walking
the back of the couch, I think when
was it we grew tired of everything? . . .