Dorrier Underwood

February 4, 2013 Today we went to Angkor Wat in Cambodia at Siem Reap. Ket was our guide and he warned us he was not a cat herder! We thought our guide might be Hoy who told us stories last night and this morning of the killing fields But we ended up on bus 3 with Ket very fluent in  English and knowing the history of 12th century Angkor Wat, translation "city temple".  Once Hindu and then Buddhist.  Cambodians call themselves as do Thai, Hindu Buddhists I got the book The Gods Drink Whiskey: Stumbling Toward Enlightenment in the Land of the Tattered Buddha that tells of the middle way, the way between pure philosophy, texts and analysis and on the other hand, practices, daily life and the heart and soul of Buddhism.   Sitting in the Sofitel hotel after an incredible Thai massage with several beautiful flight attendants staying for the night here, too, in their ivory suits with turquoise blouses with bows at the neck. So a mixture of the killing fie

The Second Amendment: A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. When I read the 2 nd amendment, I get a little confused.  First, the darned thing seems a bit convoluted…what does a well-regulated militia have to do with the right of the people? Are the people, ALL the people, the militia?  I suppose, at the time this was written, the people WERE the militia, pretty much all of the people. And we were disorganized trying to create a new country. That’s not true now…we have a real well regulated militia, and all the millions and millions of people who have guns are just not part of it.  We allow our militia – the army, navy, marines, coast guard - to protect us, which is likely what the writers of this amendment intended to mean, and what Jefferson would have meant when he approved it. There would be some designated people to be our militia, and they would be well regulated. T

The tiny pieces of ice hit the windshield with a muted crunch, a soft noise that made the rest of the world seem strangely quiet and still. It was still and quiet in my head too, despite the jockeying for position in the pickup line. I snapped out of my reverie just soon enough to move forward in the line on Monroe Road, along with the other parents whose schedules were untimely ripped by the arrival of the ice storm. I am immune to the struggle today. I am not trying to get ahead of the other cars. If it takes longer than I have planned, then I will be late for the chiropractor, hardly tragic. I suddenly stop noticing the “wintry mix” as the TV weatherpeople would have us call the sleet and rain, and start noticing my life. I am having a normal life. I am in line at the high school, waiting to pick up my kid. I am not doing anything else. I am glad to be doing this, I am glad that my daughter will remember, somewhere in the recesses of her cortex someday, that her daddy was ther