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I don't like to debate, and I feel like my political positions are really noneyabizness, kind of like religion, it's a personal decision that I've cultivated over years, studied, and come to decisions on. I don't like a candidate because he's got personality or is attractive or is a female, pro-this or anti-that. I make decisions at the ballot box because I believe certain things politically, economically, and socially.
For those of you who don't know, my husband is Army National Guard, and as of today is on active duty. I helped him pack his bags last night, and this morning I managed to kiss him goodbye without crying (mostly because I was still half asleep and will see him around noon). Getting to this point has been a process, a wandering through anxiety and a wasteland of my own fears, wondering how I'll get through the next year, and asking for the support of family and friends.
When we're out and about, sometimes it comes up that he's leaving, and people always thank him for his service. It can be awkward. Yes, he signed up for it, and yes, he's getting paid for it. And by marrying him, I signed up for it, too. Whether I believe we should be in Iraq is a long, involved historical question, but the bottom line is that we ARE there. The US committed many decades ago to export democracy and capitalism (which are NOT the same thing)--Democrats and Republicans have both done so. The place of our country in the world is at issue, and we could go on and on about being the only superpower and the balance of power and where that's going...
But in the end, none of this is free. We are one of the few developed western countries in which military service is not mandatory for young men. Lots of Americans never consider "joining up" or did so because of the benefits (which I'm finding are complex and loaded with yummy bureaucracy just like everything else). When I go to vote, I always think of the sacrifices people have made for me to be there, from the Founding Fathers all the way down to men like my husband, who defend my choice (our choice?) and work for the people we elect as Commander in Chief whether they voted for them or not. People don't understand the difference between rights and privilege, but that's another rant--I may get to that one later.
Freedom is not free. Ask me on Friday morning, when all I have to look at are his civilian clothes in the closet, the cost of your right to vote for whoever you want. I won't judge you by the party you endorse--do what you want to do, what you feel is right, and I hope you carefully consider the options. That, my friends, is what we've paid for, and continue to pay for.
Six chapters until I type "The End" on All Roads, my romance set in ancient Rome. Here's a piece:
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A shriek of outrage froze Marcus's thoughts. Straight ahead, the Dacian royal entourage sat on the ground. Surrounded by guards, they waited with blank, passive faces.
Except for one woman, who tried repeatedly to break through the circle of soldiers, only to be bounced back inside.
The raven-haired beauty who had rabidly defended the prince. Even with her gown streaked with dirt and blood, she stood apart from the others. Perhaps he noticed her because she fought with so much passion, rare to see in a royal woman.
She paused for a moment in her efforts when he approached, but knew his language well enough to turn her curses on him. “What will you do with his body, you barbarian dog?”
Glancing to his right, Marcus saw the young prince lying on a cart, his corpse taken in case the king had needed an additional reason to lay down his weapons.
No matter this woman’s interest in the body, Marcus had but one answer to give. “His body will be burned.”
She shook, her face twisted in rage, while the wind whipped her long, dark hair into a cyclone. Her eyes pierced his blank stare to plead with him. She opened her hands and said, “Your way is not our way.”
Everything about this woman seemed dangerous, even the tears she refused to check. She owned her heritage, and despite the way she entreated him, hatred radiated from her like warmth from the sun.
Nothing he could say would console her, so he asked, “What is your name?”
She straightened her spine. “Ademeni, daughter of King Decebalus.”
Her name tripped off her tongue like music, her broken language not lyrical enough to disguise her position. Daughter of the king.
He should have known.
Pushing through the brief shot of pleasure he’d received at the sound of her voice, he returned to his duty.
“Ademeni, daughter of Dacia, I am Marcus Decimas Cordovis, commander of Trajan’s Flavia Felix Legion.” He delivered news that drained the blood from her face, leaving him shaken for the first time in his storied military career. “You are now a slave of Rome, and to Rome you will all go in the morning.”
She stepped forward, daring the guards to force her back while offering a tantalizing whiff of sandalwood. A tight smile sent a chill down his spine.
With white knuckled fingers, she pulled on the collar of her dress, rending the fabric and exposing her neck and the generous swell of her breasts.
“Then you should kill me now, General.” Her dark eyes flashed her passion. “Because if I live, I will not hesitate to kill you.”
Stewie is on Dogster (he has a better social life than me) and was named this week's "Mad Hatter" for the Dog Park group. I'm not sure what that means except he gets to wear this particular ridiculous hat and say things like, "My name is Stew...Beef Stew."
That's Stew on the right...the other Scottie is the moderator of the group. It's all very organized. I'm afraid they could be mobilized to vote for Obama if they are not scattered soon.