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The New York Times has an article today on the culture of suicide bombings. Such things are never as in depth as one would like, but it makes the important point that violence and despair are becoming ingrained in Palestinian life. Small wonder that children now trade plastic medals with the pictures of their matyrs rather than Pokemon cards.

Matt got a tshirt at the ISO conference in Chicago that says Free Palestine with a picture of a young man throwing a Molotov cocktail. I find it interesting that the Jewish community here has this small, vocal segement in support of a Palestinian state. Melynda knows one of the original organizers, who apparently comes from an old New York Jewish family. She recieves death threats on a regular basis, I hear.

the sweet keen of mockingbirds

Yesterday I followed a bluejay, hopping across the grass. It's wing had been broken, perhaps by a cat. I felt sad that I could not catch it, fix it. Though birds seem more prone to shame, and they so often die just from our touch.

Today it's the mockingbirds, in pairs on the top of the metal fence round the pool. It's empty out there, just the calm sound of the fountain rushing by.

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Oh my lord. I can't believe this. I have bought eggrolls and potato and egg tacos from the stand since I was eight. From the same woman, with little jade earrings.

Eggroll stand on the Drag a possible front for stolen goods

I'm crushed, totally crushed.