Stick Horse Cowgirls

My last post about domestic violence was a report—passing on information I learned in a recent class and some of my observations from my law practice.  But in the course of discussing that post with V, she jolted me into a realization that this subject had touched my life and is, perhaps, touching it still. As most of you know, V and I have been friends for 57 years (oh, Lordy!), and we lived right next door to each other as children.  I moved away when I was about 8, although our parents had the great, good foresight to be certain we saw each other frequently (this friendship has been a life-saver for me in these later years).  As some of you also know, I grew up with a brilliant but alcoholic and womanizing lawyer father.  I loved him very much and miss him even now, but he was a mess, and he brought that mess down on his wife and children.  He would often come home very late at night, reeking of alcohol, women would call our home…you get the picture....

If you’ve followed this blog long, you know that I cannot help but offer social commentary. I’ve spent the last two days in continuing education.  One of our speakers was on domestic violence.  I am somewhat an expert from decades of helping women escape and trying to convince them that they should escape.  It is such a problem in our society that I think it is helpful to review the statistics.  They shock even me.  Just look at these statistics for the US: According to the U.S. Surgeon General, domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women in the United States. 95% of the victims of domestic violence are women. 35% of all emergency room calls are a result of domestic violence.  It is the largest single reason for ER visits by women. Of those who abuse their partner, well over 65% also physically and/or sexually abuse the children. EVERY day .....4 women and 3 children in the US die as a result ...

One of the perks of being a blogger is having an outlet to vent about one’s pet peeves in hopes there is an audience.  Better than screaming to yourself.  Combine that with a day on the lawn tractor, which leads to even more over-thinking than usual, and you have a full blown rant on your hands. The other day a friend, speaking of the father of her child, said, “ Jo-Jo just does not change dirty diapers.  He doesn’t like wet ones, either, but he absolutely refuses to change the dirty ones.  It makes him retch ”  Oh, my.  This kind of thing just sends me into orbit, for it is a sign of something deeper—an infantile man.  And a bully.  Let me explain. Jo-Jo happens to be a great outdoorsman.  He would stand over a deer he had just shot and watch the last lights of life ebb away.  He would then string up the still-warm body, slit it open, allowing the guts to spill out, and lasciviously grin at his triumph. But he claims to have to...