Un Dia Sin Inmigrantes

We probably won't be singing The Internationale today, but today's work boycott by immigrants is going to be the largest labor action that we've seen in a long time.

More than half of our team at work is foreign-born, from east, south, and west Asia, all engineers, all professionals. And for each one of them, there are a dozen whom we don't see, the people who pick our vegetables, build our roads, clean our offices and hotels, and wash our dishes at the restaurants where we eat. If nothing else, perhaps today we'll see these people, see them by their absence.

We can be further enlightened to know that Pravda (yes, it still exists) thinks that we're on the wrong track with our multiculturalism. To which, Mikhail Gorbachev says that both countries are on the same track, heading toward each other, as in the days of the Cold War. "We have not yet left the past behind: its death grip can be felt everywhere."

A story that we didn't finish reading.

It wasn't a good thing when the White House had its mojo, so I'm pretty well convinced that Josh Bolten's plan to get it back won't be a good thing, either.

I spend quite a bit of time waiting in line at the pharmacy. I want to be respectful of the others in line, but some things are out of my control. One evening, I stood behind an elderly man who was wearing hearing aids.

"Take two of these when you get home and one every six hours until the symptoms are gone," said the pharmacist.
"What's that?" said the man, leaning forward.
The pharmacist repeated the instructions, a bit more slowly and loudly.
"Take two," he said.
Louder yet. "And one every six hours until your symptoms are gone."
"Symptoms?"
Loudest. 'Until your gout doesn't bother you."
"Oh. OK."

Spring continues to insinuate itself into our days. The music from the ice cream truck is a part of the evening's sounds. Young teenagers up the street play with a Frisbee, although they are, by any measure, pretty bad at it. The Frisbee goes into the bushes, into the trees, every place except into the hands of the intended receiver. The leaves on the trees are coming along nicely. To our north and west are towns that are two or three hundred feet higher than we are. Their trees are at least a week behind our pace.

Among the things that we inherited from my mother were her pens. She used Papermate pens and bought them by the handful. Because we're not writing as much as she did (who could?), these pens are lasting a long time.