Linda Barlow

Oops, today is the big one. My 40th birthday was all about celebration (a trip to Bermuda). My 50th was fun, too, if a little more downbeat because 50 sounded a bit daunting. Now, as time seems to move faster (is there a law of relativity that applies?) with every decade, I have hit the 6-0 milestone. Am I over the hill? Or has the hill already receded into my rearview mirror?

My primary consolation is that millions of other babyboomers will soon be joining me in our seventh decade. A few, like Hillary Clinton, are there ahead of me.

I was born during those hopeful post-World War II years when our parents were busy makin’ whoopee and reproducing, stimulated by the economic rebound that followed the defeat of Nazi Germany and the U. S.’s emergence as a world-class power. I had an older half-sister, born to my mother during her pre-war first marriage, but I was the eldest of the 3 babyboomers whom my Mum and Dad produced together.

We grew up in relative peace and security, in the wonderful old Victorian house near the center of Winchester, Ma., a suburb of Boston. The first three years of my life had been spent in an apartment in Cambridge, but the move to the suburbs became possible as my dad’s continued studies at Harvard Business School (MBA and doctorate) improved his job prospects. Dad had grown up relatively poor, son of a divorced mother who had been obligated to work. My own mother, formerly a school teacher, didn’t need to work after I was born; indeed I don’t think any of the mothers in our neighborhood had jobs.

In those days, we knew all our neighbors. My parents socialized with the other grown-ups who lived nearby, and the neighborhood kids played together after school and from dawn to dusk during the endless lazy summers.

In the early 50s we had a TV, which was kind of a big deal, and several old radio sets from the 30s and 40s that still worked. Radio (AM only) remained essential. My dad played his swing music on the gramophone, although he soon obtained, to his great delight, a new Hi-Fi, with separate speakers and a record player that could twirl a whole stack of vinyl records. When I turned 12 in 1960, my birthday present from my parents was a battery-powered transistor radio, which was about 8 inches by 3 inches by 1 inch and came encased in a maroon covering. Transistors had replaced the mammoth vacuum tubes that filled the inside of radios and TVs in the 50s. I could carry my new radio around and hold it up to my ear — it was absolutely the coolest thing.

Wow, this stuff sounds like ancient history to me now, and I was there. Scary thought.

Today, for my 60th, I asked for and received an iPod Touch, to replace my former iPod. I think I’m just as excited about it as I was about my maroon transistor radio. Via our wireless connection, I was able to get my email, surf, check Twitter, Google Earth, and the blogosphere, and watch my favorite Turkish soap opera on Youtube, all while listening to the Rolling Stones in the background.

And the really good news? I’ve lost another couple of pounds and can fit into my skinny jeans!

I’m psyched! My 60s are going to be fun!

As a lover of the country of Turkey, I’ve been following the recent tug of war between the secular forces and the elected parliamentary leaders of the AKP (Ak Partesi), which includes members who are observant Muslims. Both Prime Minister Erdogan and President Gul are AKP members, although Gul’s prospective presidency nearly caused a military coup last year. A hastily-called election widened the AKP’s lead in parliament, and the military was forced to back down.

The secular forces have not given up, though. According to reports in numerous international news sources, and my friend Jenny White, who blogs from Istanbul, the secularists have turned to the courts to accomplish what they failed to achieve at the ballot box. Turkey’s chief prosecutor has proposed a ban on the ruling party, who have, he asserts, been guilty of various crimes against secularism. Should this strategy succeed, both Erdogan and Gul could be banned from political office and their party disbanded.

Ever since the visionary leader Kemal Ataturk emerged from the chaos following the fall of the Ottoman empire after World War I, the doctrine of secularism has been one of the Turkish Republic’s core values. Although the country is 97 percent Muslim, a strict separation of church and state has been enforced. When I lived in Turkey for two years during the 1970s with my Turkish husband, the people who moved in our social circle (mostly university professors and other professionals) were almost exclusively secular in their views. Although religious holidays like Ramadan and Kurban Bayram were generally celebrated, about the only time anybody we knew prayed five times a day or went to the mosque was when someone died.

At the time, however, it was not unusual for devout women to cover their heads with headscarves, even within public institutions like hospitals and universities. Some years after I left Turkey, head covering was banned in the universities, forcing religiously observant Muslim women either to leave the university or subvert the ban by wearing a less obvious head covering, like a wig.

The ban on headscarves in the universities has been lifted recently, due to the efforts of the AKP. (Both Basbakan Erdogan’s and President Gul’s wives cover their heads in public). The secularists are not happy about this, apparently fearing that permitting devout Muslim women to wear the headscarf represents a slide down a slippery slope toward the complete destruction of the rights of women in Turkey.

Now forgive my cynicism, but I seriously doubt that the real issue here is the rights of women. Anyone who reads my blog will have figured out that I don’t believe too many male politicians anywhere in the world care very deeply about women’s rights. If they did, women wouldn’t continue to be the second class citizens that we remain, in country after country, state after state.

What the Turkish secularists are worried about is the same specter that dominates so many of our fears in the West — the possible upsurge of Islamic fundamentalist extremism. And they do have a point. Turkey is one of the only nations in the Middle-east where Islam, the religion, is not tightly intertwined with Islam, the state. Turkey has thrived in recent years as a modern, secular, industrializing country.

Even so, the AKP has prevailed in several elections, and there seems to be little evidence that their recent dominance in parliament has harmed the country (for a much more in-depth discussion, I once again recommend Jenny White’s blog). Turkey has been at pains to prove to the European Union that they meet all the benchmarks of a fully democratic nation, and the last thing the country needs is a military coup or other strong-arm tactics intended to overthrow a democratically elected government.

Overheard in Guild Wars: (an online MMO)

General Chat: Obama the Healer: Monk looking for group for mission.

Team chat: Hillary the Warrior: Cool, there’s a healer LFG. Add him. We need a healer for this dungeon.

Team chat: CampaignMan: He looks like a noob. No elite armor. Prolly never done the mission before.

General chat: Hillary the Warrior: Group lf healer who knows the mission. No noobs.

(Private message): Obama the Healer: Take me.
(Private message): Hillary the Warrior: Hey dude, u know what you’re sposed to do?
(Private messager): Obama the Healer: Sure. Add me.

Obama the Healer has joined your team.

Obama the Healer: Hey.
Hillary the Warrior: Hey.
CampaignMan: ‘Sup
SuperDelRanger: Heya.
SuperDelNecromancer: Hey.
SuperDelNuker: Nice.

Hillary the Warrior: K, let’s get clear before we start. We’re taking all the chaos demons down, group by group. Ranger, pull on my signal. I’ll take the aggro — I’ve got the best defense, and I can do massive AoE with my axe. Anyway, there’s nothing they can throw at me that they haven’t thrown before. Casters stay back, and nuke any adds.

Obama the Healer: Just a moment. I’m not sure I agree. In fact, I propose we change that strategy. Change is good.

Hillary the Warrior: Er, I’m the leader of this group. I’ve got the experience.

Obama the Healer: All I’m suggesting is that we work together closely, as a cohesive team. There’s no reason to aggro every enemy. We might be able to negotiate with some of those demons if we approach them carefully.

Hillary the Warrior: WTF, man, r u kidding me?

Obama the Healer: Hey, chill. Just trying to put forward some inspirational new ideas.

Hillary the Warrior: You wanna negotiate with fire-breathing chaos demons doing 350 DPS?

CampaignMan: This is why I hate PuGs.

Obama the Healer: Or maybe we just could slip around them, avoiding their aggro circles. My point is, if we work together, we needn’t aggro every foe in the dungeon.

Hillary the Warrior: Duh, I’ve done this before, like 35 times. How many times have you done this mission, monk?

Obama the Healer: Well, actually, I’ve never done it, but I’ve studied it extensively. I’m convinced that the best way to avoid a party wipe is to bring a fresh perspective to the mission. It’s not just about you, the tank. It’s about the entire team working together. We’re infinitely stronger united than divided.

CampaignMan: I told you he was a noob. Kick him.

SuperDelRanger: Wait, he’s kinda got a point. We did wipe last time we tried.

SuperDelNecromancer: We can’t go in without a healer.

Hillary the Warrior: Ok, so it’s true we wiped last time, but I’ve learned a lot from that mistake. I’ve got it figured out now, every detail. I have a complete policy brief on this dungeon. Follow my lead and I’ll keep you all safe. In fact, I’m making you a solemn promise that you won’t accumulate any DP.

SuperDelRanger: U can’t guarantee that, man. This dungeon is pretty tough, and there’s no good exit strategy.

Obama the Healer: I’ve analyzed the mission, too, and I believe that it’s our attitude that counts. Our commitment. If I were in charge of this team, I’d never have brought us into this mission in the first place; in fact, I voted against it. But we’re here now, so let’s clasp our hands and fill our hearts with shining new resolve. Together, we can do this.

SuperDelNecromancer: We can?

Obama the Healer: Yes, we can!

SuperDelRanger: Dude, I like what I’m hearing. Let’s get on Vent and discuss it.

Hillary the Warrior: Man, I don’t believe this. I’m the leader. I’ve got the experience. I’m ready from Gate 1 of this dungeon. Even if you called me at 3 am I’d be ready to lead you through this dungeon!

CampaignMan: Just kick Obama the Noob.

SuperDelRanger: Do not kick him. There’s no other healers in the area. You know how hard it is to find someone who wants to heal instead of fight!

Obama the Healer: I’d be happy to get on Vent with you. I LOVE Vent — it’s perfect for me….I get really eloquent on Vent. My voice will fill you with hope and inspiration.

SuperDelNecromancer: kk, I’m starting up Vent.

Hillary the Warrior: Enough! We don’t need Vent. Let’s just do this. I know the mission, I’m calling the strategy. Follow my plan or find another team.

SuperDelRanger: Hillary won’t use Vent because if we hear each other’s voices, everybody’ll know she’s a girl.

Hillary the Warrior: STFU!

SuperDelNuker: No way. Hillary the Warrior’s a girl?

SuperDelNecromancer: Whoa. There’re no girls on the internet. Not gamers, anyhow.

Obama the Healer: I played with a girl once. She wasn’t very good, though.

Hillary the Warrior: Sexist idiot!!1! Girls gamers kick ass.

SuperDelNuker: Are you really a girl, Hillary? Jeez, no wonder we wiped last time. Dump her. Let’s follow Obama and do this thing.

SuperDelRanger: Obama FTW!

****
Non-geek gamer glossary:

noob (newb, newbie): new to the game and/or incompetent as a player
LFG: looking for group
aggro: to draw the fire of an aggressive foe
AoE: area of effect damage (several foes harmed at once)
nuke: ranged damage, often done by magic attacks
adds: additional foes entering the fight
PuG: pick-up group
DPS: damage per second
party wipe: everybody in the party is killed by the foes.
DP: death penalty
Vent: internet voice software used by gamers.
kick: throw someone off the team
STFU: expletive telling someone to shut up.
FTW: for the win

Like many women of a certain age (i.e., menopausal), I have experienced the insidious outward creep of my waistline. It’s been awhile since I was last able to fit into my “skinny jeans,” as the girls from Sex and the City named those pants you can’t bear to throw away. But, to my own honest amazement, the day when I can pull ‘em out and slip ‘em on is coming. Since the beginning of August, 2007, I have lost close to 30 pounds, and it hasn’t even been particularly difficult.

I’ve known for some time that I should make the commitment to lose weight, but I haven’t had much success with diets in the past. I used to be a thin person. Unlike many young women, I spent my youth and my 20s blissfully ignorant of the anguish so many other girls experienced as they tried to fit their healthy, naturally rounded figures to the norm of increasing slenderness that has created the anorexic “I wanna look like a starving model” cult of today.

Tall, thin women like my young self didn’t have to diet. Or even (horrors!) exercise. We could eat and eat — pizza, chocolate, ice cream — you name it, and never gain an ounce. We weren’t accustomed to dieting. We didn’t know how.

I did, however, acquire a health foods bug during my 20s, after reading Adelle Davis’s Let’s Eat Right To Get Fit. Unfortunately, Ms. Davis died of the cancer that was supposed to be prevented by her consumption of a healthful diet, so I didn’t stick to her more extreme recommendations. But I never forgot some of her rational, sensible advice: eat a balanced diet with a rich variety of foods, and make sure to optimize nutrition.

In my 30s, after giving birth and living the sedentary life of a writer, remaining thin began to be a struggle rather than a birthright. My naturally skeptical mindset has kept me from drinking the Kool-Aid when this or that bestselling diet fad has swept the nation. I watched my friends try various new diets, lose significant amounts of weight, and gradually regain it. My own attempts to diet, which usually meant eliminating all my favorite foods, were unsuccessful. I could lose 5 pounds, and sometimes even 10, but after a few weeks of depriving myself of foods I enjoyed, I’d go off the diet, make excuses, fortify my willpower, try again, tumble off the wagon once more, get depressed, and a dig into a pint of walnut fudge ice cream to make myself feel better. Or a brownie. Dark chocolate truffles, anyone?

The one time I lost a significant amount of weight was with the aid of one of those extreme diets — you know the type — you drink this liquid protein powder stuff several times a day and don’t eat any solid food. At least, that’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m not good at following the rules, so I insisted to the folks I was paying for this “treatment” that I should be allowed one solid meal a day. To this I added, in violation of the rules, a nice salad of fresh greens. Unlike most of the suckers in this program, I only had about 20 pounds to lose, which actually happened pretty fast (too fast). The poundage gone, I started eating real food again, et voila, you guessed it, I slowly gained back all the weight.

The sad thing about this was that even though I knew I had set myself up for re-gaining the weight (by choosing an eating plan that could not possibly be maintained, and wouldn’t be healthful even if it could be maintained), I still felt like a failure. I had been delighted with the 20 pound loss. I’d bought new clothes! Part of the diet plan had included daily vigorous exercise, which was great, but when the diet ended, I slacked off on that, too. What a loser! I deserved to get fat. Bring on the taco chips.

To make matters worse, a couple of years ago I got a scary result on a stress test. This put me in the hospital for an angiogram. Heart disease runs in my family, and I was still leading a sedentary lifestyle, which is a well-established risk factor. Blood pressure and cholesterol were ok, possibly because, despite the dark chocolate and the chips and salsa, my eating habits were healthier than most folks’. I don’t particularly like red meat, so I rarely eat it. I’ve been drinking non-fat milk and consuming other non-fat dairy products since they started appearing on supermarket shelves. I gave up cheese — even on pizza — many years ago. I avoid processed foods, and anything containing high fructose corn syrup, trans fats, and high sugar or sodium. I love fresh fruits and vegetables and eat them often. I love bread, but only the dark, crunchy, whole wheat and rye berry type. I eat beans many times a week; in fact, legumes and soy products have been my primary protein source for years. Heart disease? Ok, maybe it’s in my genes, but I haven’t helped it along.

Fortunately, the angiogram revealed only a small amount of coronary artery narrowing — about the amount that would be expected, the docs told me, in someone my age. Still, it was a warning. I don’t think anybody is certain how fast this sort of thing worsens.

So…this should have resulted in major lifestyle changes, right? Well, sad to say, it didn’t. Instead I think I went into denial mode, which included continuing to comfort myself with brownies (organic), chips (low sodium), dark chocolate, peanut butter (sugar-free, no salt added), and too much of that delicious whole wheat bread. As for exercise? No way! It was running on that treadmill that had made my heart go all jumpy and put me into the hospital. Forget THAT.

I began wearing increasingly baggy clothes. And I didn’t go out much. What if I ran into somebody I knew? My alter egos — characters in novels and stories — could all be nice and slim, no problem. And I had other alter egos in the form of computer game characters in Guild Wars and LOTRO — not only were they slender, attractive and sexy, but they could run all over Middle-earth without ever breaking a sweat or gasping for breath. Read the rest of this entry »

Every time I start meditating again, I wonder why I ever stopped. Over the years, meditation has proved to be the best strategy I’ve ever found for reducing stress and anxiety. Not only is it very relaxing, but meditation seems to ramp up my creativity as well. I have had some truly visionary experiences while meditating, and, in that quiet inward-looking state I feel much more in tune with myself, with the world around me, and with the essential nature of things.

There is no right or wrong way to meditate. In fact, I’ve long suspected that meditation is a natural state that we practice unconsciously as children, but tend to forget as we grow older. I used to watch my daughter when she was a toddler, and her usual way of relaxing herself was to sit down quietly with her blanket, stick two fingers into her mouth, and suck. She would continue in that dreamy state for 10 or 20 minutes before coming out of it, energized.

But all too often we have to rediscover and teach ourselves the wisdom that we knew as children. I have tried various methods of meditation — all are efficacious. Here’s a simple meditation that always feels wonderful to me. It is both calming and revelatory.

You begin by putting yourself into a relaxed state: sitting still and quiet, breathing slowly from the belly, exhaling for a little longer than you inhale. Let your thoughts drift, and don’t follow any particular line of thought. After a few minutes, when you feel relaxed, you are ready for the four segments of the meditation:

1. Aspire toward the Light.

Inhale slowly, reaching up mentally (or physically stretching up your arms) over your head, toward the source of all light.

2. Receive the Light.

Exhale gently, while lowering your arms and cupping your hands in a receptive state. Feel the light pouring into you.

3. Incorporate the Light.

Inhale with your arms crossed gently over your chest, imagining the light filling your chest and moving up into your head, down throughout your torso and legs, and out through your arms to the very tips of your fingers.

4. Radiate the Light.

Exhale as you spread your arms, palms outwards, envisioning the light flowing through you and out to touch and nurture everyone and everything in the world.

When you have completed the meditative chant, begin again and continue for your usual time period (15-20 minutes is what I usually do), breathing slowly and evenly as you Aspire, Receive, Incorporate, and Radiate the Light.

Depending on your own personal spirituality, you can imbue these meditative actions with whatever imagery best suits you. Here’s what works for me:

1. Aspire toward the Light — Mentally I reach upwards toward the Light/Love that flows through everything. That light is always there, but most of the time I am not consciously aware of it. To Aspire toward the Light (or toward God) is to open myself up and know the Light — see it, feel it, experience it. To aspire is to yearn or desire, and my state of mind is prayerful. Although the Light is always present, I have to direct my attention to it.

2. Receive the Light. This is often quite an ecstatic feeling. Again, it can be argued that we are always receiving the light, but it often feels to me as if I am separated from it, and must re-attune myself to it before I can truly appreciate the splendor and power of divine Light/Love moving through me. I am not, in my ordinary everyday life, a particularly spiritual person, nor do I currently practice any form of organized religion, although I am reasonably knowledgeable about several of the world’s great religions, and have been observant in the past. Meditation puts me back in touch with my spirituality, and makes me aware of certain aspects of reality that do not figure into my day-to-day life. Read the rest of this entry »

There are days (too many of them!) when writing is beyond me, but reading, hearing, feeling some of my favorite poems is not. Here is one of the lyrics I have loved, and been profoundly moved by, for decades: The poet is Gerard Manley Hopkins, and I’m using the edition posted by the Bartelby Project.

Spring & Fall
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

to a young child

Margaret, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

The first time I had a panic attack, I didn’t know what was happening, and neither, it seemed, did anybody else. I felt what folks who suffer from anxiety states and panic attacks will well recognize — that foggy, sticky sense of doom. Mind whirring, heart galloping, palms slick and limbs unsteady — surely I was dying, slipping over the muddy edge of my grave; or if not, I was going completely and irredeemably mad.The worst of it was, I was only a little kid at the time. In my innocence, I thought that when I grew up to be wiser and more knowledgeable, I would understand what was happening to me and know there was nothing at all to fear. I would grow up to be strong, brave, and resilient, and I would understand just how silly my childish self had been.

Instead, I grew up to have panic attacks that were even more devastating, since adulthood and knowledge had given me far more things to be afraid of and considerably more medical insight into the various ailments that could be (must be!) stalking my poor trembling body. Combine a certain amount of relevant physiological knowledge with my vivid, complex, natural story-teller imagination, and the playful nip of a neighborhood dog was transformed into a slow, agonizing death from rabies, just as every case of indigestion was either a heart attack or a dissecting aortic aneurysm.

Even though I was rational enough to understand how unlikely these scenarios of doom were, I couldn’t seem to stop the dizzying spiral of mental obsessing, nor the adrenaline surges that played such havoc with my pulse and blood pressure. And then, of course, I further worried (more reasonably) about the very real effect the physical manifestations of my mental terror were having on my heart and blood vessels.

I realize I’m speaking as if this is all in the past, but it isn’t, not entirely. I did learn to understand the neural mechanism of anxiety, and psychotherapy helped give me insight into what may have been some of the factors that increased what is probably my genetic disposition towards some easy-to-excite, slow-to-inhibit neurons. Several drugs, including Zoloft, Paxil, and Celexa among the SSRIs, and Klonopin among the benzos helped during the really bad times (some of the other benzos, like Xanax, had nasty snap-back-into-panic-while-wearing-off effects that discouraged me from using them and my doctors from prescribing them for me). Certain breathing and meditation techniques have also been helpful over the years, as has exercise.

But perhaps the most useful thing I’ve learned about anxiety/panic is that I manage these episodes better when I can just remember to let go and stop fighting. Instead of allowing that almost automatic “Oh no! It’s happening again! What if….what if….what if….” to wind its tentacles into my brain, I get through it much faster and more easily if I can go, “Yeah, yeah, big deal, I’ve seen this all before. If I’m going to faint right here in the elevator and make a scene, then so what, I’ll faint. If I’m about to drop dead, fine, so be it. If I’m about to have a stroke and crash into the tree, then goodbye world. If I’m about to start screaming, hallucinating, and crazily foaming at the mouth, then fine, I’ll be psychotic. Nothing I can do about it, is there? Come on, Fear, I dare ya. Here I am — come and get me.

Usually — not always, but usually — the not-fighting, the acceptance allows the fear to pass over and through me, leaving me shaky, but still standing, still here, still sane, and still able to summon a smile.

This week’s medical news brought a report about the disappointing results of one of the (thought to be) most promising weapons in the small arsenal against HIV-AIDS: a vaginal gel microbiocide, Carroguard. The gel was being tested in a large-scale trial in South Africa and Botswanna. This clinical trial had been ongoing for three years, but unfortunately, the number of women who became infected with HIV during the trial from the group who used Carroguard was very similar to the number of women in the control group who also seroconverted. Essentially, this means the drug did not work.

Granted, there are some questions about the results since it is always difficult to calculate whether the women in the study used the drug regularly and correctly. Did they faithfully insert the gel before having sex? If not, the results of the study may not reveal the entire picture.

Why is this news significant? There are currently about 33 million people infected with HIV-AIDS. Over the years, we have heard of many failures in the various HIV-AIDS agents and therapies, although there have also been some major successes. But the drugs that have been shown to fight the stubborn and infinitely clever HIV virus have not, thus far, prevented infection. Instead, therapies like Zidovudine (AZT) and Nevirapine (which prevent the HIV virus from replicating inside infected human cells) and the HIV protease inhibitors (which stop mature new viruses from being produced) interfere with the HIV virus’s activity after it has already infected its victim. Such agents, usually used in combination with each other, have given life and hope to millions of people infected with the HIV virus. But they do not cure AIDS, nor do they prevent the virus from entering human cells and beginning its deadly siege of the human immune system.

The microbiocide gels work in an entirely different manner. The goal for this type of drug is to prevent the transmission of the virus by blocking its initial entry into human cells. The point here is not to cure the disease, but to prevent a person being infected in the first place.

According to a 2004 report of the Joint UN/World Health Organization, a microbiocide, even if only 60 % effective, could result in a major reduction of new HIV infections among women. If applied vaginally prior to intercourse by 20 percent of women in 73 low income countries, it could prevent 2.5 million new infections over a three year period.

This assumes, of course, that the microbiocide works. Different microbiocides use different methods to achieve their goals – for more on this topic see WHO’s website.

Such an approach is urgently needed. During sexual intercourse, the receptive partner is more susceptible to the virus than the penetrative partner, meaning that women are more likely to acquire the virus from men than vice versa. Since power dynamics in relationships often make it difficult for women to insist upon the use of condoms, the development of a topical agent that women could apply prior to intercourse is vital.

There has generally been a failure by public health officials to recognize that gender inequality all too often deprives women of the right either to decline sex or to insist upon the use of condoms. This situation is worse in some countries than in others, and is related not only to the status of women in a particular nation, but also to their age, level of education, and personal power within their sexual relationships.

If effective microbiocides can be researched and developed, and if women can be taught to use them regularly, they could potentially prevent millions of new infections in the years to come. This would greatly benefit women at risk for AIDS, an important goal since women now represent 50 percent of the global total of AIDS-infected individuals. It would also benefit children, since it is believed that 97 percent of infants with AIDS acquire the virus from their mothers.

More info on microbiocides

Paper written by Linda Barlow on macrobiocides

I’ve been following politics more this year than I usually do because I have something huge at stake — the possibility of seeing something I didn’t expect to see in my lifetime: the first female President of the United States. As a child in the 1950s, I briefly believed that I could dream any dream about the future, and that I, a girl, could one day grow up to be President. But the adults all laughed at me. What a silly idea. A girl couldn’t grow up to be President.

I’m not yet convinced that a girl can grow up to be President, given the ups and downs of the current campaign. Ever since Hillary Clinton was First Lady, I’ve believed that a fair amount of the loathing directed at her by folks from both ends of the political spectrum was largely inspired by the XX in her genome vs. the XY in the genomes of the members of the Power Elite. Not even Bill, her smooth, charismatic husband, has acquired quite the same number of detractors, despite his selfishness, quick temper, and frequent infidelities. For all his faults, Bill is a good old boy, who can play golf and trade dirty stories with the best of ‘em. Hillary’s a female. A brainy female. A brainy female who fights back when attacked. A brainy female who has shown that she knows how to win. A brainy female who can do the deals and play the games politicians have to play. A woman of our time — finally! — who can lead this country.

Barack Obama’s position on the various issues is actually closer to my own, but Obama didn’t get my vote yesterday in the Massachusetts primary, nor will he get my support or my campaign contributions now. Let him take second place on the ticket with Hillary as our President, and I’ll be well content. His speeches, so far, are little more than rhythmic, rousing rhetoric. Sorry, hon, but I’ve heard it all before.

Hillary has been burned and tested. She’s been bashed by the most vicious, and survived. She’s been hounded and humiliated — never more so than by her own husband during the Monica scandal, but she has always stood back up, brushed herself off, and fought on. Hillary has already put years of work into a universal health care plan that might actually have some chance of passing muster in Congress, while Obama still hasn’t managed to figure out that a health care plan that isn’t universal is worthless. At my age of pushing-60, I can’t wait on his rhetorical hopes and dreams. I don’t need to join the cheers and chants and group-hugs celebrating the greatness of America — I already know this country is great. What I want are practical, pragmatic solutions to the many problems that beset us. I’m not going to put my faith in vaguely inspirational stories that aim for the heart but never quite reach the brain.

I want someone in the White House who knows the ropes and can jump right in and take immediate action. I want someone who’s smart, experienced, well-organized, and ready to put her carefully thought-out plans, policies, and procedures into place. I want someone who already knows what the hell she’s doing. And I want that person to be a woman, because, hey, IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME.

Cheers for J. K. Rowling!

The author of the wonderful Harry Potter series has shown courage in her choices before, particularly when assailed by some extreme members of the religious right who burned copies of her novels (shudder) for their supposedly evil influence on our children. No doubt the book-burnings will begin anew now that the author has revealed that one of the major characters, Hogwarts’ headmaster Albus Dumbledore, is gay.

Dumbledore’s sexual orientation was not made explicit in the novels (certainly I never noticed it). But readers are already probing the text for hints and allusions, and some have apparently suspected for some time that Dumbledore would turn out to be gay. According to Rowling, speaking during a book tour in the U.S., the author has always thought of the character as gay. Certainly the headmaster’s complex backstory, which was not revealed until the final novel, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, makes a good deal more sense now that we know that Dumbledore was in love with the wizard who became his dark-side adversary, Grindelwald.

However, Rowling’s revelation raises interesting questions regarding the interpretation of the novels, since, strictly speaking, the author’s comments about the text are not actually part of the text. There will be readers who are disappointed that Rowling was not more clear and forthright about the matter in actual prose. But I suspect that Rowling knew exactly what she was doing, since subtlety is often more powerful than straightforwardness in fiction.

When readers have had the chance to re-examine the text, I suspect we will find that while there may be nothing that absolutely proves that Dumbledore is gay, neither will there be anything that suggests that he has ever pursued a sexual relationship with a woman. Indeed, according to the Washington Post article cited above, Rowling corrected a note in a script for one of the Harry Potter movies when one of the scriptwriters suggested that Dumbledore had once been attracted to a female.

Some readers might question whether the sexual orientation of characters in a series written for children is worth discussing at all. Such matters usually went unexplored in the books we read as children a generation or two ago. But with this blog I’ve chosen to explore “The Way We Live Now” (stolen from the Anthony Trollope novel bearing that title), and adult sexuality is no longer a subject of which children are blissfully unaware. Divorce is common among families, and new parental partners are introduced to children all the time. Anyway, kids always know more about sex than parents want to believe they know (this, I suspect, has been true in every generation).

Although the plots of the individual novels and the overarching storyline of the entire series allowed little room for excursions into romantic subplots, Rowling was careful to give sexual passion its due as Harry, Hermione, Ron, and their friends moved through puberty into young adulthood. And in the larger sense, love is the great force for good in the novel, just as frustrated and/or unrequited love is the source of at least some of the tragedy. The sexual orientation of Harry’s parents and of Snape (who loved Harry’s mother) is crucial to the plot, yet there would be no international headlines if Rowling were to confirm that Snape, Lily, and James Potter were straight.

A world that accepts Dumbledore’s sexual orientation as easily as it accepts that of Harry’s parents is a world that I hope to live in, even if we’re not quite there yet.