Skipping stones

Let's face it: lately, the world's been a bleak place to inhabit. Over here, we're on the brink of national riots fueled by religious and ethnic tension; over there, a certain administration believes we'll accept anything they say if they just yell loud enough. (Seriously? If people accept the line that we never had a "stay the course" plan, I will scream loud enough for you to hear it on the West Coast. Then, I will bombard the entire Washington, D.C. core with enough copies of 1984 to bury a small nation.)

Frustrated? Entangled in existential despair? Might I recommend Red Stapler's request for people to contribute to Women For Women.

Think of life as a big, flat stone in the palm of your hand. No, don't throw it through the window. I don't care if it does look into the Oval Office. Just skip it. I've always liked skipping rocks -- although you probably can't call my staggering plashes "skips" -- because the ripples extend far beyond where your rock touches down. It's not the subtlest metaphor, but somehow it rings true to me. Supporting a group like WFW makes some ripples, or lights a candle, or performs whatever symbollic act you see when you think about changing the world. We're lucky enough to be in countries where we generally aren't restricted from work or assaulted on the streets for being born female. Whatever we have, it's probably enough to give a little bit back. Or at least link to RS's site from your own. Find a nice, shiny rock. See where it travels.