Is justice pretty?

Osama/Usama is dead. (Can someone please standardize Arabic/English translations so we don't have 43 spellings for every prominent word?) Or at least, all media outlets, aside from the fringe, are telling us Osama/Usama is dead. Most are rejoicing. Obama said, "justice has been done." And a few are questioning the outcry of support for the murder of a man who never saw a trial.

Has justice been done? Is justice the death of a terrorist? Or the sanctity of a justice system? Or the vindication of a victim? Or forgiveness? Per dictionary.com, justice is, "The quality of being fair and reasonable." One thing I learned in law school is the erosion of the rights of the guilty, infringe upon the rights of the innocent. Can we offer the same rights to an accused child molester as we would a cute, harmless grandmother? This is where justice is challenged.

We follow our intricate justice system with its checks and balances in trying even the most egregious acts, because there is no liberty in a police state. When our government decides to kill someone without a trial by jury, the government has ultimate control. They decide who to silence. When speaking of terrorists, this is welcome. But when speaking of political dissidents or activists, most would say these actions would fly in the face of our democracy.

Can we be "fair and reasonable" when looking at a man who likely orchestrated the "slaughter" of thousands of Americans? Can we have faith in our justice system when we have seen OJ get off or the numerous people sue and win lawsuits based on their own stupidity? Does the desire to "string him up" come from an impatience with the speed of the justice system? An eye for an eye? Or a hatred of the unknown?

I don't have the stomach for killing/ordering killing of other humans. I wish we lived in a world where we all treated each other with kindness and empathy. And I am realistic enough to realize there is evil in this world and there are times, justice must be defended with a sword. And sometimes, it ain't pretty.

Do I think the world is a better place without Hitler? Yes. Do I think the world is a better place without Osama/Usama? I don't see why not. But I would also like to live in a world ruled by thought, rather than hate and fear. If intelligent justice means we shoot a man, fine. As long as our choice is "fair and reasonable," not the result of fear induced group think.

Which world are we in now?

Van's: Can a burger be pretty?

Since, I have decided to dedicate my blog content to all things pretty and today I want to talk about Van's Burger, I have to contemplate what makes a Van's burger pretty. For those of you who haven't been to Van's, it is two little drive through stands out on Yelm Highway in Olympia. They are only open Thursday, Friday, and Saturday and only for part of the year. They have an absolute cult following and it is not unheard of to wait 45 minutes to get a hot burger and creamy shake. This is also the place of hand dipped corn dog legend. See my blog post from last year.

One of the things I like about Van's is the venue. The cute little "huts" are right by a driving range and after you get your burger you can pull your car up and watch people shank balls. They also have some kids toys that I am quite certain were the product of a mid-nineties, late-night heist at Burger King. (Think Hamburglar.) Pretty might be a stretch, but Van's is darn cute.



Another pretty thing at Van's is the burgers. I went out on a limb and forewent my beloved corn dog to give the burgers a shot. Crisp lettuce, a fluffy bun, and that unidentifiable milky pink sauce made for an eye-appealing meal. And tasty too! They even gave me a complimentary half order of fries. (I was trying to be good and didn't order them, I swear. Of course, I ate them. Children in China are starving.)



There are lots of pretty things about Van's from the people to the food to the place. But my favorite thing is the "puppy patties." They save their extra burger and cook it up for your dog. How cute is that? This is Dolce patiently waiting to eat his. Quite pretty, if I do say so myself.

Can a burger be pretty, you ask? When you head to Van's it can. And supporting local businesses is pretty awesome. Hope to see you there!

What a pretty day!

Today it feels like fall. But I don't believe it yet. It keeps "feeling like fall," and I keep putting on my lovely fall boots and my cozy fall sweater and I keep sweating my buns off. (On a recent trip to Seattle with Pump Wearing Probation Officer, I had to buy a shirt, because I was literally sweating to death. Eww. I'm gross.)

So, I will not yet proclaim it is fall quite yet, but it feels very fall-ey this morning. Especially, with the cute little duckies swimming by. (They aren't really swimming are they? Paddling? Floating? Well, you know what I mean.) I tried to get a picture of the Canadian geese, but by the time I grabbed my camera and walked outside in my clog slippers (a gift from Wax Job's last trip to Amsterdam), the geese had honked on by. They are also pretty, but today you get to check out the ducks.

And the lake. How about that reflection? Looks like a painting, I think. I have some profound thoughts going on in my head about character and politics and people's abilities to have rational discussions and relationships and travelling and food and starvation and education, but today, just enjoy the ducks. And think about fall. (Maybe.) It's pretty.

Our first employee: Very pretty.

We have hired our first employee! Pump Wearing Probation Officer is taking pictures of our products today, because she thinks we need more stuff on the website. (She is right.) Pump Wearing Probation Officer definitely qualifies for our blog about all things pretty. (A guy at the bar who wouldn't leave her alone even asked her if she had shaved her legs that day. Seriously? Weird.) But in my opinion Pump Wearing Probation Officer's aesthetic beauty is far overshadowed by what's behind that pretty face. She is fiercely loyal, has a sharp wit (especially when discussing politics), and is solid as a rock.

Pump Wearing Probation Officer is also a keen negotiator. She negotiated a hefty salary for today's work. She will enjoy a delicious lunch with The Proprietress. It could be Panera Bread. It could be curry. (Are you all racing to submit your application to Bon Lemon so you can get a free lunch? Please do!)

Thanks to Pump Wearing Probation Officer's handiwork, there will be many new items coming to the website soon. Thanks Pump Wearing Probation Officer!

Pretty. Pretty Gross.

Look at that mug. Isn't Dolce Vita Evans handsome? (Although, I think he does look a touch guilty.) He been known to wear collars with just a little too much sparkle. A little too much gold lame. And who says boy dogs can't wear pink? Maybe it is his love of feminine colors that enhances his need to assert his masculinity by adorning himself in poo.

Last night, the poo was unknown. Sometimes you can tell it is a deer or an elk, or alternatively, a dead fish. But last night, the jury was out. I just knew he stunk. And he had little chunks of an unidentified substance on his neck and side. This is not a Bon Lemon approved accessory. We are all about creativity, but nobody likes the stinky guy.

So we cleaned Dolce up, reminded him he was currently sporting a very tough, hunter orange collar, and needn't be rolling in poo again. We'll see if he heeds our advice. My money is on no.

That's pretty Dolce Vita Evans. Pretty gross.

Aging: Am I still pretty?

Here at Bon Lemon, we say, "when life gives you lemons...blog about something pretty." We have dedicated our blog to all things pretty. (Which might not always be what you expected.)

Lately, I have been thinking about aging. I am 30. My boyfriend, 6 Par Farmer (who, apparently, we may have to rename 8 Par Farmer after a few not-so-good rounds. oopsie. :), is 42. My grandmothers are in their eighties. My parents in their late fifties. My friends range from 6-96. I have always found age to be a very relative thing in terms of maturity and beauty.

Women really get the short end of the aging stick. Men are praised for becoming sophisticated and distinguished looking. Women are praised, only if, they seem to escape aging altogether. (Think Demi Moore.) If you have been blessed with the genes to be a woman that looks like a girl, we will praise you. Otherwise, um, no.

I might be the only one, but I find 20 year olds, usually, quite boring to look at. There, I said it. You can not distinguish a vibrant soul from a beige one, because they are all wrapped in the same airbrushed package. It takes some weather to wear off all that shiny. What's pretty about shiny? It's kind of like looking at the sun; sounds nice, but you can't really see anything.

My forty something friends think I don't know the first thing about aging. They think I haven't even begun to realize what it is like to be double crossed by your face. Or betrayed by your thighs. Who knows when you really start to feel old. It is probably relative. All I know is, I think women in their 40's or 70's are much more interesting to look at than women in their 20's.

I don't want to sound like a feminist hippie. I don't think it is pretty to stop brushing your hair, forego exercise, or forget to put on fabulous accessories (perfect at every age :). I think women become more interesting as they age, because it takes work. It is the same reason we are more impressed by self-made millionaires than heiress billionaires. We are more impressed by Kim Cattrall's rockin' bod than Jessica Alba's genetically perfect butt. Aging takes work. And aging gracefully is most definitely pretty.

The definition of pretty, "pleasing or attractive in a graceful or delicate way," is summed up by Vanessa Redgrave. At 73, she is one of the most beautiful women I have seen recently.

So yes. You are still pretty.

Something Pretty

In my new quest to talk about all things pretty, I have started looking at people and things with a different lens. I am usually freakishly observant and often find myself wondering what people are thinking, if they are lonely, if they have children, are they educated, and on and on. Sometimes this is uplifting and other times it leaves me with a heavy heart. But now I am looking at all of these things and trying to determine whether they are pretty.

I have been thinking about what pretty means. Webster's say it is: pleasing by delicacy or grace. Unlike beautiful, which Webster's defines as: generally pleasing, pretty encompasses some seemingly un-pretty things. Grace does not revel in perfect situations. Grace shines when confined by the ugly. That is when grace becomes pretty.

Yesterday, I was driving and there was a man standing on the corner of the road. I could not read his sign from my vantage point, but he appeared to be homeless and asking for money. When I was younger, I gave readily to many homeless people who crossed my path. It made me feel better about my own life where I had plenty of whatever I wanted. But throughout the years, I have seen people lie, I have heard stories about kids in India whose parents take them out of school to beg, and I have become jaded. I no longer give money to people on the street. Not ever. I have decided, as a matter or principle, I want to help people who are trying to help themselves, not those who can do no more than stand on a street corner. I am jaded.

But I still wonder about the people I see. When was the last time they ate? Do they have a family? Are they mentally ill? Were they in a war? Sometimes, it is difficult not to give them a dollar or a sandwich. Other times, when they appear youthful and able bodied, I judge them for being lazy. I know I shouldn't judge people, but I do. So, as I am sitting in my car sizing up the homeless man on the corner, another man pulls up in a maroon mini-van. He clearly has a family that he totes around in the back seat. He has an army uniform on. He is a soldier. It is unlikely he has not been deployed at least once, and it is even more unlikely he has a lot of money to spare, while raising a family on a military salary.

As I am sizing up the homeless man on the corner, the soldier rolls down his window, smiles at the homeless man, says something to him, and gives him a dollar. He treats him with respect, offers him what he can (or more than what he can), and drives away. I wasn't about to do the same. This Corporal or Major, wasn't judging the homeless man. He saw someone in need and lent a hand. Ignoring the debate on whether it is productive to give money to people who stand on street corners, I think the grace demonstrated by this soldier is pretty. I talk a lot about pretty boots and pretty earrings. But there are so many things in the world that are pretty. Today, I think this soldier, whose name I will never know, is pretty.