What Price Freedom?

The house is quiet, save for the tele set at low volume so I can listen to breaking news of Saddam's capture. Normally on a Sunday morning, I'm not too quick to let the outside world inside. Preferring instead to feel that my home is a safe haven, world's away from the madness and chaos of societies that refuse to live together in peace.

And as I'm watching it, the Iraqi people dancing in the streets, the one thing that strikes me funny - though not in a ha ha sort of way - is the kind of weapons they carry around in a haphazard manor, firing every so often straight up into the air. But no one ever flinches whenever one of these shots is fired. Which tells you just how adjusted they are to hearing them - loud and too often. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to discuss gun control when democracy is brought forth to the table.

Still I wonder where the women are? The little girls? In a street parade full of revilers I have seen only one woman, draped in black veil, clapping her hands in the background, a henna tattoo on her wrist. I wonder what freedom will mean for her.

But like clockwork, KC has realized that I am awake and has made her own way downstairs this morning, where she is not so patiently waiting for me to finish with this blogging business of mine and make her breakfast.

Happy French Toast Day - despite the fact that KC has requested pancakes this morning.