These days, everybody is blaming someone. The democrats blame the republicans, who blame them right back. The rich blame the poor. The poor are ordering pitchforks.

New York blames Detroit. Detroit blames the labor unions. Labor unions blame Walmart. 

George Bush blames Osama bin Laden. DickCheney blames President Obama.  Evangelical Christians blame San Franciso values. Gays in California blame the Mormons (although, let's face it, when blame is launched, it can sometimes hit the target spot on).

My mother has been suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for about 15 years, and for each of them, I could write for days about the horrors of insurance, or lack thereof, about doctors and nursing homes that forget that for every patient there is a story and that, for the family that story involves real and raw pain, and about my visceral reaction to losing my mother, over and over again, for almost my entire adult life. But the one thing that I couldn't write about was my memory of her. 

When you think about music and Argentina, do you immediately think tango?

You’re not alone. Argentina is known for unleashing the sexy style on the world in the early twentieth century. Over almost a hundred years, the tango has been an obsession of many, even leading to an explosion of tango-themed vacation tours.

Because of distance and three adorable and energetic kids, my best friend and I rarely have the luxury of spending time alone. But last Friday, we had the pleasure of spending an entire afternoon together. After lunch, we found ourselves at the Cincinnati Art Museum, and after wandering the galleries for about a half-hour, I asked an innocent question about other museums in the area. With a mischievous grin, my friend informed me that the Creation Museum was just a short drive over the state line into Kentucky.