Step Back and Breathe

A bit of my political "wisdom:" If people selected sexual and life partners like they select political candidates these days, our species would die out in a generation. We don't expect our partners to match our criteria 100%. We overlook faults, differences, and quirks because we see the big picture.

 

 

Why do we insist that a candidate support our beliefs 100%? If 80% is good enough for marriage, why not for the presidency?

 

Politicians used to accomplish great things through negotiation and compromise. Now they scream soundbytes and have their SuperPACs dispense vitriol.

 

Discourse is getting overheated, so let's all step back for a bit. Indulge my tendency to take a meta-view. Say what you will about profit-driven networks, seems the nation was more civil when everyone watched the same three channels - ABC, CBS, NBC - and the networks did not expect their news divisions to be profit centers. We still had two parties and diverse attitudes, but we were nicer about it.

 

Now that news divisions are expected to generate profits and ratings and people can choose their news (via cable, talk radio, newspapers, and the Internet) to match their views, we seem to have lost the ability to understand and respect the positions of those with whom we disagree. I remember when my mother supported Johnson and my father supported Goldwater and nary a cross word was uttered. I honestly can't say the same about my own home these days. Mea culpa. 

 

I've read some heated comments on my Facebook page that give me pause. Who among us can be certain of anything? Now that we can source-shop to support our positions, it's good to remember that believing something doesn't make it true, reading or hearing something doesn't make it true, and saying something doesn't make it true. Pardon the arrogance of my mantra, "Certainty is the New Arrogance."

 

If we started our sentences with "My position is X" rather than "X!!!" we might actually accomplish something through consensus and compromise. Try this for the next week and see if the rhetorical temperature around you settles into a more pleasant range.

 

Bright, Bright Sunshiny Day...

It’s been a good long time since we merely chatted…about 18 months. So grab your hot toddy, pull up closer to the fire, and listen to me ramble about what’s on my mind.

• The Obama inauguration was an overwhelming joy. I stopped trying to force Young Girl to “get it” once I realized that her blasé attitude is an object lesson in why he was elected. His race is simply not a big deal to her, and not just because of her age. She’s had peers who look like Sasha and Melia all her life. They’re just two girls about her age who have the incredible luck to be living in the White House. Oh, right. They’re African American. Whatever, Mom. During the President Obama’s speech, The Man saw a bald eagle flying out at the ranch. We agreed it was a beautiful, positive omen for the day and the future.

• I have not truly been happy for a long time. But more importantly, I had no idea how blue I’d become. I’ve taken some actions to ameliorate the situation, and I’m pleased to report that the sunshine is breaking through and I’m feeling better than I have in years. Oh, yeah, the menopause thing being over could have a little something to do with that, too.

• As to the above, if you are not happy, and you know what you need to do to feel better, and you can’t do it no matter how much you know you should, please discuss with your health care provider the possibility that something might be up with your body. That’s all I’m saying.

• We’re having a string a stunning, crisp, sunny days. Still, sunny, blue skies with temps in the 40s and 50s are my idea of perfect weather. But I’ll take sunny post-snow days, too. Hint, hint universe.

• My mother continues her miraculous response to her cancer treatment, despite metastasis to her brain. She’s finished radiation for the 6 brain tumors, and is waiting for the go-ahead (neurological stability for a month) to join a clinical trial. She’s breaking all survival expectations. GO MOTHER!


Enough self-important yammering. As soon as I can, I’m headed outdoors.

All Grown Up Now

On election night, amidst all the talk of "historic moments" and "monumental firsts," I suddenly realized I'd just passed over a meaningful tipping point.

For the first time in my life, I am older than the President of the United States of America.

But not by much. And therein lies one of the emotional reasons I chose to support his candidacy. Barack and Michelle Obama are of my generation. Our daughters are in the same age bracket. Their personal concerns are my personal concerns. Lest you think I am a left wing nutjob who votes the blue state equivalent of "I love Sarah Palin! She's just like me!," know that ultimately my choice was reason-based. But I'd be lying if, now that the election is over, I didn't 'fess up to the identification thing.

Barack Obama is old enough to be President, and so am I. Welcome to true adulthood. The place and time where we take the reins.

Every campaign - indeed, every presidency - is like a lifetime in miniature. Some presidents, like some individuals, never quite grow up. They either chase rainbows or pick on the weak or live out their lives thinking the world literally revolves around them. The drama of youth plays out on the world stage, damn the consequences.

You know who I'm talking about.

I truly believe that is about to change.

Across the street from my elementary school, a vacant lot was blocked from our daydreaming eyes by a cinder block monstrosity known as The Brick Wall (deep in the Cold War, the Berlin Wall probably had a lot to do with the moniker). We were pretty good kids, and closely supervised, so disputes were usually shut down before they erupted into anything physical. But diplomacy isn't always effective when you're ten. Occasionally, whispers would drift through the halls and notes would change hands; our covert skills rivalled those of any Le Carre' spook: "Fight today behind The Brick Wall." The game was on.

I never made it ringside since my mother picked me up promptly every day, but I heard tales of the rollicking violence that blacked eyes and ripped shirts before the principal would amble over and break things up. He could usually set things right by requiring a handshake, mutual apologies, an honest admission of who started it, and a classic punishment such as writing "I will not fight behind the Brick Wall." 100 times. He was an outstanding example of a grownup in action. Thanks to his leadership, such fights were rare.

This presidential campaign had much of the schoolyard brawl about it. Spitballs. Dinner rolls across the cafetorium. Glue in the chair. Every day brought another taunt, another challenge. Rumors. Lies. Stabs in the back. Every day, someone from the McCain camp was spoiling for a fight, showing up Behind The Brick Wall, ready to kick some ass.

But there was one big problem. No one showed up to fight. Obama wasn't a chicken. He wasn't worried about getting in trouble.

He didn't fight because he is a grown up.

Over the last few days, as I've thought about the election, as I've watched the Obamas do their best to live authentic lives, what has struck me is how remarkably consistent he man is. How grounded. How controlled. How reliable. How disciplined. Just as he was throughout the two-year process. During the primary, he didn't change his wardrobe or his accent to fit the venue as Senator Clinton often did. During the main campaign, he maintained a calm, strong demeanor in the face of outrageous accusations and falsehoods. In doing so, he presented an admirable counterpoint to a ticket that drew each day's talking points from a grab bag, hoping feverishly that one would hit home.

Yes, we are going to have a grownup in the White House.

And I am optimistic that our nation may also be coming of age.

On election night, my friends and I watched the massive crowd in Grant Park - exuberant yet peaceful, so peaceful. Tens of thousands of fully enfranchised Americans, individuals of every shape, size, and color, waiting in hope and joy and grace. I recalled the hate-filled shouting that peaked at McCain rallies in the final weeks before the election, and I thought again of children and adults. I believe the inherent good in us all will eventually make the first example the overriding norm.

My hope is that wise, adult leadership will calm the remaining angry, fearful bullies in our country. That we will hear fewer calls to meet Behind The Brick Wall and more to Hang Out in The Park Together.

Guidebooks for parents and teachers are a dime a dozen, but share core principles:

Be Consistent.

Don't Raise Your Voice.

Support and Challenge Those in Your Care.

Be The Adult, Not a "Friend."

When parents and other grownups follow such advice, we do not call them weak. We call them wise.

When a president follows them, we call him a true leader, a statesman.

When a nation follows them, we can call her mature and truly triumphant.

America, here's to your majority.

The Answer, My Friend, Is 271....

A little music for today, classic in every way....

History.

Yesterday, I voted for Barack Obama for President of the United States of America.

Texas has "early voting," and turnout has been brisk.

All sorts of memories of discrimination -  de facto and de jure -  flooded through me as I worked through the screen. 

And with one touch of a flashing red button I blasted them all away.

Good luck, Senator Obama.

And all you folks out there... go make some history, okay?

Otherwise Occupied

I'm watching Rick Warren interview Barack Obama. I have such mixed feelings about this forum.

Here's a video to watch while I process.

OoooooWeeee! She's Politically Explicatin'...Watch Out.

Be forewarned.  It's 2:20 a.m. Later in this post you will read sentences that could be construed as racist. When you do, remember these italicized words: I am commenting on the possible thoughts of others, not describing my own.  And it's way too late for me to revise this.  So there.

I've blogged here and here about the serendipity of the iPod. But tonight I found that my adored white rectangle is also a ruthless political truth-teller.

Around 11 p.m. tonight, Large Dog and I set out for our walk. It's been a rough week, but I felt strong and peaceful despite a menu of disappointing news. My mother's white count is next to nothing, a nasty war is afoot between Georgia and Russia, and John Edwards - a politician who articulated so many of my dreams and concerns - admitted to a cliche' affair.  

But it was a bit cooler today, if still humid.  I'd just finished an audio book and thought, "Change of plans. Shuffle Songs." I won't bore you with the details, but off we went to a random playlist that started with "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House and ended with "Chelsea Hotel #2" by Leonard Cohen.

My epiphany hit right in the middle, courtesy of The Pretenders*:

No, my head wasn't split open with a divine solution to my broken washing machine crisis. And, like many metaphors in my unskilled hands, this one is far from perfect. But think on these lyrics:

There go the whites
Mmm, getting whiter
There go the colors
Getting brighter
There go the delicates
Through the final rinse
There goes my Saturday night
I go without a fight

In a nutshell, this is the Obama campaign's Southern White Problem. And Blue Collar White Problem. And Hillary Lovin' Steel Worker Problem. And Evangelical White Problem.

There.  I've said it. Don't hate me yet.

I will fight to the death anyone who says all southerners - particularly all Texans - are racists. We're not. Neither are all Northerners ready to join hands and sing "Kumbaya." But the rumblings are out there. If you lined up 100 "I think Obama might be a Muslim" spouters and scratched their surfaces, how many times do you think you would find honest theological worry? Come on. It's code. 

Those of you who actually talk with me know my belief that Edwards was essential to Obama's middle-South success with white male voters. But today the Delicate - the perfectly coiffed poor-boy-made-good many less fortunate or uneducated southerners hold up as proof it is possible to succeed without family contacts or inheritance - went through the Final (Blond) Rinse. 

Some who fit the Red State demographic profile see Obama and think, "There go the colors/Getting brighter," while others (Toby Keith, anyone?) have no trouble whatsoever articulating - however obliquely - the stereotype of the Uppity N*gger.

And it goes without saying that as the economy flounders, the election nears, and these rumblings come nearer the surface, "There go the whites/Mmm, getting whiter." I don't know about you, but I've not seen many faces of color on the campaign trail with Senator McCain. 

I worry that November's final demographic breakdowns may not make us particularly proud.

Here, in my little part of Texas, the Obama volunteers are of every color, shape, age, and background. This, to me, is what is truly revolutionary about his candidacy. This is what drove my choice. This is what will win the election - outreach to both new voters and stalwart believers in principles the Democrats hold dear. 

What will lose it - for either side - is for any portion of the constituency to think, "There goes my Saturday night/I go without a fight" and stay home, watching the clothes go round, on the second Tuesday in November.

*My apologies...I could not find a Pretenders performance clip of this tune.  I do hope you will click on the song links early in the post, particularly "Chelsea Hotel." Classic Leonard.

Back, with company

...in the form of some nasty virus. I think only two of us have been whacked, and our maladies may not even be related. But I have about as much energy as a wrung out dishcloth, so you'll have to wait a few days for a complete recap of the women's weekend.

Some points:

• We made collage necklaces, under the direction of Do You Realize? Curiously, I was even more anxious about necklace construction than I was about last year's painting experiment. I'm sure I drove DYR crazy with my constant need for pathetic reinforcement.

• After all that, I emerged with two pieces I love. And apparently left at the hotel. I called today and they had not been found. I keep telling myself "All is impermanence. All is impermanence." But I keep thinking "Damn it! I want to wear those suckers."

• We completed two writing prompts, and the results were grand. If I can collect the Moleskine books we wrote in, I'm going to put the pieces from one prompt up on the blog.

• Despite several bottles of red wine in the suite, most of us stuck to vodka and grapefruit juice. Go figure.

• Sunday I left the cocoon to get a spontaneous haircut and do a bit of shopping, and my Obama car magnet was stolen. Ripped right off the minivan in the mall parking lot. What a sad, sad thing.

• For the first time in my life, I fell asleep during a massage. And did so again after I turned over. That massage therapist is amazing.

• I do not understand how DYR can put that much brown sugar in her oatmeal and stay so skinny. It defies all logic.

June 2, 2008 update: The necklaces were tucked away in my suitcase after all! 

The Empire Strikes Barack

{Update on May 6, 2008 at 9:55 p.m. CDT...Looks like The Force may be with Barack after all! Stay tuned!}

I have no idea who made this, but I tip my beret to Molly at the RedMolly Picayune-Democrat for letting me find it (and for the post title, too)!

Some Days are Odder Than Others (Sorry, Morrissey).

I need to write every day, and I've been castigating myself about not doing so as my first blogiversary approaches.  "What is so different?" I ask myself. "What happened to those evenings when, after Small Child's bedtime, I'd settle in with a glass of wine and craft petite essays? You are a lazy slacker, Blue."

Maybe it's the Swiss cheese-like holes left in my brain by the departing estrogen (yeah, I know estrogen doesn't live there, but it makes a good image and I'm stickin' with it. What lovely grottoes will remain to be filled with....what?), but I'm only now twigging to the facts.  I've got a freaking job.

Students. Papers. Tests. Preparation. And no lessening of other responsibilities, although I did dump the PTA President gig. Those of you who know me and who were unaware of my former title may now stop your uproarious laughter.  Shame on you.

So I'm going to offer you two little lists today, as that's about all the thought I can marshal.

I. Things I Did Today That Don't Sound As if They Were Done By the Same Person

a. Attended the County Democratic Convention as an alternate Obama delegate.

b. Prepared 9 bags of healthy snacks  for Small Child's soccer team and attended the game.

c. Watched a downloaded episode of South Park.

II. Things I'd Like To Do When I Finish Teaching This Term

a. Read at least one book a week (and I mean a physical book, not an audiobook) from my "as yet unread" shelf.

b. Make some small piece of visual art every two weeks.

c. Write, in longhand, one letter a month.

d. Figure out why Small Child does not adore reading.

e. Head west for the summer.

If you have anything you'd like me to write about, please let me know.  The well is pretty dry.

 

West Virginia Blue

Here's a picture of Barack Obama, taken from waaaaaaaay up in the balcony in Charleston, WV.  When the second Miss Mac arrives next week I'll have the software to adjust and improve it, so check back for a better version!

Yes We Can!

Today, my West Virginia friends and I took Small Child and Small Child's Best Friend to hear Barack Obama speak about Iraq and the economy at the University of Charleston.

He was wonderful. I've been trying to find some code to embed so you can watch the speech, but the Net Nanny on the Embassy Suites business center machines blocked me from the clip on CNN since it included the text and he used "objectionable content" - the word "hatemongers." Until I can pry the Man Dell away from The Man and upload my photos and find a good bit of code, the best I can do is post this link from the local paper. It's edited but contains 21:00 of the speech, which will give you an idea.

Our friends here are leasing office space to the campaign, but declined VIP tickets so we were up in the balcony. I actually liked it. The venue was small (maybe 500 seats) and crammed to the gills with, the paper said, 800 people with over 200 in the overflow seating. Hillary Clinton was here yesterday and apparently did not fill her space.

He is more handsome in person, for those of you who care about that kind of thing.

We tried to meet him afterwards, but had no luck. Our friends thought he might visit headquarters, but he didn't - he ate wings instead.

An ironic note: Small Child's Best Friend's Mother kept SCBF out of school today to hear the speech. All the second and third graders from SCBF's Montessori school (which would have included said child) were on their way to the UC gym for PE when they neared the departing candidate and started waving. The Secret Service tried to divert them, but Senator Obama insisted on meeting the kids, talking to them and shaking their hands.

More when I have better equipment!

Turning Texas Blue!

Look for a new substantive post in the next day or so, but for now just

COLOR ME BLUE!

I am a happy veteran of last night's Texas Democratic Caucus process, democracy at its sloppy, beautiful best. Texas had record turnout. Our precinct convention, normally an intimate affair to say the least, spilled out of our room and down the hall. We were forced to delay our start because the last DEMOCRAT didn't vote until after 8 p.m., over an hour after the polls closed.

Over 200 people - aged 18 t0 90 - stood in line to sign their names and write, in their own hand, their picks for the Democratic nominee. In our building, both precincts went for Obama, one narrowly and one overwhelmingly.

I'm under no illusions about November. I suspect Texas will still glow red on CNN. But last night I was proud to be from the Lone Star State.

Dreams

Today, I went to a house party for Barack Obama. We drove together to the county courthouse to "meet at the poll" and go en masse for early voting. I'm sure you know that Texas has been a "red" state since the so-called "Reagan Revolution" of 1980, although the seeds of change had been planted long before that (in my opinion, on a November day in 1963).

It was an amazing feeling to stand with a group of people, from 18 to silver-haired, black and white and in-between, on the courthouse lawn with signs. As you might expect, we drew some looks (and a few friendly honks). As one participant said, "At least they're not throwing things."

The poll workers, more accustomed to church groups busing large groups in for early voting on the Republican side, seemed a bit taken aback by all the folks in the Democrat line.

At the house party, a classmate of Small Child's was busy making a poster. She is African-American. Her father has previously identified himself as a Republican. Her sign said it all. I wish I'd photographed it. She'd drawn pictures (in chronological order..these kids have some good teachers!) of Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Sen. Obama. Her poster read, "Vote for Barack Obama. He Will Be a Hero."

Couldn't have said it better myself.