Glibbertysmidgeon

Ding dong the witch is dead
the wicked witch
the wicked witch
ding dong the wicked witch is dead!

Today I feel like singing. Like something magical has happened, and the world will never be the same. To me, this wasn’t just a Presidential election, it was a moment in which Americans defined ourselves.

And, even though I think it’s better than great that we’ve elected our first black President, there’s a different aspect to this election that is just as magical for me.

For the past eight years I have watched my country fall under the sway of an evil witch doctor- an administration that used fear mongering to keep the population in line. The Bush administration appealed to the lowest parts of us- greed, fear, racism and hate to gain acceptance for thier illegal war, their tax cuts for the rich, their attacks on social services, their neglect of the poor, their rape of the environment.

In this election, Americans could have chosen more of the same. The McCain campaign was bathed in lies (Obama is an Arab terrorist about to raise your taxes and turn the country socialist!), racism, and fear mongering. The Obama campaign was all about accepting responsibility for the realities of our situation, and working together to solve them. It was about coming together and patching up the cracks that these past years have opened up in our sense of community, in our faith in government, and in our sense of personal empowerment.

On Tuesday, we chose to throw a bucket of water on that old witch.
On Tuesday, we stood together to turn this country in a new direction.
On Tuesday, we turned back into the America I’d always thought I lived in.

On Tuesday, I regained my lost faith in America.

When I sat down to watch the vice-presidential debate, I admit I was hoping to see Sarah Palin say something stupid. I’d seen the clips of her Couric interviews after the fact, but I wanted to see it happen live, in context. I wanted to think my own thoughts about it before hearing the pundits chew it over.

I was disappointed, but not surprised, when she didn’t say anything that was actually laughable. I knew that she’d been training for this debate, and that there were few landmines for her to step into. She had her notecards, and the moderators are not allowed to ask follow-up questions (such as, ‘Specifically, can you name some publications that you read?’). I wasn’t surprised to see that she employed the same tactics that the Bush administration has been using for years- if you don’t like the question, just ignore it and repeat one of your canned talking points.

When asked what her personal Achilles’ Heel, or major flaw was, she answered that she and John McCain were both mavericks and they were just what this country needs. It reminded me of the time George W Bush couldn’t think of a single mistake he’d ever made.

For the same question, Biden listed several flaws, and admitted that he is unlikely to change. I liked it, but that was one rare moment of pleasure in that debate. If Palin wasn’t going to entertain me with screw-ups, then I had hoped Biden would thrill me with his excellence. Instead, he spent much of the debate trying to out blue-collar her.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s important for our leaders to be able to relate to our issues. I’m tired of being told how tax breaks for the rich are going to make my life better. But I would rather see a qualified candidate tell me how his new health plan is going to help me out, and explain why, than watch them compete over who’s from the smallest town. If they’re good at their jobs, I don’t care where they’re from.

I expect my leaders to be smarter and more educated than I am. It’s embarassing to see them dropping folksy truisms (I’m talking about you, Joe Six-Pack) instead of giving substantive answers to these serious questions.

Even more embarrassing is that so many Americans eat that stuff up.
I heard on NPR that the McCain/Palin campaign has targeted a district in Maine because it’s woodsy, they have moose there, and snowmobiling is popular. Because Palin and her husband are snowmobilers, they expect to take that district.

I’m sorry?

Since when did duck hunting, snow mobiling, or any other hobby make you qualified to be president? And yet it seems to work. The local snowmobiling association (30,000 members strong) has endorsed McCain/Palin.

This does not make me proud to be an American.

I’ve got chocolate syrup on my ice cream and I’m wearing my comfy sweats. It’s debate night! I’m blogging live, while I watch the debate, which I pre-recorded earlier tonight.

First impressions:

Barack Obama is yummy.
Kris says, “young people will connect with him”. I say, “I’d like to connect with him!” He’s handsome, his voice is like butterscotch, and he has poise. Did I mention he has a nice voice?

Okay, the serious stuff. I’ve always had a soft spot for The Maverick, I thought he was earnestly trying to do some good in the days before he rolled over and started pushing the Bush agenda. My impression of him now:

Not Honest: He’s using the same tactics as his evil predecessors, he repeats himself constantly. Bend the question into an excuse to repeat the talking points. Or one of his dusty old war stories. His language is vague and he constantly inserts trite little comfort words.
Boring: I have a hard time sticking with him.
Condescending: One phrase he keeps repeating: “I don’t think Senator Obama understands…” He is smirking in a way that reminds me of George W Bush in the Kerry debates. It’s reptilian, and it’s revolting.
Clumsy speaker: On what we learned from this Iraq war… “you can’t have a failed policy that causes you to almost lose a war.” well… duh. He mispronounced Ahmadinejad, he misspoke about the Palestinian government. He stutteres. He doesn’t address Obama directly, no matter how hard the facilitator tries to make him do it. He seems threatened.

Impressions on Obama:

Thoughtful: He’s raised several issues- healthcare crisis and it’s impact on the average people. The need to get off foreign oil, the need to make our colleges affordable so our people can compete in science and math, on our country’s need to rebuild critical infrastructure to support future growth in the economy.. he is not just trotting out catch-phrases.
Poised: Obama is very clear and cool, he communicates his ideas very clearly without the huff and bluster that we’ve been watching from these Republicans for the last 8 years.
Too Polite: I want to see him kick some butt. Twice already he’s had McCain against the ropes and he didn’t go for the throat. (He briefly mentioned McCain’s “fundamentals of the economy are sound” gaffe, but seemed a bit uncomfortable embarassing the old guy. He didn’t press the point home.) C’mon man, we need this. I need this. I’d give anything for the opportunity to pin one of these guys down and slap the lips off him. You have to do this for us. Take one for the people on Main street.

At the end of the debate, Obama strode across the stage to shake McCain’s hand and I heard him say, “Good job, John.” McCain took his hand, but didn’t quite meet his eye. For me, this was the whole debate. McCain seemed cowed. He seemed to be striking out with the sort of panicked desperation of the geeky kid about to get a wedgie in the locker room.

Barack, my friend. Why didn’t you give him that wedgie?

I’ve started watching old episodes of Sex and the City during Scarlett’s naps. At first I was just looking for something short and light to entertain me while I eat, but I quickly got hooked. It’s not the characters, which are almost caricatures. It’s not the plot, which is basically the same thing every week. It’s not the dialogue or the music. It’s Manhattan.

The subtext of the show is a love affair with the city, and like the ex-girlfriend who still phones in the night, I’m not over it. I enjoy tormenting myself with nostalgia, dreaming about how great things used to be. As I watch Carrie stroll down the cobbled sidewalk in Tribecca on the arm of some faceless date, I think to myself, “she would not walk on the cobbles in those heels! They should have put the man on that side.” Oh, Manhattan, I know you like she’ll never know you.

Ah, the night life. The freedom to say to your companion, “See you later, I’ll get a cab.” and ditch them on any street corner… The shopping. The food. The stinking, crowded subways. Chinatown. I see now that I never appreciated you as I should have when we were together.

It’s all so familiar, but, as with many old loves, the distance makes it so much more exciting. I imagine how it would welcome me back into it’s noisy embrace. I could go tomorrow.

Then the baby kicks and I look down at my straining maternity blouse, stained with Scarlett’s breakfast. I remember that I left that old love because, for now, we’re not right for each other. I am too tired for night life, too poor for shopping, and too overwhelmed by parenthood to keep up with the blistering pace of life there.

Still. It comforts me. When I’m ready, I’ll be back.

“It’s really annoying, when you’re trying to fight one person, and someone else is punching you in the head”

~My slightly battered husband, describing his mugging which happened earlier tonight.

Shame on each and every one of you chickenshit commuters who stood and watched Kris struggle with two muggers without lifting a finger to help.

“I try not to watch Food Network while I’m on the treadmill.”

~John Tabbone
Before going on to describe Paula Dean making Turducken

Welcome to summer.

The first weekend in June, and it was 90 degrees today. After a visit to the park with Sophie, Kris, Scarlett and I had a nice brunch with friends and retreated to our air-conditioned living room to sweat out the humid day.

Late in the afternoon when the day had cooled, we had another little stroll in the park.

The rolling lawns of the Long Meadow were dotted with park blankets and barbecues. Frisbees criscross the air, and music from a sound stage under construction competed with the squeals of the children.

They had nearly finished putting up the movie screen when we left to come home and put Scarlett to bed.

Today is the beginning of the summer season at the park.
They’re playing Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the long meadow tonight, and the concerts at the band shell will begin running one or two a week.

At nine o’clock, the fireworks began. The blasts were so close the windows rattled, and I could feel the vibration in the floor.
Normally, I like fireworks, but tonight I”m listening with my mommy ears. All I could think was,

“Can’t they use quieter fireworks?”

I hurried to check on the baby, and was relieved to find that our loud new air purifier muffled the ear splitting cracks to dull thuds in Scarlett’s room.

After I was sure she was safe and happy sleeping through the storm, I couldn’t help thinking about how stressful small things like firetrucks, fireworks, and smoking neighbors have become. Then I imagined how it would feel if those crashes outside our windows were bombs instead of fireworks.

I’m seeing a lot of things differently since Scarlett came into my life.

“Wouldn’t it be horrible to have a baby and be in Iraq?” I said to Kris,feeling ill.

“It would be horrible to be in Iraq, period” he answered.

He’s right, of course.
Anyone with half a brain knows it’s bad in Iraq right now.

But it’s hard to feel it, in the midst of our busy, comfy lives with our hot running water and our convenience stores. It’s hard to empathize with people living in fear halfway around the world when American Idol is on.

My Mommy Eyes had given me a moment of that empathy.

It happens a lot these days.

I try not to collect things.
Once people find out you collect something, you get it for your birthday, your graduation, your anniversary. They begin to see your face whenever they come across the collected item, and then they stop waiting for occasions. The little treasures just start multiplying.

They take up space, and you don’t have any control over the quality or style of the items you recieve as gifts. Also, I try not to keep around a bunch of stuff I don’t use, and it’s my constant battle to keep the household stockpile down.

Still.

I am a bike collector at heart.
They’re so beautiful and fun and useful. I love to dream of owning the folding bike for commuting, and the traditional bike for shopping. I’d love a tandem for romantic rides with Kris. A recumbent would be a fun change- I can’t figure out how they start and stop without falling over, but I’d love to try it. Also, I’ve been longing for one of those little scooter things with a motor.
And a Vespa scooter.
And a motorcycle.

Today, I’ve fallen in love with the moederfiets or “motherbike.”

She’s terribly useful, but I’m afraid there’s not enough room in my whole apartment for her.

I looked in the mirror and realized I have become one of those TV makeover people. The before picture.

How did I let this happen?

I promised myself that if I ever became a parent, I would never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom. But there she was, staring back at me from the mirror.

There was a time when I could not imagine myself a mother.
A time when I thought motherhood was wiping up drool and flipping grilled cheese sandwiches with the sound of children’s television programming in the background.

Eventually, thanks to moms like Katie, I decided I’d be one of those moms who took time to ride a mountain bike.

That’s when I promised myself I’d never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom, and I’d never be one of those mothers with nothing to talk about but baby, baby, baby.

Um…

So! How ’bout those Democrats?

I am so lucky to have had family in the house, helping out for the first four weeks of Scarlett’s life on the outside. I don’t know how I could have fed myself or walked my dog, or gotten a shower without the two moms and my sister, who took turns staying with us.

Still.

Ingrate that I am, I did find myself occasionally looking forward to the day they would all be gone.

Despite all their help, it is always stressful having people in your house. I secretly started to yearn for the day when it would be just us… our little nuclear family going it on our own- ‘getting back to normal’.

But what is normal, now that Scarlett is here? Certainly it won’t be anything like it was before. Today is halloween. In the old normal, Kris and I would have gone to a party or a haunted house, or out dancing in costume. Especially since the weather is unbelievably nice today.

Hopefully, normal will be something more manageable than week six.

Today I opened my inbox and realized I have missed many important things since my last login, including a conference call for the real estate class I’m taking. It makes me feel a bit panicky.

On an average day in week six, I nurse, rock, pace, and learn to butter toast with one hand while the other holds a shrieking, thrashing infant. My neck and back ache from falling asleep sitting up.

Who am I? How did I get here?

It’s 11:29 a.m., and I’ve walked the dog, eaten oatmeal, and nursed for 3.5 hours.
I hold out hope for a shower.

Most times I look at Scarlett, sleeping, eating, or crying and clawing at my throat, and think, “What an adorable little treasure!”

Occasionally, I look at Scarlett and think, “What have you done with my life?”

There’s something powerful about the human voice. Something personal, and real, and revealing. This is why I love these radio programs.

In depth reporting that we don’t find on network television- though you can find it on the National Geographic channel, Discovery, or The Learning Channel.

Stories, in which I get to hear real people talking. Real monkeys fighting. Footsteps crunching on gravel.

Today I found something that every American should hear.

Interviews with prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Comments by George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Alberto Gonzales. A history of the right of Habeus Corpus.

This is the kind of thing we should all be thinking about- the kind of thing we must all know as we are making our way through life.

While you’re washing dishes, folding laundry, or walking your dog, listen to Habeas Schmabeas.

“I think The National Anthem ought to be sung in English. And I think people who want to be a citizen of the United States ought to learn English”

George W. Bush, speaking about the new release of the National Anthem, performed in Spanish, by a collection of Latino pop stars.
The song’s producers say the song is an expression of patriotism from the Latino community.

“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

~Benjamin Franklin, 1755

The icicles are lovely,
My steamy breath is nice
the windows look so pretty
dressed up in lace of ice

I’m saving lots of money
preserving frozen food
my houseplants are surviving
but in a rotten mood

I wake up every morning
so glad to go to work
because my cube’s so toasty
The heat’s a handy perk

but sometimes I envision
my home, a comfy den
I’m cold when I am outside
But warm when I am in

Will we be getting heat in the building anytime soon?

This is the final week of this year’s Tour de France, and it’s the only thing I have watched on TV for a month. In an email, my sister-in-law cheered for Lance Armstrong, and then asked, “Is that like cheering for Goliath?”

I confess, I do tend to cheer for the underdog, but in this case, I’m cheering for the top dog.

Lance may be the big fish among the cyclists on the road today. He probably has the best team, the best legs, and the best bike. He definitely has the fiercest mental focus and the most rigourous training routine- cycling through the winter when the other cyclists are resting, and riding all of the climbs in each years’ route in advance of the race .

But what Lance is chasing is something bigger than a victory over this particular group of cyclists. in 103 years, only five men have ever won the Tour de France five times. Two have won five consecutively, and only one has ever had the chance to win seven. In his bid for his 7th consecutive Tour de France victory, Lance is competing against the entire history of cycling. He is attempting to achieve a record that will stand, probably, for my lifetime.

In the seven years that Lance has worn the Yellow Jersey, he has exhibited a level of integrity, discipline, and sportsmanship one doesn’t often get to witness in the world of professional sports. I can enjoy watching him race without the stain of steroids, drug addiction, or ear biting that have dulled some of our other passtimes.

And as if all of that isn’t enough, one look at his life story, and you’ll realize that we are witnessing one of the greatest moments in sports history.

I’m for great moments in history. I wish we had more like this one.

Go Lance!

The heat index is 91 today. I don’t know what that means, but it’s really hot out there.

Yesterday The City set a new record for electricity usage in a single day as New Yorkers gathered around our air conditioners, leaning into the cool like pioneer families around the woodstove. At least today the humidity has let up; for the past four days a blanket of damp has laid heavily on the city. When I walked out of the office, the thick, gray air hit me like a bag of wet laundry- hot and suffocating. Everybody walks slow in this oppressive weather, trying in vain to preserve their dry clothes. I don’t need to sweat; the moisture just condenses on me like a bottle of beer. If only I could be so cold.

This summer I swing madly between manic bouts of creative energy, and absolute lethargy. In the air conditioned office, my mind skips out of my meetings into the chaos of the childrens’ story I’m working on.

“What things can a severed hand do?” I wonder, “scratch, snatch, slap, poke, pick, point, flick, grab, pinch, pry, shake, squeeze, KARATE CHOP!”

In the warmer, damper terrain of my apartment I fuss. Ideas buzz around my head like fireflies, but I can’t organize myself enought to swat them down and press them to the page. Instead kick myself later for letting them get away. I want to write, I want to go to the gym, I need to walk the dog… and find myself upgrading my blog to a new version of WordPress instead. I’m beginning to see my modern conveniences as annoying interruptions, instead of fun and useful gadgets.

I’ve lost interest in email entirely. In fact, I dread it. What I once adored- my miraculous convergence of socializing and writing- has devolved into a chore. It consumes too much time and creative energy.

My cell phone is out of favor as well. Last year I was a local fixture, walking my dog with my earbud in place, phoning home, organizing my wedding, making dinner dates. Now, you’d be well advised to send me a text message, because I can’t be bothered to check my voice mail.

I have a love/hate thing going with my laptop. I love it for writing, I hate it because that dratted Internet constantly distracts from my work. Blog updates, emails, Instant Messages, news… I’m not sure I was built to access so much communication in one location. Sometimes I pull out the network card, physically removing access to the Web, so that I can work on what really matters.

A trick I should employ right now.

Young Brennan Hawkins has been rescued from his four days lost in the wilderness. His parents are very proud of him for surviving, and for following their advice so carefully.

Brennan’s mother, Jody Hawkins, suggested that her son may have been avoiding searchers by following his father’s advice.

“He had two thoughts going through his head all the time,” she said. “Toby’s always told him that ‘If you get lost, stay on the trail.’ So he stayed on the trail. We’ve also told him don’t talk to strangers … when an ATV or horse came by he got off the trail … when they left, he got back on the trail.”

“His biggest fear, he told me, was someone would steal him,” Jody Hawkins added.

CNN

I fear that Brennon’s parents may have hammered home the wrong message. Studies show that 71% of child abductions are not perpetrated by strangers.

For generations, our fundamental messages to children have contained three basic premises.

“Don’t Take Candy From Strangers”
In at least two of three cases, the offender is not a stranger in the mind of the child. Usually, the victim and offender know each other, at least casually. Child molesters often seek legitimate access to children and then victimize them through a process similar to seduction. This reality does not make the message wrong, only grossly inadequate in providing protection for children, who need more comprehensive information about the dangers they are far more likely to face.

“Don’t be a tattletale.”
One of the most stigmatizing names that a child can be called is tattletale. From their earliest moments, we consciously and subconsciously encourage children not to communicate. Thousands of children are hidden victims, and the key to prevention and detection is communication. Children must be taught that if something is happening in their lives that they do not feel right about or that makes them feel uncomfortable, they must tell somebody they trust.

“You’re just a kid. Be respectful to adults; they know what they’re doing.”
With this final message, we face a delicate challenge. All parents want their children to be polite and respectful to adults. Our message is not that we want children to be disrespectful, but that we must empower them to realize that they have the right to say no to those who would abuse their authority as adults. As educational consultant Stephanie Meeghan aptly expresses during many of the training sessions for teachers that she has held since 1988, “We must make children aware that their safety is more important than good manners.”

America’s families need not live in fear, but parents need to be fully informed about the dangers their children face and the most effective ways to educate them and guard them from harm. The key to child safety is communication. Children should recognize that “strangers” often do not look strange, and parents should recognize that most abductions and assaults involve an offender and victim who know each other. The exaggerated fears of “stranger danger” generated by lurid tabloid headlines need to be replaced with solid facts garnered from serious research.

Keeping Children Safe: Rhetoric and Reality
Ernest E. Allen
Juvenile Justice Journal

Sure it’s healthy to be wary of strangers.
It is not healthy, however, to blow this wariness up into a phobia so strong that a child would rather brave the wilderness with no food, water, or shelter than to ask for help from a passing hiker.

UNITED NATIONS — U.N. satellite imagery experts have determined that material that could be used to make biological or chemical weapons and banned long-range missiles has been removed from 109 sites in Iraq, weapons inspectors said in a report obtained Thursday.

LA Times

Thank goodness we kicked those inspectors out and sent in our soldiers.
Now that all those nasty weapons are out of the warehouses, in the wild, doing whatever weapons of mass destruction do when they’re on the loose, I feel so much safer.

Don’t you?

My friend Tara linked to an article about the political spin that has been applied by both parties to the new Star Wars movie. In her entry, Tara was scoffing about this recent trend in politics to read too much into our fictional characters.

Reading the article, the thing I found chilling is the ending.

…a Universal Pictures marketing executive had given a lecture to his marketing class about “King Kong,” which is coming out later this year. “Is there a political overtone to it?” Mr. Sealey said. “I suspect he’s got to think that through today. The political sensitivities are so great that you have to take that calculus into consideration. Is somebody going to read into ‘King Kong’ that it’s pro-Iraq, or it’s going to get PETA upset?”

New York Times

What value is any form of storytelling if it refuses to address the most interesting and challenging issues of its time? If we can’t explore our divisions even in fiction, how will we ever resolve them?

I am really frightened by the corporate dumbing down of our music, movies, news, and literature.

When the earthquake hit Sri Lanka, I was having Christmas dinner with my family. While the news reports about the tsunamis striking 11 countries started rolling, I was asleep at my sister’s house. I first heard of the disaster when Kris called me down from her attic workroom on Monday afternoon. By the time I had descended the stairs the news update had ended, and someone had changed the channel.

“Isn’t William in Phuket?” Kris asked. I thought a minute.

“He didn’t say where he was headed, but he usually goes to Phuket when he’s in Thailand.”

We speculated on how we might find his itinerary, and I went back upstairs, hoping that he had gone to Bangkok instead.

The next morning, a friend called to ask if I’d heard from William yet. This friend believed that he had, in fact, gone to Phuket. Later in the day, I phoned William’s parents,

“Hi Paul and Maureen, this is William’s friend, Patti. I was just wondering if you’ve heard from him yet.” Suddenly, the gravity of the situation struck me, and I began to bluster, “I’m sure he’s just fine, but I was wondering if he’ll be coming home early…”

I ended the message by leaving my phone number and absurdly wishing them a happy new year.

We ate lunch, ran an errand, and then headed back down to Seattle, where we had dinner plans with two of Kris’ brothers. During the drive we began phoning friends to arrange times when we might visit with them.

“…How ‘bout coffee in the morning? We’re going to the aquarium with Jason and Presley tomorrow…William will be home on Friday, and we were going to spend some time on New Year’s Eve with him. How’s your schedule on Thursday?”

“…We have to give William’s car back on Friday, so whoever hangs out with us on Saturday has to be our chauffer…”

As we were passing through Everett, I suggested we check on William’s house. He’d left us the keys, but we hadn’t yet taken advantage of his offer to stay there.

“We should check the mail and stuff.”

There wasn’t any mail- he must have notified the Post Office to hold it. There wasn’t any note for us, either. Or any itinerary lying on the coffee table. Without William, the house seemed lonely, and much too quiet. We paced around the cold house, picking up pictures of William- with his daughter, with his sister, with a friend. I put a note on the refrigerator, and Kris and I sat down on the couch and looked at one another.

“You want to go over to Jason’s house?”

When we arrived at Jason’s, a news story was playing footage of the tsunami- the first we’d seen. We were stunned by the images of the destruction, and the death toll. We’d had no idea of the magnitude of this disaster.

Now, as I dress for dinner, I think back on that fumbled message to William’s parents with regret. I hope he really is in Bangkok, sipping a whiskey sour and watching the whole thing on television.

UPDATE: William was not on Phuket, and is home safe.