Decorating My House

It's a tradition, now. The first weekend in October, as long as they're with their mom, Mr 8 and Mr 10 come over to decorate.  Now that Elizibeth is in the mix, there's even someone to drag the boxes off the shelves for me.  I unwrap, reminisce, and watch others do the work.

Does that sound perfect? It is.

After lunch at Grumpy's Grill, where Mr 8 explained the size and shape of a driver as we watched golf to our right, and Mr 10 made fun of my Colts Super Bowl t-shirt, favoring the Patriots even after I nixed his love for Aaron Hernandez, as we watched Florida State shut out Maryland... and had a good laugh over Terrapins, while I hummed some Terrapin Station to myself, and smiled.

Then, after Amster paid the bill (did I mention this was perfect?), we drove down the block to my house and they got to work. Mr 10 has very definite ideas about object placement. His brother was more interested in the can of swords I saved from Big Cuter's childhood.  "You're going to hurt someone,"  I heard Mr 10 admonish his little brother.  They grow up way too fast.

We stuffed the torn jeans and orange shirt with newsprint, and I pinned the baseball cap to the McDonald's Happy Meal plastic jack-o-lantern, also saved from my children's youth. The boys were very happy to carry it out to the biggest rock in the front yard, and prop him up, just so.

Seriously, do not knock his head off.

That admonition was tossed aside as they remembered jumping over the installation last year, and decided to try it again.

We lost Elizibeth to the library as Amster and I watched the boys swim.  Their pool is much deeper than ours; it took some reminding before they stopped jumping off the sides. The XXL Ziploc storage bag filled with water pistols kept them quite amused.  I was called upon for technical assistance, but not much else.  Amster and I sat on lounges in the shade, smiling at her children, even as they shed their clothes.

I love it when guests feel comfortable in my house.

Percy Jackson was read, and Odysseus and Telemachus were discussed - "Don't tell me if he finds his Dad!!" - and much chocolate was eaten.

Did I mention that it was perfect?

Wherein I Become Susan B Anthony

I was inspired.  I was thrilled. I was moved.  That part was great. The part where I began to realize that, like my similarly-initialed-heroine-from-my-childhood, I was also irrelevant... that part was a somewhat less fabulous lesson, though it was a lesson that needed to be learned.

Arizona List held its annual luncheon on Saturday, and Elizibeth and I got dressed up and attended in style

There was no doubt that we had the best shod feet in the room.  Of course, the waitress who kept tripping over my I-can't-pull-them-in-any-closer boots might have had her own opinion on the subject.  We were comfortably elegant, and I, at least, felt very grown up.

We were hobnobbing with the best Progressive minds in Tucson.  I was able to introduce Elizibeth to many of the dignitaries; I've met them all since bullets and I intersected.  Barbara LaWall, Pima County Attorney, hugs with the best of them.  After meeting her, we decided that Elizibeth should hold her phone in her left hand so that her right hand could be free for shaking.

This stood her in good stead when she had the chance to shake Congressman Ron Barber's hand a few minutes later.  They spoke about debate as I busied myself taking photos and basking in the intensity of their conversation.  She was really listening, he was taking her seriously, and I was feeling my heart swell.  Some very wonderful things have come my way since January, 2011; being on a first-name-hugging-basis with my very own United States Representative is one of them.

Shaking hands with Mayor Rothschild was fairly anti-climactic after conversing with a congressman.  

The event was a celebration of Progressive Politics, and progress was the theme underlying the event.  Pat Wiedhopf, one of the honorees, spoke of her desire to "pay it forward for the next generation." Her work allowed her to mentor and to be mentored, reminding me that there's always something else to learn. We were sitting in a room full of "talent, dedication, and commitment," as Representative Ann Kirkpatrick reminded us in her video address. This was definitely a see-and-be-seen event for the politicians in our area, and those of us who had donated time and dollars to see them elected were able to feast our eyes on the fruits of our labors.

One thing I love about Arizona List is that it quantifies its successes.  As a state Super PAC, pooling small donations, they are a significant player in the process.  In eight years, endorsed candidates have won 79 elections on the state and local levels.  I never feel that my money is going into a black hole of overhead and waste.  Those dollars are being put to good use.

As the chicken and rice entree competed for my attention with the carrot cake already on the table, Beautiful Annie spoke of gun control and reproductive rights and the power of engagement.  It was a warmed up crowd which welcomed the main speaker, Sandra Fluke, to the podium.

She spoke of new-found, unexpected fame.  This photo says it all, I think. She was waiting for her ride in the hallway after her presentation, fodder for perfect strangers (me) to photograph her pulling her phone from her pocket.  As I've learned, there are no "off camera" moments when you're a celebrity.

She shrugged off the label of "young superstar," reminding us that Sara Weddington was six years younger when she argued Roe v Wade in front of the Supreme Court.  Still, for the older women who made up the majority of the audience, she was fresh faced, bright eyed, unsullied by years of doors slamming in her face.  Nothing in her speech refuted that.

Instead of being Pro-Choice, we were encouraged to support Reproductive Justice, the new, esoteric term in women's studies.  Rather than focusing on defending the results of yesterday, the movement is building on past successes and creating an agenda for going forward.

Progressives are inclusive, trying to find agreement on the common sense issues where consensus can be built.  Breast cancer screenings were her good example of something non-partisan.  The fun part came after the example.  "If they can't agree, then they gotta go!" she told us.  "Shine the spotlight on them," she said.  Don't let them run from the fact that they don't find detecting cancer at an early, treatable stage a worthwhile endeavor.

This was her segue into the differences between then and now.  A 60-something woman wondered where the younger generation was hiding; she was tired of marching for choice when the women for whom it was a current issue were no where to be found.  The answer was simple, according to Ms Fluke; "We march less," but they have a much stronger internet presence than we might imagine.  They sign petitions, they write emails, they connect on social media and tweet their hearts out.  In the 21st century, this is how things get done.

I have never felt so irrelevant.  I am pro-choice, but now I have to say that I am an advocate for reproductive justice.  It's wonderful to be inclusive, to join with those who want government out of how they create or parent their children.  In response to legislation seeking to ban IVF procedures, men who wanted to be fathers were able to join the cause of reproductive justice... they were looking for a means to exercise those rights.

It was an interesting paradigm.  It forced me to think.  When the high school girl wondered how her Feminism Club could use language to engage rather than affront her peers, another new piece fell into place for me.  Feminism is "a word we created to do good work behind.  We didn't create it as an excuse for another fight." Ms Fluke suggested Gender Equality as an alternative, "if that works in your community."

If that works?  I don't remember wondering how I'd be perceived, how I'd be heard.  We were shrill because we had to be shrill; those on the other side had not had forty years of training to be ready to think about gender equality. We had to point it out to them.  We had to get their attention.  We didn't worry about their reaction.  In retrospect, perhaps that was a mistake.

And so I went back to feeling like Susan B Anthony.  No one worries about women losing the right to vote, and her temperance platform looks awfully silly as marijuana is legalized across the country. Will we, one hundred years from now, think of our current battles as delightfully quaint examples of a different century?  I will not be here to laugh at myself, but their children will be.

Sandra Fluke and Elizibeth

I'm just glad that I had a chance to look through the window into the future.  It's in good hands. 

I wish it didn't make me feel so old.

Kids in the Wild

There's something about boys out in the wild.

They will find an adventure ten steps from the parking lot.

This the the top of the secret place.

Big Cuter wondered how I managed on Mt. Lemmon with Amster and her kids on Sunday.

I told him that I was able to creep through the secret place with no problems.

"The secret place?" he wondered.

"You know, there are always secret places," said I.

"Ahhhh, yes, I know," was his reply.

For a moment, I think, he was back on Mt. Tam with his little sister and his mother on an adventure - hunting buffalo and tracking them silently with our Nature Explorer backpacks and our sticks.

The buffalo were everywhere, just as Amsters' kids' imaginary terrors were stalking us this weekend.

Up and over and under we went - or they went and I observed and photographed.

"Will we be on the blog tomorrow? I like to know when I'm on the internet."

That was the permission statement from Mr. 7,  maturing more quickly than I'd like.

He's still the kindest boy on the planet, willing to hold and carry and help.  He's just more grown up about it all.

The sand across Canyon Rose Lake looked like snow.

The ripples from the fishing lines were mesmerizing.

There was room to dance on the path.

And there was time to contemplate the future on the rocks.

Amster loves those toe-shoes.

There were all manner of fishermen

 and women

and picnickers of every ethnicity .

The path was paved, the temperatures at 7,000' were in the 70's and my heart was happy.

I looked out at Elizibeth, far and yet close enough to stay connected, peering into the distance.

That's the thing about kids in nature - there is nothing but imagination between them and the world.

No homework.  No chores.  No plans to be made or kept.

It's just trees

and cattails

and love



Team Sports, Redux

I spent Saturday watching other people's children play sports. I felt as though I were in an advertisement for Mrs. Obama's Let's Move initiative.  Though the temperatures were flirting with triple digits, there were hundreds of people at La Cima Middle School, watching and playing soccer. Only the parents of the players were sheltering under umbrellas, immobile in the heat of the noontime sun.  Everyone else was kicking a ball or playing tag or stretching before flag football.  Best of all, everyone was smiling.

I was reminded of the benefits of team sports as I watched Mr. 6's fellow first graders pass the ball up the field.  They are still working on scoring and aiming is apparently a higher level task than they have mastered as yet, but it was far from the herd-ball I'd seen at the first game.  The defense moved up in concert with the front line, the "far" kids stayed far and the "near" kids stayed near and I watched in amazement as they held fast to their positions while following the ball with their eyes.  There was so much going on and they were so little and they were so focused on the task at hand. 

Elizibeth was in the second day of her volleyball tourney, and, since even faux-Moms can only be in one place at a time, I went to watch her as Amster drove to birthday parties and other assorted boy activities.  Luck was with me - I arrived at the gym (with its very cool logo printed proudly on the far side of the volleyball net.... hence the white stripe through his beak)

just as her game was starting.

She didn't know that I was there at first.  I got to watch her strong serve and then her delighted gasp as she shared her joy in the unreturnable ball with surprise on her face.  "Oh, my God!" never sounded so good.  It's nice when your mere presence can elicit such happiness.

Getting a 14 year old to concentrate, to pay attention, to attend to the activity in front of her is often a mind-numbing experience.  Over and over you repeat yourself.... over and over she doesn't listen.  But look at that face, that intensity, that readiness.  Her team depended upon her and she was not going to let them down. 

A lot of it has to do with the coach, of course.  Volunteers all, Mr. 6's mom-coach has turned a ragtag bunch of newbies into a fairly respectable example of a team.  By middle school, that concept is well-established.  Caring about it is another thing, entirely.  Elizibeth loves Hannah, her coach (standing to her left) even as she stands bemused, clutching her roster and wondering where the skills she taught had disappeared.

For, while there were certainly many scenes like this one, where the ball actually did make it back over the net with force,  there were more times when frustration took hold.

The other team had many more opportunities to cheer and pound on the gym floor.

and then it was over.  They lost the game I saw, but Elizibeth's team took second place over-all, and she received a medal for outstanding performance. 

She was sorry I hadn't seen a snazzier performance, but I didn't mind.  It was more than the winning and the awards that made us smile as we munched on bruschetta and recapped the event.  It was the nicknames of the players and the fondness for the coach and the sound that the ball made when it bounded off her fists that were the real reasons to celebrate.

All these lessons learned while working up a sweat.