Election Day

The Day

I did laundry that didn't need to be done. I cleaned and polished the kitchen counters.  I Wet Swiffered the floors.  I cooked myself a hot breakfast.  That got me through to 9am.

Big Cuter called for a video chat, wearing his pink pussy hat from years ago.  JannyLou called for sympathy and optimism; I asked if she read yesterday's post (where I swore to worry to the bitter end).  I got nuttin' for ya, honey was all I said before we both dissolved into semi-hysterical laughter and hung up.

I started making olla balls for Grandma's Garden because I couldn't listen to the talking heads who knew nothing but kept on blathering.  We ate a late lunch.

Little Cuter wasn't nauseously optimistic.  Instead, after voting she brought 50 donut holes to work.  How many did you eat?  We laughed that same laugh when she admitted that she had long ago lost count.  

I went back to the ollas.  I folded laundry.  I solved some problems for TBG.  Now it's 4:28pm and the first polls are about to close.  I think a bath is necessary to face the night... and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

*****

The Night

Steve Kornacki's manic energy just added to my angst.  Fifteen people in Upper Utopia changed their minds and he wrote the percentage, illegibly, in green ink on a screen covered with numbers that made me even more anxious.

We watched the very early returns, then gave ourselves a breather with TMC's latest film noir which TBG recorded for just this moment.  Kirk Douglas and Burt Lancaster and Lizabeth Scott kept us distracted for 20 minute intervals before we were pulled back into the blather-sphere.

Big Cuter forwarded Jen O'Malley Dillon's calming message to the campaign. Then he called to be sure I was okay.  I loved the effort, futile though it was.

I, too, knew it would be a long slog.  I, too, knew not to put too much reliance on the early numbers trending red.   That the beating heart of the project said we expected this so don't freak out right now should have been a big help.

More numbers on the screen, more interviews with politicians who have nothing to say that I haven't heard already, mind numbing videos of large rooms behind locked doors.... we went back to the DVR and Star Trek.

*****

The Late Night

As the numbers showed Kamala under-performing Joe Biden's 2020 numbers, TBG shook his head in disgust.  Americans don't seem to care about January 6th.  

Sister's Senate candidate won his race; she then sent me a text announcing New Jersey's rightward swing.  Sometimes she needs to say I told you so.  

I'm not getting any happier.  I don't think it will be called tonight.  We're going to sleep.  You may know more than I do when you read this in the morning.  Only call me if it's news I want to hear.

Did You Sleep? - Snippets on Election Eve

I'm writing this on Monday,  anticipating a night of tossing and turning.  I can only imagine how Tuesday evening is going to feel. 

*****

I'm glad one poll in Iowa was good news, but the latest take on polls is not to put too much faith in them.  You can't have it both ways (unless the need for a smile is just too great). 

*****

The night before our outdoor wedding, I stopped worrying that it might rain.  It poured.  

Laugh if you want,  but I'm still going to fret. I'm sure it will help and I'm not going to risk it otherwise. 

*****

I had to fill out the usual How Sad Have You Been Assessment for a blood pressure check in with my PA this week.  How often have I been anxious? Every day.  How often do I worry that something very bad might happen? Every day. 

*****

According to Big Cuter, all this means that I'm Nauseously Optimistic.

A Rain Water Harvesting Garden at Prince

A local church wrote and won  a grant to cool our neighborhood.  It involved lots of money, lots of plants, and lots of work.  It included training of parents and classroom lessons for 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades 

It all came together on Saturday morning, one of those clear, crisp, days that make Fall my favorite season of the year.  Sweatshirts required early, sun hats necessary all day.

There's a new bus pick up/drop off area adjacent to the school.  It was an empty lot before the paving began.  The condition of the land in which we were depositing plants can best be described at hard packed dirt.  

This family has done other garden projects together.  They were quite prepared.  There was enough planting materials for the little guy to announce to anyone and everyone who might be interested that he was using his dump truck and blue shovel, moving the gravel around. 

On the other side of the fence, there was much digging and flattening and berming to be done.

The shallow troughs created by the berms designed to retain water around the drip line of the plants.

The availability of water in a wider area around them should encourage the roots to explore and spread out, increasing their likelihood of survival.

There was smoothing and beveling with rakes of all sizes and descriptions.

The plants were set out, just so, and then the shovels and the muscles came out.

Jamming the point of the shovel in to the ground was often the only way to start a hole... even a little hole.

See those clumps of dirt lining the hole.  The grey shirted Prince Scholar and I spent an enjoyable interlude breaking them up into smaller pieces, easier for the roots to penetrate.  

The kids had lots of energy.  The grown ups were often happy to sit and watch.

This was a true community effort. There were Prince families and teachers (and their families); church members who drive by the school and feel it's part of their neighborhood;  Watershed Management staff making Tucson a cooler place to live.

As if I didn't think it was already a pretty cool place to live.
 

Where's Nancy?

She was having breakfast here, in the cozy, retro, Century Room at the Hotel Congress, with those of us who responded to yesterday's invitation.

Coincidentally, my copy of her book became available off the library's reserve list last week.  The first five pages are personal, philosophical, reminiscent, revealing, instructive, and demanding.  I read and reread them, finding inspiration and reinforcement and energy to do more.  Bunionella's gift of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's chapbook did that to me.  Before that, I have to back to Little Women in 6th grade.

So, when the invitation to spend the last of our political capital showed up in my inbox last night, I clicked accept without a second thought.  Then I drove to Barnes and Noble to buy a copy.

Bright and early this morning, I joined one of my favorite humans, who was even earlier than I, at a wooden cocktail table for two.  As seems to happen at these gatherings, the strangers to our left and right were soon our friends.  The pastries were scrumptious (they said), the yogurt and granola appropriately crunchy (in all the ways).  The Capitol Police were providing security. The event started at 9 and ended right on time at 10.  

About sixty people who could afford the donation sat comfortably close

to our (hopefully) next Senator, Ruben Gallego

and The Most Powerful Woman In The Country Emerita.  

She was teaching as she was preaching to a very appreciative choir.  Her description of Ruben's accomplishments as our Representative was also a lesson in the sausage making. There was no hesitation in her voice; there was power.  

Not the Self Proclaimed Protector of Women Whether We Like It Or Not's power, loud and self-referential and obscene.  This was confidence personified, with no need to bluster.  She reminded me of Margaret Thatcher (at the Marin Speakers Series many years ago), a small but mighty, well-spoken, warrior woman, succeeding in a man's world.  

She never said I.  We, you, all of us..... it was a refreshing reminder of the good that can be done by decent people operating with our country's interests at heart.

At 10, Rep. Gallego raced off to Phoenix to introduce the Vice President at a rally.  Speaker Pelosi shook off her ride - No, I have time  - and I joined the line to speak to her, book and pen in hand.  

The woman is a great listener.  She was flipping through the first few pages, I'm looking for the signing page, while I told her that I was gifting the book to my 10 year old granddaughter because of those first five pages.  

And then I asked if she found the spark of divinity (she looks for it in everyone) in Donald Trump.

It's very hard.  I do believe it was there.  I think he's forgotten it.

There are some very fun perks to living in a battleground state.

Happy Halloween

 

jpetersenphotography.com

Drowning in Symbolism

Using Madison Square Garden for his rally scratched two itches  - his fascism and his narcissism.  

It was also a very New York thing to do.  

The Nazi rally starring Charles Lindbergh in Madison Square Garden is a familiar and distasteful image to every New Yorker.  Only a person with no respect for what makes America America would want to reenact it. 

And a massive ego demands The Worlds Greatest Arena. I imagine that experience has been on his bucket list for a long time. 

He's telling us and showing us who he is and who he will be.  I don't understand how the polls say this is so close. 

It Happened

We were buying bikes for the Prince Elementary School Fall Festival raffle when JannyLou and I had the same thought at the same time.  

What if it's the wrong size?

And so, when I noticed a small kerfuffle around the winner of the final prize, I was not surprised that he'd won a bike that was as big as he was.  

His dad was trying to make it work.  Blocks on the pedals.... moving the seat... but there was no way to fix the main problem.  Like they say in basketball, you can't teach height.

His teacher was sympathetic.  The social worker felt his pain.  I tried to see if the tags were still attached so that they could return it to Walmart.

Then I stopped.  

What color bike would you like? Blue. The helmet, too? OK, Grandma Suzi will bring you a blue bike and a blue helmet and a lock on Monday when you come to school.  

His response was classic little kid - can I go play now?

All the grown ups were teary eyed.  The big brother sitting on the too big bike looked very comfortable. 

Do you have a bike?  

No.  

Well, how do you like the fact that I've just finagled you a bike and you did absolutely nothing to make it happen, except be bigger than your brother?

His Wait?! I get to keep this?!! is why JannyLou and I do this.

And if that weren't enough to warm the cockles of your heart, by sheer happenstance the little guy's teacher happened to walk through the lobby at the moment I wheeled in the bike. We agreed that the social worker's room was a better resting place than her classroom, and I left her kvelling over these chromed out training wheels.

Being in the right place at the right time with the right friends backing me up feels really good.

Friday Night (No Lights)

The Spring Festival transformed itself into the Fall Festival this year at Prince Elementary School.  The playground had inflatables of gigantic size and games accessible to all.  Tickets were 4 for $1.

Current staff's presence is mandatory.  The presence of the retired kindergarten teacher who came to volunteer was not.  But she represented the best part of the event - meeting old friends.  Her former colleagues were delighted to see her.  If they hadn't matured into teenagers I might have recognized the Prince alumni who hoped that I remembered them as they clearly remembered me.

Of course I do, sweetheart.  Look at how grown up you are!  It works every time.

I filled paper containers with chips for nachos.  I made sure the middle school and high school volunteers were supplied with water and confidence.  Then I looked for a chair.

Two kindergarten teachers were in charge of the hobby horse race, located at the back of the event, with a good view of the whole scene.  They were happy to share their space.  I relocated a chair, sat off to the side, and smiled.

Can you guess who won that race?  After practicing galloping (NOT running - put one foot in front of the other and jump) I called the start and off they went, the teachers gallantly matching their stride to his as he pulled away into the lead.  Much cheering ensued.

After their triumphs, winners picked a prize from the carefully curated Oriental Trading Company tchotchkes.  So many colors of plastic vampire teeth, so many squishy window cling ons,  Jolly Ranchers in every flavor imaginable - choosing was as much fun as racing.

And I do believe that these two wonderful teachers had just as much fun as their students.
 

I'm Trying

I don't know why I'm trying, but I am.  Perhaps because I care about the person who asked me to listen to Theo Von's podcast with jdvance.  I'm not linking to it because no one else should have to suffer.  It's 2 hours and 2 minutes long.  I have 1 hour and 47 minutes left.  

That may not be possible without recreational enhancements.

The only thing I found to like in these first 15 minutes was that our wannabe vp likes the Chicago Bulls of the 1990's.  That's a fairly innocuous choice; everybody likes the Michael Jordan, 6-peat, Bulls....unless you're a Pistons fan.

But after that, he fell short.  I live with a die hard Ohio State fan and I can tell you that he, unlike the wannabe vp, knows when Ohio State lost to Michigan and when they didn't, and he knows the margin of victory of every one of those game s.

Listening to those two fumble through what had the potential to be a sports conversation I could follow with enthusiasm left me wanting.  Ah, yes, another persona for him to adopt - a fervent Buckeye fan.

And yes, of course, it gets worse.  He began to recount Tales from the Crypt.

There's a story about a Michigan fan shoving a fistful of mud into our wannabe vp's mouth.  Really??  Was that before or after the miscreant ate a pet?  And what did our not yet a wannabe vp say to provoke such an assault.

His friend made a 9 year old Michigan fan cry by telling him his team sucked.  These two adult men, one who wants to be one obese heartbeat away from the Presidency, laughed and took creepily eerie delight in the long lasting effect that must have had on the now grown kid.

It was like Eddie Haskell, a bully relishing his win.

Another story, another punch in the mouth, then the host calling the collection of stories like a wedding in Appalachia... an appellation the wannabe vp agreed was apt.

But what irked me the most, what is most indicative of his character, was his entrance to this rabbit hole.

He thought he might be on his way to Ohio State for a football game next weekend, although when you're running for vp you never know where you are. 

His children are coming; it's their first football game.  As the conversation turned to tailgating, our wannabe vp mused at some length about the inappropriate for my kids (7,4,2) activities that might ensue.  They moved on after this, and I quote exactly:

Maybe my wife will take them somewhere and I'll enjoy the tailgate.

Damn.

Just when the Great Dad persona was coming into view, the controlling man-child powered through. 

I just figured out how to listen at 2x speed.  Maybe that will help.

(For Tim)

Something New In A Book

don't worry, it's typed out below

A Marin acquaintance has published a book.  I took it out of the library.  As I do with every book I hold in my hands, I read all the pages in the front. 

I skimmed the laudatory blurbs.  I felt the paper (lovely, heavy, with a slight yellow cast that makes reading a pleasure).  I read the title, on a page all its own. I read the dedications (no one I recognized).  I read the copyright page (I'm sure it has a name all its own; I just don't know what it is.)

This is all relevant to the point of this post.  

The paragraph introducing this post appears at the bottom of that page, below the publisher's information and the ISBN.  It reads:

NO AI TRAINING:  Without in any way limiting the author's (and publisher's) exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to "train" generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited.  The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

I have never seen this warning on any other book.  Perhaps, because Simon and Schuster says this is a speculative fiction adventure and love story about family, genetic privacy, and the onrushing future of surveillance technology, the warning serves as an introduction to the story itself.  

I don't know yet.  I haven't read a word.  But I'm in love with the experience already.  AI may write books, but I won't feel connected the way I do when I'm holding an actual book.  

If trees must be slaughtered and reused, I'm glad to be able to thank them by reading real books.

If my words are being scraped to teach AI how to speak, I ought to receive a small token of appreciation, don't you think?  

All this, and I haven't read a word. I can't wait.