The Yellow Bus

Mentioned by dkzody in a comment, after I'd read about it in the NYTimes Book Review, I took myself to Barnes and Noble and bought The Yellow Bus.

It's much better than Shel Silverstein's much lauded (and by me, much loathed) The Giving Tree.  The nasty boy turned to man just abuses and abuses that tree, and the tree just waits there and feels grateful to be helpful, even as there is less and less to give.  The protagonist never changes.  He just takes and takes.  My synopsis has always been hurt me, hurt me again, I'll be here the next time, too.

Ugh. 

 Loren Long has a different take on the whole altruism thing.  

Inspired by an abandoned school bus he passed while walking with his dog, Long imagined the history the bus must have lived.  He thought about the town in which it lived.  And then, with milk cartons and xacto knives and paper mache, he built a 10' model of the community he'd go on to draw in the book. 

His sons told him he was crazy.  Reading about the creation tells a different story, though.

Building it and painting it and then sketching it and painting the illustrations from it was, the NYTimes says , “the most fun I’ve had practically since junior high school.” 

It brought him joy.  

And for that yellow bus, all the changes and all the uses end the same way - by bringing joy.

It's a simple story with captivating images.  The verbiage is calmly repetitive. The town is drawn in shades of black and grey; the bus and those who use it are colorful and different and very interesting. It drew in the English language learners and two kindergarten classrooms; they were enchanted by the whole thing.

Joy is everywhere, I told them once, I realized that they might not have heard the word.  We practiced joy by making big...no, bigger...no, bigger smiles, by being the happiest we've ever been.

The Giving Tree leaves me feeling melancholy.  The Yellow Bus fills me with joy.

*****

I may have overstepped just a wee bit when I mentioned that they might have heard the word joy on tv.  I might have said that if they did, it might make them break out a big smile.  I might have said it didn't matter who said it.  Looking out at the multi-racial faces in front of me in each of the 3 rooms I've visited so far, it's possible that I said She might look like you.... or you..... or you....or He might be old, and look like me.... but it's still joy.

Just a little subversive, but also cluing them in to what's going on around them, which is not a bad thing if they are introduced to it through joy.  

If I'm asked, that's what I'll tell them.  

I probably won't mention that it brought me joy.

Drive Cycle Reset

Who knew that such a thing existed?  Certainly not TBG and I.

His 2014 BMW's dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree.  There were unusual rumblings from deep within the vehicle.  He called and was told to bring it in right now.  He did.  They worked on it for a day or two, reset the doohickey on the whatchamacallit, and all was well.  

Or so we thought.

The car drove beautifully.  TBG took his notice from the DMV to the Emissions Testing Center with a smile on his face.  He left 10 minutes later, with a deep frown.

Apparently, all that work at the dealership involved turning off certain important sensors and computers.  Those have to go through a Drive Cycle Reset in order for the car to be tested.  If the sensors aren't available to be tested the car has not failed the test; that would be something the Emissions Testing Center could help us with.  There are signs alerting us to that.

If the sensors aren't ready to be tested a Not Ready paper is produced.  No one is upset that this occurred.  Just drive it some more, on the highway and in town, and you'll be fine.

He did just that for a week.  Went back to the ETC. Still wasn't ready.

Rinse and repeat.  Three more times.  The last time, we drove with a print out from the interwebs with detailed instructions on resetting the drive cycle.  This included 0-50 from a dead stop, idling in gear, overrunning (letting the engine slow the car, not the brake), and a variety of slow down and speed up intervals that had me using the timer on my phone to be sure we met every specification.

It was a ridiculous but enjoyable afternoon.  Not so much the result today when, for the 4th time, the car was unready to be tested.  The technician was delightful and apologetic.  He'd seen this story before.  He had nothing to offer except condolences for the situation.  The office next door could have helped us if the car had failed, but not ready was not something they were equipped to handle.

Off to the dealership, which had nothing to offer, either.  Their Service Manager could drive the car around and try to reset it, but there were no guarantees.  The representative was awfully sorry.  So were we.

I am now waiting for the BMW Genius to reply to my email.  Perhaps there will be a solution. Perhaps not.  The problem is that the test must be completed in order to renew the car's registration, which expires on the 31st of this month.

He probably shouldn't drive the car with expired tags.  He can't reset the drive cycle unless he drives the car.  This is a conundrum. 

If the BMW Genius can't help us, he will just have to try not to let a police car get behind him and notice his 2024 tag.  If he's stopped, he has ream of paperwork in the car to explain the situation.

Fingers crossed............

Something New! - A Short Rant

I was perfectly happy with the grocery store's old credit card screen.  It did nothing to annoy me.  For the last two days, I've had to opt out of text messaging when I enter my phone number to insure I receive all the discounts I'm entitled to in exchange for sharing my purchasing habits.

And finding the opt out space is not easy.

It's new! chirped the cashier when I grimaced.

I am not interested in new.  I like old and familiar, like Tim Walz's flannel shirts.  

I do not want to be tempted by offers or enticed to spend more time doing something of marginal interest.  Google has a new feature that's announced in its own window, which appeared without my consent.  I do not want to learn how to search even deeper by clicking here and dragging there.

It's enough of a rabbit hole as it is.

As I live the last section of my life, I am content with what exists.  Maybe that old dog just didn't feel like learning any new tricks.

For today, at least, neither do I.

A Modern School Library (reposted where it belong!)

The scholars are chosen by their teachers.  Each room has a different set of requirements - some must be respectful, others responsible, others are chosen by the line leader of the day.  Four scholars from each room walk together from the cafeteria, ring the bell at the door, and are let into the library by the smiling, sunny, happy to see them librarian.

It's a wonderful space.

The College in Classrooms for the library is University of Hawaii.  The librarian thought that hot air balloons looked Hawaiian, hence the hanging decor.

A volunteer painted murals everywhere.  Here are two of them.

The books are divided by difficulty, by subject, by author, and by the Dewey Decimal System.  There's a Pete the Cat corner, a graphic novels section, and a scary books section

where I joined that scholar in that chair to read a scary chapter from a scary book.  Why is there a school underground in a graveyard? she wondered.  I had no answer except It's scary.

Libraries aren't quiet any more.  There are no SHHHH signs. It's a place for computing without distraction when the outside world is just too much.  

There is construction to be done, using inside voices only, please.

There are giant Uno cards, which were really hard to shuffle.

We dealt seven cards and wound up with all greens or all blues or all yellows.

It made for a lot of laughter.

There were new games, too.

Chinese checkers took too long to set up, but regular checkers were a game my grandpa plays with me.  It was quite unusual to find it in a library, but that didn't stop us from having a good time while the next group of scholars were told the rules.

When the sun is out and the heat is unbearable, I now have a new place to hang out with the scholars.  The librarian says I'm welcome any time.

Happy Anniversary to Us

49 years ago, TBG and I were driving away on our honeymoon.

That's a lot of years ago. t

The honeymoon car, Tars Tarkas, was a giant, green, used Pontiac with oversized shocks on the front (it's a long story).  Brother and others attached cans to the bumper and wrote appropriate slogans on the windows which drove TBG crazy and which I just adored.  

Over the years we've had forty-some cars, cars by Ford and Chevrolet, Honda and Mercedes, BMW and Ferrari, Porsche and Audi, with a random, quite unsatisfactory, Toyota thrown in just because. It wasn't quite G'ma's the ashtrays are dirty so you got a new car?..... but it was close.

Just shy of a half century later, we're driving eight year old, new to us, still in great shape vehicles that, like our marriage, just feel right.  

There's nothing I'd take in trade.  

DNC's Finale

There was laughter and there were tears.  There was an apology.  There was inspiration and there was love.  

I missed the memo about wearing white.  Apparently, the DNC texted the delegates about honoring the women's suffrage movement in that way.... and I was left wondering whether I would have packed anything white.

After Pink and her daughter, after gun violence survivors and Gabby Giffords (continuing to inspire after all these years), after Mark Kelly

My Congressman, Ruben Gallego, stood up for his fellow service members surrounded by veterans who happened to be Democratic elected officials.  The Big Gretch stared right into the camera and painted that man from Mar A Lago as an out of touch crazy person.  Eva Longoria worked at Wendy's... and look at us now.

Adam Kinzinger told his fellow Republicans you should be here, too.  He called out the vain, fragile. weak, weirdly obsessed with Putin person who was bent on destroying our democracy.  He's an A player, for sure.

Maya Harris is very proud of her big sister.  Roy Cooper is proud to call her a friend.  

The audience couldn't stop clapping and calling her name.  Ella and Doug were just a little teary.... just a little.

She started with The Golden Rule. 

Everyone has a right to dignity, to safety, and to justice. 

A harm against any one of us is a harm against all of us.  

After a litany of her opponent's sins, there was this - Simply put, they are out of their minds.

There was policy and there were promises, but her mother's advice seemed to encapsulate it for me -Don't do anything half assed.

There were too many balloons.  That's about the only complaint I can conjure up.  

Day 4 did not disappoint.  The party's over.  We are now free to enjoy our evenings in other ways.  

The End.

Day 3 of the DNC

Sister wants me to be sure to watch her candidate at 8:30 New Jersey time.  Seems like I'm not the only one in the family who's glued to the coverage.  

Cory Booker introduced the parents of a 23 year old Chicagoan held hostage in Gaza.  The room was silent and tearful and so were TBG and I.  This is not a political issue.  There are no winners when everyone is suffering. 

Voting is my black job read the pin on a Minnesotan.  

Stevie Wonder was Stevie Wonder, and I paused in the dinner prep to dance around a little.  Cory Booker said that the VIP's backstage were getting down, too.  

The Capitol Police officers were heartbreaking and inspiring and Sister's guy is Rep. Andy Kim who picked up a trash bag and got to work after the insurrectionists were ousted.  The ad outlining the January 6th debacle was devastating.  I sighed, knowing that it won't make much of a difference to the MAGA crowd.  

Bro, we broke up with you for a reason was Hakeem Jeffries big line during a litany of sins ending with we are never getting back together.  Then he moved on to the GOTV part of his remarks, promising Joy in the morning if we all got to work.

Bill Clinton has good hair.  He admitted to being old, but at 78 I'm still younger than DJT. 

Kamala would be the only President to have spent more time at McDonalds than I did.  

Don't count the lies.  Count the I's.  

The man may be old, with a tremor in his fingers and a quavering voice, but he can hold a crowd and make a point and leave 'em laughing.  

Nancy Pelosi is six years older than Bill and comports herself as ten years younger.  She's a professional politician and that was on full display.... along with her disgust over January 6th.  

Kamala's niece and nephew and godson were adorable.  The California congressional candidate did a lot of yelling that seemed to energize the crowd but made us turn down the volume. Her brother in law thinks she is swell.  

Nevada's Latina Senator and Pennsylvania's Jewish governor..... just typing that made me stop for a while and think about what an amazing idea America is.  Democracy is not a spectator sport was on a t-shirt; this convention never misses an opportunity to talk about the work ahead. 

Amanda Gorman is fabulous.  The American dream is a dare... to dream together.

Oprah really likes America and the audience loved Oprah.  They liked Wes Moore, but not as much.

I love Pete, always have, always will.  He's realistic and optimistic and though he looks sort of ridiculous rallying the crowd by waving his arms and shouting, his message is crystal clear - his life was impossible 25 years ago.  We won't go back.

John Legend was awesome... at 11pm on the East Coast.  Auntie M is staying up much later than usual.

Amy Klobuchar's introduction of Tim Walz reminded me how much I like her..... and then his state champion football players came out on stage and all hell broke loose.  A video confirmed Tim Walz's midwestern, middle class, good neighbor credentials and his remarks were further proof.  

While they were banishing books in their schools, we were busy providing breakfast and lunch to every school kid.

It's pretty amazing that somebody's next door neighbor is the Democrats' nominee for VP.  There were a lot of people hugging him on stage when he finished; who they were remains a mystery, even to the MSNBC reporter who talked to them.  They seemed remarkably normal.

The pep talk left the audience dancing and cheering.  TBG and I were smiling. 

Day 3 went very well.

DNC Day Two

It was more of the same, with a snarkier edge.  

JB Pritzker took on the biggest brag - Take it from a real billionaire, you're not one.

VP Harris took Gov. Walz to Milwaukee, filling the arena to the rafters.  Trump's failure to fill the seats in that same arena last week has become a meme.

Bernie Sanders leaned into the Commie Kamala epithet, addressing the audience as Brothers and Sisters.

Stephanie Grisham took us behind the scenes, revealing that the Republican nominee for President of the United States refers to his supporters as basement dwellers.

The Mesa, Arizona mayor said we all need a grown-up in the White House.

Tammy Duckworth's fabulous prostheses got her to the podium where she called out a 5 time draft dodging coward in her first ten words and ended with Lieutenant Bonespurs ten minutes later.

Doug Emhoff is a guy I wanna have over for dinner.  The delegate wearing a Jews for Mommala cap and the one sporting a Doug for First Mensch t-shirt made me giggle.

Michelle Obama spoke about the demons in America, but only in passing.  She spoke about love and justice and her mother and your mother and responsibility, and she was eloquent.  But she could have been reading the phone book..  

There were no distracted eyeballs.  There was no one scrolling on a phone.  The delegates' faces were filled with awe and joy.  There were tears and cheers.  The woman commanded the room.

She made the word escalator tell a whole story.  

Who's gonna tell him the job he's currently seeking is one of those black jobs?  

America, our parents taught us better than that!

She's a hard act to follow, but the gracefully aging 44th President didn't do a bad job of it.  Using his hands to talk about djt's weird obsession with crowd size got a knowing laugh.  He admired Tim Walz's flannel shirts. He faux lamented now that it's popular they don't call it Obamacare any more

He went a little Aaron Sorkin, a little community organizer, a lot elder statesman. He is America's biggest cheerleader, seeing the best in each of us and encouraging us to see it, too.  

In a hospital room in 2011, he looked me in the eyes and asked me to see our better angels, to not give up on America and Americans.  Tonight, he did the same to America.  

Day 2 went well.

The DNC, or How Hillary Made Me Cry

We watched it from the beginning.  It got better as it went along.

What struck us most was how well it was run.  None of the speeches were overlong.  The signs were coordinated with the speakers.  The messages followed a pattern - thanking Joe Biden, tackling one issue that VP Harris will fix, and exhorting everyone to work to get out the vote.  They each were given a key phrase to use.  

It was strangely comforting.

Jamie Raskin called it the Democracy Convention.  The UAW President called Trump a scab. Kamala's childhood best friend thinks she's peachy keen.  

The Walz's and Doug Emhoff showed up.  So did the candidate herself, much to the obvious surprise of everyone, including the Walz's and her husband.  

Texas Representative Jasmine Crockett glittered and alliterated.  

The reproductive rights speeches had us in tears.  The personal became public and it was necessary and heartbreaking.  Andy Beshear put the policy to the stories.

Raphael Warnock was speaking when I looked at the chyron - it was 10pm in Chicago.  There were more speakers before Joe Biden would take the podium.  I started to worry about him.  I hoped he took a nap today; I did.

Chris Coons started the Biden love fest.  Jill Biden, in a slinky, sparkly, blue dress, loved on her husband and America and Democrats.  Ashley Biden made it very clear that she is very proud of her father.  Their hug had us a little teary.... and then Joe wiped his eye with a tissue and I completely lost it.

He looked tan and awake (maybe he did take that nap) and though he tried to calm them down the crowd kept on cheering.  He loves Jill and his family and America, and as the crowd kept cheering I couldn't help comparing his words to the nasty, divisive, blather on the other side.  An America where hate has no safe harbor is a message we should all be able to get behind.

Our President went on a little too long.  TBG likened it to Frederic March at the end of Inherit the Wind, but I had a hard time faulting him.  It was his swan song.  

Everybody Biden/Harris related gathered on stage to wave goodbye, including a very cute little one in a tuxedo holding Grandpa's hand as they were the last ones to leave the stage.... except for the Secret Service.  

I'd say Day One went well.  

Oh, I almost forgot about Secretary Clinton.  

I've never been a fan, but her DNC speech made a dent in my distaste.  She spoke at length, with passion, subtly referencing her own experiences as she predicted the future.  Her pain was evident, and so was her joy when she began to talk about the world she envisioned for her granddaughters and their granddaughters beyond the glass ceiling.

When she was finished, I looked over at TBG.  We were both somewhat abashed. Wiping away an errant tear or two, we admitted out loud that we'd witnessed a real moment, a true passing of the torch.  She'd touched us.

It's nice to know that my opinions are not entirely set in stone.  

Late Summer Blooms

The roses are making another splash before retiring for a while.  Most of the blooms were blown off in the monsoons last week, but the rock roses shielded by the pony wall in the front survived.

The crepe myrtle self seeded a baby which is currently outshining its parent.

Looking across the driveway to where JannyLou and Fast Eddie used to live, the purple Texas Rangers compete with the Mexican Bird of Paradise for attention. 

The barrel cacti come in all shapes and sizes and colors.  These were the last ones open late this afternoon

Our giant saguaro died a lingering death, 

its smaller arms crashing through branches of its nurse tree, an equally ancient specimen.  

When the situation became dangerous to the tree and those bushes surrounding it, The Handyman brought his tools of destruction and collection and left us with two skeletons 

and a cleaned up front yard.  

Those saguaros are filled with organic material that decomposes over time and enriches the soil.  That material is yellow and nearly solid before it turns black and crumbly.  Some was raked into my yard, but most of it was blown and swept and raked and shoveled away.

We are all set up for a beautiful transition into the Fall.  And yes, we really do have seasons.

One Word

I feel like I'm getting my country back, day by day.  I used to feel part of a shrinking minority - regular people who wanted regular things - and suddenly I'm finding out that there are lots of Republicans for Harris.  And Evangelical Christians for Harris.  And Deadheads for Harris.

Corey Lewandowski rejoining the Republican campaign is being reported with disdain, not fawning interviews.  There was little to no coverage of the rambling nonsense outside Bedminster Country Club this afternoon, although there were many ironic shots of the man standing next to grocery products on a folding table in front of the majestic doors none of his flock could ever afford to enter. 

I feel a gentle swing away from the fetishizing of his absurdities; the talking heads refer to him as boring. As America discovers what he's planning,  thanks to the Democrats' drip-drip-dripping Project 2025 details into the mainstream, the moral arc of the universe seems to be bending back towards the good.  

Of course, he knows nothing about it and disagrees with some of it.  That this is a recurring theme on the admittedly biased tv in our house makes me very happy.  

It took Tim Walz to announce that the Emperor has no clothes.  And all it took was one word.

Because it's true, the bully is weird, and calling him on it is guaranteed to diminish him.

How Is This Possible?

This will be a short rant, because I don't want to spend too much time in this space, but I need to tell somebody.....

Our Xfinity bill is set up on auto-pay.  The credit card has a high limit; we never come close.  The expiration date is years away.

How, then, could last month's bill be late? 

I posed that question to the AI Assistant.  It couldn't help me.  I rephrased the situation and wound up at the same screen which was close-but-no-cigar to where I wanted to be.

I tried on the app with the same results.

I called on the phone.  There were no options which were relevant to my situation.  Saying Representative and Agent and HELP!! accomplished nothing.

This month's bill is due tomorrow.  It should be interesting to see what shows up on my Xfinity Dashboard.

Thanks for listening.  

The Garden Is Open

I braved the heat and the relentless sunshine, fortified by the world's biggest and most delicious blueberry buttermilk pancake.

I helped out at lunchtime with the kindergarteners and the 3rd graders, opening milk containers and bags of chips and comforting a big girl who missed her mommy.  We agreed that being homesick is tough, that she could hang out with me in the garden, that keeping busy was the best remedy and by that time the secret was out - The Garden Is Open!

I had a lot of weeds.  Luckily, I had a lot of helpers.

Being sure to grab most of the roots was very important, and a close analysis was often necessary.

The girls were bemused that the weeds were covering their shoes.  These were not as easy to remove as were the untamed growth in the raised beds.  We agreed to ask the Landscaping Crew to help us out.

I lasted for 90 minutes before the sun began to take its toll.  

It was a good first day.  There are many more to follow. We have soil to amend, planters to refill and replace, irrigation to be organized, ollas built and planted along with seeds and seedlings.... once the soil is cooler.... and Grandma is more comfortable.

Ouch

The flame was medium high under the pot on the cooktop.  

The contents were ready. My right hand grabbed the nearest handle... the uninsulated, heat conducting handle.

Much language ensued. 

Cold water was applied, then I harvested an aloe leaf 

and applied lots of it all over my bright red digits, one of which is represented here.

I had planned a different post but my right hand is operating at less than full strength and it's hard to keep the aloe in place and type at the same time.

We'll talk more tomorrow.  Right now, I'm going to tend to my aloe.

Doing Our Part

MoveOn! sent all the stuff.  All I had to do was provide the people.  

Postcards with pre-printed postage and addresses; brand new ball point pens; instructions that were somewhat comical;

 

 stickers;

and three giant lawn signs.

I made brownies and cookies and ice tea.  I put out small paper plates and Day of the Dead cocktail napkins.  I invited people TBG and I care about . 

Sunday afternoon we spent about 90 minutes penning personal notes in tiny spaces addressed to surge voters....whatever they are.  The interwebs are conflicted when it comes to a definition but it's how the addressees were identified in the (somewhat comical) instructions.

It was a chance to say that voters have the power to protect reproductive rights (the art on the postcards) and the planet and our democracy by casting their ballots for Harris/Walz (everybody wanted to put a T in there at first) this Fall.  Your Vote is Your Voice was my go-to phrase when my wrist and brain were telling me to take a break.  

It was fun to be together with friends on a Sunday afternoon and do something other than watch sports on tv.  It felt good to do something tangible to create change.  TBG thanked me for making it happen; it was doing something positive instead of hoping for the best from the comfort of our couch.  

He had only one complaint.  The instructions were pretty clear that he shouldn't write what he really wanted to say:

    If you don't vote and Donald Trump wins - it will be your fault. 

The First Day of School

It smells like rain at this school opined the newly minted kindergartener.  He was right.  He was also a little bit scared, grasping his grown-up's hand and not letting go.  I explained about the magic stickers I was adhering to their shirts - rubbing one sends love right to, through, and back from the other sticker, ameliorating loneliness on both ends - and his skepticism receded as his fingers caressed the smiley face.

I've been using that trick for 13 years.  The parents are usually as thrilled as their offspring.  Today was no different.  

He's our oldest and he's starting kindergarten.....possibly the most plaintive words spoken by any mom, anywhere.  I walked them toward their destination, commiserating with her.  I'd been there, felt that, although for my youngest.  

Returning gardeners had many questions. Old friends looked much more mature than when they were only a first grader.  There were new teachers, a new assistant principal, retired teachers, promoted teachers, and many students who are now taller than I am.

I love the sense of chaotic optimism common to first days of school everywhere.  We have an extra layer at Prince;  Do you speak English starts most of our conversations with new students.  The refugee coordinators and the school's translators and the Spanish speaking staff and Grandma with my stickers tried to get everyone sorted out.  

There was no panic. The people with the clipboards and the bright green TEAM PRINCE t-shirts were everywhere, and they had all the answers.  Parents were returning to double parked cars as the scholars hung up their backpacks and shook hands with their teachers.  

The Principal's voice came over the intercom speakers, reminding the teachers to turn on their Zoom connections for Morning Announcements.  All the kindergarten scholars were safely ensconced in the cafeteria (why? I do not know). The main office crowd had thinned to a sprinkling of adults filling out paperwork and several Afghan moms and their shepherd, a lovely man in an official polo shirt, who sported an official, logoed polo shirt, an enormous smile, an a limited amount of English.  

The school year was getting off to a typical start.   

I've been smiling all day.

The G'ma Stare

Once you've seen it you never forget it.  

You really don't want to be on the receiving end.

Seeing it directed to my tardy Brother, TBG shivered and whispered I'd never be late again

So when VP Harris's gentle reminder that we're a democracy and people have a right to express their opinions quieted neither the hecklers accusing her of genocide nor the attendees who were attempting to drown them out by chanting Kamala, she responded the way my mother did.  

She called them out, then stared them down.  

My brother heard Do you know what time it is?  

The hecklers heard Do you want to elect Donald Trump?

And then, there was The Stare.

Mr. Vice President

Sister's oldest and dearest friend is the daughter of my high school home room teacher.  A through Ba, we occupied the coolest corner of the coolest corridor with the coolest adult in the school.  

For three years, we started our school day at our desks, alphabetically arranged so that new friendships were bound to occur.  I didn't see most of my homeroom classmates in any other setting, but in that room, with that man, everything was possible.

He was big, larger than life, in stature and personality.  He was inclusive before that was a buzzword;  he just did the right thing.  When the fraternity of cool jocks' hazing rituals sent a boy to the hospital, our school was in an uproar.  The cool kids were astounded that anyone thought they were wrong.... which was when Mr. Jan began to speak, to us in home room, to the teams, to the individuals, and, finally to the whole school.

I don't remember what he said, and I don't know if the pledge ever got over the social isolation and stigmatization  (How dare he report our names to the cops in the ER!) that was pretty obvious for the rest of that year.  I do know that in the moment, in the auditorium, I felt safe.  I could smile for a while.  

And that's how I felt after Tim Walz was introduced to me today.  As The Golden Gopher texted, Watch out for Minnesota nice.  Walz will destroy trump with a smile on his face.  

Is he too progressive?  Is he just a continuation of the Democrats' welfare state mentality?  I'll let him answer for himself:

“What a monster. Kids are eating and having full bellies, so they can go learn, and women are making their own health-care decisions.”

It just may be that the Democrats have finally figured it out.  It may be that the Obama campaign advisers VP Harris has assembled as a brain trust are as good as they think they are.  I can't think of any one else who could talk about shrinking the Lyin' Liar and not sound petty. He slipped in that couch reference without being cringey.

I feel really happy right now.  I'm sure that will change over the next 90-some days (I'm loving this countdown to the election thing), but right now I feel like someone is speaking to people who weren't listening before.

I'm hopeful.

The Veep Stakes

No one knows anything as I'm typing this.  

You probably know already.

That makes this post anachronistic before I post it.

I should probably type about something else, but you don't want to hear about my flat tire and AAA.... believe me, you don't.  

So I'll leave you with the same thought that's been rattling around in my head all day - it may be that the Vice President of the United States is a man who would recognize me in a crowd.

Strange fruit from being perforated, for all of us.

Back in the Saddle, Again

Amster has a new trainer.  Did I want to join her on Sunday morning? a

Lifting weights was the beginning of our friendship.  We kept at it, together, in the gym, regularly then sporadically, for nearly two decades.  Work and COVID and hip and knee replacements got in the way, but we always held on to the notion that we lifted weights together.

It was our thing.  I think it might be once again.  

Her trainer is a world champion power lifter.  His medals hang from hooks on the walls and the supporting posts and above the mirrors in his no frills gym.  There are low fans and peppy music but nothing else is electrified.  There are no fancy monitors blinking results.  

There are hand weights and bar bells and elastic bands wrapped around the posts supporting the ceiling.  There is a pull down machine and a leg extension set up with a seat but no back. 

The decor is classic lifter.  

We stretched the specific areas we'd be torturing, then moved between three exercises, separated by a water break before we repeated the same three exercises again.... and then again. He kept track of our repetitions and was conscientious about the amount of weight we were moving.  

There was core work that made me happy to have stayed with Pilates, more stretching, and then we were done.  It felt damn good to keep up with my 20 years younger friend, I gotta say.

Right now, hours later, it feels good in that sore-from-working-out way.  Whether I'll be able to lift my arms above my head tomorrow remains to be seen..... and that's a good problem to worry about.

Visitors Arriving

.... and I won't have time to type to you.

JannyLou and Fast Eddie are traveling for a funeral; our personal bed and breakfast is happy to welcome them.  

I know there are clean sheets and fluffy towels somewhere in the vicinity of the big guest room.  I'll get dairy free options for breakfast. They are easy guests, but certain basics still apply.

We'll go out for an early dinner at the family owned and operated Mexican restaurant in the strip mall down the block, just like we used to when they lived next door.  We'll have margaritas and ask the server about The Sailor, son or cousin or brother or nephew to everyone who works there, who joined the Navy to see the world.  

There will be a gentle argument over paying the bill, which JannyLou and I will ignore.  

We'll go to sleep early because that's what we do.  

It's not a long visit, but it will feed my soul.  Good friends have a way of doing that.

Is Everybody Happier?

It sure seems that way, especially here in the desert Southwest.  

Sister reports that New Jersey Democrats are pissed off about this and angry about that and nobody knows anything about Kamala and that means she must be awful, but that's suburban New York City people who need a gripe to get through the day.  Peeved is their natural state.  So be it.

For the rest of us, though, it's as if we've taken a collective deep breath and then slowly, with gathering enthusiasm, have expelled it with a smile.

It's so wonderful to hear a message of hope instead of hate.  It's equally wonderful to be enthusiastic about the herald. 

She is out loud, front and center, about my main issues - reproductive rights and gun safety.  She has evolved as a candidate, and I have to admire a person who, in reconfiguring the way she presents herself to the public, has become more genuine, more relatable, more fun in an I wanna hang out with this woman way.  

She's not letting her opponent set the agenda.  She's sticking to a campaign touting freedom versus dictatorship, speaking at length about the freedoms she will help to secure and mentioning the black hole of despair painted by the Republicans only in passing.  Going forward, not going back is a good message.  That very full stadium on Atlanta filled my heart.

I now think that there may be persuadable people on the other side.  I have some statistics saved on my phone. I'm hosting a postcard party.  I'm doing it all with a smile on my face, not my grudging I better do this or else even though I don't like her very much attitude when HRC ran.

She didn't wow me as a primary candidate, except when she took on Joe Biden on busing at the debate.  She has carried that fire with her in this Presidential run, and it's delightful to behold.  Chiding The Cowardly Lyin' (I couldn't resist) with Donald, tell it to my face is right up there with the whole those people are weird meme.

I like some joy with my politics.  

To answer my own question, I, for one, am happier.