John McCain's Message to the World

I was reading and watching the coverage of the Senator's funerary processions, of the speechifying and the weeping and the saluting and I spent the day trying not to cry.  Something was making me smile, too. 

It was more than missing the  man himself.  It had something to do with the pomp and circumstance and the genuine sorrow and the ever-present absence of the President. 

Joe Biden, mourning his friend, comforting the family, all while not so subtly sticking his finger in DJT's eye.  Larry Fitzgerald comparing his dreadlocks to the Senator's, and letting the laughter finish the sentence.

It came to me, in a flash.  His final goodbye is a message to the rest of the world.

America is still here.

We are strong and resilient and look pretty good in our uniforms and pretty powerful up here on Air Force Two.  So don't worry.  We'll be back as soon as the system works its magic and we get rid of this guy.  No violence, despite what He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named predicts, will accompany the transition of power, in the halls of Congress or in the White House itself.

We are the world's oldest democracy.

We're not going anywhere.

RBG

I laughingly remind my family that Ruth Bader Ginsburg can have any and all of my body parts she might need to live long and prosper on the bench.  A Jewish girl made good, sitting on the highest court in the land, holding plank for minutes on end, decorating her serious robes with decision appropriate collars, living on after a long and loving marriage to a man who cooked - she's a true superhero.

FlapJilly says that Wonder Woman is her favorite superhero.  Pterodactyl is her favorite dinosaur and she likes all the Princesses, but Hippolyta's daughter lives within her soul.  With jewelry and makeup in place (eye shadow leaving blue lines across her forehead, a different color blush brushed on each cheek), her sparkly, pink dancing shoes on her feet, a twirly dress covering her nakedness, she dons her serious, powerful, Wonder Woman face and takes the stance.

Fists cocked, arms akimbo, strength emanating from every pore, she dares me to do battle.  She's got the moves, the terrifying shrieks, the knowledge that she is making the world safe fueling every blow.  Then, she laughs and hugs me.  Being powerful is hard work.

As she grows up, she's reading more grown up books.  I Dissent is the picture book biography of RBG, and it's part of her permanent night time roster.  We've talked about strength and power and being in charge, whether you are a superhero or a Supreme Court Justice.  She knows that she can grow up and be one, too.

That's the background to the joy Little Cuter felt when, on an adventure to Barnes and Opal last Saturday, her daughter took off, flying across the store.  She caught up with her at an end cap.  

Look, Mama, Look!  It's ROOF!!

I Voted

Almost everyone I know uses a mail in ballot.  I like going to the polling place.

I like seeing the proliferation of Vote for Me! signs sharply curtailed at the 75' line.  I like the clearly marked entrance and  the arrows directing me to smiling faces - always the same smiling faces - on folding chairs.  I show my identification and look for further instructions.

I like being told to go Right this way, ma'am and saying hello to Liz, who introduced me to the Happy Ladies Club.  She's an inspector in the system now, presiding over the distribution of ballots.  We've never agreed on policy or politics but we both believe in the process. 

And so, today, I took my paper ballot, filled in the ovals with the lovely fine tipped marker, deposited it in the strongbox, and took my I Voted sticker with a smile.

I spent the day hoping.  I'll spend the night sighing. 

None of the winners in contested races are the Progressive candidates I favored.  79,531 fellow citizens think that Joe Arpaio was fit to represent our state in the United States Senate.... and that was with only 14% of the precincts reporting. 

Still, I'm looking forward to doing it all over again in November.

I'm Disillusioned

The President can't even get the flag right.

People I care about wonder why we're venerating John McCain.

Michael Avenatti has crushed my crush by openly discussing a run for the Presidency. 

Someday someone will have to explain to Giblet that his President-When-I-Was-Born was brought down by a porn star.  (Mine, Dwight D. Eisenhower, also had a checkered relationship with marital fidelity.  He or his minions might well have paid off or intimidated those in the know, but without a 24 hour news cycle fueled by social media and our insatiable desire for instant fame, who knows?)

Did I mention that I'm disillusioned?

It's the day before we vote, and Martha McSally just ran an ad targeting the presumed Democratic candidate, rather than attacking either of her Republican Primary opponents or touting her political alliance with DJT.  Of course, she's running against a woman who lost last time and Sheriff Joe, the pardoned felon of Phoenix (the p's and f's in that phrase (!) are interesting).

On the Democrat's ballot, I'll be voting for the voice I'd like to see in Congress, rather than the person I think will win.  I'll vote for their candidate in the general, but I'd like to be enthusiastic about my choice.  The chances of that are slim.

And there's Disillusioned Smurf, raising her wild blue curls once again.

And the worst? Last Tuesday,  I went to the UofA with NextGen.org, their Arizona voter registration forms, my American Flag T-shirt, a smile and a spiel.  "Hi! Are you registered to vote?"  25% of them said Yes! with enthusiasm, about half ignored me or nodded and walked on or weren't eligible.  But the last 25% worry me the most. 

"I don't want to."  "I don't like to vote." 

My astonished WHY??? (and yes, I gasped at each and every one of them) was met with a vacant stare, or a flip of the hair, a vague repetition of I don't wanna, or, more pathetically, I don't know.

I lasted less than an hour, walking up the steps to my rooftop parking space, fuming.  People went to jail so that you could vote.  We lowered the age of eligibility so that you could vote.  It's the world you will inherit; don't you want to have a say in how it's run? 

In the end, I comforted myself with the happiness in the lead organizer's young eyes.  "You registered two voters today!  Good for you!" 

I'm working with that image as I try to push Disillusioned back into her appropriate corner.

Doing Good Deeds While Sweating

Once again, Amster and her boys invited me to join them in Doing a Good Deed.

We volunteered at the Diaper Bank's warehouse, filling orders from job training sites

and local school districts and a variety of helping organizations around the county.   

It was hot and sweaty and worthwhile.

You can't go to pre-school if you have no diapers.  Your skin will break down if your adult diapers are dispensed sparingly, because they cost too much to replace every time incontinence gets the best of you.  These weren't happy thoughts for a sensitive 8th graders to cogitate, until we began to focus on the good we were doing.  

He took over the order filling and verification process.

Giving direction comes naturally to him; I was glad to toss him 36 newborn diapers.

We weren't the only ones helping out that day; Comcast Cares was there, too.

For me, it was this mother and child moment that captured it all.

They shared the task.

They shared the morning.

No one was on a phone.

Cleaning Up

It's an honorable job, being the hostess in the cafeteria.

1. The role requires assisting Josie and Jill, the Custodians, as they prepare the space for the
2. next group of scholars. Some wipe.  Some work on the floor.

Have a great summery weekend, denizens. 
Even though school has started it's only August 24th, and that's still summer.
I know, because TBG and I were married 43 years ago today.
We had A Summer Wedding. 
I know this because my dress was in the Summer Bride issue.

We were just a year past the resignation of the last unindicted co-conspirator to sit in the Oval Office.

Where will be be next August, I wonder?

What contortions will we put ourselves through to clean up our grown-up mess?

Lunchtime With the First Grade

And some of them even took salad.

Some took celery.

Some made spaghetti sandwiches on the garlic toast.

Some opted for the vegetarian option, and had fun smiling with the string cheese.

The oranges were put to good use, as well.

Some brought their lunch from home,

Guarding his treasures was part of the fun.

But, mostly, they were gloriously, toothlessly, grinningly happy.

I've said it before and I'll say it again-

It is impossible to be sad when surrounded by little ones.

Then and Now

There were no special car seats for babies. I remember my little sister in a bassinette that hung over the front seat, the baby banging against my knees as the car bumped over the road. Brother and I sat on our suitcases so we could see out the window when we drove on family trips. Not the baby. She was in the middle and there was a hump.

Television turned off at night, leaving you with a fuzzy test pattern until Modern Farmer came on at 5 am. We’d get up early on Saturday and turn on the tv to watch our cartoons - Mighty Mouse, Crusader Rabbit, old Disney short movies. All the tv’s were black and white; I would beg to stay at Daddooooo’s parents house to watch Bonanza on their color set, the first one I’d seen in person.

Telephones were rotary dialers. You rented them from the phone company. You also rented the lines that came into the house; it was illegal to install a new outlet yourself. Everytime Daddooooo had a bad day at work, he’d come home and screw the system by installing another outlet. You could plug a phone into a jack in every room in our house - including bathrooms and closets.

Phone calls were expensive. You “waited until the rates went down” at 7pm if you were calling your parents, or again til 11pm if you were calling your night owl friends.

There were no cell phones. There were phone booths which took a dime to make a local call.

Gas cost 29 cents a gallon when I got my license in 1969. There was no such thing as pump it yourself. Gas pump jockeys came out to the car, asked what you wanted (fill it with regular), and washed your windows and checked your fluid levels if you asked. You didn’t tip them.

Prejudice was codified. I saw a sign on a country club that said “No Blacks. No Jews. No Dogs.” That was on Long Island. I saw White and Colored water fountains when we took family trips to Virginia and Maryland. There was a quota system at many elite colleges, allowing a certain number of Jews in each class. The State of Israel was only 4 years old when I was born, the Holocaust less than ten years away.

There weren’t a lot of take out options for dinner. Pizza, Chinese, sandwiches and sour pickles from H & I Delicatessen were about it. But, “Don’t cook tonight. Call Chicken Delight!” was our favorite. A giant bucket of gooey fried chicken that smelled so good I could barely stand to hold it in my lap while Daddooooo drove us home. Paper plates, of course, because it wasn’t strictly Kosher, but mmmmm it was goooooood.

Girls were not allowed to wear pants to school. Vicki C wore them on a frigid winter day and Mrs. Fleming had to explain the rule to her. It made no sense then, in 1st grade, and it makes no sense now. Jeans weren’t allowed until my senior year in high school - 1969.

There was a Girls’ side and a Boys’ side to the playground. The girls had the swings and the slide, the boys had the playing field (even though it was concrete). There was no inter-mingling except in the middle, where the Recess Monitors hung out.

No VCRs. No electric cars. No WiFi. No polar fleece (we wore wool). 

Divorce was rare and homosexuality was not on anyone’s radar. 

Then there was Joe McCarthy; now there is Donald Trump.

It Didn't Quite Turn Out That Way

I thought I’d be a lawyer, until I found out about the rigors of law school.

I thought I’d be a teacher, until I realized that others would tell me what to teach.

I thought I’d see the world with a backpack and a EurRail pass, until I married Mr. I-Like-To-Sleep-In-My-Own-Bed.

I never thought I’d have children, until I was passed over for a promotion at work and decided to try sex without birth control as a career path.

I thought I’d always live in a city, until Tiburon beckoned. Living like The Cleavers made the suburbs palatable.

I knew I’d be hiking until the day I died, until I almost died and bullets put a (temporary, I hope) end to that dream.

I’m surprised by the number of dear, long-time, friends in my life. My childhood was much lonelier than adulthood has turned out to be.

I’m surprised that I enjoy the gym.

I’m surprised that my cousins are not a bigger part of my life. They were the staples of my youth.

I play Mah Jong and get manicures and have a personal relationship with my hairdresser. I never thought I’d be one of “those” women.

I still go to sleep early and wake up with the sun. I still love to read and write and I still can’t sing a song on-key. I feel like the same girl inside, the one who worries if “they” will like her, the one who really doesn’t care if “they” do.

The trappings aren’t what I’d imagined, but the inside is still the same.

Best First Date - Ever

 He picked me up in his red convertible, a hand-me-down car that made me smile everytime I sat beside him in the front seat.  We were on our way to the first football game of the season, an away game at Colgate.  It was a perfect fall day in upstate New York - sunny, blue skies, high clouds, a soft breeze.  

We found a place in the bleachers.... just above the fraternity brothers of the boy I'd broken up with the night before.  TBG was oblivious.  I was mildly embarassed.  The Sigma Chi's were not amused.  

The game ran long; there was no snack stand.  By the time we began the drive back to Ithaca, hunger had given way to I-Need-Food-NOW!!!  We stopped for what remains one of our 10 Best Meals Ever - Carroll's Hamburgers, twelve cents each.  We stood at a high counter, overlooking the parking lot, as we chowed down.  Such ambiance.  Such delectable delights.  It was absolutely perfect.  

But we weren't finished, not by a long shot.  

He dropped me off at my sorority house to change clothes, then picked me up in his then filled with friends car for a ride into the country. Along the way we crossed a farmer's land, and he, like the Sigma Chi's, was not amused by our presence.  He shot at the car.  We laughed and drove on, never for a moment thinking that anything bad could happen to us.  

I was 18.  I was invincible.

His fraternity brothers were hosting a party.... and what a party it was.  There were multiple bands, and records playing softly between sets.  They were roasting a pig - a whole pig on a spit - over an open fire.  The front yard boasted a leaf enclosed tree house.

We climbed up the ladder.  We were alone while surrounded by friends.  

A first kiss, under a starry sky, music wafting through the air....... Best First Date Ever.

Running an Errand for Little Cuter

A room full of people much littler than I, each one involved in something fascinating.  Engrossed, no one noticed the grey haired lady in the foyer.

I stood there, admiring the controlled chaos.  Girls in the block corner, boys with crayons, the teacher surrounded by upturned faces - I was in awe.

Maintaining your sanity for 8 hours of answering questions, resolving disputes, explaining the days of the week and the months of the year, teaching the alphabet and counting and manners - those few moments watching the teachers work their magic put a giant smile on my face.

One of the students noticed that I was there, and suddenly I was surrounded by small bodies, clamoring for my attention.  I had to be rescued by the teacher.

FlapJilly was surprised that I was there; she thought her Mommy would collect her.  I overcame the momentary sadness by suggesting an unscheduled stop.

Frozen yogurt will put a smile on anyone’s face.

Just a quick errand, picking the kid up from Pre-K........ forty minutes of pure bliss for Gramma.

New Math - A Snippet

Four of us, gimping up the stairs. Slowly.  Carefully. Painfully.  One foot then the other coming up to meet it before venturing on to the next.

Shattered hips and damaged knees were taking their toll. And then, amidst the grunts and the groans, TBG began to laugh.

“If you put cumulative IQ’s in the numerator, and operative knees in the denominator, we are rapidly approaching infinity.”

(If, like me, you are mathematically impaired, ask someone to explain it. It’s really funny.)

Love

My brother came from Maryland.

The nanny from FlapJilly's infancy came.

And FlapJilly's friends were there, cuter and funnier and smarter than any group of four year old's ought to be.

Giblet and I sat on the couch, his head nestled on my chest, his eyes closed, his breathing rhythmic. Periodically, Little Cuter came by to pat my head, to hug my shoulder, to tell me she loved me, that I was The Baby Whisperer.

We went outside for Happy Birthday, came back to the couch for cake. 

A four year old's party is a fluid event. They put out their Bounce House, an inflatable joy palace. They put out the Slip and Slide and little bikini clad munchkins giggled and slipped and slid to their hearts' content. There was pizza and fruit and homemade Mac and Cheese, complimented by SIR's patented sangria.

Presents were opened, a young guest cried, most everyone remembered to receive a goodie bag, and then only family remained.  Somehow, FlapJilly managed to fall asleep, several hours after bedtime.

A fine time was had by all, especially the birthday girl, around whom  it all revolved.