My posts seem to run in bunches. After
two meditations on marriage in the past month, here I am again.
It’s all Meryl Streep’s fault. If you know what it feels like when your kids run off together when you thought you were all going to dinner, or to struggle to remain your own person in a long marriage — whether it ends or it doesn’t, or just to be married for a long time and build a family with a partner – you know this story.
We went with another couple also married 38 years. It’s hard to describe the shared recognition, the warmth we all felt at the familiar moments on the screen – the rare family dinners with our adult children, continuing to learn and grow – together or apart, watching the accomplishments and weddings and occasional rages of each kid, accepting the fact that we’ve entered that part of life where they’re on their own – and so are we. Children grow up and earn their own lives, careers begin to ebb, and those of us who are blessed spend those years with one another. Or, if we must, search for and find someone else to ease the way.
It was all there, gentle, funny, loving and true. Like looking in a mirror. Oh – and lest you wonder whether a movie about a 50-something (or maybe 60) couple recovering from a divorce – in the torrent of high-profile films and stars, it’s in the top five for the holidays. It may be complicated, but loving it isn’t complicated at all.
I came of age in 1968 (that's me on the right – New Hampshire election night.) A civil rights idealist and anti-war activist, I was formed by the horrible events, remarkable activism and leadership of that critical year. Forty years later, mostly because of Barack Obama, lost threads of memory emerged – all year long. I'm very grateful for the opportunity to reconsider those times through the lens of this remarkable election. Together they tell a story, or at least part of one, and I thought you might like to take this journey with me one more time as we move toward inaugurating the first black President of the United States, elected in the first real "Internet election"; abetted in great measure by a generation that seems, in many ways, a better, "new and improved" version of my own.
I'm going to start at the end though – the coming Inauguration, because I attended that of another "rock star" – John Kennedy, nearly fifty years ago – and all that came after was born that day. The rest is in order and I think I'm going to ** my favorites.
**The charismatic Robert Kennedy and first-comer Eugene McCarthy fought for the nomination in 1968. When McCarthy shocked everyone with his March near-win in New Hampshire (that's the photo at the top), Lyndon Johnson pulled out, guaranteeing that his Vice-President, Hubert Humphrey, would win the nomination and lose the election. In 2008 the battle was between two equally disparate Democrats: Senator Clinton and Senator Obama. Having lived through the first disaster, I was horrified by the possibility of a second. It would be too much to suffer that kind of heartbreak again.
**The spring and summer brought the assassinations of Dr. King and Robert Kennedy. I was with Senator McCarthy, in San Francisco the night Dr. King died; in LA that night Robert Kennedy was killed. I was young, traumatized and in the middle of history.
For the first time since 1968, since I had been a journalist for much of the time in between and done no campaigning or petition signing or much else that would be partisan activity, I went canvassing in Virginia
with friends, including a four-year-old who added enormous to each trip
and enchanted quite a few fence-sitters. Each trip was an adventure, always interesting, often moving.
Toward the end of the year, Judith Warner wrote about her efforts to explain the election to her kids – and so did I.
One more thing. A year-ender trip to London and Vienna once again reminded me, as the Obama Berlin trip had done, how much Europe has longed for the America that stood for decency and hope. Barack Obama was named the first-ever Times of London Man of the Year.
So here we are. I'm not sure if I'll ever have the gift of so many
reasons to remember gigantic events of the past, but this year
certainly provided plenty. It was a wonder and a privilege. My hope
now is that, as we move forward, the hope we've all sensed over these
past months will morph into a real sense of mission and purpose. That
is what will take all this promise and, as we Americans have done so
many times, use it to move us forward to the place we long to, and need
to be.
Beside him, Bruce Springsteen, a modern troubadour whose songs speak for many Americans whose opinions are never sought, whose voices are seldom heard.
As they stood together at the Lincoln Memorial in celebration of the Inauguration of Barack Obama, they represented, to me, all that I had believed and tried to help bring into being. To many, though, they were “the ultimate in subtly old-left populism.” Speaking about the concert early Sunday before it began, I kept talking about Bruce. A younger friend gently suggested that he was probably not the day’s headliner. That would be Beyonce Knowles, she said. I’m sure she’s right.
As one who was present the last time “the torch was passed to a new generation;” as a strongly defined Baby
Boomer, it’s painful to hear anchormen celebrate the fact that “there will never be another Baby Boom President.” It’ s not that I mind the fact of that; it’s just painful that it seems to be something to celebrate. So many of us have tried so to be productive agents of change, have spent our lives working either full or part of the time to see that our country offers more to the least powerful, demands quality education, justice and maybe, even peace. So to hear Joe Scarborough revel in the fact that “16 horrible years of baby boomer presidents is over” really hurts. All my adult life we’ve been tarred by the brush of the least attractive of us while the work of the rest of us went unnoticed. For most campaigns, as I’vewritten before, we were the secret weapon of the right.
So as exciting as all this is, especially for one who has supported Obama for so long, it’s also bittersweet because I feel the shadow of the disdain in which so many of us are held. I really don’t know how to respond. If I were to try, it might be by offering some of the words to Si Kahn‘s They All Sang Bread and Roses. It’s better with the music, but it does the job.
They All Sang “Bread and Roses (Si Kahn, 1989,
1991)
And now it's ending. No, nobody fired her, she still has a large audience and many adoring readers but she's decided to stop. Here's part of what she said in her valedictory meditation on covering women in America – and I recommend you go read the entire thing:
My generation — WOMEN — thought the movement would advance on two
legs. With one, we'd kick down the doors closed to us. With the other,
we'd walk through, changing society for men and women.
It turned
out that it was easier to kick down the doors than to change society.
It was easier to fit into traditional male life patterns than to change
those patterns. We've had more luck winning the equal right to 70-hour
weeks than we've had selling the equal value of care-giving. We have
yet to solve the problem raised at the outset: Who will take care of
the family?
As a young mother and reporter, it did not occur to
me that my daughter would face the same conflicts of work and family.
Or, on the other hand, that my son-in-law would fully share those
conflicts. I did not expect that over two-thirds of mothers would be in
the work force before we had enough child care or sick pay.
Yes – those things are true. My own sons expect (and one has) wives who keep their names and expect to remain in the workforce. And yes, they still face issues of child care and equal pay and glass ceilings. The sad thing is, they won't have the provocative, inspiring, funny and very gifted voice of Ellen Goodman to cheer them on. Maybe she'll write another book though; if she does, I'll send a copy to each of them.
That old rascal Samuel Johnson told us that when we were tired of London, we'd be tired of life
I know it's summer when any city is inviting but this week is cool and
bright and breezy and London is full of British school groups and kids
from everywhere else too, and we have an apartment right in the middle
of Covent Garden (well NOT the market, God forbid, just the
neighborhood) and our older son and his new wife are only 40 minutes
away and we have friends here, too. So how could we be tired?
What you see here is the view from Waterloo Bridge (and yes that's St. Paul's Cathedral in the background.) This morning I went out and walked all along the , over where the trees are, then crossed a bridge just out of view on the right and returned via South Bank,
London's wonderful (relatively) new arts and museum area. My entire
walk was around three miles and I'm realizing that it's much easier to
do the walking when there are new things to look at, not just the old
neighborhood or, as lovely as it is, Rock Creek Park.
The wonder of a great city is that it's always changing, that even the most
trivial journey is full of surprises. On my way home tonight I came
across a group of teenagers – one of dozens of groups we've been seeing
ever since we got here. The reason they're all sitting on the sidewalk
is that they're exchanging addresses and spelling them out – different
nationalities, different spelling. Kind of an EU photo.
Of course there's lots else going on here. Huge waves of immigration, the
wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, what looks to me to be an appalling
amount of youthful alcohol consumption and unemployment all take their toll. There's something about the
place despite those issues though. The day after the2005 subway bombing that killed 52 people, Londoners got back on the train and went to work. They did that all during the Blitz as much of the rest of the world watched them face down Hitler almost alone.
Cities are supposed to change. That's what makes them exciting. Even so,
London has seen more than its share: waves of immigration that have
transformed it, an early history of wars and fires and plagues,
contemporary royal scandals and of course the "troubles" between
Belfast and the rest of Ireland and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
After all, who would have believed before it arrived to help celebrate
the Millennium, that there would be a ferris wheel right in the center
of town? They call it the London Eye to
make it sound fancy but it's still a ferris wheel, here in same town
that has a real live queen living in a real live palace? It's pretty
amazing.
I'm
thinking that while we're here I can try to get past some of what I've
written here and learn a bit of what it's like to truly live
here. It's got to be different from wandering around with no need to
be on time or face the traffic or crowded mass transit and infinite
numbers of tourists and, incidentally, deal with what appears to be an
enormous amount of alcohol consumption – especially by men. I'm hoping
to keep you posted as I make my way. I hope you'll come along.
This is the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin. The first time I saw it, in 1974, there was a wall built right through it.
Here’s a photo of it then, from the Hotel Adlon website. The hotel stood, from 1907 to 1945, when it was decimated by a fire, just to the left of the Gate. It was the stopping place for world leaders and socialites and was rebuilt shortly after the Wall fell.
Because Berlin has such a dramatic history, it was always exciting to be there — maybe more so while the wall remained.
I remember especially coming through Checkpoint Charlie
(that’s it on the left) on a dark fall day (Americans were allowed to
visit for the day after going through this scary border station and
having cars and packages searched) and, as we approached the Gate,
seeing an old man standing, looking over into the West. In his hands,
clasped behind his back, was a rosary. Not so popular in communist
East Berlin. I recall thinking immediately “Oh. His daughter is
getting married in the West today and he can’t go, and he’s standing
there, thinking about her, praying for her.” Berlin in those times
lent itself to imagining such things. The drama was palpable.
The first time we went to Berlin after the wall fell, I remember, it was
pouring. Oblivious to the weather, we walked back and forth beneath
the lovely arches in the now-open gate, kind of giddy at what it meant
to the people of Berlin and all those who care about freedom and, I
guess, redemption. For despite what happened in Berlin during the war
(and we’ve studied it extensively and spoken both with survivors and
those involved in the rebuilding of the Jewish community) the Wall caused immeasurable suffering and was a diabolical slash through the heart of the city and every one of its people.
I’ve written about Berlin before: from its playgrounds to its grim Communist years. We go there often. It seems to pull us back, its intellectual energy
and re-emerging Jewish community irresistible. Once, when we’d taken
our kids there while the Wall remained, one son, around 5, bought a
stuffed wool pig and told everyone he “got it out of jail.”
Here’s one last photo – of two buildings: one redone and the other still old and rickety, in the very cool neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which is in the old “East Berlin” and now, last I heard, had the highest childbirth rate in Germany and was home to artists, writers, musicians and fashionably cool people who don’t have to work. What you see stands for it all: the struggle to renew, still only partly complete.
I'm not sure who's on first, which chicken chased which egg or even how to tell you about this. See this book cover? It's a real book – and Entertainment Weekly says it isn't even bad. But the author – well, the author isn't real!!! He's a character on an ABC TV program called – guess what — Castle!
Played by Dr. Horrible's own Biggest Enemy Captain Hammer — aka Nathan Fillion – he's a debonair, wealthy mystery writer with an actress mother and a typically New-York-wise daughter with whom he has a refreshingly healthy relationship (Mom too, actually.)
So there's nothing wrong with the show; it's slight, sweet and kind of funny although it could certainly be better written. In fact, from the reviews I've read, it might be better if Richard Castle (who remember, doesn't exist – really) wrote the scripts as well as his books.
Yes books because apparently this is the first of many. And you can get it on Kindle and Castle even has a brief (equally fictitious) bio on Amazon "Richard Castle is the author of numerous bestsellers, including the critically acclaimed Derrick Storm series. His first novel, In a Hail of Bullets,
published while he was still in college, received the Nom DePlume
Society's prestigious Tom Straw Award for Mystery Literature. Castle
currently lives in Manhattan with his daughter and mother, both of whom
infuse his life with humor and inspiration."
Got that? Fillion/Captain Hammer (this guy) also plays a fictitious writer on a lightweight TV show and somebody – whose name isn't anyplace and as far as I can determine hasn't played anyone (other than a ghostwriter) has written a novel in his name.
This isn't a scandal or a crime – it's just so damned funny. Fillion seems like a fine fellow and Castle is certainly likable enough. But it's hard to get books published these days – especially fiction.
So all you struggling writers out there — now you know how to sell your novel. Make it into a TV show and your literary career is assured.
OK I know. The world is ending, the climate is cooking, the economy is crashing and God only knows what else is happening in the "real world." Even so – Twitter and Facebook and all points in between are so so sad. This break up is just not fair. Susan Sarandon and I are the same age and I once spent time with her (well, twice but both times in an elevator in our building where friends of hers lived and we DID talk…) and in some crazy way felt more in common with her than with most shiny people. The politics of course didn't hurt either. And Bob Roberts may be my favorite political movie and so Bush-prophetic.
Because of all that, I too feel a floating sadness – nothing heart=wrenching – just sad. These two have always done what they believed and made us all happy. And they deserve to be happy too. Whatever it takes to get there.