This segment of the interview, particularly, struck me as very interesting. What do we think? I was intrigued by Piper’s reactions — clearly she felt comfortable speaking her mind – but I wonder why her mom called her "sister?" Nickname? It’s something I’ve only seen in old-fashioned rural families.
Except for that perhaps odd moment though, she could be formidable if she maintains this sort of posture and intelligent visibility over the next years, no?
From here in Washington, DC, nerve center of exhausted political junkies and traumatized McCain supporters comes this week’s Blogging Boomers Blog Carnival.
Those two Fabulous After 40 gals (who are fabulous) remind us that if we think we might be shrinking "You’re right. Starting at 40 we lost half an inch in height every decade."
What’s a boomer gal to do, other than wear high heels? Check out
Fabulous after 40 for fashion advice on How to dress to look taller.
John at SoBabyBoomer has found a new study has found that women have a
greater variety of bacteria on their hands than men do. So, he wonders, "Should guys worry about holding hands with
women? Find out at SoBabyBoomer.com
Maybe those germy women would feel better if they knew how to manage in today’s economy? If, so this week’s Vaboomers is for them. They’re sponsoring a free seminar: How to Manifest What You Need in Difficult Times" for women coping with the current economy.
The Midlife Crisis Queen has something different on her mind:
We
make all kinds of mistaken assumptions about the opposite sex when it comes to
sex. Here’s some wrong assumptions made by men and here’s some made by women.
Boston’s own Rhea Becker, like most of us, still had the election on her mind. As she says "History was made this week. A baby boomer was elected president of the United States. Learn more at The Boomer Chronicles.
Also with elections on her mind, Janet at Gen Plus shares her reaction to Obama’s acceptance speech. And, like any of you, yes….she wept.
Meanwhile, over at LifeTwo, we’re getting some exciting ideas: The key to happiness, according to university researcher Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, is the concept of "flow." Flow are those activities in which you are so deeply involved that you feel outside reality.
As usual, I Remember JFK has a great social memory to offer: TV Trays. "The living room of the 1960’s was a warm, friendly place. True, times had changed since our parents might have first purchased our modest homes fifteen or twenty years prior. Most living rooms in the US had a new center of attention: the television set. That one-eyed monster changed the purpose of the home’s central location from a place of casual conversation, or possible listening to the radio, to the spot where our parents unwound after a long day at work, accompanied by a cocktail, Walter Cronkite and a TV dinner.
Thankful for new leadership in the land, Dina at This Marriage Thing challenges us all to bring that same feeling home with the Gratitude Project. I’ve actually been there – it’s pretty cool.
Oh and if you can stand one more election post, here’s mine. It’s about having been in Grant Park during the 1968 Democratic Convention riots, and watching Obama accept the presidency on that very spot.
The first sabbath of a new age – relish it. Talk to you Saturday night.
Grant Park 1968 – in the heart of Chicago. Grant Park — where my friends and I were gassed and beaten – terrified and abused – during the Democratic Convention in 1968. Grant Park – haunted by so much.
Here’s how I remembered it on the 40th anniversary this summer:
I wonder if you can imagine what it felt like to be 22 years old, totally idealistic and what they call “a true believer” and to see policemen behave like that. To see Chicago Mayor Richard Daley call the first Jewish Senator, Abraham Ribicoff of Connecticut, a “kike” (you had to read his lips – there was no audio but it was pretty clear) and to see your friends, and colleagues, and some-time beloveds with black eyes and bleeding scalps. To be dragged by a Secret Service agent from your place next to Senator McCarthy by the collar of your dress as he addressed the demonstrators, battered, bruised and angry. To see everything you’d worked for and believed in decimated in the class, generational and political warfare.
Why does this matter, you ask? Because, this moment – 40 years later — as Barack Obama assumed the leadership of our country with such an elegant speech, informed and supported in part by the values, and people, who fought, bled and wept through those awful days and by a majority of those as young now as we were then and just as committed to the vision they’ve been offered and by an enormous, excited turnout, black and white, — he did so on this same site, in the shadow of the Hilton where we put all the kids with broken heads — and tried to keep the tear gas out of our eyes. We’ve been haunted by that time for so long, and as far as I can tell, this was an exorcism. As I heard a commentator say this morning: “The culture wars are over. The Vietnam War is over.” And not a moment too soon.
What’s happening is far larger of course. Yesterday morning we voted in our lovely DC neighborhood, middle class, well-kept, bikes and an excellent walk-to-it elementary school, so of course
there was a long line waiting to vote in a riot of autumn color. We stood for two hours even though Washington would clearly choose Obama, (and did so with 92% of our votes.) Each individual vote
wasn’t urgently needed. Instead, it was the need to cast the vote that
was urgent.
Diverse in age and history, largely African-American, our community stood
together, talking, laughing, meeting new friends in front of or behind us
in line. People had their kids with them, called grown kids on the phone from line and waved at late-arriving neighbors. It was one of those moments where you feel history all around you, and a remarkable privilege to be voting in such company, who’ve worked through all the years of discord to maintain a civil, multicultural community. A bonus.
Beyond this landmark day, though, the next months are going to be tough. As the new White House staff, cabinet and administration form, all this free-floating joy will take on concrete forms that remind us of the huge challenges and risks that face us. There will be things that disappoint us, and things that make us mad. The reality that caused people to elect this man will descend upon us in a relentless economic, social, military and persona avalanche and we may be hard-pressed to remember the joy we felt last night; the promise that has so engaged us.
When that happens, I will think of the older African-American man who called out “shalom” to us in the canvassing orientation when he saw my friend’s yarmulke, of the excited first-voters — just 18 or newly naturalized — whom we met as we walked through one Virginia housing complex after another, of our four-year-old door-bell-ringer beside himself over “Obama” and asking everyone from the supermarket checker to his teachers to vote for him, of my sons last night calling and texting literally across a continent and an ocean, of the day I was electrified by the broadcast of Martin Luther King on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, of the fact that 66% of under-30 voters, so long detached and cynical*, voted for Obama, and, finally, of the distance we have to go – and won’t — unless we work together to resolve each challenge and, perhaps more importantly, each disagreement.
This is a great day. And a scary one. And now, as our new president-elect prepares to do his part, we have to resolve to do ours: to work through those disappointments and disagreements, to accept the call to contribute and to sacrifice and, as he and Abraham Lincoln before him asked us, to heed to the “better angels of of our nature.” They’re there – and we’re going to need them. If they can show up, and Barack Obama can show up, so can we.
* (speaking of younger voters): A friend of my sons (a third son, really) sent me this from one of his favorite blogs. It’s just so sweet.
I’m probably the last blogger in America to see this since it was posted on Daily Dish in September but I couldn’t leave it unacknowledged, especially tonight.
It was a long long Sunday canvassing for Obama, this time in Ashburn, Virginia, and it was also a very exciting one. It began far from our destination, in a parking lot in Maryland, where we were "briefed" and handed maps of our Virginia destinations.
Next stop: Virginia field offices. Once we arrived at ours, in a manufactured "village" of mostly low-rise, not-so-expensive apartment buildings, we were briefed again, presented with the usual impressive packets with maps and voter rolls, and sent on our way.
As on our other sojourns, my friend and I brought along his four-year-old son, who is a rabid Obama fan. We had 36 apartments on our list – in at least eight different buildings. The complex, nice but clearly not fancy, had no elevators. Instead, like an apartment you might rent at the beach, each building offered concrete stairs in an open stairwell, ascending four flights to the top. No doorbells, just brass knockers or — as we did — you knocked the old fashioned way.
It was a lot of steps; I clocked at least two miles on my pedometer. Leading our way was our four-year-old ambassador, who never flinched at the up-down-up-down-nobody home – maybe an answer – up – down of the day. It clearly wore him out but boy was it worth it.
I’ve always been sentimental about our country; since I grew up just outside a mill town south of Pittsburgh I’m very aware of multicultural living. In my class there were Kalcevics and Janczewskis and Brneloviches and Courys and McCurdys and Mortons and Stepanoviches — and more. But days like today – well – they’re different, mostly because many of the committed voters we met today just got here. One charming African man, with a wife in African dress, himself in shorts and a tee shirt, just became a citizen and received his voter card on October 12th. Another, Middle Eastern, immediately declared his preference for Senator Obama and asked where he could get a button (of course we gave him ours.) A third, whose son was also four, spoke to us as smells of curry and some unfamiliar seasonings drifted out the door; the scent of strange spices was all around. Some residents spoke Spanish, some perfect British English, some less perfect – and less British. But here they were, in these simple apartments in a massive series of cul-de-sacs, so ready to vote.
When I was a kid, my grandfather talked endlessly to us about how he felt coming here – what it meant to him and why he never wanted to go back to the Old Country – even to visit. He was a tough old guy – kind of scary actually – but fiercely grateful for what he had found here. That gratitude, and our own comprehension of our lives as the daughters of a Harvard-trained lawyer, educated on scholarships while his entire family worked to keep him in school; lives that were possible only because our grandparents had had the guts to pick up and leave and our country had offered them, and our father, the privilege of a chance – built an awareness that has never faded. Today though, it jumped from its quiet residence in the back of my mind to full-on awe. We are part of something wonderful here. As Jonathan Curley wrote in a Christian Science Monitor piece with similar sentiments
"I’ve learned that this election is about the heart of America. It’s about the young people who are losing hope and the old people who have been forgotten. It’s about those who have worked all their lives and never fully realized the promise of America, but see that promise for their grandchildren in Barack Obama. The poor see a chance, when they often have few. I saw hope in the eyes and faces in those doorways.
That’s what it is – hope. And the remarkable privilege of acting on that hope – using the power of American democracy to turn hope into action. Obama’s slogan "Yes we can!" isn’t just political. It’s a battle cry, a pledge passed on through generations – this time from my grandfather to the "new folks" living in Ashburn Village. The day we decide we are no longer obligated to help pass the legacy on will be a very sad day indeed. That’s why what happens on Tuesday is so important. Morals, ethics, values, opportunity, education, work, freedom, the pursuit of happiness… this has always been us. May it be again this week.
I am so nervous I can barely breathe. We’re going canvassing again Sunday and I will try to do more phone calls before then and after but seeing these polls closing – listening to Chuck Todd on MSNBC talk about states that are "tightening" – it’s really scary. I’ve felt all along that everyone is putting this election away way too soon. As I sat with friends and listened to Joe Trippi this week, all three of us were troubled by the seeming assumption that the race is "in the bag." It’s so easy to get complacent and stay home, make fewer calls, do a bit less, if you think things are going your way anyway.
In addition, we don’t know what the "young people" and first-time voters will do. Will they show up? Can they translate quotes like this one from college student Lauren Masterson, on the NewsHour:
"We see ourselves in him, I think. Even though he is of another generation, people are excited about him because he
seems to understand young people.
into turning out and waiting in line and casting that vote? Here’s a nice consideration of younger voters and their commitment.
I suppose if I just watched TNT and the endless, comforting Law and Order broadcasts instead of MSNBC, Your Place for Politics, I’d feel better but after all the years I spent covering campaigns, I can’t imagine avoiding information when it’s available. And it’s really the first presidential election where I’ve had no editorial responsibility (except my blog) so I have all these habits and nowhere to put them. I have to sit and listen and worry and watch and bounce from website to website, and to the links provided by friends on Twitter. Can’t stop. It’s not that I think I’ll miss the Important Moment, it’s that I keep hoping to hear some good news. We all know that races tighten at the end but many states are moving into the margin of error and that’s really scary.
At least I have to go offline for Shabbat, which is going to make me nuts but may be healthy. Keep an eye on things for me, will you?
With thanks to Lucinda Marshall of Feminist Peace Network’s sister Laura.
What more can I say?
When votes are mangled on election day, when people are turned away, or misled, or intimidated; when names have been purged without notice or challenged illegally, it’s very tough to protect the outcome because it’s so hard to get to the site of the violation in time to fix it before voters give up. At least it’s always been that way. And because older machines go to poor, minority precincts, and because mean-spirited efforts to defraud less sophisticated voters often affect Democrats disproportionately, as reported in Rolling Stone, any effort that gets help where it needs to be faster and more effectively can make a big difference not only for for Obama but also for down-ballot races.
A crew of some of the coolest nerds on the Web have come together to harness Twitter and other tools to help. It’s really simple; you can tweet (or text) violations, line lengths and other info, and use "hash tags" (these #) so that people following the issue will receive the message on their Twitter readers and send help. If you don’t want to bother with Twitter, text to 66937 and start your message with “#votereport." (That’s a "hash tag" — see how simple?) Bloggers like Nancy Walzman at PoliticsWest, who is based in Colorado where there’s much at stake, and Nancy Scola and Alison Fine at TechPresident can give you more details. Our vigilance can really make a difference.
Just for fun, here’s a diagram of how it works. Basically though, you just text or Tweet this the same way you do anything else. And you should. I also want to renew my plea (easy for me to say since I’m not a lawyer) for you to make yourself available on election day to protect the process, every committed voter, and, as far as I’m concerned, our country.
Stumble It!