Don't Gel Too Soon

WAY BEFORE HER TIME- IN A HAT! REMEMBERING BELLA ABZUG

She was way before her time — way before. Loud, brash, confident, and always in a hat (even on the House floor), born in 1920 and elected to Congress in 1970, Bella Abzug was a force of nature who, early in her career, ignored serious threats on her life to defend Willie McGee, a Mississippi black man convicted of raping a white woman. Although very pregnant at the time, she went to Mississippi to argue his case and face the cruel segregation machine that was the Jim Crow South.

Later, she represented many of those attacked by Senator Joe McCarthy in the 50’s and became one of the leaders of the anti-Vietnam War movement – and an enduring symbol of the struggle to gain the kinds of rights women enjoy today. There was so much to her – and most of it was apparent in the force of her presence, and her impact on others.

Now two of her long-time colleagues, admirers, friends and founding editors at Ms. Magazine have compiled an exciting and inspiring oral history.

To many of those who read this blog Bella is a seeming anachronism. There’s no way to recall the desperation of those times not only because of the war but also because of the growing frustration of women trying to find an equal place in the world. Bella broke down barriers, put the fear of God into politicians (and her staff and many of her admirers) with her fierce commitment and energy, and was a funny, loving person between battles – and this book brings all that to life.

So take a look at this engrossing story. If you have a young woman friend who doesn’t know what came before there was an all-girl sweep of high school science awards (much less any girls competing at all), or women running the New York Times, or women so commonly in authority that their roles on TV are not “first” or “woman fill-in-the-blank” but simply jobs — chief residents like Miranda Bailey or hospital directors like Lisa Cuddy or even really bad bad guys like Angela Petrelli share it with her this holiday – or for her birthday – or when she graduates. And remind her of this:

When you get your meds from a woman pharmacist or get a ticket from a woman cop or have your plane waved to the gate by a woman airport worker — remember that they, and we, stand on the shoulders of this remarkable woman. Take a look at her story (the book is called – Bella Abzug: How One Tough Broad from the Bronx Fought
Jim Crow and Joe McCarthy, Pissed Off Jimmy Carter, Battled for the
Rights of Women and Workers, … Planet, and Shook Up Politics Along
the Way— then decide what you’re going to do to take us to the next landmark.

THE FUNNIEST, MOST AUDACIOUS POST EVER (Somewhat Adult Content)

Here she is. Kristen Chase, AKA Motherhood Uncensored . You’ll be so jealous that I had lunch with her in Atlanta.

Just read this. When you get up off the floor, you’ll thank me.

I LOVE LA — NO, REALLY

I’m sitting right here – next to the pool, at the Mosaic Hotel in Beverly Hills, where we’ve been coming for years. What a treat to be writing outside in December. The whole time I lived here I complained – about the lack of "intellectual rigor", about the meanness of Hollywood (which, by the way, makes Washington politicians look like amateurs), about the lack of autumn foliage, about the spoiled kids and on and on. I guess I still think a lot of those things, but when we drive in from the airport, passing all the pastel buildings, the sun shining, the air balmy and gentle – I remember the good things. Maybe our East Coast weather builds character and a grounding in reality but this really is lovely. At least for visiting.

It’s also different to come to LA as an observant Jew. Orthodox Jews are a parallel universe – something like Harry Potter compared to the Muggles. It’s a culture with, by necessity, many of its own institutions, the strengths of which are determined largely by the size of the community. LA has lots of observant and formally Orthodox Jews so there’s a spectrum of services — and standards. Yeshiva girls in sweatshirts and leggings, every kind of kosher restaurant, schools, and of course, shuls. Here’s little bit of what we’ve seen in the couple of hours we’ve been here on this trip.

This is B’nai David Judea, a modern Orthodox congregation on Pico near Robertson, in the heart of the Orthodox community. We’ve been to services there a couple of times on Shabbat – it’s a lovely community and a beautiful sanctuary – and the congregation is young, hip, and in many cases, Hollywood.

Just a block away there are several kosher groceries and delis. Here’s one.

And these guys – they’re the backbone of Jeff’s Gourmet Kosher sausage. We’re taking lots home to our friends – there’s nothing like it near us.

And this — this is a real, live, kosher Subway! Not too shabby.

There’s more to LA than the stereotypes that were our reality when we lived here. Lots that’s nice. Sadly, the ugliness and banality conceals much of it; only after a long absence (and perhaps the added perspective of a religious community) that I, at least, have been able to see both sides. So bring it on Randy Newman — it’s a great song.

LAST OF THE LEAVES, LAST OF NABLOPOMO, HARRY CHAPIN AND LIFE

I can see this out my office window. In a couple of months it will be silvery with snow. Months after that, long after these last end-of-autumn leaves have fallen, new ones will bud in their place, and there will be a riot of color once again — this time with blossoms.

I titled a post a few months ago "ALL MY LIFE’S A CIRCLE, SUNRISE TO SUNDOWN" as I wrote about a beautiful Bar Mitzvah. For some reason, I’m feeling that way today. Listen to Harry Chapin’s wonderful words:
All my life’s a circle
Sunrise and sundown
Moon rolls through the night time
Till daybreak comes around
All my life’s a circle
Still I wonder why
Season spinning ’round again
Years keep rolling by.

Seems like I’ve been here before
Can’t remember when
I got this funny feeling
We’ll all be together again
No straight lines make up my life
All my roads have bends
No clear cut beginnings
So far no dead ends.
CHORUS
I’ve met you a thousand times
I guess you’ve done the same
Then we lose each other
It’s like a children’s game
But now I find you here again
The thought comes to my mind
Our love is like a circle
Let’s go ’round one more time.

All my life’s a circle
Sunrise and sundown
Moon rolls through the night time
Till daybreak comes around
All my life’s a circle
Still I wonder why
Season spinning ’round again
Years keep rolling by.

Beautiful, no? Tomorrow it will be December – NABLOPOMO will be over for another year and the year itself as fast approaching its final days. We’ve been through health scares and crises, major adventures and small pleasures, moving and rewarding family time and some times not so great. So I guess that’s why I’m kind of weepy, having loved the release of daily writing and aware of how fragile is life — and love — and laughter, ready to "go ’round one more time."

Here’s the song:

Have a good weekend.

NABLOPOMO GRADUATION DAY MINUS ONE

So here’s what I know so far:

Everyone loves COSTCO. Yesterday’s post garnered a ton of traffic; I was frankly amazed. Of all the things I’ve written about, from Vietnam to Jewish funerals to East Berlin to my kids to Bruce Springsteen, this is the one that hit something. Not sure what but it’s kind of interesting, no?
Writing every day is definitely good for you. Hard, but good.
As I’ve continued to write, I’ve discovered both a capacity to be honest and a certainty that there are things I will never write about. Those things belong to others, people I love to whom they happened. They belong to them.
When you’re writing but you’re beyond tired, you should wrap up your document and go to bed. Which is what I’m going to do now. Tomorrow we’ll celebrate graduation day together. G’nite

ODE TO COSTCO AND ITS FANS

Costco seems to be everyone’s darling. Of course, it’s been my darling for years. It’s got great stuff, great prices, great staff, even wonderful employee policies. But in the past week I’ve read two very loving profiles of the biggest of the big box stores in publications ranging from State of Grace — the blog of the remarkable Grace Davis, to the Sunday New York Times.

There are lots of reasons for this I think. Of course there are the usual ones: excellent quality, bulk discounts on staples like paper towels, excellent store brand tee shirts (say some of the men in my life), remarkable produce, and pretty good everything else.

It’s also fun. At the ones around Washington DC, and the ones we used to go to in LA, I always feel like I’m at the UN. Once, during the women’s World Cup, we walked in to find, gathered around the television section, an enthusiastic crowd that looked as if they were from every country in the world. Mexico, the Philippines, India, Japan — just everywhere – all cheering together. It’s always like that. Big families, couples, singles, mom and pop restaurateurs, hipsters, geeks — everyone. Even Douglas Coupland. In my favorite of his books, Microserfs, he writes "my universe consists of home, Microsoft, and Costco."

It’s also home to one of my favorite Simpsons scenes ever: the family almost drowned when they ran into and broke all the giant bottles of cranberry juice in an aisle display and an ocean of juice flooded the store.

OH and I forgot books. Best sellers, cook books, thrillers – if they’ve got something you want, they’ve got it for less than anywhere else.

So carry on oh noble vendor — serving us well and offering us entertaining distractions (if you can park) on Sunday afternoons. We knew you even before the New York Times. But before that? What did we ever do without you?

TIRED TUESDAY

NABLOPOMO is almost over. I’ve spent half of it seven time zones to the east and another five days three time zones to the west, so, basically, I haven’t know what time it was all month. Oh – and in part of my head it’s still about…August. I can’t believe how fast this year has gone. We’ve had plenty of ups and downs and I’m sure there will be more, and slowly, over the year and most particularly over this month, I’ve discovered how important this blog has become. It’s not just an outlet or a project, it’s become something of a refuge. I love the freedom to think out loud, to write it all down — sometimes spontaneously with little or no discipline and sometimes with great care. In either case, I’ve reminded myself how much I used to love to write and how glad I am to have returned to the old habit. It’s still a bit premature to bid the big NAB farewell though; we’ve got the 28th, 29th and 30th left. More to come – and then it’ actually the last month of the year. Unbelievable.

LEAVING SAN FRANCISCO – AND IT’S SAD

I’m in the Red Carpet Room at SFO and very sad. Saying goodbye to my kids is always a wrench – for them, too. I want to write about leaving but it’s the kind of thing that says more about them than I feel fair revealing. Suffice it to say that on this week of Thanksgiving I’m as thankful for them as it’s possible to be.

I was so sad that when we went through security and they took my H20 spray away from me I burst into tears. My sweet husband is on his phone trying to find a way to buy a replacement for me on the web. God bless him — I do, every day. See you in Washington.

I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO (SORT OF)

This has been a wonderful trip, and by the time this appears I’ll be returning to Washington, the city by the Bay behind us. We’re going back at the end of December so it’s not as sad as sometimes, but when you leave your children it’s bittersweet at best. Most of what we did was more wandering than scenic but here’s a bit of it.

Tour trolley

Balloon gladiator with sword

San Francisco Apple store the Friday after Thanksgiving
It was a mob scene

Apple 2

More when we land. That’s all for now.

REMEMBERING JFK: 44 YEARS AND 2 DAYS AFTER THE KENNEDY ASSASSINATION**

Thanksgiving Day was the 44th anniversary of the assassination of John Kennedy. I didn’t want that to be my holiday post, though, so I’m writing about it today.** I was a senior in high school when our vice-principal, Mr. Hall, a huge scary guy (and football coach) came onto the intercom and announced, his voice breaking, that President Kennedy had been shot, and had died. I remember standing up and just walking out of my creative writing class. No one stopped me – or any of the rest of us. We wandered the halls in tears, then went home, riding the school bus in tears. I remember the next morning, taking the car out and just driving around — running in to my friend Jack Cronin on his drugstore delivery route – and standing on McClellan Drive in his arms as we both wept. I remember, Jewish girl that I was, going to Mass at St. Elizabeth’s Church that Sunday just to be with the people of his faith. I cried for four days.

Years later, working on the TODAY SHOW 20th Anniversary of the funeral, I remember all of it rushing back as we cut tape and realized as adults what a gift Jacqueline Kennedy had given the nation through the dignity and completeness of the funeral. I know that many younger people find the Kennedys a little bit of a joke, thanks partly to the Simpsons, but it’s not possible to describe the grief and trauma of those days. Or the gratitude we all felt for his presence — and the profound nature of the loss.

As a 13-year-old, I had the great good fortune to attend the Kennedy Inauguration, traveling all night on the train with my mom to sit in the stands near the Treasure Building and watch the parade go by. We stood outside the White House at the end of the parade, in the last of the blizzard, and watched him walk into the White House for the first time as president. I’d seen the culmination of all the volunteer hours my 13-year-old self could eke out to go "down town" and stuff envelopes — to respond to the the call to help change the world.

It seems so pathetic now; the loss not only of JFK but of his brother, so beloved by my husband that he’s never been the same since 1968, the loss of Dr. King and Malcolm X, the trauma of Vietnam and all that followed, later of the shooting of John Lennon, even. It seemed that all we’d dreamed about and hoped for – worked for – was gone. How could we have been so romantic – so sure that we could bring change? Believed it again in 1967 and 68 as we worked and marched against the war, for Eugene McCarthy or Bobby Kennedy, for civil rights and for peace, for better education and environmental policies, for rights for women, gay Americans and so much more. Most of us haven’t stopped but the American media obsession with America’s loss of innocence emerges from the pain of those weeks.

Now, to me, even the idea of innocence seems a bit — well — innocent. In our case, innocence came largely from a combination of lack of experience and of knowledge. We didn’t know that we stood for the take over of Central American countries and the support of Franco and Salazar as well as the Marshall Plan and remarkable courage and commitment of World War II. We were too close to the WWII generation to have the historic separation that’s possible today. So was much of the rest of the world: in Europe, South America, Africa — all over the world — the Kennedys had won hearts and minds. It’s almost impossible to imagine in light of our standing in the world today. And that’s part of the grief too. Even though much of the anger at the US outside Iraq is based on a warped version of political correctness, we know the experience of riding from the glory of having "liberated" Europe through the Marshall Plan and the glory of the Kennedy outreach to the rest of the world. Personally and publicly, John Kennedy validated all that we wanted to see in ourselves – all that we wanted ourselves, and our country, to be. And today, despite all the revelations of the years since, 44 years and two days later, that’s still true.

**IN ORDER TO OBSERVE SHABBAT, THIS POST WAS COMPOSED ON NOVEMBER 22ND AND POSTED AUTOMATICALLY ON SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24TH.