DC is going off - horns and firecrackers - like I haven't heard since we lived in Buenos Aires and the soccer team won the world cup.

There's too much to say in this moment...

But one thing I love most is this:

I took my Baltimore kids to the aquarium once, and caught the eyes of some of the other patrons as they took in my "city" kids, and looked disdainfully at them.

I've heard the kids I taught talk about being president someday...

What I love about this moment, is that never, ever again is anyone going to be able to look at them and say they can't because of their upbringing, background, or the color of their skin. They won't be able to say it because tonight we said "Yes we can, and Yes, they can."

Here's to them tonight. And to all of us in the days ahead.

Looking to follow the fun at home - Color in your very own Electoral College Map here
Cheers

The Star Spangled Banner's going back on display this year. It's been restored and patched up and loved on by gentle hands. It's a fragile fabric, and deserves tender care.

This morning, I stood quietly in line with my neighbors and cast my vote to peacefully change our government. That the particular event of Election Day has occured regularly and peacefully in our country really is a miracle.

From the steps of the high school where I waited, the Capitol dome could be clearly seen. And here was a "Good morning," and "Nice to see you," and "Don't worry - we'll hold your place in line."

And so this morning with a small library pencil to connect the pieces of a broken arrow, I put my little stitch into the history and the future of my country, which is also fragile, has had to be patched up from time to time, and deserves a tender care.

There were people helping their elderly Nana's and Aunts, whole families, and some who said, "Oh, I hope - I hope, been waiting 400 years." And that is really something. There were people bringing their sons and daughters and babies to stand with them in this moment, and that was something too.

And there was me, a girl from the plains of Texas casting her vote in the District, that's something as well.

Maybe that's the real fabric of the Star Spangled Banner - the very fiber of it, a nation standing together pulling together for our future. A stitch there, a patch there, a friendly poll worker, a chance to change what comes for us.

Go put your stitch in. And as a dear friend told me, "You've got to vote your heart." Not all the stitches have to go the same way, after all, the Banner's always been made of red and blue. Just completing that simple action, places your feet in the course of our history.

Debs for President

Now the story goes that when women finally got the vote, there was a dust up between my great grand-parents Lily and John. John was for Debs, Lily for the other guy. Lily asked John to drive her into town to cast her vote, and John said he wouldn't if she wasn't voting for Debs - disenfranchisement even then. Lily said that she'd just drive herself to town - good for her, I appreciate a strong-minded woman. At any rate, she cast her vote, and Debs didn't win, and life continued, and here we are in some ways asking still with him "Who shall save us from Congress?" among other things.

It really is striking how all our arguments come back around, still we are talking about socialism, still we are talking about the everyman, still there are poor little kids in the city who've never seen a live chicken, still we're talking about how to make all satisfied and wealthy. Much of Debs speech reminded me of Huey Long's speech. Maybe they should have been the ticket.

Rather than to address his many and lengthy arguments, what I found most striking was the intensely civil and warm tone. That those he has disagreed with have treated him with kindness and respect, and he apparently they. He also refrains from speaking ill of Republicans or Democrats. Can you imagine? People simply being neighborly - it seems like a fairy tale in our present and in our recent history. And I dare say that no one besides Debs has ever tipped his hat at the mention of Kansas, though my Grandma liked it greatly.

Now, despite his eloquent arguments that the time for competition has passed, that all men should join hands and bask in the strength of their work and the satisfied stomachs of their wives and children, and that this is possible when the individual submits himself to the will of the party (oh dear, someone is sure to bring up Ayn Rand in the comments now), I have to say that socialism has never, and will never work.

Though he seems perfectly clear that he believes religion or faith to serve no one, by virtue of one's service, the thing served becomes a god. One sacrifices to it to recieve favor, one binds oneself to it for protection, one exalts it because one has been smart enough to find it and perceive its wisdom.

These old human hearts are fallen. We've not in this twentieth century past managed to turn our swords into plowshares, now we've found weapons that make swords seem pitiful. We've not eradicated human slavery, we've not mastered our base desires that would see others lose at our gain. We gorge ourselves at the table while others go hungry. It is the same story as always, it is the perverted nature of humanity.

Presumably the nobility of socialism derives from the strength of the will of man united for his brother and for his children, and for himself. This is where it would derive it's admirable quality from, and yet a pig becomes no more noble simply because he stands with a large group of pigs, nay his smell is magnified, and multiplied. So we have seen also in history that in large groups man often does not become more noble, but less and this less often leads to dire consequences for someone. In order for that not to be the case, there must be something different and other than the soul and heart of man.

So where does that leave us...or rather here is my thought on the issue:

I don't think any real change to the human condition can be brought about by the election of one party or another. I believe that only an encounter with the God the Father through Christ His son can change a soul, can grant that soul a stand in nobility and grace and so give that soul a freedom in which to serve the people that soul encounters. Christ is the other the lifts a soul from it's fallen, brokeness and redeems the soul, refines and changes it, clothes it anew

And I bring this up because some have said the early church was socialist in nature. When the reality remains that the work of Christ on earth is more than can be encompassed in any political or social system. If it could be encompassed in say, socialism (or any other system), than surely through their legislative power the governments of the world by now would have provided us with world peace and satisfaction. They have not. I would say they have not because it is an impossible task for man.

What I think is that this Wednesday morning, there will still be children to serve in the city, children who need food, and warm clothes, and to know that the divine spark they bear confers upon them a dignity in their life. And I don't think that will come through legislation or mandated societal change. I believe that it comes in part through the work of the Church as the Body of Christ serving their neighbors.

Well just to wrap it up here, I'll return to how struck I was by Debs' gracious courteousy and tone. I'm sure my comments will ruffle some feathers, but I hope I've managed to state my case with a respect for the company I stand in.

That little guy is my brother - he is sometimes very serious. He's sitting with my Uncle Jess on a gracious porch in Barnhart, Missouri. That coffee cup that Jess is drinking from is now in my parent's cabinet, my brother and I both like to drink from it when we're home. What you can't see in the picture is that my brother's curls are red.

My big brother's birthday is 10/15! So I thought I'd take a moment to list some really fantastic things about him - since we used to watch David Letterman together (the development of my sense of humor owes alot to Jimmy) we'll go with a top 10.

10. We have a New Years' tradition of beating pie pans - my brother once dragged a date across Houston, just to keep his promise to his baby sister that he'd be home to beat the pans. Just one of the places I learned what a promise meant.

9. He taught me that patience is often worth the pay off - we'd spend hours setting up a whole suitcase of little green army men in his room, in which the frequent mess provided lots of room for trenches and cover, then we'd shoot them with rubber bands.

8. He was always willing to beat Super Mario Brothers' level 3 and then let me keep on playing.

7. The man introduced me to Saturday Night Live.

6. At my first soccer game, when I got conked in the head with the ball, he ran onto the field and picked me up. Also he read to my kindergarten class, which made me roughly the coolest kid ever.

5. He (and his wife) once surprised me for my birthday by driving all the way to Texas.

4. He is the only person who can make me laugh so hard I cry for no reason at all, including inappropriate places like church services and funerals.

3. He can fly a plane. And he can fly it better than your brother.

2. He loves the Lincoln Memorial as much as I do.

1. My newspaper editor once asked me who my hero was - I answered, "My brother," - I've learned a lot about perseverance and doing the right thing from him.

Happy Birthday, Jimmy! Love you bunches!

And well, here's Sanger:
Choosing to believe the best of people, I don't think Sanger means to be patently offensive in her speech. It seems that she instead passionately believes that children should not come into this world, but that the world be properly prepared to care for them.

I mean, how many people, including myself, have said, "You ought to have a license to be a parent."?

But her suggestions would limit the birth of children only to the well born, and while we'd all like the silver spoon, it's hard not to think that something would be irreversibly lost in that scenario. I mean, by her suggestions there would be no more stories of plucky souls overcoming difficult beginnings, and we do love rags to riches stories.

I find her term "sub normal," particularly offensive - especially when it's only been a recent development that adequate care and education has led the realization that many children with disorders don't need to be institutionalized, that just need different care. Not to mention the tone the term takes on given the technology that is now being used to test and select embryos for implantation.

She and I can at least agree that government involvement is a bad, bad idea.

I guess it takes some amount of stick-to-it-tiveness to promote an idea and new society which Sanger had to have known would never take root - the ultimate impossible pipe dream - a place where all was well for every child, and every parent free to enjoy it.

She probably would have gained more ground, and being better remembered had she promoted adoption, better pre-natal health care, better parent education, and better education for all children.

Weekly Wrap:
Well friends and loyal readers lets just recap the week, shall we:
Monday: In office till 11 p.m. finishing learning plans for students prior to Tuesday launch of reading program.

Tuesday: Uhh - sleepy, office work, reading program - convincing children that reading is both important and fun.

Wednesday: Attend my first ever Yom Kippur at Temple Sinai. Packed house. Beautiful music.

Thursday: Finally attend show at 9:30 club here in DC - I remember sitting in the middle of Missouri and listening to NPR broadcasts of my favorite bands, "Live from the 9:30 club..." and then Thursday I was there at the Of Montreal show. Definitely weird. Great opener. Remembered that I like loud rock and roll.

Friday: Uhh - sleepy, attend open city council meeting on Public Schools Facilities at which City Councilman, Marion Barry is present - no joke. Me and Marion Barry in the same room. Come home after work and sleep.

Saturday: Uhh - wake up. Make some plans. About to implement.

Later yo.

Okay, you know what? Margret Sanger is crazy, and I can't even deal with her speech. So I'm probably skipping it. Look for new speeches soon - if I don't start the project again, I've been told I'll lose my loyal readership.

In other business, on the right hand side under web links, you'll find a link to Little Lights Urban Ministries where I work. It's our brand new website and it has a blog! Where I'll be posting things regularly. Check there later today to see an update on Academic programs.

Cheers,
Sara

In the Meantime...

You know, when work and the achievement gap get you down, a little Tyra-Tyra and Next Top Model can pick you right back up.

Love it.

I'm totally baffled by today's speech.

There are some nice turns of phrase, but the themes seem confused and muddled. Right when they are about to take off and argue for a better world, she kills them. We're left with the frightening idea that the darkness is all we have.

I guess you can't win 'em all.

Well that's just wildly interesting. I had no idea I'd get a suffregette speech this morning. Nor that I'd learn how to make a woman a "nearly human thing".

I was amazed by how many of the platforms remain the same: Economic independence, reproductive choice, equal pay. And was amazed also about how far back the stereotype of men helpless in the house goes back. But I wonder how true it really was back then - I grew up all my life hearing stories of my Dad's Dad cooking, and he being the one to braid his daughter's hair. One of my Aunt's married a man who did all the cooking. Maybe they were above average, or maybe that stereotype wasn't true.

Reading this speech made me think of the Thin Man movie where Nick and Nora have a kid - there's a scene at the beginning where Nora (mind you one half of the detecting duo, and an equal partner) calls Nick and son into dinner, and there's a knowledge that while Nick can walk his son, bet on the races, drink like a fish and solve mysteries, Nora must do the same and order the house.

The raising feminist sons bit was really interesting, because I think that there's been a big movement to that. Now people worry about gender neutral toys and colors and clothes, a step or so past what this lady was talking about.

The movement I guess has at least been consistent, and I think also valuable at times. There's so much more choice for women today than even in my Mom's youth - when women mostly studied nursing or education at college. Today, all fields are open to us. Though I know many women who went to college for their Mrs. degrees, I know equally as many who went to get a great education and pursue their interests and passion.

I'm thinking right now of how shelter's for abused women came into being through grassroots efforts circa the 70s. Thinking of hearing how in the towns and cities, the women knew who among them was being hurt, and informal safe houses sprang up, regular homes of other women who would take the victims in - how the telephone chain would start up, and the women would reach into their resources to help their sister.

Which leads me to think that the women's liberation movement succeeds best when women act as women (a loaded concept, I know) rather than "militant", or "manly". Language provides this debate at it's reduced form in the b-word, which some women have tried to "reclaim" as a mark of equal acceptance with men. Shelter's happened not because women met in a boardroom, or formed a committee (though we're talented at both), but because they used their given sensitivity and nurturing nature to care for someone else. Men and women are different, and if we view the goals of the women's lib movement as being achieved when society can no longer tell the difference between men and women, then we are cheating ourselves and our daughters, not to mention our sons and brothers - terms for which there will be no use, if we are all the same.

Despite all of our choice, I think many women in my generation are confused about what to do with it. Some women want to be married and have babies and be a homemaker, but worry about being judged harshly by those women who chose their careers. Career women often feel judged by the homemakers for being somehow less of a woman. There's a lot of judgement on both sides. Unfortunately society's great answer to this was "you can have it all - career and family, and have to the exact extent you want it." In fact this was the theme of the commencement address at my college graduation. But no one can have it all. There are always choices, always sacrifices, something will be lost in the exchange - and that's okay, because the freedom to make the choice belongs to each of us. One woman's choice to be a homemaker doesn't take away from her identity as an intelligent woman, another's choice to work doesn't make her less of a woman.

The greater question here, and I think at the heart of much confusion for women my age is What does it mean to be a woman? I encountered the other day, a woman in a group of her mostly male colleagues who all worked in the field of researching military contracts. She swore profusely - equal to or exceeding her male co-workers, she was abrasive, and even the way she stood aped her male co-workers. The other women from that office had also adopted some of their counterparts traits, and from the coarse language to the coarse joking, they seemed not so much women, unique, interesting, beautiful and gifted, as people trying to fit in. It made me sad to feel they had given part of their identity up because of the idea that "we're just as good as the boys, in fact, we're one of the boys."

As for me, well I make a different choice. I like my pearls and my skirts, and I like my University Education, and I like my job. I don't get angry when the door is held open for me, but I'll make the choice about whether I walk through it or not. Perhaps too many women think that fighting for equality means being less of a woman, means sacrificing beauty and gentleness and other qualities, or that success in the fight means no longer being thought as a woman.

What does it mean to be a woman? It involves remembering that we weren't the afterthought of the creation story - the "Oh and by the way, here's Eve," we were the completion of it. There are women who are truly oppressed by patriarchal societies around the world, who are in fact dying because of them (consider the plight of a Muslim woman who lives at risk for breast cancer, but can't even talk about her breasts with a doctor). I am not oppressed, but I am bound as a human being, and a woman, to advocate for those who are.

Southern Gothic

I declare it. I declare this to be my favorite speech. Not because I like Huey P. Long though he embodies one of the last courthouse step politicians, nor because I agree with his economic policy which could be described as three sheets to the wind among other things, but because this speech is so deliciously Southern.

It's Faulkner and Flannery and Penn Warren all at once, it is their strangeness and lyricism. It's a speech that belongs to Boo Radley and to Atticus, though in a different way. And it is the utter madness of a people in a mouldering decay.

It's not hiding our demons, not hiding our crazy relatives in the attic, (no Dickinson, no Nathaniel Hawthorne). It's bringing them out on the front porch and saying "Take a look. Here they are - nutty, but bounden to us - and we to them."

Take note of the way Long forces those sacred economics, no more should the poor man say he shall get his reward in heaven, no it is his for the taking now, because (cue favorite Southern argument) God has ordained it, he has called us to the Barbecue.

Every man a king in two months! Hallelujah - the people must have thought it was the second coming. Why not to share wealth - t'aint fitting, just t'aint fitting.

Now each author has a slightly different take on the South. Seems there's hardly any grace in a Faulkner story, and it's difficult to find it in O'Connor despite her protestation that each of her grotesque characters come to a moment of it. But maybe part of that grace (in the liteary, everyday sense) is that we in the South are bound to recognize our triumphs and our successes, our heroes and our madmen. We deny neither for we know that in denying them, we deny ourselves.

Bad old Rockfeller. Bad old Morgan. Terrible FDR and Mr. Astor, didn't they know that the poor were only a part of them all, that denying them was denying their own selves. Why Gov. Long says it - under his plan everyone will be a millionaire, there'll be more than ever. In under two months.

How that must have sounded to a people close to the earth and poor. We'll remember it in ever widening ripples of our collective memory, though we're forgetting most of it. There's little South any more. The New South keeps Boo and Long locked away, but they're a part of us too - there's a little madness and maybe much greatness in each of us.

It’s been a blogging dry spell, travel plus visitors plus new roommates with a CAT! And work, have made blogging a little tough, but I’m back with thoughts re: Gerald Ford’s remarks on taking the oath of office.

We’ve heard Mr. Ford before, and here again I was surprised by his calmness and humble certitude.

It’s typically a joyous occasion – there are parades and glad waving, there a ball gowns and evening suits, and more parties than one can reasonable attend. There’s a sigh of relief, there’s pride in the race one.

But not this time, in language echoing Truman, Ford reminds us that this was not an office he sought, and moreover reminded that he was keenly aware that he was not elected by the people’s secret ballot. So he asks instead that the people “confirm him with their prayers.”

That entire paragraph is simply beautiful – a refreshing reminder that though he was not chosen by secret ballot, he’d neither gained the office through secret promises. That he owed nothing to any man, but much to his wife. Faithfulness, loyalty, sense of duty – all characteristics we desire in leaders.

Like Truman he pledges not to “shirk” the job.

In a speech that easily could have been made about the failings of his predecessors or his own belief in himself he chose to talk about the country, and that distinguishes him. “Our constitution works,” he says. Suddenly you realize that the scandal happed before we’d reached 200 years. Suddenly you realize what an extraordinary document and system we have. The republic is strong. It works.

And rather than ignore or denigrate Mr. Nixon, Ford asks prayers on his and his family’s behalf. It takes character of heart to call for prayers on someone who so violently breaks a trust.

Always pointing back to the document that works, and not to himself or his talents or how he can improve it, he pledges to serve the country the best he can and as he has pledged. That is perhaps what we should look for in our next president – not a man who is given to talking about his own talent and ability, nor one who is seeking change for the sake of change, just change (well what sort, and to what?), I’m not endorsing and not-endorsing here, just saying things must be weighed, but one who can say, “It works – this fragile system works, and I will uphold it.”

Not going lie, I was not prepared for this speech, rather I wasn't prepared to be a little humbled by this speech.
There I was yesterday, knowing it was by Cesar Chavez, and thinking "Not another organizing speech."
And so knowing I needed to listen yesterday, I got through my day, and then as though careening through the closing auditorium door, sat down to read the speech, ready to hurry through and onto the next thing.
Then I started to read. Sometimes you get to church just barely on time and thinking about 100 other things, and all the sudden it's like someone pours water over you and you have to be still, and you realize that you're hearing big Truths and that you've got to put your business aside.
So it was when I read this speech.
Especially when he started to speak of the church as a powerful institution - I don't think he meant powerful in our earthly terms of wealth and influence, I think he meant powerful in that it is the province of a king not of this earth.
He spoke of the protestants, and the corners of my heart turned up a little - I knew ones such as these he was talking about.
I love that he indicates that beyond the every-day-close-to-the-dirt needs of people, there's a spirtual need to be fed as well.
Daily bread, and daily word, both are neccessary.
And how gentle he is in admonishing the church to help the poor - he could be much harsher. Indeed, I have been much harsher. But he simply and eloquently says "We ask for Christ among us," which is precisely what the church should be.
I'm heartened that there is an increasing number of churches that I hear about who are embracing this exhortation, and are actively working in social justice areas. I attend a church whose love for the city, and committment to serving her are part of what drew me to make a home there.
Furthermore, I think that for me and others who grew up in an "evangelical" environ were exposed to the concept that the only "real" ministry was explicitly sharing the gospel complete with invitation, salvation and ushering into heaven.
Now there's nothing wrong with sharing that message, in fact it should be shared. But to confine the work of the gospel to that act alone, would create an awfully narrow field in which to work.
It's my belief from my time in Baltimore, from my work here, from reading about the work of Mother Theresa, from observing ministries like Church on the Lot in Dallas, and the Hinde Street Mission in London, that the gospel is much broader than words. That it begins with bread, and shelter, and continues in love to the rest of it.
It is absolutely about serving as "Christ with us," even unto the ones that society forgets about each day.

Good gracious, we've got a lot of ground to cover.

My goodness The Rebel Girl's speech was long, I found myself in the middle of it ready to acquit simply from fatigue of detail.

But here's the kicker - don't we all imagine, or maybe just the nerdy ones who think about things like "What was the Red Scare like?" that communists are people with sharp teeth and Nosferatu like features who are sliking rodent like along our baseboards spreading their subversive message.

Wait though, here's a bonafide American born Rebel Girl - she's traveled the country, she's seen and talked with people the workers, she's read, one assumes, both the constitution and the Bill of Rights (she wanted to be a constitutional lawyer). She's committed to the equality of all, and no stranger to oppression (recall No Irish need apply). And what's more she thinks she's a good American, undoubtedly she would feel that not working with the Communist Party would make her a bad American.

I quite frankly don't know enough about the American Communist Party to argue the merits of her opening statement. But she does kind of sound like a woman you could sit down with, on maybe a cold blustery day in a greasy spoon diner over a cup of coffee and talk with. Anyone who got read Marx as bedtime fare would be worth listening to for awhile just for the sake of interest and variety.

She's only been advocating for a peaceful, happy world. It lifts one really to read the following: Our country is a rich and beautiful country, fully capable of producing plenty for all, educating its youth and caring for its aged.

I've heard presidents and politicians say the same.

Malaise
This speech gives it to me. No wonder Reagan won in a landslide - his optimisim must have knocked all this doom and gloom to pieces.
I found this speech irrelavent, given the fact that we're now in another "energy crisis" and canidates are still talking about dependence on foreign oils.
Now, I can imagine this speech being given on a Sunday night service by a guest preacher in late, dusty summer at a Southern Baptist church - attendance is down, families on vacation, you just need someone to stand in the pulpit. And then perhaps the more redeeming ideas in this speech - that maybe freedom wasn't scrapping for some small advantage over others, would stand out more.
The speech reaches a good moment when he says that any act of energy conservation is an act of patriotism. Well, I don't know about that, but it is saving Bobby McGee and I money, and it is more earth friendly.
I'm trying to find a bright spot here.
But as it is, it's a speech given LIVE from the OVAL OFFICE, and I expect something more enobling then finger wagging there. When it comes time for a leader to seek change in those led, it is perhaps most helpful to call on their better natures, which of course must shame and over shadow their crueler selfs. To lead with, "You all a mess" just doesn't make me want to listen more, or follow a rather worrying school-marmish figure.
There are other examples of times when the leader has called upon the people to sacrifice, and I'm eager to hear the speeches of FDR who led in a crisis much greater than Carter's.
Had Henry the V made a speech (albeit to Shakespeare's imagining) that said, "I will do my best, but I will not do it alone," would anyone have bled on the fields of Agincourt? Not a chance. He would have been met with a chorus of "have at its." No, King Henry called upon those better angels,
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers"
He says those not in the fight shall hold themselves accursed.
Those better angels charm the rough nature and fear of what lies before.
The best leaders don't have to pull the people with them, saying sulkily, "I will not do it alone."
Momma - I'm interested for your thoughts, mine have been pretty scattershot here. I do apologize that you've had to sit through this speech twice, as I am sure you probably watched it the first time around. Maybe you can tell me why it's a good speech?

"The evil men do lives after them. The good that men do is oft interred with their bones."
I don't know very much about Malcolm X, though I just read the wikipedia entry on him.
I looked for some analysis of this speech, to see why on earth it might have been included, but came up empty.
It is a speech filled with beliefs contrary to my own. It is a speech that promotes divisiveness and hate. It is a speech that attacks rather than builds up. It is a speech that stands in marked contrast to the one that heads this list, and a speech that explains a man's ideas, complains about a situation, but refrains from offering any real solution.
How interesting that it follows President Clinton's speech where he implores us to speak against hate, to speak against violence.
I appreciate the right to free speech, and would not trade it for a society in which speeches like this were prohibited. But an overlooked gift of free speech is that we can choose what speech to celebrate and remember, and what to close the book on.
An eye for an eye is perhaps the easiest thing to understand - even stephen, equal recompense. It is easiest to reach for violence - it is quick. But it takes true strength of character and real nobility to see a way beyond that - a way of forgiveness, or reaching out with an open hand, and yes, a turning of the other cheek.
There are many rabbit trails to chase in this speech, but chasing them would lend a validity to hateful words.
Suffice to say this, I am more than thankful that the speech that heads this list is one that encourages everyone to put aside what divides.
And also this...tonight as a repair man installed a new battery in my car at the side of the road (don't worry Mom and Dad, everything's fine). A car slowed alongside and the driver, who was a black man, said very gently, "It happens."
"I know," I said. "The battery died." I shrugged helplessly with my upturned hands.
And we paused, and he looked on me with compassion, and then the light changed and he nodded very slowly and said, "I wish you the very best."
And I know he meant it. That is what I will remember of this day - the kind speech of that man, rather than the divisive language of another.

BTW - Above is Bobby McGee.

I cheated. Just a little bit. After I listened to this speech, I listened to Reagan's speech after the Challenger - I wanted to know what differed, why the speeches were ranked in such different places.
A couple of things stood out, and I tried to remember the national tragedies that have fallen during my life time and what the response has been.
I remember the Challenger.
I remember much more clearly Oklahoma City.
Sept. 11.
The bombing of the U.S.S. Cole.
The tone of Clinton's speech is like it's not a shared tragedy - that we grieve with you, but we recognize it as an Oklahoma tragedy, not a national one. I tried to remember if that was the sentiment at the time, but how much can a fifth grader know?
There were moving moments in the speech, and you can tell that it means much to the people there by the looks on their faces behind him and the response of the crowd. What particularly stands out is when he quotes Gov. Keating in "Come to Oklahoma."
On the whole, the speech seemed given to the platitude, and platitudes because they lack specificity are generally not moving.
Where the speech is strongest is where we are implored to "talk against it." And where he speaks of planting the tree in the memory of the children, but even here there's a drawn line between Olkahoman and American.
A eulogy might be the most difficult type of speech to write or give, and though the speech has weaknesses it does serveit's purpose.

Rousing could not apply to today's speech.
I was nonplussed by it. I'll allow the benefit of the doubt to say I would have been more moved by hearing it.
Though I haven't researched it, I think that many of the things in the ammendment have come to pass. I noted with interest that she calls for equality in no longer permitting schools to segregate by sex, when now there is a movement in the public schools to do just that.
I was surprised that after the horror of the draft in Vietnam, she would call to sign women up with the selective service.
Yes, I think equal pay for equal work is right - and I think that women still earn less then their male counterparts.
But listening to this speech I couldn't help, but think that we've just come through a primary campaign where a woman was one of leading figures, and one of the most powerful senators, or that we currently have a woman serving as speaker of the house. A woman Secretary of State, a woman Secretary of Education, women governors who are being considered for vice-president. All of which happened without the Equal Rights Ammendment.
Out of 100 speeches, you can't expect to like 'em all.

1987 - I was four, and I knew Ronald Reagan was President.
It's a shame that people my age weren't made to study great speeches in school, or made to study more the important events that happened in our own lives.
I do remember the Berlin Wall coming down, and young as I was, it was impossible not to see the fervor and passion of that moment.
And then suddenly there was no more U.S.S.R. No more communism, no more great enemy to oppose.
It would be different, I imagine, for someone who had grown up doing duck and cover drills. Today's speech must have been the long culmination of that yearning from freedom, of that desire to thwart communism, of the end of the fear of the bomb.
Think, think of the people in the crowd that day - who were they? There were children, yes. And I hope there were older people that would have been like my parent's friends Rosa and Jope - who had experienced the war in terrible ways. I hope there were others, vetrans of the Weimarcht, but of course they would have only fought on the Eastern front. Who were the people that day who waved American and German flags and roared loudly enough for Mr. Gorbachev to hear President Reagan's invitation. Is there today someone in Berlin who is looking at someone my age and saying, "You know, I was there that day - that day when he said, 'Open this gate, tear down this wall.' "
It's enobling - the great battles always are - no there's no glory in war, nor should it be romanticized - but there are things worth battling, and things for which it is right to battle. It lifts the spirit to fight for a cause that is greater and broader than oneself.
But what is my generations cause, to what are we called to? It is murky to me - there seems no unifying force, and no call to reach beyond ourselves. We were not a generation taught that sacrifice for others is good, we were the generation that was told we could be anything, do anything, have anything, have it all. There's little nobility in that - only grabbing for what you think you ought to have, and a blubbery sense of entitlement.
You can't create moments like today's speech out of whole cloth - it was right that Germany said no to Mr. Obama's idea to speak there. A request that came not out of a long, hard fight, but out of perhaps, a blubbery sense of entitlement.
What will be the great fight of my generation?
There are those in my circle of friends who don't get my passion for the Olympics - listen to this speech and then you will. The games are and should be about so much more than who breaks the tape. For President Reagan, it was about the ability of one moment to transcend that impenatrable iron curtain and unite briefly the whole world in common purpose. Higher, faster, stronger indeed.
And then we come to the end of his speech - where he speaks about the television tower, which I read got nicknamed the Pope's revenge, because of the shadow of the cross it made. Reagan invokes the image as a symbol of love that cannot be surpressed by the strongest of the strong arms.
It's love, Reagan says, that makes them stay in a city that's difficult to live in.
Isn't that what makes any of us stay, isn't love always what gives us the courage to go farther than we think we can. Isn't it love that refines our character, that polishes and shines to a gleam our roughest edges.
Of course it is.

Today's speech was different - the voice not of a leader, but of a witness to the unimaginable suffering of the concentration camp.

What his speech called to mind to me were the words of a minister I met in London who worked with the homeless at the Hinde Street Mission. He said that the homeless were stripped of their humanity - passersby did not look at them, or speak to them, or acknowledge in any way the commonality of humaness between them. And after years of that indifference, the homeless no longer knew human company.

I was struck by the very meanness of the act of averting one's eyes from a fellow, thereby ignoring him and as Wiesel puts it, making his life worthless.

I remember in particular, that day at the Hinde Street Mission, the way one lady's bright, blue eyes lit up when the the Minister came towards her with a kind word. She reached out her hands to him, he recognized her as a sister.

There are a thousand ways that we all practice indifference to our neighbor each day. It is complicated and messy to be in community with people, it is tiresome to share burdens and to give of ourselves. And yet, where would we be without the kindness someone has shown us along the way? And where will we be, when experiencing our own troubles, we look outside ourselves for help? So we lift up our eyes from where we averted them, we look up, and we choose to say, "Good Morning." We must choose not to ignore.

The lawyer makes his case
Although I was not there and can't imagine the time, I do recall that when I read "All the Presidents' Men" I was shocked and apalled. I kept asking my parents what it was like, if it really happened that way, was everyone outraged.

My most lasting impression of Ford is the image of him falling down the steps of Air Force One. I know he was a lawyer, from Michigan, and played football for the University. Maybe the balance of one's time in office can be measured in one brave act, and so perhaps Ford can rightly be remembered as a brave man, who sought to do right in a situation the country had never faced before.

He makes his case doesn't he? He doesn't just explain why he is pardoning Nixon, but he convinces you that you should go along too. There are many compelling lines, that procrastination would be weak and dangerous, that one should be troubled and feel compassion toward Nixon, that not as president, but as a man Ford would be judged without mercy should he fail to give it.

And of course the most compelling argument, that to proceed down a path of litigation would reignite ugly passions and weaken American credibility around the world. Keep in mind that after Vietnam this credibility may have already been tenuous.

Maybe there are times when God grants those in leadership a special clarity of vision and foresight, and extra measure to guide their decisions. Ford says that an American president who had resigned was in danger of being cruelly persecuted out of a sense of meted out justice. I think this a common urge in man - to desire excessive punishment for those who should have known better, and who betray our trust mightily. In punishing Nixon, could the nation have avoided it's own part in the tragedy, always knowing that he had been elected of the people? Surely that recriminating thought would not have been healthy for the country.

The legacy of Ford's pardon is that the Nixon I remember from the news and commentary, indeed the Nixon who is still invoked, is the one who removed us from Vietnam, the one who made diplomatic envoys to China -a action widely hailed as good diplomacy. Had the pardon not occured, we would never have been allowed by our own conscience to remember what might have been good in Nixon's administration.

Today there is a bent to extremism, one is good or bad, and if one is bad one must always be bad. What would Nancy Grace have made of Nixon? Or of Ford's pardon? How would Geraldo have covered it? There is no grace in our society, no mercy know for the fallen. How heartening to know that there was a time not long ago when a man reminded us that the two existed, and that the extension of it from one to another helped both the giver and the recipient. I remember well that my Dad told me once that he supposed there was good and bad in all of us, and I have remembered that those qualities co-exist and complicate matters. I have found that it is grace and mercy which allows one to move forward whichever end of the situation one is found.

And then there is the matter of God. Just as Ford speaks of his role as president, and his conscience as a man. I think he also speaks of two Gods - the Creator of inalienable rights found in the Declaration of Independence, the Deity popularly invoked during the philosophy of that time, but also the God that Ford meets at church, the God of mercy and of justice and of judgement.

I draw the distinction because in our time we are intensely concerned with the separation of church and state, and with the ferreting out of what the mention of God might mean about a person's belief. There is a mistaken tendency to believe that a mention of God is the equivalent of propagating a Christian theocracy, and proselytizing the masses. This tendency proves one to be ignorant of American history and rhetorical tradition. I do not think that every President who has uttered the word "God" has meant by that a faith in Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of one's sins and the salvation of one's soul.

The Creator Deity invoked in our founding documents should neither embolden those zealots who would marry government and religion, nor frighten those citizens who choose a different faith and creed. Surely if the founders had meant the God to which Christianity is ascribed, they would have perceived that it would have endangered the religious freedom of the citizens, and the right to free speech, not to mention the fact that they probably would not have been as vague as Creator in His official description.

I do not know the thinking behind including the Creator in the documents. I suspect that it was to remind Americans that there is a purpose greater than our own self interest, I suspect it was to give a particular significance and weight to the documents of a mewling babe of a nation, to acknowledge the unique and spectacular embarcation of a nation such as the world had never known. And perhaps even at some level, even in the hearts of our most doubtful and uncertain founding Fathers, a desire to get off on the right foot with the Creator whoever he might be.

The documents do not, however, mention God's mercy, or His ability to be met in church, or the accountability which all men have to Him. When Ford says "we are a nation under God" - can you imagine the maelstorm that would be today, what would Christopher Hitchens write? - no thinking person would imagine by that he meant we were all to go to church and confess Christ. When Ford says that he is invoking rhetorical tradition, and imploring America to remember something greater than its immediate desires to yell for the tar and feathers.

But when he talks about himself as a man before God diligently searching out his conscience, when he mentions that he will be judged without mercy should he fail to grant it, any moderately literate person is able to recognize the Christian tradition and theology. How wise of Ford to so delicately separate the God of a President and the God of a man.

Before someone leaves an angry comment calling me a heretic, let me affirm that I do believe that some of the founding Fathers were Christ-professing men, Christian. I believe that this nation has had presidents who in their great hour of need called upon the God of mercy and justice, rather than the shadowy, absent and vague Creator of American rhetoric. But we are a society ignorant of sublties, for us it must always be one way or the other.

How good to be reminded by the speech today that things are more complicated than one way or the other. To be reminded that in our country citizens are free to practice their creed without fear of persecution. To be reminded by our rhetorical tradition that there is an end beyond ourselves, a greater call than our individual pursuit of happiness - the sustaining of our democracy and our freedoms therein.

No audio of the speech today, so the merits must be weighed on the sense of the words and sentiments.
In my earliest knowledge of Wilson, I remember feeling badly that the man had worked so diligently on the League only to be thwarted by his homeland in its failure to ratify the document, later this feeling of sympathy gave way to a sense that Wilson must have been out of touch with the country - and thus not a very good president. Still, might not a president be called upon to set aside the immediate desires of his country in order to choose a course that will better benefit them in the long run.

The world had just come through the horror of trench warfare - an entire generation lost. It is tempting to muse what might have happened had the world really thrown it's weight behind the League of Nations, particularly when in the penultimate paragraph he speaks of a power using land for it's European purposes. He is obviously talking about colonialism, but one's mind quickly jumps to Hitler's lebensraum. Would that progression have been stopped had the world truly formed a league of peace, willing to get involved in the matters because the concord of the world was at stake? When Wilson called the document a guranty against things which nearly brought civilization to ruin, could he even have imagined the destruction of the atom bomb or the fear of MAD?

Who knows? It's a fruitless question, and the answer is probably not. I don't think any country was willing to sacrifice its interests for the sake of the league of peace - how much use could it be if you'd already fought the war to end all wars. The situation reminds that some sacrifice is required in order to reach larger purposes. This lesson however, seems perpetually hard to learn. Even as the developed nations are calling for alternatives fuels and reduced emissions, India is seeking to develop a national car affordable for its citizens. The argument is put in print that those nations think they should have the same opportunity as their developed cousins - still all humans know that it's best to learn from the mistakes of others if you can, sometimes that means giving up what we want to gain what is better.

What else could Wilson have imagined? Coule he have thought that there would come a day when things would be instantly publishable?

We may not always get it right, but surely it's something if we keep trying to improve. The league of nations is not an obsolete idea, nor the United Nations an antiquated body if we choose for them not to be. Who can really argue with a league dedicated to the peace of the world?

Wilson's optimism shines through in his speech, and as in previous speeches there has been a call to become something better and more noble than what we are currently - and I think this is what endures in these speeches, the challenge to become what we believe we could be.

Lady Bird wore black:
His mouth is drawn tight, the chamber subdued and in dark clothing, it is 5 days past Kennedy's assination, and what on earth can anyone say?

This speech is both a mourning and call. It is perhaps impossible to listen to in the same trust of government that accompanied that time before Vietnam, and Watergate and all the rest of it. It is difficult to hear Johnson speak of peace while knowing that a war that would rend the American fabric was brewing in Asia.

But on that day, it was still in the future, and the nation had suffered a "profound shock."

While hearing Johnson speak of what would later become his sweeping social reforms, it begs of the question of how much of that is Kennedy's own dream, and how much Johnson. I've read in an article from a Johnson aide, that those were more his issues than his predeccesor's.

It is clear that he is more comfortable a member of the senate fraternity, than burdened with the presidency. And he is most compelling when he acknowledges that in the office he did not seek, and which was thrust upon him by cruel fate, he is in need of the help of all Americans.

Some of what he said is much like what President Bush has said - that we will be loyal to our friends, but foes to those who would impose the tyranny of terror.

Once he reaches the phrase "Let us continue," the speech shifts in tone to a call to action.

From accent to sentiment he is unmistakeably Texan - there is no doubt in my mind that when he utters the phrase "I promise..." he means it to his very core. His name is his word, he is loyal to allies and friends, earnest in knowing and acting right - these are creeds that I also know to my very core and it is my own knowledge that recognizes it in him. In the Texas where I was young, we wore our boots and waved our flags, learning early that the word Texas meant friend, learning early that to betray a friend was an unimaginable act, that to promise something was to put your name and honor on the line. Though in our post-Vietnam country, it is hard to hear or hold these things without seeming or being judged naive, and I don't know how many people still do.

His call for all Americans to respect and understand one another, his call to end the teaching and preaching of hate and violence, his call to turn from fanatics and bigots and other poisoners remains inspiring and lifting today.

And though he may have felt more comfortable on the other side of the speakers podium, when he invokes Lincoln, calling the body to "highly resolve," that Kennedy "shall not have lived or died in vain," it is clear that he is mantling the Presidency - having given his word, what else could he do?

"Have you no sense of deceny"
Who, I asked, was Joseph N. Welch? No doubt, my mother knew, as now do I.
As chief counsel for the Army during the Army-McCarthy hearings of 1954, Welch went toe to toe with Joe McCarthy in a manner that censured the Senator for his reckless cruelty, yet sacrificed none of Welch's own dignity.

The hearings were televised over about 188 hours, and it was seeing McCarthy in his slouching infamy that in part caused him a fall from popularity.

It is the word "infamous" that comes to mind while watching McCarthy spitefully impugn the professional character of a young lawyer not even present at the hearings out of obvious dislike and disrespect for Welch, an older partner in the young man's firm. McCarthy is avenging the perceieved baiting of his assistant counsel Cohn by Welch. And it is clear he expects to embarrass Welch by revealing that the young man belonged to an association linked with Communism.

Ah, but Welch, calm in his fury, recognizes McCarthy for what he is - a spiteful, cruel man. He already knows of the association of the young man. Rather than back pedal and defend himself or his firm in the face of the powerful senator, Welch sticks vocieferously to the young man, saying he will continue to be at the firm.

Although McCarthy has more airtime, it is Welch that we remember for so clearly showing up McCarthy's lack of decency in attacking someone who cannot defend themselves. With no histrionics, with no table pounding, with no shouting, but in contained tone and well chosen words, in speaking simple truth Welch shows himself a cooler head, and wiser and better man than the junior senator bullying and badgering those around him.

Of note is that, one assumes, this remarks are from the cuff - and yet from the cuff, we have words that are long remembered - that is an impressive accomplishment.

Of other note is perhaps the larger lesson that when you are in the right, when you speak from a place of integrity and truth, the weight of those things alone are enough to win the day. So the table pounding, arm waving and shouting those who feel themselves right often engage in is nothing but a red herring meant to distract from what is lacking in their arguments.

Truth, as they say, will out

Best Laid Plans:
My mother sent me this link to the "100 Great Speeches" - there are some absences, notably Bryan's "Cross of Gold," as well as one of Teddy Roosevelt's whose title escapes me.

At a time when much is being said of inspiration in speeches, and in a time where it would seem great futures are being decided, I have chosen to add to my morning routine a speech a day from 100 to 1.

Today began the forward march with Eleanor Roosevelt's address to the 1948 assembly of the United Nations calling for the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

She is in this speech the voice of her country, as well as a clarion call to other member states. She firmly, but without rancor, denounces the Soviet Union's ammendments which would "change the fundamental character of the document."

I found of note her quotation of Canadian Gladstone Murray saying:
The central fact is that man is fundamentally a moral being, that the light we have is imperfect does not matter so long as we are always trying to improve it … we are equal in sharing the moral freedom that distinguishes us as men. Man’s status makes each individual an end in himself. No man is by nature simply the servant of the state or of another man … the ideal and fact of freedom -- and not technology -- are the true distinguishing marks of our civilization.

Also noteworthy was her willingness to give the last word to someone else, saying that she knew no better call to action than the words of Secretary Marshall, and therein reiterated his words calling for the adoption of the document. No commentary of her own followed, which marks the speech as selfless and the speaker as not seeking her own aggrandizement.

That the document has hardly become a standard for nations, or a modern magna carta, as she hopes in the speech, diminishes neither the quality nor the reason of her remarks. We must judge the speech in the context of it's time and place, and so we judge that she spoke well of herself, her country and the body of the United Nations.

Dear Mama and Daddy,

It’s high summer and I’ve been reminded by a good man that it’s been ages since I blogged.

I bought a bicycle. And have been biking to work. She’s a blue beauty with more than one speed. And this shows up one of the fundamental differences between the old roommate, who also has been biking to work, and me.

Everyday the roommate bikes the 2 miles to her work thinking “I’m saving the earth, I’m green and urban chic.” Everyday I bike the 3 miles to work thinking “Ha,ha gas at over $4 a gallon, stuff it.” And the ka-ching of my poor bank account roughly finds the rhythm of my pedals changing gears.

Of course the blue beauty needed a name and on a bike ride this week, I came upon the perfect one somewhere between Massachusetts and Pennsylvania Avenues. What’s a girl from Texas who cut her teeth on Carole King, Joan Baez and Janis Joplin supposed to name her bike?

What else, but Bobby McGee. Me and Bobby McGee.

I figured you’d approve.

Lots of Love,
Elizabeth

Gentle readers,
I don’t usually shoot blogs from the hip, which is probably why I’ve amassed the small number of 191 posts since 2003. I like to think, write and not ramble, want to offer tidy sentences that always wrap up like bright ribbons at the end

But on this the 29th day of the fourth month of 2008, I offer you a ramble. I’m a quarter of a century, folks, I’ve earned a good ramble haven’t I? And if you’ll ramble with me, I’ll promise at least one prettily turned phrase, I am after all a lover of language, of life, and as Blythe knows a Strongbow cider and the earthy atmospheres of pubs, or honky-tonks, or the pleasant café I sit in at this very moment in my new neighborhood.

Readers, the Big Bear Café offers you a large and furry hug, a gift of warmth. Take it kindly.

In faith, folks, I have a merry heart that keeps ever on the windy side of care. I’ve always tried to keep my face to the wind. And the wind that’s blowing lately is awfully good.

It is so good that I wish to use exclamation points! Several!!! As decoration! And for emphas!s in expressing excitement! And emotion!

Typically, I hate those baseball bats of expression, and wish to bludgeon those who use them excessively. But a 25th birthday seems appropriate to their winsome interjections of Wow! And Neat-o!

Here are some just for fun:

!!! !! !!!!!!!! !

Consider them party favors!

For today, I am remembering those near and dear to me, as I try do on my birthdays, and I’m raising currently my cup of coffee, and later my glass of wine, to you.

It’s so easy in this age of technology to isolate oneself behind the warm blue glow of a cell phone, or the disturbing appendages of ear-bud headphones, to be tethered at the hip to the umbilical cord of e-mail, and constant communication.

But the song sounds better if you share it. Take the ear bud out of your ear, wipe it gently on your shirt: offer it to a stranger, say, “I’d like to share this.” Don’t be alarmed if they run away, as any sane person would if offered something with a whisper of ear wax on it, just offer it to the next person, and to the one after that. Don’t you feel better already?

I know someone who got a picnic basket as a Christmas gift. And isn’t that a brilliant gift, a gift that says, “Go share a meal with someone, go out and enjoy the day, and share it. Don’t hideaway behind a book, or screen…Life’s waiting to be lived, and perhaps also loved.”

Life’s a together type of thing. This goes against the terrific individuality and rugged, aloneness of the American character.

I walked across the street the other day and met some of my new neighbors. They shared their jump rope with me. I tried to learn how to jump double-dutch. They turned and sang “Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around.” The rope flew over our heads, and under our feet, faster till the only sound was its click on the pavement, the slap of our shoes and finally a roaring laughter.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I drove out of Baltimore for good last Saturday at about 3 pm. I didn’t look back. I haven’t looked back. It was a time of searing trial, but I was not overcome, and now my feet are standing in a cooler place. Near more quiet waters.

King David, they say danced. And some people were embarrassed by it. But I’m of a kindred spirit. I’m taking off my shoes, walking barefoot in the grass, throwing my arms up, and kicking up my heels. Of course David danced, sometimes that’s the best way to say “thank you,” for what you’ve got.

I’m 25 today.

I am saying “Thank you.”

I’ve always loved old people, because I’m jealous of all that life they’ve lived.

(My computer battery’s on its last leg, can I beat the clock here? Fly fingers and thoughts!)

!!

Someday, I hope I’ll have a royal crown of gleaming white hair, like my grandmother’s carried, for they had rich lives, and that is what I want.

I’ll grab life by my teeth, and romp around with it, give a good shake. And when my head, if the Lord grants me that many years, is crowned with those fly-away whisps of white, I hope I will still be dancing barefoot and saying “thank you.”

I hope you will too.

I made a friend of mine laugh once on my birthday.

“Happy birthday,” he said.
“Happy birthday to you,” I replied.
“It’s not my birthday,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But happy birthday anway.”

Things are better when they’re shared. That’s why Oreos are made to take apart and hand to a friend, why twinkies come in packs of two, why it takes two to tango, and two-step and a whole handful for a conga line.

So happy birthday, on this the 29th day of the fourth month of the year 2008. The world’s still turning under our dancing feet.

Happy birthday to you.

I have never been camping.

I have only been skiing once.

What am I doing this week? Thanks for asking. I’m skiing! And camping!

Going to REI to pick up warm socks and a violently purple pair of long underwear, was like embarking on an anthropological experiment. Who were these people in quick-dry shorts, hiking shoes and vests? Who were these children trying on hiking shoes? Why is that man running around the store?

But the gizmos, the gadgets, they enticed. The sleek headlamps, the enormous kayak with bag, the coils of climbing rope, the ready-to-eat lasagna in a bag – someone could spend a lifetime creating excuses to obtain these particularly useful things.

Fortunately, the outdoor-active lifestyle seems cost prohibitive to poor folk like me who work for non-profits. And the idea that I will not have to think of a reason to buy a camp stove is, frankly, a relief. I left the store with my socks, and underwear, and a coffee mug, which was admittedly an impulse buy.

There are many things I’m sure about in life. For example: I love the symphony, I believe in buying nice toilet paper, and I am not meant for the wilderness.

But in the name of trying new things, in the spirit of adventure, I pack my bag and pray that I will not in fact have my own Into the Wild, or Grizzly Man experience.

Of course, actually getting to the wilderness implies that I will survive my day of schussing down the slopes. Skiing, for those of you who may not know, involves putting on impossibly tight boots that render your ankles immobile, and then strapping large planks to your feet. Once this accomplished, two skinny poles are picked up for an indeterminate purpose. Balance? Stability? Increase of arm-flailing capability? After waddling to a moving bench, there is the long ride up a mountain, which is high and from which the only way down is on skis.

Unlike Tom Cruise, I have never felt “the need-the need for speed.” Unfortunately, that seems to be what skiing is about. My inner-speed is roughly set to tubing down the Guadalupe, anything that goes slowly enough to drink a beer has to be a good activity.

I know a woman for whom going skiing means taking a fat book to the lodge and sitting in front of the fire. This seems perfect. But at 24, I think I’m still obligated to give it the old, college try. Have I mentioned that when I fall at skiing, I find it nearly impossible to get up? I’m like a turtle on its back. Left there without aid it’s likely I would starve to death because of the inability to change my position.

So let's hope I stay upright on those unwieldy skiis, maybe my poles will help.

Here's March, roaring in like a lion..
Spring's on the way, and everything's right with the world.

I can see the Baltimore Harbor out my window. And I never thought about the word harbor much before I spent several Saturday mornings with a cup of coffee contemplating the view outside. Harbor, a place of safety from the sea's vicissitudes.

My Dad frequently asks me if my ship has coming in yet. To which a year ago I said, "It's not coming for another year," or "The only ship I'm interested in is the one that's going back to Texas."

I didn't know, truth be told, what the ship would look like. A little while ago I wrote that I was in need of a rebirth of wonder, and related also that I'd finally seen Baltimore as a beauty. Maybe those two things are unrelated, and maybe a dog didn't really wink at me in the elevator last Friday, and maybe my noticing a sign that said "Good Luck" was a funny coincidence. But this is what the Baltimore Harbor looked like from my window the day my ship came in, flying every sail and ringing every bell.

I've taken a job that will lead my feet out of this city. I'll no longer be neighbors with Poe's remains, I'll not go to sleep by the blue light of the Bromo Seltzer Clock Tower, nor watch the fireworks at Camden Yards. In just a short while, I'll never have to throw myself on Highway 40 West to drive to Edmonson Village where the children are waiting for teachers and food and love, and their own rebirth of wonder.

I know there will be more to say, eventually. And that as always it will be complex. But for now, I'll say this: When I first got to Baltimore, I dreamed of sleep. I wrote to friends and told them I wanted to visit them and just sleep. I dreamed of deep, dreamless, delicious sleep, that was so absent amid the work, and the overwhelming nature of it.

Yesterday, after telling my principal that I was leaving soon, I came home and slept the sleep of angels, so good that it nearly tasted crisp and cool. I'll sleep it again tonight, and I'm sure the night after that. And when I wake, I'll be, in some form or fashion, headed home.

I've heard it said that I haven't blogged in a while.
There are a thousand and 1 excuses - I will now list all of them:
1. It is winter and my fingers are too numb to type.
2. Spending vast amounts of time with 10 year olds has rendered me incapable of adult thought.
3. The hamster that runs on the wheel that generates power for my computer died.
4. My double life of teacher/super hero leaves no time to write - where's my cape?
5. I've been spending free time analyzing Joni Mitchell lyrics - "Oh Canada," indeed.

...

Enough? Didn't think I'd really write 1001 things...that would be a James Joyce move, and that ain't how I roll.

I read a poem once by Ferlinghetti, and it's refrain was "I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder."
That line lodged itself in my brain today like some well marked arrow shot from the bow of a better angel. I am in desprate need of a rebirth of wonder.

And still in all, I've got great peace in my heart and gratitude as well - I start my day with thanks in my heart, and close my eyes the same. There's peace in the day's labor, though the labor be not peaceful, but more like one of Turner's scrambled-egg seascapes.

I complained once about a lack of inspiration, that perennial malady of every would-be artist. A friend said that when there is a lack, you must make your own.

And lately, I've come to think that the core of your heart is truly what determines your reactions - there's not a new idea under the sun I know. But I've been carrying my peace with me, and that makes up for that lacking wonder in the dirty, dangerous, deviled hallways of my school.

...

There's no love lost between me and Baltimore. But last week I came over a hill to see the city bathed in the rainwashed sunlight that rides in on the storm's coattails. It made me catch my breath, as beauty should, and I looked for the longest time at the light that looked so fine and clean. It made Baltimore, ancient Southern belle with drooping skirts she may be, look new and young.

It was the light she stood in that made her beautiful.

Ain't it true for all of us. It's the light we stand under that gives definition to our features, that softens our edges, or deepens the shadows within us. It's the light we stand in that gives us our shape.

There's wonder enough in that thought to carry me through winter yet.

Well, Happy New Year to all. The year slipped in on nascent wings, as it always does, and to the clatter of pie pans from the front stoop and the barking of an old gray dog. And here we are in winter, but lo, my heart is happy for spring is on the way.

Here is typically the paragraph where I relate my concluding thoughts on 2007, and impart to you my hopes and dreams for 2008. But I'm passing on that delicious opportunity in favor of simply moving on. Who has time to dredge up the past when the future is so brightly inviting? Not I.

The old noggin's a jumble of thoughts tonight, so it's hard to know what will keep and endure and what will blow away like chaff, gentle reader. For example, it seems important to mention that according to anonymous sources the water in New York is what makes the bagels taste so damn good. It reminded me of hearing of English beers brewed with water from the Thames, and now the two facts are inexorably linked in my head. Chalk up one for useless knowledge.

Harder to relate, and yet probably more worthwhile is to tell of visiting the footprints of the World Trade Center in New York. And yet there's been so much said about it already, seems right to let it rest.

I've been reading the World War II columns of Ernie Pyle of late. I had an interesting conversation the other day in which the idea of "too young" came up. I am not a fan of the those words, feeling that my generation's managed to extend our adolescent dependence as far as we can go - myself included. After all, were we living in the early 19th century, at 25 years old we'd be past middle aged - "too young" looks different from that perspective. So I tried to think of all the things one could be too young to be or do.
I've known one person who was too young to get married, but that was by virtue of maturity and choice, not years.
Known folks too young to drive. Or be on their own. Or do any of the reckless things adults do. Still seems more to do with mentality then with age.
But I kept thinking about Ernie Pyle tramping through North Africa, and thought of old classmates of mine who have been to Iraq and home again. And that was the one "too young" I couldn't argue with. I think soldiers of all ages, will probably always be too young to go off to war, their husbands and wives and children always too young to lose them. A soldier is always too young to die.

It's 2008, this new born year is mewling at our doorsteps. We are still at war. There's a empty patch of skyline in New York. The kids in Baltimore and the kids in the Rio Grande Valley are still hungry and in need of more than what teachers can give. Gas is high and so is milk. There seems to be a coming return of the Cold War complete with nukes, and we've no Harry Truman with us now.

But I've got this crazy kindle of hope in my chest - that things are going to change and change for the better. We really haven't got a choice about the matter, if we let the status quo remain than we're in for an apocolypse of our own making. It's no false hope either, this crazy little flame in my chest, I think that just as we humans can destroy ourselves, that we can also figure a way to rebuild.

The fact of the matter is that the responsibility for change lies not in the marble halls of congress, nor in the house on Pennsylvania Avenue. Change lies not in the halls of Justice, or the cubicles of the State Department, or the angled corners of the Pentagon. Change, and the capacity for it lies in our own hearts: We the people must call for it, must demand it. We the people must be the change we wish to see in this country and this world.

So Happy 2008. Heads up, friends, to the rising sun. Stand unafraid and tall. Fear not. Go well. Stay well. And hope always.