The Content of Our Character on Election Day

A friend wrote to me yesterday to ask if I was waiting in those long Florida lines that she was seeing on her T.V.

Nope--but we did wait longer to vote than I've ever had to wait.  Still, it was only 35 minutes waiting in a line outside in gorgeous weather (I'm so glad we don't vote in July or August!), and everyone was in a good mood.

I saw such a diversity of people:  all ages, a variety of ethnicities and skin tones, and equally split amongst genders.  Down here, it's tough to tell about class and employment by the state of our clothes; most of us waiting in line wore fairly faded and raggedy clothes, but that doesn't necessarily mean what it might elsewhere.  I heard English and Spanish, but no Creole:  not many Haitians in my neighborhood, I guess.

While we were waiting, I said, "Obama will win in a surprise landslide.  You heard it here first."

My spouse laughed and said, "We heard it here only.  You're the only one who thinks that's possible."  He gave me that smile that makes me feel like a treasure he's found.  He said, "You do have remarkable abilities when it comes to predicting hurricanes, so we'll see."

This was my first election where I needed my reading glasses, although if I had squinted, I could have made out most of it.  You may have heard about our amendments to the state's constitution that made our ballots so long; I couldn't have read those without my glasses, but I had already read them and made decisions--and written them down on my sample ballot.

What I really needed was more light.  The privacy booths didn't let in much light, and I could have used more.

When I first opened my ballot, I saw the non-English language, and at first I thought I had the wrong ballot.  Then I realized I had opened it from the wrong direction, so I was looking at the amendments section, which was written in 3 languages, one of them English.

My spouse and I voted and went home.  We made BLT sandwiches, with lettuce that he's been growing in containers in the back yard.  Delicious!

Then it was time to wait--and wait and wait and wait.  I snoozed and tuned in and snoozed and tuned in.

Was it a landslide?  I heard NPR's Maura Liasson call say that Obama won the electoral college vote "in a landslide."

It wasn't the landslide that I half expected, but it wasn't the razor's edge of a win that wouldn't have surprised me either.  Still, I'm glad that it was decisive.

I'm glad for all sorts of reasons, but I didn't want the first time we elected a minority candidate to be seen as a fluke.  We did it once, and then we did it again.

And did you notice how many women we elected as a nation?  I watched the returns on PBS, and at one point, they reported on 3 races, with three women winners, and they remarked on how rare that would have been until, well, now.

And the first uncloseted lesbian won a Senate seat.  Hurrah!  And there were gains in the gay marriage front.

I like these movements towards inclusiveness.  For the first time, I feel I can make a much stronger argument that we really are a nation where these things are possible.

I think about all the times in the not-too-distant past whenI asked my Composition classes which we would elect first, a minority male or a female of any color.  We had great discussions, and they often wrote good essays, but we all agreed that it would take decades for that to happen, if it was even possible in our lifetimes.  But now, it won't surprise me if we elect a woman in the next 10 years.  It won't surprise me if it's a woman of color.  Could we be ready for a lesbian of color to be President?  That would say something about our nation's inclusiveness.

We awake this morning to a world of sobering challenges:  climate change and economic issues and large chunks of the nation out of work, and so many people feeling hopeless.  There was a moment last night, after it was clear that Obama had won, where I thought, hmm, I wonder what happens to my job over the next few years.  I work in a for-profit college, and the days for for-profit colleges may be numbered.  I'm making plans and saving money.

But for now, let me not think of rising seas and vanishing jobs.  For now, let me be happy that I live in a nation where so many of us participate in this democracy, where we seem that much closer to Dr. Martin Luther King's vision of a world where we're judged by the content of our character.

Election Day Ponderings

--If I never hear the phrase "voter suppression" again, that would be fine with me.  I cast my first vote in 1984, and I can tell you, it was harder to vote then.  I had to prove that I couldn't be at the polling place before I was allowed to have an absentee ballot.  This year, I've had a multitude of ways to cast my ballot:  absentee/mail-in, early (in all sorts of ways), and today in person.

--A colleague at work who firmly believes in orchestrated voter suppression calls me an optimist.  She is convinced that Republicans will steal the election, and we will never know the truth.  She also believes that a team of 4-6 people, one of whom was George Bush, orchestrated the September 11 attacks.  She says she's cynical.

--I say that she's the opposite of cynical.  In a weird way, she has more hope for humanity, albeit in a negative way, than I do.  I have seen how humans work together, or don't work together, as the case might be.  I don't believe that humans can work together to the extent it would take to steal a nationwide election.  I don't believe that many humans could come up with a plan and then convince so many other to go along--and then they'd all stay quiet about it.  Plus, I've met too many elections officials, workers, and volunteers.  It's really hard to steal an election.  There are so many safeguards in place, among them the honesty of all those workers.

--That last sentence shows that I am truly an optimist.  I've seen too many amazing things not to be a fierce optimist.  Nelson Mandela walking out of jail, Eastern European countries set free:  those are just two of the events that keep me from falling into a pit of despair.

--Plus, I know a lot of Republicans.  They're not that different from Democrats, aside from the radical fringes of either side.

--Let's face it, most of us want the same things.  We want a safe world for our kids.  We want to belive that the future will be better than the past.  We want basic human needs to be met.  We don't want to go to bed with full stomachs if others are going to bed starving.

--Our political system is set up so that nothing too radical is likely to happen, no matter who gets elected.

--And let us not forget that we do have a voice, and we can make a difference.  The people who whine most about having no voice often can't tell me the name of even one of their House or Senate representatives.  But those people representing us do listen.  Go here for one of my favorite stories about a phone call that I made that helped change the course of a bill.  An antipoverty bill seemed doomed to failure, but a variety of religious and social justice organizations mobilized and changed the future of that bill.

--On this day, I think of all the people of the past who had no voice, no vote, the people who fought and organized and protested and wouldn't go away, and now, people like me get to vote.  Black men have had voting rights for longer than females have.  Of course I will vote today.

--I like to vote on Election Day.  The lines are shorter, because more polling places are open.  But more than that, I like the idea that across the nation, people of all sorts are doing this one activity.  I know that many votes have already been cast.  But I like to vote on Election Day.

--I remember past Election Days.  I remember going to vote with my parents as a child; I thought that voting was just the coolest thing that adults got to do.  I remember 4 years ago when my spouse and I walked to our polling place.  We saw a multicultural group of much younger voters walking in the opposite direction with "I voted" stickers on their clothes.  They were so jubilant.

--Not every Election Day can be a day of jubilation.  But it can be a day of gratitude:  it's an amazing concept, this idea of participatory democracy, no matter who wins.

Election Eve

It seems there should be some kind of tradition for the day before Election Day, something beyond screening the phone calls.

I did have fun in Williamsburg.  I picked up the phone, and the voice asked to speak to my father, or any other person registered to vote who resided at the address of the phone.  I said, "I'm registered to vote in Florida."  The caller was completely flummoxed.  He said, "Well, I do need to talk to Florida registered voters, but that's not this phone call."  I said, "I'm your only option."

Encountering a voter registered in a different state was clearly not part of the script.  Finally, I decided to stop this agony.  I said, "I'm going to hang up now so that you can keep calling people on your list so that you're more likely to make your quota."

No, I don't want to spend today fending off the telephone callers.  I don't want to see one more political ad.  I'm weary to the bone when it comes to talking about election issues.  If one more person utters the words "voter suppression," I may have to stuff my ears with cotton batting and refuse to leave my office.

I'd like something more life affirming than those fountains of spewing negativity.  I'd like good food to eat.  I'd like to spend some time visioning a brighter future.  I'm tired of feeling fearful.

I predict that we won't be put out of our collective misery by tomorrow night.  I predict that there will be too many ballots still coming in that have to be counted by hand.

I could be wrong.  Maybe all the polls are wrong, and one candidate is headed for a landslide victory, an unmistakable event that doesn't demand a recount.  It's happened before.

Maybe today I'll  do some mending. I have holes in seams that need a few stitches. I have buttons that need to be returned to clothes.  Restoring my clothes to order always restores calm.  Sewing a straight seam feels soothing.


Maybe I'll spend some time today writing a poem.  It feels like a long time since I've done that.  That would feel life affirming. 

Maybe I'll prepare some poetry packets for submission.  That would feel like a vote for a brighter future.  Or maybe I'll start working on the essays that are due in December.  That, too, would feel like a vote for a brighter future.

I created a harvest stew that I'll take to the office for lunch (maybe I'll post a recipe later; it's very simple, but not vegetarian).  I have zucchini muffins made by a friend.  I'll be sure to eat nourishing food today to keep up my strength for what's to come.

Walking Gallery: Art Trek Dania Beach

On Thursday, a colleague called and asked if I wanted to be part of a flash mob type gathering on Saturday.  She said we'd dress in black and walk from her studio to a new gallery that some of our student alumni had just opened in Dania, FL.  We'd hold paintings and walk; we'd be a moving gallery of sorts.

I thought it sounded intriguing, and so I went.  It happened much as she had in mind.  We began in the studio that she shares with her spouse.  I love artists' studios.  I love the supplies, the tools, the works-in-progress, the sense of potential and creativity at work.

We had a variety of people walking:  painters, poets/writers, fabric artists, students, a child.  We tried to keep several feet between us.  We walked on the sidewalk and held the paintings out to the streets.

At one point, we heard distant sirens drawing closer.  I thought of all the social justice gatherings I've attended in the past, all the times I didn't get arrested.  I peacefully protested nuclear weapons at the Pentagon; I demanded that the U.S. divest from South Africa to show disapproval of apartheid.  I thought of the AIDS marches, the pro-choice marches, all without incident.  Would this be the time I got arrested?  Are there laws preventing people from holding their paintings and walking on a sidewalk?

Of course not.  The sirens weren't about us at all.  A few cars from the sheriff's department blared by us, and we kept walking to our final destination.

We talked about doing this more often.  I would have liked some way to convey to motorists what we were doing.  We walked past political poster after political poster.  I'm sure those motorists wondered what we were protesting.

I saw the opportunity for promotion.  I know that a flash mob is supposed to seem like a spontaneous thing, and thus, alerting the media early subverts that idea.  Still, it seems like a shame to lose the possibility of explaining the importance of the arts.

I remind myself that it's not my flash mob.  Maybe that wasn't our purpose at all.

Still, it was fun to gather with other artists, to hear about their projects, to take a short walk on a Saturday with glorious weather in support of an arts district.

Shelter in Place--the Paid Time Off Edition

For the past 3 years, this week-end would be the one I would spend at Mepkin Abbey: communing with monks, walking the grounds, reading, reconnecting with friends, and working on writing projects. But because of a series of events, we moved our monastery trip to February, and I found myself home alone while my spouse flew to his board meeting in North Carolina.


I decided to go ahead and take yesterday off. I'd gotten my Paid Time Off leave time approved, and the end of the year approaches, when my PTO evaporates. I decided to have a day spent in writing projects and contemplation.  I had planned to have a monastery-like week-end here.
 
It both happened that way and didn't happen that way. I did get some work on writing projects done, but not the ones I planned to work on. I did do some cooking, but not the bread baking that I planned to do. To be fair, even the Mepkin monks no longer do their own bread baking, since Brother Boniface died. I walked the grounds here, but I was mowing the lawn.

Once again, I am struck by how easy it is to get a variety of projects done when one doesn't have to go to work.  I put together the care packages that I've been wanting to complete and get mailed.  I went to the post office and got a free parking space, and even though there's always a line at my post office, it moved quickly.

I went to the library.  I got books that are hot off the press, including the new Barefoot Contessa cookbook!  I always feel like I've won a rare prize when I find a book at the library that I'd consider buying, so I get to read it for free.  I also got Gretchen Rubin's Happier at Home, which I read much of yesterday.  I'll do a more complete review later, but for now, let me just say that I liked it much better than her original happiness book--but the stuff that I liked about The Happiness Project is still there:  it's rooted in her daily life, and it's got good lessons for all of us as we try to live good lives.

I'm most intrigued by silence issue.  One of the things that exhausts me most about work is the constant interactions with people, people who are often not in a good mood.  Not all my days are like that, but far too many are. 

So, yesterday, I looked forward to having minimal interactions with other humans. It both happened that way and it didn't.  I had a few interactions (at spin class, during errand running), but for the most part, I didn't talk much.  I didn't talk much, but I had NPR on most of the day. Our NPR station doesn't switch to music until much later in the night, so my day was filled with talk.

By the end of the day, I was feeling a bit of anxiety. I often feel a bit of anxiety as the sun begins its slow descent. But I think I also felt anxiety because of the coverage of Hurricane Sandy. Would I feel the same anxiety if I didn't live on the other end of the hurricane corridor? There's that survivor's guilt that comes from having dodged a bullet. There's that terror in knowing that the odds are against me. How long before it is me without power and water, picking up the sticks of my smashed house/life?

After our disastrous hurricane season of 2005, I was desperate to move.  For a variety of reasons, that didn't happen.  In the years since, I've noticed that no place seems safe on a wrecked planet.  At least you can see a hurricane coming, in a way that you can't with tornadoes or earthquakes.

I am amazed at all these people who are so surprised/outraged that it's day 4 or 5, depending on how you count, and they still don't have power restored.  Really?  Really???!!!!   I could have told them that it would take time.  After Hurricane Wilma, we had people down here who were without power for 3 weeks.  And our storm was much smaller.  Our power was restored after 8 or 9 days, and I understand the exhaustion that comes from being plunged back into parts of the 19th century.  My friend, who got power restored even later, came over to take a hot shower and to bake the muffins that she eats for lunch.  I told her to stand under the hot water until it ran out.  She did.

But I am also so deeply sad for the people who lost everything.  Still, part of me thinks, didn't these people watch the Weather Channel?  I spent all of last week-end monitoring the storm, and I knew it would be a disaster.  These people in the path of the storm could have evacuated, unlike me, where evacuating would take at least 8 hours.  Why didn't the people at the New Jersey shore load all their valuables into their cars and flee on Sunday?

Ah, hindsight, my mother would say.

By the end of the day, I was ready to turn off the radio.  It's not as quiet in my neighborhood as it is at Mepkin Abbey, although both places have gun noise in the background.  I should explain:  we usually go to Mepkin Abbey, which is deep in the South Carolina rural countryside, during hunting season, and in my neighborhood, I'm always hearing noises that might be cars backfiring, firecrackers, or guns.  Those of you who live in more peaceful, less populated places might be horrified, but down here on the southeastern, non-Keys tip of Florida, very few neighborhoods are immune from pops, bangs, and other loud noises.

We grow used to our surroundings, so I fell asleep easily, undistracted by random noises or the possibility of future storms.

And while I like getting away during my Paid Time Off days, I found yesterday very nourishing too.   It was great to get chores done, great to have time to focus on writing tasks, great to have time to read--without having to drive or deal with the airport.  And there's the happiness of a week-end still to enjoy!

All Saints, All Souls for Writers and Other Creative Types

Today is the Feast of All Souls, in which we remember those who have died in the past year.  Yesterday was the Feast of All Saints, in which we remember all those who have died.  Even if you don't have a theological or spiritual interest, these feast days offer writers and other creative people an interesting opportunity.

As we watch the weather change and the days grow shorter, it's a good time to assess our creative lives.  What have we hoped to accomplish?  Where are we headed?  Which projects need to be declared dead?  Which projects might we resurrect?

Or, to put it another way, if you knew you only had a few years of creative life left, how would you spend those years?

The feast days of All Saints and All Souls also present an opportunity to think about our mentors.  What would they tell us about our strengths and weaknesses?  What would they advise us to do?

It's also a good time to think about the history of the art form we practice.  Who are the saints, the earlier practitioners, of our art forms?  What can we learn from them?

In many cultures, these feast days become a family time. Think of the Mexican tradition of taking picnics to the graveyard. Now would be a good time to record your family memories. Write them down while you still remember. Make a video. Assemble those records.


Dream a little on this All Saints Sunday. If you could create a new life out of the threads that you have, what would you weave? Or would you start again, with different yarns and textures? What is your dream of a renewed life?

Field Report from Our Sincere Pumpkin Patch

Like the Christmas season, Halloween is a holiday that makes me wish I had children who could still be enchanted. 

I do laugh at myself: this year, I couldn't even manage to get a bag of candy for trick-or-treaters, and I say I want children?

My sweet husband left the porch light on for me, and faced our first trick-or-treaters.  I know this because I called him shortly after they arrived; I needed to let him know that I was slightly later than I thought I would be.  He sounded out of breath.  I asked if he was all right.

He said, "Yes, but we just got our first trick-or-treaters."

I said, "Quick!  Turn out the porch light."  When he said that he had, I asked, "So, what did you do?  Give them pennies?"

He said, "We don't have any pennies.  So I gave them apples.  One of the kids said, 'Apples!  I love apples!'  And I gave one to the dad."

I thought of the scary stories of my youthful trick-or-treating, the razors that we were sure would be buried in apples. I hope that no one thinks of those stories anymore. I hope that our only trick-or-treaters didn't throw out my mountain apples!

My spouse reports that when the children walked away, he heard the boy say, "I thought it was a haunted house."  I'm trying not to read too much into that.

I arrived home, and we had a lovely supper while watching a rerun of M*A*S*H.  What a treat--it was a Halloween episode.  What great writing.

And then, a special treat:  It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.  I was overjoyed.  While I love a good Halloween episode of The Simpsons, there's something just so special about the Peanuts gang.

I was also struck by how much wisdom the show contains.  My spouse and I both said we wished more people would follow the advice of Linus when he said, "I've learned that there are three things you should never discuss:  religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin."

Maybe it was our bleary-eyed exhaustion or maybe we're both liberal-artsy people, but we saw much symbolism in the waiting for the Great Pumpkin.  My spouse focused on the religious allegory, and I thought of the show as a metaphor for the creative life.

Sometimes we have to wait in our pumpkin patches while others get to have parties and treats.  Sometimes we sit in our patch, hoping its sincere enough for the Great Pumpkin.  Even if the Great Pumpkin (whatever that represents in your creative life) doesn't come, you can still have interesting adventures along the way.  Some of your friends and family will understand your life in the pumpkin patch.  Many more will not. 

What a wonderful show.  I loved the colors and the autumnal theme.  I think I like this Charlie Brown show best of all.  If you're the kind of person who likes little-known facts, go to this story in The Washington Post.

We ended the night by watching a Cheers rerun--again, a holiday theme and great writing.

And now our thoughts may turn to more somber things. Today is the Feast of All Saints, tomorrow the Feast of All Souls. For a photo meditation, go to this post on my theology blog, and for a post with suggestions for how to celebrate, see this post. Tomorrow, I'll write a post here about these holidays and their significance for creative folks.