Archive for August, 2008

The title of this post is not one I expected to ever write nor an emotion I would experience, but this morning I am most certainly missing being in the loop of the US political scene.

My measly one hour of CNN consisted of commentary of Obama’s speech at the convention, and although it was conducted with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen from some of the folks at the network than usual, I get the sense that an historical moment passed me by … one that I would have enjoyed a whole heck of a lot, too.

As mentioned in my previous post, my daughter is stumping for Obama in North Carolina and thrilled to be doing so. Having not seen her jazzed about national affairs like this ever before, my 1960’s protesting soul is thrilled at her passion, and her choice of direction for aiming that passion pleases me.

I recently read “The Audacity of Hope”, my first introduction into Barack beyond soundbites, and found only one topic to disagree with in the entire book. (I’m not a fan of bio fuels, ethanol especially, and consider them an unacceptable compromise over fossil fuels that’s going to bite the world in the butt big time.)

For the past eight years, I’ve been living as an embarrassed expat apologizing for GW Bush and wondering how in hell such a stupid man got the job of President … TWICE … which caused no end of worry over what the hell my fellow Americans could possibly be thinking.

Finally, finally, there’s something I can understand happening, a process and a conclusion (so far) that makes sense on many levels, and a hopefulness in the air that’s not been detectable, much less breathable, in a very long time.

So, yes, I find myself missing the politics of today’s America, the hype, the groove, the zeal and wholehearted and hopeful commitment that has grabbed a generation with little example in living memory of happy days being here again.

I will, of course, be voting, as every vote DOES count, and following the campaign as I can from here with my limited TV and painfully slow Internet, and while doing so I’ll be envying all of you there the national frisson that’s taken hold, shaken things up and has so many so hopeful.

Enjoy the ride, and keep up the good work!

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I could, with very little prompting, boast endlessly about the innate genius, fantastic beauty and amazing accomplishments of all four of my children, and sometime do.

Today, however, I’ll just post a link to this article in the New York Times that shows the quality of the paper by quoting my eldest child, my daughter Jennifer, in a story about her presidential candidate of preference.

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Speaking of flash, here’s one that just came to me …

While following some of the ways people find my blog, I found this where someone has included this blog in a “Best Blog” contest, and three people have already voted for me. Wow. Thanks, whoever you are.

The topic is “Best Parenting Blog”, so I’m not deserving of that these days since my writing has been so “me is miserable” slanted, but I do appreciate the nomination and the votes.

Made my day, actually, and that’s very nice.

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Okay, I’ll admit that the male swimmers bring to my conflicted mind images of substance that has flash written all over them in what could be whipped cream, but it’s not the athletes that are my issue today … although I suspect some may be eventually.

This story about the little girl with the beautiful voice shunted aside for the pretty little doll who lip synced the song that stirred hearts during the opening ceremonies has me fuming. Add that to the admission that some of the flash … the real flashy flash of fireworks … were fake, computer-generated for the world TV viewing audience, and I’m taken back to 1989 when I visited China just three weeks before the sit-in started in Tiananmen Square. You remember? The one that showed without any doubt the brutal, ugly foot of the Chinese government on the throat of human rights.

At the time, Beijing was preparing to host the Asia Games, and construction was going on everywhere. Huge apartment complexes had been built for TV skyline shots, but every one of them was nothing more than a shell lit like a movie set to give the impression that they were real and habitable homes of real Chinese. Totally fake and just for the cameras.

That was China almost 20 years ago, and no matter how loudly or often shouts of “It’s all so different now!” come around, I don’t buy it, and I resent the hell out of the fact that a country that is responsible for making the lives of millions of people in the world a misery is getting so many Brownie points for the illusion they have so carefully cultivated.

What’s next? How much of the news in the future will feature revelations that will turn medals into bottle tops and have broken records start sounding like broken records with repeated refrains of “doping scandal” popping up as technology catches up or people start revealing real events?

And if anyone tells me that sports and politics are two separate things … especially where the Olympics are involved … I swear I’ll clobber them with a baseball bat and call it a game, not a maneuver or a consequence.

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No, I’m not writing about empty places in my life that need filling, but rather a pair of strappy sandals with a three-and-a-half inch heel that was delivered on Friday.

One thing possibly not noticeable in the many photos posted of my husband and me together is the fact that I am 5’9″ and he is a touch over 5’7″. Not that that ever made any difference that I was aware of … although I suspect his new girlfriend, much shorter than he is, does add to how he now considers his stature … as I’d been married to a tall guy who made my life miserable, so a short, kind and loving man was fine by me.

Now that the “kind and loving” bits are hard to find, Mark’s smallness has become a feature I am more aware of, and the fact that I’ve spent the last 15 years in flats tweaks a tiny resentment.

Of course, living where I do, flip-flops are de rigeur. Thanks primarily to my mother I have quite the collection of fancy ones that fit most occasions, and I will continue to sport over-spangled, fancy beach shoes for years to come.

I have, however, missed the dressier, snazzier, sexier footwear that comes with extra inches. No more. This weekend, I strapped ’em on and went out.

I had forgotten how different the world looks from six-feet-plus up, and also the impression I make walking into a room at full height in full glory … dressed to the nines, makeup accentuating my positives and a head above the crowd.

Yep. Apparently, I still have something of myself left that catches eyes and compliments, and how much do I need that at this point in my life? One hell of a lot.

Little did I know how far those extra 6 inches (three per foot) would take my self-image, my confidence and self respect. It was quite a pump, and one I fully intend to take advantage of as often as possible.

Hooray for sexy shoes and the benefits of. They’ve taken me more than a few steps forward in the process of healing, and felt very good while doing so.

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