The Blackest Friday

I'm so glad I put only minimal effort into the holidays and don't let stress take over. This year I'm doing holiday cards to business associates. Everyone else will get an e-card and that's that.

For Thanksgiving we met our son's best friend and his Dad at a restaurant.

We celebrate Chanukah. It means lighting candles every night for 8 nights. There's a tradition of gifting, but very small gifts each of the 8 days. I've consolidated that and the only person to get that gift is our son.He's getting a gift membership to the Wildlife Conservation Society, which we can sign up for online or we can go in person to one of the zoos and sign up then and there (and go to the zoo free as members that same day). He even gets a free tee shirt.

Even if I were into more gifts, I hope I would never fall into the crass and revolting materialism that resulted in a worker's death at a WalMart yesterday. For people who don't know, the shoppers outside were so eager to snap up the bargains on Black Friday morning that they stormed into the store at 6 AM, tore the doors off the hinges,and trampled a young man working at the store to death.We have a sick society when buying presents at a low, low price, just so the commercialistic holiday greed can go on even in a bad economy, is more important than a human life. I wonder how the revolting jerks who trampled this poor guy can go home and feel content that they bought their cheap presents. (Actually, the store was closed, so I hope nobody got to buy a damn thing, but the cattle were still streaming into the place, lowing for bargains, as EMT workers were trying to revive the murdered man).

This is the end result of "holiday stress," the pressure to buy presents for everyone under the sun, and the greedy gimmes that society has encouraged people to associate with a holiday season that ought to be about something more spiritual and more caring. That applies whether you celebrate Christmas, Chanuka, Kwanzaa, Diwali, or just the Winter Solstice.

So here's MY suggestion for doing away with holiday stress: Stop giving gifts to people in your family, friends, etc. If you have enough disposable income in these times, make a gift to charity. Right now the food pantries are suffering and more people than ever are on the bread lines. If you've got the money to buy gewgaws then you have the money to make charitable gifts in your loved ones' honor. You can do all that online, no waiting in huge crowds at the mall. Best of all, you'll be sharing the holiday spirit with someone who really needs it, and no store workers or other people will have to be sacrificed. (A pregnant woman was taken to the hospital also, but she turned out to be okay).

About that fancy dinner? Go to a soup kitchen and serve holiday dinner to the homeless or the newly poor. Then get with your family and friends for a potluck some other time when there isn't the commercial pressure to compete with Martha Stewart. Lighten your load, help someone in need, and you can forget holiday stress. You'll be helping others and helping yourself: volunteering is good for your health. This holiday, let's change our ways.

Another Train Wreck

I just finished reading The Glass Castle, a memoir by Jeannette Walls. This was another train wreck about abused and neglected kids. Only this time, the abject poverty wasn't caused by a misguided belief in polygamy, but by an alcoholic father and a self-centered flake of a mother.

I give these kids, Jeannette and her siblings, credit for having the gumption to get the hell out of a horrible situation and flee to New York City. Since they fled in the early seventies, there were still jobs to be had. Three of the four landed on their feet. Oddly, the youngest, who visited other people's homes and got fed there, has been the one who's had the hardest time adjusting.

Ms. Walls may have forgiven her parents but I was less forgiving. From the standpoint of a mother, I could not help but be judgmental about people who failed to feed, properly clothe and house their kids, or even to protect them from danger. That's a parent's job, and these people were the shiftless type that makes a conservative's eyes gleam. Yuppers, they chose to be poor, don't deserve a darn bit of help.

No, they didn't, but their children were helpless victims of their parents' chosen lifestyle, and they most certainly did deserve much more help than they got. Once, a child welfare official came to their home, but there was no follow up. By then the children were well trained to distrust anyone in authority so they wouldn't have told him anything about their living conditions anyway.

Rather than lift a lazy finger to improve their lives, the parents had an excuse and a justification for every one of their failures. If a child got hurt because of the parents' negligence, why, that would just make them strong. Rather than go to the police and complain about a sexual predator who sneaked into the house at night and fondled their daughter, the parents took the attitude of, "See, you are all right. We knew you could deal with it."

These kids wore castoff, junky clothing (not good clothes that were recycled, which would have been fine). They had no food many times and Jeannette described scrounging through the trash after lunch at school, and eating other kids' leftovers. With all their supposed economic troubles, Mom and Dad refused to apply for welfare. They probably knew that their lousy parenting would be exposed and the kids would be hauled off to foster care and a better life. Not that foster care is a picnic, but it would have been better than dumpster diving for dinner.

Whenever some money is found, or the kids save up, the parents misuse it or steal it from their own children. Mommy Worstest buys giant chocolate bars and eats them under the blankets so the kids won't find out. I was glad when her four hungry kids snatched the chocolate away from her and ate it themselves. When the kids find a diamond ring, Mommy decides to wear it instead of selling it for some money to feed her children.

There's mental illness, sure, but the selfishness quotient is extremely high.

Some reviewers have cast doubt on the authenticity of this story. Are there medical records to show that Jeannette really got serious burns by cooking hot dogs unsupervised, at the age of three? Did Daddy Worstest do the "skedaddle" with her, ripping her out of the hospital before she was fully healed? We don't know. It does seem suspicious that, as it comes out at the end, Mommy was sitting on a $1 million parcel of land, and didn't lose it for failure to pay property taxes.

So in the end, I don't know whether it is a true story or a hoax. You see Jeannette's mom in a video on Youtube, and she does look like the bag lady Jeannette says she is. If all this is true, and Jeannette has managed to forgive her parents, she's either a better person than I am, or in major denial. I do wonder about denial, because she writes with such a lack of affect through most of the book. Her first husband "isn't right for her" so she divorces him, but gives us no insight into her feelings about this.

Once I was accused of being a helicopter parent, by a busybody who wasn't a good friend and had no business passing judgment on my child rearing. I think I'm an involved parent, a caring parent, and a strong advocate for my son. If that makes me a helicopter parent, so be it. Yes, I homeschooled Jason for four years, as the Walls parents supposedly homeschooled their kids. But I took it seriously and abided by the state regulations. Yes, we bought hand me downs at the thrift store, but they fit properly, they weren't full of rips and holes, and by golly, all his winter coats zipped or buttoned up to keep him warm.

If there was a problem at school I went in and politely dealt with the issue. Yeah, Rex Walls would have shown up at the school, but he would have been drunk and his belligerence would have only made things worse. Parenting involves sacrifice. Parenting involves watching over your child, taking care of basic needs, taking care of health. These parents failed in all these areas.

So I'm not real impressed with Rex Walls for taking Jeannette into the desert at night and giving her Venus for her Christmas present. Maybe that was a bright spot in her childhood. In an otherwise normal childhood, it would have been a sweet, nonmaterialistic gift. But in this case, it was just a way of being "creative" when the man's pockets were empty, through every fault of his own. And if he'd been smarter he would have used that idea to sell deeds to the stars, just like some company is doing today. Makes a great Christmas gift, and you can even put food on the table.

Parallel Lines

Wednesday night, Bruce, Jason and I watched Nina Davenport's 2003 film, "Parallel Lines." We were previewing it for possible use at a movie night with the Brooklyn Humanist Community.

For that purpose, "Parallel Lines" flunked the test. It was solid documentary where I expected a bit more of a story line from a "docudrama." Still, although it reached no solid conclusions, it was a road movie that captured the thoughts and emotions of so many different Americans.

Some were deeply affected by 9/11, even from thousands of miles away. Others hadn't even heard about the attack until several days later, and it didn't impact much on their emotions or their everyday lives. But for most people, it evoked feelings about loss and sorrow in their own personal histories.

Nina Davenport seemed fearless as she trekked across America, taking the scenic route in order to arrive in New York City in time for New Year's Eve in Times Square. She entered strangers' homes, took boat rides with them, got into their cars to film their responses as they drove. She did, in short, all the things our parents warn us not to do. Yet, she emerged unscathed from all this risky behavior, her deepest wound being the personal sense of loss 9/11 brought out in New York residents.

Ms. Davenport encountered so many lonely people, the entire cast of "Eleanor Rigby." Talking about 9/11 brought out personal tragedies: the mother whose children were taken from her, the flea market man mourning his father's death the week before, the cowboy whose mother had killed his violent father. Davenport stopped in Oklahoma City to speak with a woman who'd escaped death in the Oklahoma City bombing only because she was sick and not at work that day. Her survivor guilt is a mirror for all those who were absent or late to work on 9/11, while their colleagues and friends perished.

Sometimes she encountered negative attitudes: the man who said, what does the United States expect, we've done things like this to people in so many other countries, did we really think it would never happen here? She encounters an elderly black man who is so suspicious that he nearly calls the police on her just for being someone he doesn't recognize. But then he realizes she is not out to hurt anyone, and he invites her into his ramshackle home to tell her his story.

In D.C., suspicion runs rampant. Davenport is nearly arrested for driving around with her camcorder mounted on the roof of her car. She explains over and over that she's making a road movie and the camcorder is filming the view of the open road. Not having any of it, the police tell her to move along. She decides it is high time to get herself back to New York City, the place where she belongs.

Arriving back in NYC on New Year's Eve, Davenport joins the crowds in Times Square, under much heavier security than ever before. But the crowd sees the police as friends and protectors, and when the ball drops at midnight, the police receive loving hugs from the assemblage.

In the final scene, Davenport goes to Ground Zero. Unable to directly look at the wreckage of the World Trade Center's Twin Towers, she films a pigeon on the sidewalk and then films the facial expressions of people as they return from the viewing platform. A fellow photographer breaks down in tears and tells her that he, too, needs to keep some distance from looking directly at the destruction. And thus it ends.

It was a moving film, funny at times, but more often sad. We don't reach a conclusion or a satisfying wrap up. Instead, we're left to make sense of the senselessness of the attack, just as we were in real life.

We Did It!

Listening to the election returns Tuesday night was such a joy. I went into it unsure. Some people were saying that Obama was ahead in the polls. From other sources, I heard that the polls were tightening and the outcome was not so sure.

It's been a long time since I felt the stakes were this high. Maybe all the way back to Nixon's election in 1968 and again in 1972. This time it was different. This time I took an active role in the campaign. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, I was involved in the anti-war movement, but not in the presidential campaigns.

So this was my first experience with working on a presidential campaign. What a sense of excitement there was. I received multiple emails every day asking for donations, and I gave more than I originally planned to because they were so well crafted. Now, I think I'll go fish some of them out of my "old mail" box and keep them as examples of writing that made me whip out the credit card.

Then I began to feel that giving wasn't enough. I wanted to take part in the many phone calling efforts. The first one I responded to was a phone bank at the UAW. I wrote about that and about the chirpy old lady who saw no need for change. In the few weeks that followed, Bruce and I also went to a Move.On party in Brooklyn and a phone bank at the Shorefront Democratic Club in Coney Island. I also tried some phone calling from home, but somehow that wasn't as motivating as sitting in a roomful of other people who were also making calls.

We finished up with another phone bank at the UAW, but I reached none of the target people on November 3rd. Still, I did reach some people and hoped I did some good even if they were relatives of the person I intended to reach.

Tuesday evening I was restless and nervous. I started listening to the radio around 7 PM and listened for the next 5 hours.

The first few returns were pretty predictable. But then Pennsylvania, a battleground state, came in for Obama! That was excellent. The radio announcers were saying this was a very good sign, but they also said it was still possible for McCain to pull an upset.

When Ohio came in it was practically a lock. I woke Bruce up and told him Ohio went for Obama and we high fived each other. After that Bruce stayed up to hear the rest of the returns. Now it was looking extremely good. In order for McCain to win, the announcers said, something really extraordinary would have to happen. I prayed that nothing like that would happen.

My prayers were answered when, at 11 PM, the West Coast came in for Obama as predicted. Not only that, but Obama won Indiana, which hasn't deviated from the Republicans in a generation, and also Florida and Virginia. He not only won, but got something close to twice the electoral votes McCain garnered. That's a landslide in my book!

I wasn't watching on streaming video, which was surely available somewhere on the internet, but we were hearing the reactions, the cheering crowds, people breaking down in tears because they never thought a man with African American ancestry would become President in their lifetimes.

What a joyous moment and what a triumph for us all. It doesn't mean racism is gone, but it means that as a country we've begun to grow up. This time around, the majority of Americans wasn't fooled by all the smearing and the guilt-by-association that was hurled at Obama. Their concerns, the economy, the war, etc., are better served by Obama's plans and ideals than McCain's, and they made their choice without listening to negativity and outright lies.

What a relief and what a breath of fresh air. Now, instead of struggling against the odds as they have for 8 years, organizations looking to bring about positive change will have an easier road ahead of them. Now some of the energy we had to expend in fighting an administration determined to destroy the advances of women, minorities, etc., we'll be able to work WITH the new administration to continue the momentum of positive change.

What a blessing, and truly, God did help those who helped themselves. Change did not come from the top, change came from the bottom up, ordinary people working together in extraordinary ways, making calls, posting on blogs, using Web 2.0 (which I know very little about) to spread the word about President-Elect Barack Obama. This happened thanks to the people who drove to other states to knock on doors and canvass, thanks to so many people who made the time and made the energy to open the door to change and healing for a country that has been so damaged by 8 years of Republican rule.

I know my efforts changed one person's vote. My appeal to her was not a lofty one: I pointed out that McCain had plans to privatize social security and to cut Medicare. That made the difference. But once she went ahead and voted for Obama, she felt more empathy for the African-Americans she saw weeping with joy when the election was called at 11 PM. "I saw how much it meant to them," she said. This was the same woman who told me, a few days earlier, that she could never vote for a black man!

A rabbi once said that if you save a single life it is as if you have saved the world. Did changing one vote save the world? I don't know, but millions of us out there did the same thing, and changed some people's minds.

Now we all have a huge mess to sort out, and Obama is not going to have an easy time of it. We'll need patience, we'll need to be willing to make some sacrifices, and we'll need to keep up our energy to do the work that needs to be done.

But finally...we have that chance. Yes, America, Yes We Did!!

Election Day

So here it finally is, the Election Day that will make history, no matter what happens.

I was at my neurotic best after seeing photos of 8 hour lines for the early voting in other states. So I insisted that we all get up at 4:30 AM and be at the polls by 5:30, even though voting doesn't start until 6 AM. I expected the doors to be locked but they were open and a kindly poll worker allowed us to wait inside and to use the bathroom before the official opening at 6.

A few people tried to cut the line in front of us and I objected. The woman's excuse was that we aren't all going to the same Election District. That may be, but we were still something like 3rd in line and I wasn't going to be moved back by people who came in after us. Fortunately she grumbled but gave in.

At about 6 a number of people came in and the line was just about to the door but I don't think it extended outside. We proceeded to the correct ED and put Jason ahead of us because he had to be at school and needed to get on the subway by about 6:30.

They gave Jason his card and he went in and wasn't able to pull the lever. That's because the machine wasn't properly turned on yet. One of the women at our table didn't even know that the light is supposed to be on, that's what shows the machine is working.

Someone else came over and fixed it and Jason was able to vote. He waited while Bruce and I took care of voting.

Meanwhile, this woman at our table was showing just how ignorant she was. It is amazing that they allowed her to be a poll worker, but I have been through the training and I know that they will take anyone who has a pulse. They give you a few hours of training, and then they give you an open book test during which you are allowed to look up the correct answer. Naturally everyone passes! A bonobo could take a few minutes off from mating with his female relatives, and pass that exam!

This particular woman didn't know how to turn on the machine...even though they teach that at the training. Then she was asked to write up the cards while looking up the names in the book. Oh my, that was just too hard for her. The other woman, who had more smarts, wrote up my card, #3. Then this bozo put my name on card #4. I sure hope my vote isn't disqualified just because this woman is brain dead. I did not vote twice, but it will look like that at the end of the day unless the smarter poll worker tore up card #4.

Then Ms. Ignorant complained that she couldn't write up the cards and look up the names in the book at the same time. She threatened to quit on the spot because she was being expected to do "all that at once." Another poll worker basically told her to shut up, she wasn't going to leave.

I foresee some problems in my election district today, because this woman couldn't even handle the situation when there were only 5 people on line waiting to vote. Just wait until later today when a huge crowd shows up after work. They'll probably have to haul her off in a strait jacket.

Anyhow, I am very glad we voted early, and my fingers are crossed for Obama and all the Democrats. This country has suffered for 8 years and it is surely time for a big breath of fresh air.

Halloween photos

Jason as "Cousin Itt" and Adriana as Mother Goose

Antoinette as Devil Woman, Michael as Rastaman, Celeste & Bruce as Gomez and Morticia Addams

Graveyard Cake

Party Tomorrow

We've got the food ready. Tomorrow we'll do the Big Cleanup and then our guests should start arriving around 4 PM. I'm still a little hung up about my costume but I guess I will get it figured out. Jason wants to be Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. I bought him a long wig and figure he can turn it around or else just drape the hair over his face and wear it that way. It will probably tickle and he'll probably get tired of it before too long, but we shall see!

The food is just about ready. We're having:

Vegetarian Chili (in honor of Day of the Dead) & rice
Deviled Eggs (obvious, I hope)
Pepperoni, cheese and crackers
Chips, pretzels and dips
Putrified Pie (mostly sugar-free pudding pie, with a layer of chocolate covered by green butterscotch pudding)
Graveyard cake over Castrated Brownies
Halloween candy (candy corn and gummy worms)
Vampire Blood punch with frozen body parts
Soda
Coffe & Tea

We may also receive some Turkey Balls. The brownies will be happy to hear about that.

I've put up a miniature Day of the Dead altar with photos of our deceased loved ones: my parents, Bruce's parents, Richard, Janet, Beth, Rosanne, Nancy, and our late cat George. I also put up some skull decorations with various slogans like "Please DO feed the ancestors," "Dead Head" (on the bathroom door), "Abandon Soap, All Ye Who Enter Here," on one of Jason's bedroom doors, and a fire-breathing dragon saying, "Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste great with ketchup!" on the other. Tomorrow afternoon I will put the last one, "You are entering the Dead Zone," on the door to our apartment.

There are skeletons in the hall closets, one saying, "Shhh, I'm trying to hide!" and the other saying, "Shh, don't tell on me!" Another decoration is shaped like a tombstone and reads, "Graveyard Vote." Okay, so it is four days before Election Day and a little political humor is not inappropriate!

For goody bags, I've made up "Anti-Vampire Kits." They contain a head of garlic, several toothpicks (wooden stakes to drive through a vampire's heart) and a Blood Donor card to prove you've already given!

Tomorrow I will post photos!

Democracy is Dead in NYC

The City Council just caved in to Mayor Bloomberg and voted that he can run for a third term. They disregarded the voice of the people in not one, but two referendums where we voted for a two-term limit.

Honestly, I don't care if he gets to run again if it is done right: another referendum by the people. But this little power play completely circumvented the voters. We should now punish those who think democracy is not for us "little people." I want the list of all those who voted in favor of Bloomberg's ploy, and I'll make sure to put it up on this blog and encourage everyone reading it to vote AGAINST every one of these pathetic sycophants. And of course, let's make sure Bloomberg is soundly defeated.

I hear there was intimidation from Bloomberg's camp. Well, people who have principles know how to stand up to and refuse to be intimidated. Sorry, no excuses. Was a continuing seat on the Council more important than our basic democratic principles? People have given their lives for democracy, but giving up a council seat is too great a sacrifice? For shame!

As for those brave enough to say NO to this highjacking of the popular will, we should reward them by making sure they are voted in again, providing their term limits aren't up.

The Giver

I've just finished reading The Giver by Lois Lowry. I have to admit it was beautifully written and sucked me in from the very first page. I finished the entire book in one evening, all 179 pages.

So kudos to Ms. Lowry for her excellent, suspenseful writing. But the story line..well, the words "trite" and "overdone" came to mind. It seems to me that ever since I was a child I've been reading books about communities that instill mindless conformity and manipulate reality in order to keep the population under control. This is just another of those stories, even if the writing is outstanding.

I could name several books this one reminded me of. It's not as brutally coercive as 1984, but there's recommended physical punishment of young children and the elderly. There are endless rules that even restrict one's use of language. Jonas is scolded for his use of a vague, meaningless term like "love." One of the rules is to use language "precisely." Thus, exaggeration for effect, such as saying one is starving when really just hungry, is cause for reprimand. This reminded me very much of the manipulation of language through Newspeak in 1984.

Those who don't conform, die. That's a pervasive theme throughout many of these dystopian novels. Certainly it is central in 1984 and also in Logan's Run (where it is a capital offense to turn 30 years old without presenting oneself for immediate termination). "Release" is the euphemism for state-sanctioned murder here. But it is treated as something positive (similar to Brave New World, where children visited the hospices and were given ice cream on the day someone died), and the polite fiction that the "released" persons are sent "Elsewhere" is maintained.

The ugly secret is that not just the elderly are put to death (which is bad enough), but anyone who doesn't fit in, even the smaller of a set of twins or a baby who is fretful at night, can be "released" if the community decides this is necessary. Jonas discovers to his horror that his "father" (no child is raised by his or her biological parents) who appears to adore children, is capable of casually murdering newborn infants, all the while talking to them in the same cheerful patter as if he were nurturing them. Irony of ironies, his profession is called Nurturer!

Meanwhile, Jonas is being trained to become the next Receiver of Memory. This is an important position because the community has chosen to forget many things: love, family, strong emotions of any kind, any kind of suffering, and even colors and music, in order to remain safe and comfortable. They have given up way too much, it is abundantly clear. But Jonas, under his training by the former Receiver, now the Giver, is rediscovering the memories of ecstatic pleasure and unspeakable pain, and he comes to the realization that his community has given up too much. If he leaves, the memories he has received will be released and his community will have to experience and deal with them. They will therefore be forced out of their conformist complacency and made to face the realities of life again.

What happens at the end? It's not clear whether Jonas, escaping with little Gabriel, a baby scheduled for release because he cries too much at night (colicky babies beware!) finds a community living the way we do, with love, with family, with all the attendant pleasures and pains of existence, or whether he and the baby perish in the first real snow he has ever seen.

I also felt this book has its roots in the propaganda movies of the fifties. I saw similarities to movies like "It Came From Outer Space," and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." The people in Jonas's community have given up so much and are living in such color-blind and tone-deaf conformity to the "Rules," which govern them to the point where no one makes an independent choice of mate or profession, that they appear as soulless as the Pod People. Is Lowry striking out at "Godless Communism?" Probably not but her use of a Christmas tree in the loving family scene Jonas "remembers" suggests that part of her objection to the conformity of the community includes their jettisoning of Christianity in favor of rules that restrict their every action, every word and every thought.

I am sure we will have a great discussion because even though the subject matter is in fact overplayed and has been done many times before, the details of the story will give us plenty to talk about. This book is only 15 years old and I can't help thinking that Lowry borrowed her ideas from the dystopian classics. However, she certainly did do an excellent job of it.

Setting the Record Straight

I did not author yesterday's list of 5 reasons to keep working for the Obama campaign. They were sent to me in an email, which I have now discarded. The sender encouraged everyone receiving it to please post it on our blogs. They were clearly less interested in a byline than in getting the message out.

Top 5 Reasons to Keep Working for Obama

I'm making no secret of the fact that my family supports Obama for President. Bruce and I have done two phone-calling parties, and we are doing another on November 3rd. But I feel as if I should do more.

Especially right now that Sen. Obama has had to suspend his campaign to visit his gravely ill grandmother in Hawaii, this is not the time to rest on laurels.

TOP 5 REASONS OBAMA SUPPORTERS SHOULDN'T REST EASY
1. The polls may be wrong. This is an unprecedented election. No one knows how racism may affect what voters tell pollsters—or what they do in the voting booth. And the polls are narrowing anyway. In the last few days, John McCain has gained ground in most national polls, as his campaign has gone even more negative.
2. Dirty tricks. Republicans are already illegally purging voters from the rolls in some states. They're whipping up hysteria over ACORN to justify more challenges to new voters. Misleading flyers about the voting process have started appearing in black neighborhoods. And of course, many counties still use unsecure voting machines.
3. October surprise. In politics, 15 days is a long time. The next McCain smear could dominate the news for a week. There could be a crisis with Iran, or Bin Laden could release another tape, or worse.
4. Those who forget history... In 2000, Al Gore won the popular vote after trailing by seven points in the final days of the race. In 1980, Reagan was eight points down in the polls in late October and came back to win. Races can shift—fast!
5. Landslide. Even with Barack Obama in the White House, passing universal health care and a new clean-energy policy is going to be hard. Insurance, drug and oil companies will fight us every step of the way. We need the kind of landslide that will give Barack a huge mandate.

Exciting Times

There's an old curse that goes, "May you live in interesting times." Of course it doesn't make much sense because the person uttering that curse would presumably live through those same interesting times.

We're living through a very "interesting" time in the outside world, what with a hotly contested and historical presidential election, and with the economy falling apart around us.

But that's not what I meant. I'm talking about exciting times that are worthwhile and even fun. Today we helped out at a flea market for the Brooklyn Humanist Community. I have to admit I had misgivings at first and was afraid we would not have enough people to take care of the table. But it all worked out and we actually took in enough to increase our treasury by 26%. That moves us closer to our goal of incorporating as a nonprofit, so as the button I picked up at Fundraising Day in New York says, "501(c)(3), Baby!"

Tomorrow Bruce and I are doing another calling party for Obama. This is the first time I've ever gotten this involved in a political campaign. The stakes are very high. I don't want to see us living through another four years of the same policies that President Bush followed, which have led us into a costly, tragic and unnecessary war, and into a financial crisis that comes close to the start of the Great Depression in 1929. So for once we are contributing to Obama's campaign and taking an active role in it.

Monday I'm hoping to get the next grant proposal for the War Resisters League out in the mail, and on Tuesday I'm volunteering at The Hetrick-Martin Institute. Tuesday night is Simchas Torah and four of my cousins on Mom's side, the Greek side of the family, are going to the Greek synagogue on the Lower East Side for services. This will be my first time in a Greek synagogue for a service.

So it will be an exciting few days, and I'm looking forward to them!

Adventures in Phone Banking for Obama

Tonight Bruce and I made phone calls for Obama. At a book fair last month, I got some literature from the National Writers' Union and signed their mailing list. They contacted me asking if I'd be willing to make phone calls for Obama, and we offered to help out tonight and also on November 3rd for a last minute "get out the vote" push.

Tonight we called people who supposedly belonged to "Workers for America," to give them some information about Obama and find out which way they were inclined to vote. Undecided voters would receive a bit more of a spiel in hopes of swaying their decision.

For the most part the calls went fine. A few people hung up on me, but others were delighted, so that was no big deal. Some people professed never to have heard of "Workers for America," which made me wonder why they were listed as members. A couple of the calls were real doozies.

One woman was all excited when I told her Workers for America supports Obama for President. She squealed that she's voting for Michelle Obama because she is Barack's best asset. That was actually a great conversation. This woman isn't letting the fact that she just had a double mastectomy get her down. She's out there and participating.

Then there was the woman who became incensed when I said Barack Obama will fight for all Americans. She told me she was shocked that I could even say such a thing, and followed this up with, "You aren't even an American. I bet you're from Russia, you Communist!"

Uh, yeah, with this native Noo Yawk accent? I hardly think so. Nope, lady, the Russians are next door, but I'm not one of them. But, I can see Brighton Beach, otherwise known as Little Odessa, from my house!

The weirdest conversation I had was with a chirpy old lady named Alice. She was named well, because folks, this lady is from Wonderland all right. She told me that everything is wonderful, she and her husband have a business, they've always worked hard, and they have a lovely house..all her nieces and nephews went to college and have big houses and cell phones and what have you.

By this time I had a fair idea but I still wanted to know how this translated into a political philosophy. It sure was hard to get an answer out of this lady. On and on she babbled about how life is beautiful, and what's there to change, why is Obama talking about change?

Why would anyone want to change anything, life is just beautiful? Oh, war can be "unpleasant" (!) but you have to look at all the good things..they never thought America was bad.

Okay, so the economy is one big roller coaster scarier and more painful than Space Mountain in Disney World, and we've spent how many trillions on a war that was based on lies? But everything is great and there's no need for change.

Psst, Alice. I don't know what kind of drugs you are on, but can I have some too?

Halloween Party Coming Up

Because Halloween is my favorite holiday, I nudged Bruce to set our wedding date on Halloween back in 1987. That year it fell on a Saturday night, and I just knew it was the right time for us to marry.

After all, with all the ghouls and goblins in people's windows, and the grinning pumpkins on their lawns, it's hard to forget an anniversary card. And there's always a parade or a party to go to.

It's clear to me that I have a thing for costumes. Look at the events I enjoy the most: the Mermaid Parade, Circus Amok, Medieval faires, and Halloween. Each and every one involves people in costume.

This year, Halloween falls on a Friday night, which isn't so good for parties. People are tired after work. Oh, maybe not the 20-somethings, but when you get to the 50-somethings, yes. Saturday night, November 1st, is a much better bet. Besides, we can celebrate three ways: Halloween, our 21st wedding anniversary, and the Mexican holiday, Day of the Dead.

I enjoy the philosophy of Day of the Dead. Obviously, it's linked to Halloween because both center around All Saints Day. But although they both feature skeletons, the Day of the Dead is a cheerful celebration of the deceased ancestors. People put up beautiful altars with all their loved ones' favorite things. They go to the cemeteries and picnic on the graves, and then leave fruit and other goodies for their ancestors to feast upon. The skeletons are portrayed as being happy, enjoying the same activities they enjoyed in this life. In other words, the afterlife is very much a continuation of this life with all the same pleasures available to the "dead."

So this year we are throwing a party on November 1st (which, coincidentally, was also Bruce's Dad's birthday), and we will especially welcome Mexican foods. I'm debating what costume I will wear, but sorry, I'm not telling yet! You'll have to wait until after the party to find out. Naturally, there will be photos.

A Strange Day

This was a strange and frustrating day. It started out with Jason having a minor procedure on his toenail. When we got him home we decided to go to a calling party to get out the vote for Obama in the swing states. I signed up at the last minute but we proceeded to the party anyway.

At the Sheepshead Bay station we ran into an unexpected delay. Suddenly we noticed a number of Transit Police on the station. A Q train pulled in halfway and slowed to a stop. There were a lot of people waiting on the platform by this time, and we all looked onto the tracks to see what was wrong.

A very pretty Siamese cat was sitting quietly near the tracks. It didn't get up and dash away, which suggested it was either sick or hurt. The Transit policeman climbed down onto the tracks to try and retrieve it.

The cat was of course hurting and terrified, and it tried to bite and scratch the policeman. It was clearly injured because it could only scuttle away on damaged hind legs, but it still managed to put out its claws and try to defend itself.

The policeman was stumped. Someone handed him a canvas bag to try and capture the cat, but instead the cat clung to it. He tried to lift it up onto the platform but the cat let go and fell back to the ground, probably hurting its injured legs even more.

I called out to the policeman and told him to get the cat by the scruff of the neck when it struck out at the canvas bag. He did, and sure enough the cat was caught and pulled off the tracks. Its legs and tail were injured. I suppose it may have been hit by a train while jumping out of the way.

We got on the train then and went to the city. The building was a beautiful old apartment house on the West Side Highway. The calling party was supposed to take place in one of the penthouses. That would have been something to see! But unfortunately we signed up at the last minute and apparently the hosts decided it wasn't worth it to hold the party with so few people attending. So they went out, and we cooled our heels a little while and then gave up.

I'd also been invited to an introductory Esperanto class so I thought we would head to the general area and see if we could spot the right building. It was taking place at a Zaro's Bakery. Unfortunately, what I remembered just was not the right address. So we ended up walking up to 34th Street and coming home.

I wrote to a local Sheepshead Bay blogger and asked if he would mention the injured cat in his blog. The cat was taked up to the animal hospital on E. 62nd Street most likely, so I hoped that if he publishes this the owner may come forward. Siamese cats aren't strays. Someone out there must miss that poor kitty.

Here's hoping tomorrow will be more satisfying and productive.

Sundays at Tiffanys

Sundays at Tiffanys surprised me. I've read many books by James Patterson, part mystery and part thriller. They are definitely page turners. So I wasn't prepared for this sweet romantic tale about a young woman who had an imaginary friend when she was young, and meets him again as an adult. Apparently imaginary friends aren't so imaginary after all. They are similar to guardian angels, assigned to take care of children, but unlike angels that stay with you your whole life, imaginary friends leave when the child turns 9.

Most children forget their imaginary friends and go on with their lives but for some reason Jane does not. And then when she finds him again, in the flesh, she recognizes him at once. More than an imaginary friend, he becomes more and more human until it is clear that he is her one true love.

It's written so simply that I wondered if I had picked up a "Young Adult" book by mistake, but no. It was James Patterson, showing a completely different side of himself. Sundays at Tiffanys was a quick read and a good one.

Medieval Faire Photos

There were dragons. There were pirates. There were knights in chain mail and shining armor. There were men in kilts, ladies in medieval gowns. Minstrels sang, blacksmiths plied their trade, and craft vendors of all descriptions hawked their wares. It rained when we first arrived and again when we were leaving, but for several hours it cleared and we were able to enjoy the Ft. Tryon Park medieval faire.

We saw jousting and swordplay but what I liked best were the costumes. The Society for Creative Anachronism was there and we had a nice chat with them. Some people fashioned their own medieval costumes, like the man who painstakingly linked 16,000 aluminum rings together to make a suit of chain mail. There were people of all ages, from a 3 month old baby in a tiny jester's cap, to an elderly lady dressed like a queen.

There were enough dragons, carved, painted and tee shirts, to feed Jason's appetite. There was an artist who did "butt sketches" of people, seen from the back. I saw some fun tee shirts:

Come to the dark side, we have cookies

I sacked Isengard and all I got was this lousy tee shirt

Ninjas? Pirates? A Jedi fears not these things

The food was plentiful. For $10 we received huge portions of chicken breast, and two side dishes plus a huge piece of bread. The chicken was actually way too much to eat in one sitting. I ate about half, saved some between the bread (folded in half it still was big enough for a sandwich), and threw some of it out. I don't like to waste food but I wasn't going to stuff myself silly either.

We met a very young Robin Hood. He's exactly the guy we need now, with the mess our economy is in. Too bad he wasn't old enough to run for President!

Years ago I used to attend the Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo, New York. This event was free whereas the fair in Tuxedo is pretty expensive. Yet I didn't see that much of a difference, which made this a terrific value. Now that we've discovered it I'll make it a point to come back next year.

What a train wreck!

No, I'm not talking about a subway collision. I'm talking about Shattered Dreams, the book we are going to discuss at the next BHC book club meeting.

Warning: Spoilers Ahead!

It's about Irene Spencer, a woman who grew up in a polygamist cult right here in the United States. She was brainwashed into believing in "The Principle" as the most important of God's commandments: to be polygamous and bear as many children as possible. The rationale behind this seemed to be that the man who creates a huge family with 7 or more wives will be some sort of mini-god in the afterlife and will rule over some other planet, with his wives and children exalted along with him. Those who don't live the polygamous life, women that is, can't be pulled through the veil by their husbands, so they end up as "angels," lonely forever in eternity.

Using this as a justification, the children were indoctrinated to believe they must live in a polygamous marriage. And Irene followed the rules even though she did not agree, and was made miserable by "doing God's will." She ended up in a polygamous marriage of over 7 wives, more than 50 children altogether fathered by one man, Verlan LeBaron. Not only did she suffer the pangs of jealousy and loneliness (which these cultists claimed was a sin), she also endured back breaking work raising her own 13 children and often taking care of the other kids by other wives.

Because no one man can possibly support such a family on an ordinary salary, and Verlan was no Trump or Rockefeller, Irene and her c0-wives endured terrible poverty. They lived in places like Mexico and Nicaragua to avoid detection in the U.S. which enforces anti-polygamy laws more stringently. Often they lived without running water, without indoor toilets, in incomplete houses or even in refurbished chicken coops.

Even with the obvious suffering and the patent absurdity of trying to live this lifestyle and give one's children adequate love and attention, not to mention getting love and attention from one man who rotates his schedule to spend time with each wife, Irene was expected to put a happy face on it and pretend in public that she was thrilled to be living in lonely, degraded squalor for the sake of celestial glory.

Although she argued and tried to fight back as the humiliations grew worse and worse, Irene never quite got up the gumption to walk away permanently from the train wreck of a polygamous life. And here's where I am afraid I have to lose a bit of sympathy for her and begin blaming the victim.

If no one in her life had encouraged her to think outside the cage, I'd have to concede that her brainwashing was so complete that it might absolve her of the responsibility to take control of her own life. But that was not the case, and here's where I just don't get it. Her mother was made miserable in polygamy, and encouraged Irene to break away from it. At 15, Irene had a boyfriend named Glen, a man in his 20's, who loved her dearly and wanted to marry her -- monogamously.

Despite her mother's urging and Glen's adoration, she fell right into the trap. Personally, I think she dug her own grave and should have gone with Glen when she had the chance. Yes, her sister and brother in law (later her husband) intervened, but she had no backbone and no guts. She walked out of Glen's house where she'd been holding his hand and planning their future, and then meekly and stupidly got into the car with Verlan and Charlotte (his first wife and her half-sister), and ended up marrying Verlan.

Throughout all the deprivation, loneliness and poverty, as the humiliations mounted each time Verlan put another woman before her, Irene didn't gather up the gumption to walk away. She finally told Verlan she was going to leave him. But was she, really? We'll never know, because Verlan was killed in a car accident. If this wasn't a memoir, I'd call that a cheap use of Deus ex Machina to help her escape when she didn't have the courage to do it herself.

Oh, yes, part of her excuse was that in her cult, a wife was free to leave but the husband "owned" the children. What nonsense. Other than Charlotte, none of the other wives were legally married to Verlan. They could have picked themselves up and taken the children with them, and the "husband" would have had no legal recourse whatever. In fact this legalism was exploited by these families, who got the mothers and their children on welfare claiming to be "single mothers" who somehow got pregnant again every year.

And then when Verlan died, Irene went through intense mourning for "a wonderful human being." What wonderful human being, may I ask? Oh, he was brainwashed too, but in his case the brainwashing worked in his favor. But this was the man who would only make love to her once a month and not when she was pregnant or after menopause (though she was able to beg enough to get him to break with his principles just a little bit). This was the man who forced her to "give away" subsequent brides to him in the polygamous marriage ceremony. He even took her wedding ring and put it on the finger of one of his subsequent wives. So her deep mourning for him just doesn't ring true. He wasn't in her life often enough to warrant it, even though he was her "husband" for well over 20 years.

Irene escaped the misery of polygamy by an accident, and she later became a born again Christian. She is now in a monogamous marriage that she never would have had if her "husband" had lived. I'm glad she is living the life she always wanted and receiving all of one man's love, but she is no heroine. Yes, she wrote her memoir and she speaks out about the realities of polygamy but I would respect her a lot more if she had stiffened her spine all those years ago and married her first love.

September 11th

I had to wait a few days before approaching this subject. Every year it is like pulling a bandaid off a wound that hasn't fully healed, and it wells up and bleeds again.

People were going about their business. I went to HMI and did some volunteer data entry. I tried to put on the streaming video of the memorial ceremony but the computer's speakers weren't on and I couldn't figure out how to turn them on. So I gave it up.

After the volunteering, I ate lunch out, and then walked to Union Square, where I listened to a few minutes of the September Concert, an effort to fill the skies with music every September 11th. The music was pleasant but I didn't feel satisfied with that. Somehow the symbolic gestures just aren't reaching me the way they once might have. I remember people creating paper cranes for peace, and wondering back then just what effect on the real world this could possibly have.

September 11, 2001 was one of those days that stands out in my mind forever, not unlike the day JFK was shot a month before my 9th birthday. When it all actually happened I was sleeping. It was Jason's fourth day back at school after being homeschooled for four years. I was getting him accustomed to walking or taking the train to school by himself. So that morning I walked him halfway, and then returned home. I had a brief phone conversation and by 8:30 AM I lay down to take a morning nap.

While I was sleeping, the world changed forever. I had a dream while I was asleep, and I believe it had to do with the attack on the World Trade Center.

September 11th is also the anniversary of my Mom's death in 1995. I'd never had a visitation from her on the anniversary of her death, but this time she appeared in my dream, standing up and walking on her own without a cane or walker. She looked much younger than the almost-79 years she had accumulated at the time of her death, and she was cheerful and smiling. She wore a hot pink tunic and pants outfit she bought in the 1970's, that I still have today. Also in the dream, she hugged and kissed me, which had never happened before. I felt that she was telling me she was "in the pink," and that everything was fine.

But at a few minutes before 11, I was startled awake by the telephone. Bruce frantically shouted at me not to go near lower Manhattan. I thought he was going to say there was a big delay on the subways. Instead he said, "The United States is at war! The World Trade Center is down!"

I couldn't even take that in. "What do you mean the World Trade Center is down? How can it be down?"

After I hung up the phone I put on the radio and heard the whole horror story. It was mind boggling. Because the Twin Towers had the major TV antenna atop one of them, we could only get reception on one channel. Over and over I watched the airplanes crash into the towers and the towers bend over like limp spaghetti and collapse in flames. Outside, it was preternaturally beautiful, clear blue skies (except in the direction of Manhattan where smoke and haze hung over the horizon), sunshine, gorgeous September warmth. There was an eerie stillness because all air traffic had been halted. At first, they thought there was another plane missing. Or maybe it was Flight 93, and later they found the site where those brave souls took their plane down.

I listened to the radio until it was time to meet Jason at the train station, as we had arranged. Kids from the local high school were standing around joking as if it were an ordinary day. I wondered if they had been told or had any idea of what was going on. If they did, how could they stand there and joke?

When Jason arrived, he clearly knew the score. "The trains aren't running," he told me.

"They're not running into or out of Manhattan. But they are traveling in Brooklyn."

He told me that they'd notified the students. In fact, earlier in the day I called the school and asked if they were sending students home. The middle school office told me that they were trying to keep the day as normal as possible for the kids but that parents were welcome to pick them up. I'd decided not to alarm Jason further by picking him up. I knew Bruce was safe, though I didn't know how he was going to get home from Long Island City, since his usual route was through Manhattan.

It was primary day. I forget if I'd already voted, but in any case the primary was rescheduled for September 25th.

The shock and anger stayed with me, probably with most New Yorkers, for a long time. We fortunately did not know anyone who died in the attack, so I found myself mourning the buildings even though I knew the loss of life was far more important. Maybe I just couldn't take it in.

I still feel we should hunt down Bin Laden and his cronies. It won't make the world safe, but at least those particular bottom feeders won't be able to harm innocent people again. We belonged to the Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture at the time, and I was disgusted by the way many people there turned the anger inward, and directed it at the U.S. and its policies, as if we somehow deserved this. We almost left membership at that time, and in retrospect, maybe that would have been a good thing.

In any case, while life goes on, I do think the scars remain for me and for many of us. What I really want to see them build in the footprint would be a new set of Twin Towers, identical to the first, but fortified so that no airplane attack could bring them down. That would give the terrorists the finger..in fact two of them.

Chosen Forever

A few days ago I finished reading Chosen Forever by Susan Richards. It's her sequel to Chosen by a Horse which I haven't yet read, but sounds like a lovely and touching memoir. In Chosen by a Horse she wrote about Lay Me Down, an abused horse she adopted, and then fell in love with. Her relationship with this sweet mare went a long way towards healing her emotional wounds from a childhood of being ignored and unwanted.

In Chosen Forever Ms. Richards describes her experiences after her first book is published, when she goes on a book tour that tries her courage and brings her back into contact with old friends and family. She's also "chosen" once again by a confident older man who knows what he wants the moment he sees her. Ironically, she lives in a house he once owned, and she remembered him as being arrogant at the closing.

But she realizes that what looked like arrogance is confidence and belief in himself, two attributes she very much lacks throughout most of this memoir. Towards the end, though, she begins to relax and not be so frightened of reading before an audience, or worse yet, reading to an empty room.

And the man who has chosen her finally wins her over, and at last, she marries him. It's a happy, almost a Cinderella ending, and it is all because of Lay Me Down, the mare who chose Ms. Richards. One serendipitous event leads to another, and finally, leads to happiness.

One anecdote that stands out in the story is the episode where Ms. Richards is suddenly visited by six men, when ordinarily she hardly ever has visitors. They comment about the horses being in danger on the ice of her pond, and just after they say this, a horse she is boarding walks out onto the ice and falls through. Then the men rush out onto the ice and rescue the horse, saving her life.

The message she got from this was that she would receive what she needed when she needed it, and that people would be there for her. This was an important message that went to the core of her insecurities.

It's a good book, though at times I felt she was whining a bit about her tough childhood and her anxiety level when she had to read her work aloud. Now I'd like to read Chosen by a Horse and see if it measures up.