Oniomania by Peter Pereira

Not so much the desire
for owning things
as the inability to choose
between hunter or emerald
green, to buy
just roses, when there are birds
of paradise, dahlias,
delphinium, and baby's breath.
At center an emptiness
large as a half-off sale table.
What could be so wrong
with a little indulgence?
To wander the aisles of fresh
new good things knowing
any of them could be hers?
With a closet full of shoes
unworn back home,
she's looking for love
but it's not for sale —
so she grabs three of
the next best thing.

Two Poems by William Butler Yeats

When You are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Very Pretty, by John L. Stanizzi

Point O' Woods, South Lyme, August, 1999

So early in the morning,
and yet too hot for her to walk
even a step or two.

We sit her in a plastic lawn chair,
secure her with a bed sheet
huge and cool around her frail body,

and Ma, elegant and 70 pounds,
waits with apprehension
to be lifted to the top
of forty-seven steep and crooked steps

to the landing that overlooks
the cottage roof where a gull sleeps,
and below that
a sail on jeweled green water.

At the top,
with the sun impatient for 97,
we stand with her a moment
as she looks out on the bay.

Very pretty, she says, very pretty.

And I think of those words
as sweetest memory
the very moment
she is speaking them.

for Katherine Conkling

If the shoe fits...throw it?

A couple of items in the news relate to my earlier rant on civility, or more specifically, the lack of it!

1st example: An Iraqi reporter throws his shoes at President Bush.
2nd example: Governor Palin's church in Wasilla set on fire (with people inside) by an arsonist.

Investigators are still looking into the fire, so nothing conclusive has been reported, though many speculate that the fire was set in protest of the church's stance on gay marriage. Whatever the reason--no matter how severe the disagreement with the church: whether it be gay marriage, abortion, or a conflict between people within the congregation--arson? Seriously, ARSON???!!!

Back to the shoe-throwing incident. As I watched the KBOI670 talk radio TV broadcast this morning, I was dismayed to hear several callers condoning the reporter who assaulted the President of the United States. The thing is: they have every right to speak dishonorably of him. And ironically, thanks to President Bush, people in Iraq are now free to disagree with their leaders (and ours) without risking their lives. While it is our constitutional right to disagree, it does not grant anyone the privilege of using violence in any shape or form.

Christmas 1963, by Joseph Enzweiler

Because we wanted much that year
and had little. Because the winter phone
for days stayed silent that would call
our father back to work, and he
kept silent too with our mother,
fearfully proud before us.

Because I was young that morning
in gray light untouched on the rug
and our gifts were so few, propped
along the furniture, for a second
my heart fell, then saw how large
they made the spaces between them

to take the place of less. Because
the curtained sun rose brightly
on our discarded paper and the things
themselves, these forty years,
have grown too small to see, the emptiness
measured out remains the gift,

fills the whole room now, that whole year
out across the snowy lawn. Because
a drop of shame burned quietly
in the province of love. Because
we had little that year
and were given much.

Am I a pinhead?

I think I just got slammed by Bill O'Reilly!

Has anyone else seen the "Charlie bit my finger!" video on youtube? It's been around for quite some time. My sister showed it to me, and I've shown it to friends. Charlie's brother has the cutest British accent, and I think that's the reason it has become so popular. Plus, those of us with kids just gotta love the brotherly interaction shown here!

Bill O'Reilly, however, does not agree. Apparently, I condoned violence by seeking out this home video. To be honest, I am more embarrassed to be admitting that I have spent as much time as I have surfing youtube!

Sorry, Charlie!

time to reconsider?

I have been pretty critical of all things "Twilight"--the books, the movie, the premise behind the stories. As others have admitted themselves, I'm probably just jealous.

However, I am prepared to start liking even Bella if I continue to read more articles like this one. If Stephanie Meyer's weak writing style leads teenagers to evaluate the meaning of healthy relationships, and consider abstinence as the best way to express true love--hey, I'll join her fan club!

Every year something like this happens...

A school in Great Britain (I believe--the article comes from Telegraph.co.uk, and names the school as Greenwood Junior School) is getting attention for its hapless decision-making procedures which resulted in the school's Christmas program being bumped to accommodate concurrent Muslim festivities.

I'm reminded of the controversy surrounding a Salt Lake City High School Choir and a Jewish girl's father who objected to their performance of Christmas songs several years ago. It also brings to mind a personal experience putting together a Holiday program as a music teacher.

The principle instructed me in very clear terms that the December program I was putting together could not be referred to as a Christmas program, but only a Holiday program. No Christmas songs could be sung. I searched through a music teachers' catalog for an appropriate songbook, and found one which was described to meet all of the criteria. It contained songs about snow, sledding, eating lots of food, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa.

Does that surprise anyone? It probably isn't shocking to anyone at all that a "Holiday" program may feature songs celebrating Hanukkah and Kwanzaa, but not Christmas. To be honest, it doesn't bother me that much. I like music from many cultures, and I can sing my traditional Christmas favorites at home with my kids. But the dichotomy bothers me just enough to blog about it.

A gifted lady

I'd love to hear a recording of this concert myself.

November 30

Writer's Almanac, November 30

A nice poem, and the birthday of two of my favorite authors: Mark Twain, and Lucy Maud Montgomery. When I was a little girl, and read Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and the Anne of Green Gables books, I wanted to be an author when I grew up.

November 30th also brings back another memory, a terrible one. It was the day my friend, Kori Stover, age 13, was killed. Every year on this day, I remember turning on the news to learn the truth of her death, and how I gave a recital later that night, all the while hoping that there had been a huge mistake--that the news had got it wrong, and that I'd come home from the recital to find out she was alive after all. While I had wanted to be an author, Kori wanted to be a dancer, and a wife and mother. Hardly any of us become what we dream of as children, but most of us at least we get to grow up and find out. Miss you, Kori.

Can he do it?

Headlines tell us that President-Elect Obama has revealed his budget plan, and even more notably that he wants to downsize the federal budget. See WSJ and Fox articles.

I applaud him for this much--and I hope that his Democratic "supporters" in the House and the Senate will not stifle his ability to cut spending. At the same time, I don't see how effective this can be if Obama proceeds with his own plans to increase spending on his pet projects, and continues to support spiraling TARP/bailout costs.

I'm being lazy

With a baby who has gone from sleeping through the night to waking up every three hours, my mental capacity to organize my own thoughts has been greatly diminished--and it's not like there was a huge margin of error to start with--hence the copying of articles from reliable news sources.

However, I like articles like the two below--I appreciate it when things (like health care reform in this instance) are made just a little clearer to me.

Bobby Jindal's creative ideas for Louisiana

What we DON'T know about the Uninsured

I would love to see Mitt Romney and Bobby Jindal get together and solve health care in 2012--of course, I'd like to see it right now, but I think it'll be a cold day in July before we see Obama tap into the genius of either of those two.

Translation of My Life, by Elizabeth Spires

I remember the past.
Before there were poems.
I was eight. The world
simple as a primer.
I lived in a small town
far from the ocean.
Home, then school,
then home again,
back and forth
on my blue bicycle.
In the summer, a blue pool,
white clouds sailing over,
and a song playing
on the jukebox.
Always the same song.
Then fall, with its burning
leaves. Thanksgiving.
Christmas. Over and over.
There are photographs,
yellow and crumbling,
to prove what I say.

Imagine: a town
in the same universe as this one,
with the same physical laws,
but no poets, no poetry.
No scribbling hands up late
at night writing words
they believed would save them.
No noisy fluttering pages
to disturb the peace
of the dreaming populace.
Understand, I was only a girl
living the days as they came.
I did not know then I would leave.
Though I had a secret
I did not tell and will not ever,
I did not know I would leave.

The media did their job well

Before I say any more...look at these two links, especially the Zogby poll at the end of the second, and come to your own conclusions.

Hannity and Colmes

howobamagotelected.com

Kannie, is there another good German word for "not sure whether to laugh or cry"?

Neil Cavuto's take on the bailouts.

Sometimes, by David Budbill

Sometimes when day after day we have cloudless blue skies,
warm temperatures, colorful trees and brilliant sun, when
it seems like all this will go on forever,

when I harvest vegetables from the garden all day,
then drink tea and doze in the late afternoon sun,
and in the evening one night make pickled beets
and green tomato chutney, the next red tomato chutney,
and the day after that pick the fruits of my arbor
and make grape jam,

when we walk in the woods every evening over fallen leaves,
through yellow light, when nights are cool, and days warm,

when I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear
or somehow be taken away from all this,

at those times when I feel so happy, so good, so alive, so in love
with the world, with my own sensuous, beautiful life, suddenly

I think about all the suffering and pain in the world, the agony
and dying. I think about all those people being tortured, right now,
in my name. But I still feel happy and good, alive and in love with
the world and with my lucky, guilty, sensuous, beautiful life because,

I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be
taken from me, and therefore I've got to say, right now,
what I feel and know and see, I've got to say, right now,
how beautiful and sweet this world can be.

Bailout Circus

The inner workings of the bail-out is way over my head--but I have to post this article and this article, both from the Wall Street Journal and this from Fox news. More evidence that the government ruins just about everything it touches. Kind of like King Midas--except for the gold.

classroom experiment

I've seen this story in a couple of news sources, but here I am quoting from Brit Hume's Political Grapevine on Fox news:


Tolerance Test

The Obama campaign made inclusion a big part of its message, but an experiment by an Illinois eighth grader revealed some supporters find it tough to practice.

The Chicago Tribune reports 14-year-old Catherine Vogt wore a shirt that read "McCain Girl" to class and kept a log of how students and teachers reacted. She says students called her stupid and there were "a lot of comments about how I should be killed."

One student said she should be crucified, another said that her support of McCain meant she favored a skinhead plot to kill Mr. Obama. Even a teacher expressed surprise about her choice.

The following day Vogt wore an "Obama Girl" shirt. She was told her brain had returned and that she was no longer stupid.

Later her history teacher revealed the experiment to the class. Norma Cassin-Pountney told students, "Here you are, promoting this person — Obama — that believes we are all equal... and look what you've done."

"I think they got it," she said.

This story is another illustration of the decline of courtesy in our society. (See my friend's blog on manners.)

Unfortunately, there have been bad examples given by all sides. While most McCain supporters have accepted Obama's victory with congratulations, or silence if they can't muster up support, some have been known to show intolerance for the winning side. (I heard an amusing story of one man's method of coping--after the election was officially decided, he went out for a drive to let off steam, and ended up going 100 mph in a rural area, where as luck would have it, an officer was patrolling, which landed him with quite the fine!) The Prop. 8 rallies have of course given lots of examples of rude behavior--mostly coming from opponents, but occasionally from those trying to defend their faith with immature tactics.

Where is this coming from, this rejection of old-fashioned etiquette? Does it come from the (false imho) notion that we need to "let off steam" to avoid psychological stress? Does it come from angry homes where tempers flare with the slightest provocation? Does it stem from parents' reluctance to discipline their kids for fear of hurting their self-esteems? Or does it come from television, movies and video games, in which violence is glorified and cheap laughs gained with demeaning humor and sarcasm?

To those reading this, I know I'm preaching to the choir here. I'm sure that I myself am not guilty of going off on unproductive rampages!

More on Prop. 8

I've been doing a lot of reading on this issue--for I feel that while I am un-effected by it in Idaho at the moment, I fear the issue will reach us here eventually. As the saying goes, "As goes California, so goes the nation." The countless lawsuits poised to fight the new amendment will impact our freedoms in unimaginable ways should they succeed. It will essentially overrule the democratic process of voting. In the meantime, people who exercised their right to vote are being discriminated against in ways that to me are much more serious than the discrimination gays feel they are experiencing--as far as I know, they are not being fired from their jobs, having their names published and vilified, nor is anyone desecrating their places of worship or tearing down their signs (except for the ones they have placed around the walls of LDS temples). This story resonates with me, a supposed "artist", as he is a guy who until recently, worked in the musical theater community.

So, in my searching, I found this letter searching on Meridian Magazine, which led me to Mormon Times, and to an article by Orson Scott Card in which he included this letter by California seminary teacher, Kevin Hamilton. I like it.

Dear Friends,

In the aftermath of the recent election, we may find ourselves oddly on the defensive regarding our support for the Yes on Proposition 8 cause. Our young people have been especially subject to mean-spirited comments by high school friends and teachers. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We did nothing wrong. In fact, we did everything that a civic-minded American can and should do. I have put together a few facts that help me to appreciate our position better. For example:

1. Mormons make up less than 2 percent of the population of California. There are approximately 800,000 LDS out of a total population of approximately 34 million.Mormon voters were less than 5 percent of the yes vote.

2. If one estimates that 250,000 LDS are registered voters (the rest being children), then LDS voters made up 4.6 percent of the yes vote and 2.4 percent of the total Proposition 8 vote.

3. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) donated no money to the Yes on 8 campaign. Individual members of the church were encouraged to support the Yes on 8 efforts and, exercising their constitutional right to free speech, donated whatever they felt like donating.

4. The No on 8 campaign raised more money than the Yes on 8 campaign. Unofficial estimates put No on 8 at $38 million and Yes on 8 at $32 million, making it the most expensive non-presidential election in the country.

5. Advertising messages for the Yes on 8 campaign are based on case law and real-life situations. The No on 8 supporters have insisted that the Yes on 8 messaging is based on lies. Every Yes on 8 claim is supported.

6. The majority of our friends and neighbors voted Yes on 8. Los Angeles County voted in favor of Yes on 8. Ventura County voted in favor of Yes on 8.

7. African-Americans overwhelmingly supported Yes on 8. Exit polls show that 70 percent of black voters chose Yes on 8. This was interesting because the majority of these voters voted for President-elect Obama. No on 8 supporters had assumed that Obama voters would vote No on 8.

8. The majority of Latino voters voted Yes on 8. Exit polls show that the majority of Latinos supported Yes on 8 and cited religious beliefs (assumed to be primarily Catholic).

9. The Yes on 8 coalition was a broad spectrum of religious organizations. Catholics, evangelicals, Protestants, Orthodox Jews, Muslims -- all supported Yes on 8. It is estimated that there are 10 million Catholics and 10 million Protestants in California. Mormons were a tiny fraction of the population represented by Yes on 8 coalition members.

10. Not all Mormons voted in favor of Proposition 8. Our faith accords that each person be allowed to choose for him or herself. Church leaders have asked members to treat other members with "civility, respect and love," despite their differing views.

11. The church did not violate the principal of separation of church and state. This principle is derived from the First Amendment to the United States' Constitution, which reads, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof?" The phrase "separation of church and state", which does not appear in the Constitution itself, is generally traced to an 1802 letter by Thomas Jefferson, although it has since been quoted in several opinions handed down by the United States Supreme Court in recent years. The LDS Church is under no obligation to refrain from participating in the political process to the extent permitted by law. U.S. election law is very clear that churches may not endorse candidates, but may support issues. The church as always been very careful on this matter and occasionally (not often) chooses to support causes that it feels to be of a moral nature.

12. Supporters of Proposition 8 did exactly what the Constitution provides for all citizens: they exercised their First Amendment rights to speak out

on an issue that concerned them, make contributions to a cause that they support and then vote in the regular electoral process. For the most part, this seems to have been done in an open, fair and civil way. Opponents of 8 have accused supporters of being bigots, liars and worse. The fact is, we simply did what Americans do -- we spoke up, we campaigned and we voted.

Hold your heads up high -- you did a great job on this most important cause. We will have more opportunities in the future to participate in our democratic process. Let's remember the lessons learned and do an even better job next time.

These are my personal opinions and thoughts; any errors are mine and in no way reflect official church policy or doctrine.

Thanks,
Kevin Hamilton

spin

Just an example of how media tries to shape our perceptions...

Looking at the popular vote in the Presidential election, Obama beat McCain 52% to 47%.
It's being called a "Landslide" by many.

Proposition 8 won by 52.5% to 46% in California, and it is being called "a slim majority."

Do those numbers look vastly different to you?

Intolerance

I'm disturbed by the extreme reaction of the opponents of Proposition 8. It is indicative of what someone called "America's Last Acceptable Prejudice," --the prejudice against members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Members of the church did make up a huge percentage of those contributing to the cause of Proposition 8, but they were joined by members of many other faiths. The majority of Californians who voted for came from very diverse backgrounds. It is worth mentioning that 61% of Californians voted for a similar measure in 2000, which was rejected by California Supreme Court judges who legislated from the bench.

Protesters of the new law are targeting Mormons, in spite of the fact that members of many churches supported the effort, and citizens voted on it. It is ironic (though not surprising) given the church's statement: "The church calls on those involved in the debate over same sex marriage to act in a spirit of mutual respect and civility towards each other. No one on either side of the question should be vilified, intimidated, harassed or subject to erroneous information."

Even if Proposition 8 had failed, I suspect gay-rights activists would have continued to lash out against their opponents in a similar manner. While they demand that we validate their marriages and give them the respect owed to all human beings, they are not practicing what they preach as demonstrated by their lack tolerance towards those who disagree with them.

Gate C22, by Ellen Bass

At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching —
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after — if she beat you or left you or
you're lonely now — you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

Post-election day blues

Obviously, I'm disappointed in the outcome of this year's presidential election. I truly hope that all of my dire predictions will be proved wrong. That remains to be seen...

Obama's success is not the primary reason for my gloominess. It is what this election has done to change my perception of America, and my place in it.

The first concern I have in review of this campaign season is the way America let the mainstream media influence our perceptions of the candidates and the issues. Research tells me this is nothing new, and I am only just becoming aware of it. Elite newsrooms decided who they wanted to win, and they orchestrated Obama's rise to power brilliantly.

The second issue is one that the media has influenced as well, and it's one that I'm taking personally.

Growing up, I never felt that I was a second-class citizen because I was a girl. The first time I ever felt looked-down upon because of my gender was actually on my mission, but that's another story. I never felt it again until this election. The rabid attacks on Sarah Palin's character can only be explained by sexism and elitism. In the interest of brevity, I won't site all of the arguments leveled against Palin which I deemed as irrelevant or unfair, but to summarize:

Here is a person who has served the people of Alaska for many years, and is the most popular Governor in the country. Yet the media got away with labeling her as "inexperienced" and "unintelligent." Why was Obama not given the same scrutiny given his two years only of service in the Senate? I am led to believe it is because she is a female, and not just any female, but a wife and mother who is not afraid to be feminine. Being a woman was the main offense, but I also think the attacks against her reflect the media's disdain for small-town conservatives.

I am no Sarah Palin, but I am a girl who grew up and got married and had a family--and in arguably the most conservative state in the Union. I do not believe a woman needs to win a seat in the Oval Office to prove that women are "equal." It is imperative that women believe in their own significance, especially when they choose to stay home and raise the next generation. But the treatment of Sarah Palin by the mainstream media showed me how little respect women are given--whether they work outside the home or not, and it's disheartening.

"For My Daughter" by David Ignatow

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.

When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.

Poli-speak

Understanding politicians can be as difficult as trying to understand a toddler. Both of them speak in codes. Take Jeffy, for instance, with his unique speech patterns--I have known him long enough to be able to interpret him. For instance, when he says "Wha's yo numbo? I am fo-mo old!" Translation: "How old are you? I am four years old!"

Just one day to go! With a weak attempt to be light-hearted in this politically charged atmosphere, here is a glossary of 2008 campaign catch phrases. Hope you enjoy!

McCain has run a negative campaign=I was hoping that McCain would sit back and let me win!

Look at my record! Look at the issues!=Look at my record! Look at the issues! (If I have no charisma, it's because I really hate campaigning.)

It's time for change!=Please ignore my lack of experience!

Palin has no experience!=Palin is a woman!

McCain did not properly vet Palin!=McCain picked a woman!

Obama is leading in the polls!=The race is neck and neck!

He's just a guy who lives in my neighborhood.
=He's a good friend who helped launch my career.

I am finally proud of my country!=I didn't like the old Democratic way of doing things anyway.

My plan gives 95% of Americans a tax cut.=I'm lying. Please don't do the math.

Get out and vote!=but only if you're voting for me!



Whatever happens tomorrow, I will be praying for the next President of the United States of America.
Feel free to add your own definitions!

"It is the poet's privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail."
William Faulkner

"Piano", by D.H. Lawrence (in honor of his birthday)

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

"On His Blindness" by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: 'God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

Out on a limb

I am a huge Sarah Palin Fan!

I don't express my opinion about politics outside of my most immediate family, and to a very select group of friends who share the same opinion as me. The subject of political affiliation can be divisive, and though I THINK my friends with differing political views would still be my friends, I usually don't care to risk it. Maybe it's cliche to say that the stakes have never been higher in an election, but considering the turbulent times we are in, I believe there's a certain amount of truth in it.

I've been trying to come up with the words to describe why I feel the way I do about John McCain's running-mate, but words have failed me. Thankfully, they have not failed more competent writers, and so I will insert links if you're interested.

http://online.wsj.com/article_email/SB122057381593001741-lMyQjAxMDI4MjAwNTUwNzUzWj.html

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,423443,00.html

http://www.ajc.com/opinion/content/shared-blogs/ajc/thinkingright/entries/2008/09/16/the_left_is_in_a_quandary_over.html

http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/09/15/rollins.gamechanger/index.html

http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/09/11/beck.palin/?iref=mpstoryview

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122048635407597177.html?mod=fpa_mostpop

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122057310953701695.html?mod=opinion_main_review_and_outlooks

http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080905/cm_csm/ycurtis_1

http://the-spyglass.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-sarah-palin-vote-is-mobilizing.html

http://www.philly.com/philly/news/nation_world/27899879.html

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/gerard_baker/article4677799.ece



Palin intrigues me, not because I think a woman should be in the White House for women to feel like they've gained equality in America. I think women who, like me, give up their careers so they can be with their children full time ARE equal and important. But with Palin, I feel I have an advocate for my cause. That sounds pretty grandiose, "my CAUSE!" as if I were Don Quixote. But by it, I mean my desire to raise my children in a safe world, where moral values aren't ridiculed, where they have opportunities. And at the risk of sounding greedy, but honest, where even more of Dave's hard-earned money doesn't go towards wasteful government spending!

I have a lot of respect for Obama, and the brilliant way in which he has run his campaign. I appreciate his desire for change. But my fear is that the change he offers isn't the kind that helps "my cause." On many major issues (abortion, national security, and the economy primarily), I simply disagree with him.

When John McCain was selected over Mitt Romney, I was initially disappointed. Mitt Romney is the embodiment of a guy who knows how to fix things. When McCain didn't pick Romney to be his vice-president, I was again disappointed, until I got to know more about Sarah Palin. His selection of her tells me that he is more in touch with people like me than I previously thought. And as I've gotten to know even more about John McCain, I've been impressed with his willingness to cross party lines, to cooperate and to compromise. His experience as a Prisoner of War, and his years of service as an elected official gives me more cause to respect him as someone who is not in this for his personal ambition.

Politics can be so ugly, and I know people get fired up, so I fear offending people with this post. At the same time, I am, for once, so excited about the prospect of a McCain/Palin presidency, I want to do my small part to help them in their cause.

When We Sold the Tent, by Rhina P. Espaillat

When we sold the tent
we threw in the Grand Canyon
with its shawl of pines,
lap full of cones and chipmunks
and crooked seams of river.

We let them have the
parched white moonscapes of Utah,
and Colorado's
magnificat of flowers
sunbursting hill after hill.

Long gentle stretches
of Wyoming, rain outside
some sad Idaho
town where the children, giddy
with strange places, clowned all night.

Eyes like small veiled moons
circling our single light, sleek
shadows with pawprints,
all went with the outfit; and
youth, a river of campfires.

Ticket, by Meg Kearney

I have a ticket in my pocket that will take me from Lynchburg
to New York in nine hours, from the Blue Ridge to Stuy Town,

from blue jays wrangling over sunflower seeds to my alarm
clock and startled pigeons. If I had a daughter I'd take her

with me. She'd sit by the window wearing the blue dress
with the stars and sickle moons, counting houses and cemeteries,

watching the knotted rope of fence posts slip by while I sat
beside her pretending to read, but unable to stop studying

her in disbelief. Her name would tell her that she's beautiful.
Belle. Or something strong, biblical. Sarah. She would tolerate

the blue jay and weep for the pigeon; she would have all the music
she wanted and always the seat by the window. If I had a daughter

she would know who her father is and he would be home writing letters
or playing the banjo, waiting for us, and I would be her mother.

We'd have a dog, a mutt, a stray we took in from the rain one night
in November, the only stray we ever had to take in, one night in our

cabin in the Catskills. It would be impossibly simple: two train tickets;
a man, a dog, waiting; and a girl with her nose pressed to the window.

from "The Flower" by John Clare

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are Thy returns! even as the flowers in Spring,
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring;
Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.

Who would have thought my shriveled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite underground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O, my only Light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.

The Lanyard, by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that's what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

When We Two Parted, by Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

"We Collect Gull Feathers" by Timothy Young

We Collect Gull Feathers

As the evening dies over Pepin,
we collect gull feather, black and white ones,
and pretend they were dropped by the eagle
whose track and wing marked
the gray Mississippi sandbar.

Jesse remarked as we arrived,
"If I point at hawks they fly away,
but if I don't they stay in their trees."

The river moves heavily, south,
and the sun drops beyond the bluffs.
The air chills me.
I want to keep my fingers in my pocket,
because everything moves on here,
except that sweet pain of love that knows
he's growing up to leave me.

"Beside the Point" by Stephen Cushman

Beside the Point

The sky has never won a prize.
The clouds have no careers.
The rainbow doesn't say my work,
thank goodness.

The rock in the creek's not so productive.
The mud on the bank's not too pragmatic.
There's nothing useful in the noise
the wind makes in the leaves.

Buck up now, my fellow superfluity,
and let's both be of that worthless ilk,
self-indulgent as shooting stars,
self-absorbed as sunsets.

Who cares if we're inconsequential?
At least we can revel, two good-for-nothings,
in our irrelevance; at least come and make
no difference with me.

The Exchange, by Ron Rash

Between Wytheville, Virginia
and the North Carolina line,
he meets a wagon headed
where he's been, seated beside
her parents a dark-eyed girl
who grips the reins in her fist,
no more than sixteen, he'd guess
as they come closer and she
doesn't look away or blush
but allows his eyes to hold
hers that moment their lives pass.
He rides into Boone at dusk,
stops at an inn where he buys
his supper, a sleepless night
thinking of fallow fields still
miles away, the girl he might
not find the like of again.
When dawn breaks he mounts his roan,
then backtracks, searches three days
hamlets and farms, any smoke
rising above the tree line
before he heads south, toward home,
the French Broad's valley where spring
unclinches the dogwood buds
as he plants the bottomland,
come night by candlelight builds
a butter churn and cradle,
cherry headboard for the bed,
forges a dougle-eagle
into a wedding ring and then
back to Virginia and spends
five weeks riding and asking
from Elk Creek to Damascas
before he finds the wagon
tethered to the hitching post
of a crossroads store, inside
the girl who smiles as if she'd
known all along his gray eyes
would search until they found her.
She asks one question, his name,
as her eyes study the gold
smoldering there between them,
the offered palm she lightens,
slips the ring on herself so
he knows right then the woman
she will be, bold enough match
for a man rash as his name.

The Continuous Life, by Mark Strand

What of the neighborhood homes awash
In a silver light, of children hunched in the bushes,
Watching the grown-ups for signs of surrender,
Signs that the irregular pleasures of moving
From day to day, of being adrift on the swell of duty,
Have run their course? O parents, confess
To your little ones the night is a long way off
And your taste for the mundane grows; tell them
Your worship of household chores has barely begun;
Describe the beauty of shovels and rakes, brooms and mops;
Say there will always be cooking and cleaning to do,
That one thing leads to another, which leads to another;
Explain that you live between two great darks, the first
With an ending, the second without one, that the luckiest
Thing is having been born, that you live in a blur
Of hours and days, months and years, and believe
It has meaning, despite the occasional fear
You are slipping away with nothing completed, nothing
To prove you existed. Tell the children to come inside,
That your search goes on for something you lost—a name,
A family album that fell from its own small matter
Into another, a piece of the dark that might have been yours,
You don't really know. Say that each of you tries
To keep busy, learning to lean down close and hear
The careless breathing of earth and feel its available
Languor come over you, wave after wave, sending
Small tremors of love through your brief,
Undeniable selves, into your days, and beyond.