On the Tea Party Victories…

A lot of press is being given to the primary victories of Tea Party-endorsed candidates in states like New York and Delaware. Somehow, the exponential surge of the Tea Party is being painted as a serious threat to the Democrats' congressional majorities in this mid-term election cycle. Say what?

Personally, I think this is a spin job being perpetrated by a desperate Republican Party, which is trying to hold itself together at the seams as the Tea Party tears the ultra-right-wing ideologues away from it. Those same ultra-right-wingers who were nodded and winked and placated for eight years by the Bush/Cheney/Rove political machine. The machine that understood it needed the votes of the ultra-conservative nutjobs to keep its stranglehold on the political power in this country. The power that was going to allow them to advance their "build wealth, protect wealth" agenda. The agenda that, in the end, didn't effectively accomplish either of those things. Which is why they are no longer in power.

So tell me: How is the rending asunder of the Republican Party going to threaten the Democrats? Isn't it traditionally so that when an independent party splinters away from one of the two major ones, the party from which that upstart splinters becomes weakened? These Tea-Partiers, with their ultra-conservative agenda, their "birthers" and their altered definitions of socialism, are not the folks who put Barack Obama in office. They are not the folks who threw the bums who had spent eight years leading this country to the brink of economic, intellectual and moral collapse, out on their ears.

THEY are the ones who fell in love with Sarah Palin.

And in case you hadn't noticed…Palin lost.

It's indeed a pity that she hasn't gone away into Losing Candidate Oblivion. But still. Ubiquitous and strident and seemingly popular as she is—she's a loser.

And it's unfortunate that she has become the mouthpiece for a group of discontented loud-mouths who, in my humble opinion, gave up the best thing they ever had when they ripped themselves away from the mainstream Republican Party. Because I think they are going to find that they need the Republicans as much as the Republicans needed them. Together, they are a block to be reckoned with.

Apart…not so much.

The Politics of Love

I have completely given up hope on our country, politically. The stuff that filters down to me, even through my overworked, sleep-deprived haze is so inane, so unbelievable, so...filled with hatred and divisiveness, name calling and power grubbing, that I have, finally, just had to step away from it. I have, literally, given up. I can no longer be that voice in the wilderness--albeit a weak one--that I was in the waning years of the Bush Administation.

The "Tea Party" thing makes me crazy. But I just can't have any hope that the progressive answer to that hideous noise--the "Coffee Party"--will have any effect other than feeding the fire of divisiveness and "Us vs Them." I don't want to be an "Us." I don't want there to be a "Them." I just want us all to figure out a way to live in peace.

Fat Chance.

Still, every once in a while, something comes along that makes sense and I need to endorse, regardless of where it comes from.

The following comes from the "Coffee Party" website. I was led to it by Cynthia on Facebook. Here is the link:

http://coffeepartyusa.com/content/phone-messages-loved-ones-towers-fell

But for those of you who don't click on links in blogs, here are my favorite parts: On second thought, here's the whole thing. It's all my favorite part:

Sat, 09/11/2010 - 9:08am — AnnabelPark
The building was on fire and there
was no way down the stairs. She was calling to say goodbye. There was really
only one thing for her to say, those three words that all the terrible art, the
worst pop songs and movies, the most seductive lies, can somehow never cheapen.
I love you.

She said it over and again before the line went dead. And
that is what they were all saying down their phones, from the hijacked planes
and the burning towers. There is only love, and then oblivion. Love was all they
had to set against the hatred of their murderers.

-- Ian McEwan's op-ed
in the Guardian UK on September 15, 2001

British noveist Ian McEwan wrote this essay soon after reflecting on those extraordinary messages left for their loved ones by the victims all saying "I love you." In those terrifying days right after the Towers fell, I looked for guidance on how to understand what just happened. Reading this essay helped me to understand not only 9/11, but something important about life.

The simplicity of the truth stunned me: In the end, love is what matters.

Instead of being consumed by fear in the last moments of her life, this woman -- the caller, the victim -- was consumed by love. When we fear death and destruction, love is what gives us strength as individuals.

When we need to summon courage for a dangerous operation or to pull ourselves together after we get into a car accident, we think of the ones we love and want to talk to them. We don't think of the ones we hate. Hate doesn't give us the strength to live.

Imagine a whole society consumed by hate. All too well, we can imagine this. Now imagine a whole society consumed by love. It's much harder to imagine.

So, why do we indulge in hate when it weakens us as individuals and a society? There is an illusion of power when we hate, when are we are angry. There is a burst of
energy when chemicals are released into our brains that we mistake for power. We
also feel a sense of unity and camaraderie with our fellow haters. We don't feel
so alone when there is organized hatred. We feel like we are part of a group.
But it is a bond that ultimately weakens us as individuals.

Imagine the same bond based on mutual love, not mutual hate.

Let's again try to imagine a society driven by love for humanity and country. By compassion for those suffering. To want to care for people who need care. Whether they are breathing in toxic chemicals in the Gulf, trapped in a mine is Chile, displacedand hungry in Pakistan, still homeless in Haiti or unemployed in Rockford, IL.Yes, it makes us cringe. It's painful to care when we feel that there is little
we can do to help.

But think of the trapped miners in Chile. Knowing,that the world is watching and their loved ones are holding vigil in amake-shift tent just above and not leaving them, strengthens the miners. Theyknow that they matter, that they are loved, that around the world, we care. Thismutual situation of concern and love makes the miners stronger. It strengthensus as well to see the awesome resilience of the human spirit.

Love strengthens us. Hate weakens us. For at least today, let's imagine a world
driven by the politics of love, not hate.

Everythings Amazing & Nobodys Happy

Texas billboard

Mike and I spotted this billboard on I-35, just south of Waco, as we were driving to Austin on Sunday. We stopped to take a pic of it on our way back on Monday night, and we weren't the only ones who did.
A young friend found it funny but I find it disturbing.

A QUESTIONNAIRE

Questionnaire
(a poem by Wendell Berry)

1. How much poison are you willing to eat for the success of the free market and global trade? Please name your preferred poisons.

2. For the sake of goodness, how much evil are you willing to do? Fill in the following blanks with the names of your favorite evils and acts of hatred.

3. What sacrifices are you prepared to make for culture and civilization? Please list the monuments, shrines, and works of art you would most willingly destroy.

4. In the name of patriotism and the flag, how much of our beloved land are you willing the desecrate? List in the following spaces the mountains, rivers, town, farms you could most readily do without.

5. State briefly the ideas, ideals, or hopes, the energy sources, the kinds of security for which you would kill a child. Name, please, the children whom you would be willing to kill.

Wendell Berry


My thanks to a fellow member of the Creation Spirituality Communities for letting me know about this poem. And my thanks also a relative who shall remain nameless who appears to be far more fundamental than I am for her pro life comments regarding a progressive voting link.

I’m aware that not all so called pro lifers seem to lose their concerns for unborn as soon as they are born.

For me, being pro life means supporting all life. We have to support an unpolluted environment so that children have access to clean water, food, housing and air. Pro life means supporting jobs that pay enough to provide at least basic access to the above mentioned water, food, housing and air. Pro life means access to basic education. The ‘Pub candidate running for Peter DeFazio’s seat calls public education “socialistic” and I really believe he’d like to see the public schools closed.

Pro life means preserving as much of the natural world as we can so kids can dig in the dirt; plant a seed and watch it grow. We all need to at least know that the green is out there for the sake of our sanity.

Pro life means the support and protection of all Creation. It is in Creation that we see the face of the Creator.

ONE PICTURE

is really worth a thousand words. I read the cartoon. I read it again. And then it sank in. Then it really sank in.

FRIDAY ON SATURDAY?

The last of our oriental lilies to bloom is the Casablanca. If the Stargazer is the definition of "pink" then white doesn't come much whiter than this lily.

I know it isn't Friday but I couldn't get a good shot yesterday morning. ;-)

Reading Matters, Post Script

As the title of the post states, this is but a short P.S. to my earlier post, Reading Matters. In that post I stated definitively that I had declined to read The Art Of Racing In The Rain, this month's book for my book club. My refusal was on the grounds that I knew it was going to be sad, and leave me crying in the rain.  Or, really, since I'm in New Mexico, in the brilliant sunshine. However, in a comment to that post, Kathy stated just as definitively "I loved The Art of Racing in the Rain. Crying or not, I loved it." The woman who suggested it for the club had also loved it.

So, on Tuesday afternoon I settled into the old wicker rocker on the back porch and devoted myself to reading Enzo's story.  Enzo is a dog.  And so, just as I thought, the book is as sad as any book narrated by a dog is bound to be.  It was also, to my huge surprise, an extremely spiritual and uplifting story. The track, and racing on it, serves as a terrific metaphor for life and how to live it - and Enzo has a better, clearer, and more compassionate outlook on life than most who are already living it as humans. I managed to read the entire book that afternoon before our club meeting and participate in the discussion. But I delayed the last few pages until I was safely in the shelter of my own home, and with my own sweetie to comfort me.  All dog books end with the dog's death, and this one is no exception.  But it might be one of the most beautiful, hopeful, wonderful literary deaths I've ever read.  I can only hope my own could come any where close to Enzo's. 

If you're looking for something utterly engaging and delightful to fill some empty hours, on a plane, a beach, a train, you couldn't do better than to pass those hours with Enzo and Dennie, their family and friends.  Just be sure to have a large clean handkerchief close by as you approach the end of the story.  Also it might be good if it was your own copy.  I found myself longing to underline or highlight often.  But the library frowns on their patrons taking such action.

Oh, please

Every where I turn, people are talking about Steven Slater. I confess, when I first read the story, I laughed. He really acted out a fantasy for almost everyone who's worked in customer service. Having worked in customer service fields for a long time, I definitely understood how he felt.

Once at the end of a long work day, I literally had to spit out a tiny piece of tooth enamel, because I'd been grinding my teeth to keep from saying what I dearly longed to say. While I looked at that chip in my hand, I remembered that Bill Cosby once said that the key to failure is trying to please everyone. My job in customer service was trying to please everyone. The inevitable conclusion was that being a failure was my job.

That was just a bad day though, and I'm proud of what I do.

I've worked in a variety of customer service jobs throughout my career. Some have been seen as serious career jobs that require a solid base of knowledge and professional skill before service could be provided. I'm glad I've spent more time in those than the other type. Those are the customer service jobs where the people like me are just seen as the flunky you get stuck dealing with. Throughout both types of jobs though, I've come to hold a lot of respect for good customer service people everywhere.

It's not an easy job. I've worked in marketing, sales and public relations as well as traditional customer service, and frankly, customer service demands a higher level of communication skills than any of those fields. You have to be able to listen effectively, promptly identify a customer's real need, and present a problem solving solution in a clear way that makes your customer feel good and want to do business with your company again. A good customer service rep has to think quickly and master the art of emotional alleviation. She has to thoroughly understand company policies and procedures and have the ability to adapt those procedures to individual needs, while pleasing both the customer and the company. Let me add, either company or customer could have caused the problem you're trying to solve. Talk about being in a hot spot.

Since the people you're frequently dealing with are sometimes upset, they can often be long winded and short tempered, and you have to be able to sort out the verbal chaff from the essential information. This requires patience, but beyond that, it requires an emotional maturity that is becoming increasingly rare. On a bad day, it's not just maturity that's needed, it's emotional teflon. I haven't met too many people made of synthetic polymers, but every day I see more evidence that the loss of civility is not limited to the political realm.

Yes, there are days when I've really wanted to make a bold "F... You" statement like Steven Slater, but some fantasies need to stay in the land of daydreams. His flamboyant reaction was another loss of civility, maturity and self-control. It was no better than the customers who put their desires before any one else's needs, and the biggest part of me wants to tell them all, "Grow up!"

Reading Matters

I had a "page" on my personal blog that I called "Reading," but I consistently forgot to write there about what I was reading; and a few days ago while attempting to catch up on it I somehow managed to completely delete it.  Nobody looks at those Pages anyhow, so, I think I will just write in the blog itself when I feel like discussing what I am reading. Or, not reading. I'm currently having a very hard time settling into anything that really grabs me.  Wonder if others have those strange blank spells? Nothing you pick up, no matter how great the reviews, or enticing the cover, grabs you and makes you want to turn the pages.  It's kind of a Reader's Block, instead of Writer's Block. The book for our neighborhood book club, meeting tomorrow evening, is The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein, which I declined to read.  It is narrated by a charming and personable dog, and after my partner, Gail (who very seldom cries), finished the book in heaving sobs, I knew I was going to skip it.  Since childhood (remember Old Yeller?) I have avoided dog books - their sole purpose is to break the reader's heart.  Our own crazy little old dog's death is still too recent for me to risk waking up that pain. 

We recently found Sea of Troubles, in a new paperback reprint and I gobbled it up in a couple of nights It's one of Donna Leon's Venice mysteries that has been, mysteriously, unavailable for far too long, and I devoured it in a couple of nights.  There are two others that seem to be missing, and I'm hoping they're next in line to return.  If you love a good police procedural, captivating protagonists, great food, and exiting locations, Leon's series of books with Commissario Guido Brunetti will be right up your alley.  I have never been to Venice, but from these books I feel I know it, in its contemporary form at least.  It's clear from these novels that Italy has its share of the woes and tribulations of modern life, but the beauty of this ancient city also manages to shine through.  Many of the mysteries have to do with environmental problems, and political corruption, as well as immigration problems.  All things we are familiar with and think of as our own national difficulties.  But, after I finished with Sea of Troubles, I was right back into my lack of enthusiasm for anything I pick up to read.  I have things on hold with the library system, but lack of funding has forced them to seriously cut back on the number of copies they order, and it can take weeks and weeks to get a popular book.


So, while I wait for my holds on the latest titles by Jane Smiley, Anna Quindlen, Scott Turow, James Lee Burke, Sharon McCrumb, and others, I am desultorily picking at one unread volume or another off our shelves.  We are trying not to buy books right now, so it's the long hard wait, unless I lose control completely and find myself at the register at Bookworks with a stack of new books in my arms.   Anyone have any suggestions?
(Cross-posted from Quid Nunc?)

HOT SUMMER COLORS

I can't imagine using these colors to actually decorate anything. I mean can you see a room painted with super hot pink, lighter pinks and burnt orange? But here, courtesy of Mother Nature's paint brush, it works. Oh, how it works.

FRIDAY AGAIN

Petunias in the early morning sun. The pot is ageing very nicely. And they smell so wonderful later in the morning as everything warms up.