My Goodness....

My mother was always very proud of the first presidential ballot she cast in 1932 - for Norman Thomas, the Socialist candidate for President. The first election in which I participated was in 1960, and I cast my first vote for John F. Kennedy. As one result, one of my uncles stopped talking to me for several years, and given his political views, I did not consider that much of a loss.

A great many young people cast their first ballot yesterday, and it had an impact; they will never forget the experience and the result. Their children will grow appreciatively tired of the story but will remember it.

We woke up this morning, a little groggy, but with something of a sunrise streaming in through the windows. And we knew in our brains and in our hearts that something important happened in and to America yesterday.

It doesn't matter which side we were on - it really doesn't. What does matter is that we try to slip past the post-mortem clichés of election analysis and understand that a great many Americans stepped into the voting booth and voted for an African-American for the highest political office in our land.

There seemed to be few problems with the process of voting and counting; local governments were better prepared than they had been last time, and the only significant demonstrations were celebrations of joy in Chicago, New York, and in front of the White House in Washington. Joy and lots of tears because another glass ceiling had been broken.

America grew up yesterday. In the face of economic chaos, two unpopular wars, foreign relationships in tatters, civil rights diminished, and an increasing gulf between rich and poor, voters made a decision to vote for the man who happened not to be "white." For a great many of us, that choice could not have been easy, but the choice was made.

Politicians who routinely consider the the citizenry as "ill-informed," "stupid," or "inattentive" must now do a recalculation, as must countries which look at the United States as a monochrome monolith.

We are different today, perhaps better, but certainly different.

It's a start, and that's good enough for me.

The Old and The New

Last night K and I went to a piano recital by Marc-André Hamelin.  I go to a number of concerts and lug my large sack of musical ignorance to every one.  Last night's music began with Alban Berg, stopped for a time to visit Chopin, and ended with an astounding performance of the music of Charles-Valentin Alkan.

We had never heard the Alkan before - a piece which requires virtuosity in the extremely, and Mr Hamelin conquered it with none of the flamboyant gestures of some concert pianists and made it the highlight of all the recent musical performances I've attended over the last year or so.

Where had I been with regard to Alkan.  And then I thought about Alfred Sisley, the English impressionist painter.

Years ago, I had attended a Sisley exhibit at the Royal Academy in London.  Until that day, I had no idea of Sisley's role in that 19th century  movement, and - frankly - I was startled by the experience.  One purpose of the exhibit was to put Sisley back into the middle of Impressionism, and it succeeded, at least for me.  

Think of Alkan (1813-1888), Sisley (1839-1899), and toss in a long-term favorite of mine, Georges Seurat (1859-1891).

There they were at about the same time, working away, not well known, not selling much of their output, but deeply committed to their cause.

Here we are, a century and a half later, listening, seeing, and admiring what they produced.  I learned two things (at least) from all this - firstly, you have to make sure you continue to find the new, even if it's only new to you, and secondly, you should be willing to discover our own contemporary artists and composers with enough oomph so that whether their time comes now or not for another century and a half, they might believe that their commitment to their art will always have value.

Be open and show support.  Always helpful, no matter what the situation.

To Share Or Not To Share

Last week, Islay the Scotty and I were out on our ride-walk (I ride my geezer trike, and she trots alongside), and we ran into our neighbor out walking her beasties in the more traditional way.

She had just run into a couple of neighbors who, in the course of their conversation, discovered that their neighbor, once a Republican and morphed into a non-Republican. The neighbors were surprised and chose to pursue the matter - an unwise decision knowing my neighbor.

In summarizing this encounter nearly three weeks before the election, with heaven-knows-how-much-mud-yet-to-sling, my neighbor said,"You know, a lot of Republicans just don't like to share."

Now I know a great many extraordinarily generous Republicans, regardless of whatever other faults they might have, but I don't believe that she was necessarily talking about the sharing of money; instead, I think that she might have meant that they lack a generosity of spirit or of participating or collaborating.

But whatever she meant and whatever you might think of her observation, I was rather startled by it and will continue to think about for a long time after this particular election is over because the times in which we now find ourselves will require a much broader definition of generosity, and we shall all need to participate in helping each other through the difficulties which lie ahead for all of us, but more for some than for others.

What A Rotten Development This Is

For most of our lives, we've managed to ignore the fact that we live on a globe spinning in the infinity of space. The ground is what we care about...the firm, sometimes rocky, icy, muddy ground outside, along with the house to which we are tethered, our investments and retirement plans.

With the fiscal distress now travelling that globe of ours, nothing seems solid any more, and we shouldn't be surprised that neither candidate for President seems able to escape the bump and codswallop of politicalspeak to undertake an attempt at truth.

So what do we fall back on?

Well, we might start with each other and talk about how frightened we feel, how powerless we seem, how many there are occupying this boat heading for we know not what through very choppy waters. (I'm almost through with this metaphorical stuff, and I'm as glad as you are.)

I find nature consoling, and these days Islay the Scotty and I seem to be outside walking a bit more. Our new office location is close to White Bear Lake, and it's a pleasant stroll to the shore, past older homes and then back, pausing briefly at the Civil War Monument with its Union Soldier standing on top looking North.

On today's walk, we came upon a young maple, ablaze with color, and we stopped to admire Mother Nature's handiwork. This weekend, weather permitting, we shall be trying to reclaim a garden gone astray during the time when a bad hip kept my from doing much to maintain it.

This is a time for basics - contemplation, reflection, walks, working in the soil, admiring the journey through autumn, and a wee dram of decent whisky at the end of the day.

Like my parents and grandparents who survived the depression, we, too, will survive, and the best strategy seems to begin by getting a grip one one's self. Do that, and you can cope with the rest of it.

Mud, Mud, Inglorious Mud.....

Seven weeks to go in the Presidential campaign which resembles what some call "reality tv" far more than a campaign about differences in philosophy, values, goals, and that "vision" thing.

The first election I voted in was the Kennedy/Nixon battle in 1960. I read position papers, watched debates, talked extensively with my college mates, and voted for Kennedy. My mother was sympathetic - she'd voted for the socialist Norman Thomas in her first election in 1932; but I had an uncle who avoided me for a decade because of my vote.

In those days, we disagreed about matters of substance, not style. Oh, there was some concern about the flop sweat on Nixon's face during the first debate, but the black and white picture was so lousy, I expect a number of people never took note of it.

Jump forward to the present: Our discussion is about lipstick, bulldogs, pigs, and not much more profound than that. It's just a lot of mud-slinging, and it besmirches us all.

It appears we have become what we feared most - a people believing that life should be like a television program and note like the complicated, often subtle, screwed up mess it is most of the time around this globe of ours. Gray and grayer, not black and white.

Thrust, counter-thrust, throw the facts overboard, say anything to get the "edge,"win at all costs of truth, honesty, and what used to be the American way.

Thanks to the current administration, our constitution has been weakened, our faith in ourselves impaired, our trust diminished, our legislators incapable of working for the public good and finding ways to work together.

I've written this before, and damn, it fits again. Walt Kelly's Pogo once said, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."

Still true and oh, so sad. Seven weeks to pay attention, to read, to learn, and to discuss before casting the most important ballot of our lives.

This is a serious business, and we need to stop thinking and acting like twelve year olds and grow up - and that includes several of the candidates.

Or else....

Recycling

I'll confess that I just recent became a convert to recycling those damned plastic bags...don't know why it took me so long to get to it because I'd gotten pretty good with paper, cardboard, the right categories of plasticky things, and glass. I've never much liked plastic bags anyway, but the drudgery of collecting the newspaper bags and the shopping bags seemed more than I wanted to do.

And yes I have collected recyclable bags for the grocery stores, and they are quite useful when I remember to put them in the car. On the other hand, the carry bag I got from the Co-Op in Scotland which holds and keeps safe six wine bottles.

When I fall off my perch, I'd like my ashes to add to the earth in various locations in Minnesota, Scotland, and England. (Yes, I hear you thinking, "Well, finally he'll be of some use....")

Lee Hayes who sang with a wonderful folk group called "The Weavers" asked that his ashes be added to his compost heap, and I think that sounds appropriate and not very expensive.

But not for a while, I hope.

Out Of Gas

I just don't get it -  gas prices in the mid-three dollar range, and people driving pick-ups and SUVs are still driving like bats out of hell.  Maybe you can help me understand how the people who complain the most about the price of fuel seem to be the same ones burning it up at the fastest rate.

When I ordered my Prius hybrid four years ago, I got some kidding about waiting forty-nine weeks for it to arrive in my life.  Then I got more kidding about deviating from the great American commitment to burning petroleum and about the unlikelihood of my saving the planet with my environmentally friendly automobile.

And then the price of gas started to go up....and up.....and up.  The observations diminished, and at $3.50 or so a gallon for gas in these parts, I haven't heard anything for quite some time.

Now I wouldn't want you to think that I'm not proud of my 45-49 miles a gallon; I am, to the point that when I drive out of the gas station have expended twenty-five bucks or so, I can't bear to look at what that black Toyota Tundra truck or the Lincoln Navigator or the Cadillac Escalade might be paying to fill up a tank.  If I were to look, I might smirk as I drove by, and Heaven knows what the result of that might be.

The other day I read that some auto dealers were refusing trade-ins of SUVs, because they seem to believe they won't be able to sell them.  Probably going to happen with other of the giant gas guzzlers with which we share the road.

I got a hybrid because it seemed to me that the price of fuel could only go up.  The weakening dollar, pressure from other industrializing countries, the sense that the supply of petroleum is finite, and the dissatisfaction with our profligate attitude about life in general were also much in my thoughts.

In our area, we have been reluctant to invest in mass transit, but we expand our roadways at the drop of the proverbial chapeau.  We buy big vehicles for security, in spite of accumulating evidence that they are less safe than normal size autos, and we buy them because, at heart, we love playing the game of displaying our success in our home(s), auto(s),  fashionable attire, and such.

In our current economic swoon, we could do worse than remember how our our parents and grandparents fought their way through the Great Depression.  We do have an opportunity to return to the basics now, and we probably should.  The invoice for the five year war is in the mail, and when it shows up, we had better have own priorities clearly understood.