When I was nineteen, I left my small college in Indiana with a handful of friends to participate in a March on Washington for equal rights for women.  I followed in the footsteps of my mother who had marched on Washington in August of 1963.

We had some downtime while we were there, and I popped into the National Archives to take a look at the Declaration of Independence.  Nineteen may not be the perfect age to be reflective about the import of that document and the others which have charted the course of our country's future, but I have always been fascinated by words and the power of a carefully-crafted sentence, so I stood, captivated, and read.  

All men are created equal.

When I got back to school, exhilarated by the power of assembly, I chatted briefly with my Humanities professor, a historian, and I told him how moved I was by the weekend, and how proud I was to be free to walk in protest with the power of the Declaration of Independence behind me.  He was surprised.  Most who marched with me came back cynical and disillusioned.  Angry at our government.  I understood that cynicism, and have felt it myself, especially over the last eight years.  But for me, there is always an underlying thread of hope for our country and faith in what we can do.

And so my heart is full today. 

I know that I didn't want this place to become a political one, and I am not interested in disseminating points of policy, but this is my place, and I am so moved to be part of this moment in history.  It can't be contained.

My grandmother who was born and lived in Illinois for most of her life, died the summer that Barack Obama ran for the US Senate.  Like many Americans, I had watched as he wowed the Democratic National Convention and thought, "here's one to watch."  Later that autumn, my mother and I traveled back to her hometown to pack up my grandmother's apartment.  We made it during Apple Festival time (!), and took a break from the emotional and arduous work of sorting through my grandmother's things to attend the Apple Festival Parade.  Set up behind us was a "Barack Obama for Senate" booth, and I dropped by to grab a bumper sticker.  The excitement expressed by the white women in the booth was palpabale.  "He's ours," it seemed to say.  They knew he'd been a big hit and now had national acclaim, but "he's ours."

He's all of ours now.  I wish my grandmother had lived to see this moment.  She would have been stalwart in her support and so proud to vote for him.  I was proud to stand in line for an hour in the rain to cast my own vote.  I did it for her.  I did it for my mom who stood in a crowd on a summer day and heard Dr. King speak of "the fierce urgency of now."  I did it for my dad, who once made a long trek on foot back to his college after being severely beaten and dumped by the side of the road because of his ardent editorials about the assassination of Dr. King.  The power of a carefully-crafted sentence.  I did it for me, for my restored faith in our country and hope for our future.  I did it for Callum.  He's excited too.  We saw Obama speak during the primaries, and Callum's so proud.  He went with us to vote and every so often this week, he'll just say, "Barak Obama."  But he doesn't get it.  Not really.  And I'm so grateful for that.  For Callum, it's like his team won.  He doesn't quite realize how much bigger than all of us this moment is.   He's nine, and today marks a seismic shift in our collective story.  He can take it for granted that a black man can be elected president.

I'm glad he's old enough to remember this.  Although his primary memory will probably, "my mom cried a lot."  It's true.  I've been moved to tears over and over during the past weeks.   We were in the car yesterday when Talk of the Nation broadcast Dr. King's I Have a Dream speech.  We pulled into the driveway and sat in the car and listened, Callum anxious to be free of the seatbelt.  But we sat there and listened.  And I cried.  Your Ama was there for that, I reminded him.  Look what we've done.

We have a snow day here today (although we're still waiting on the snow!), and I plan on staying by my tv and watching every minute.  

"The fierce urgency of now."  That's how I feel right now.  The fierce urgency of now. 

This wasn't mine at all, but it looks fun and I had nothing else.

Things you've already done: bold
Things you want to do: italicize
Things you haven't done and don't want to - leave in plain font

1.  started your own blog
2.  slept under the stars
3.  played in a band
4.  visited hawaii
5.  watched a meteor shower
6.  given more than you can afford to charity
7. been to disneyland/world
8. climbed a mountain
9. held a praying mantis
10. sang a solo
11. bungee jumped
12. visited paris
13. watched a lightning storm at sea
14. taught yourself an art from scratch
15. adopted a child
16. had food poisoning
17. walked to the top of the statue of liberty
18. grown your own vegetables
19. seen the mona lisa in france
20. slept on an overnight train
21.  had a pillow fight
22. hitch hiked
23. taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. built a snow fort
25. held a lamb
26. gone skinny dipping
27.  run a marathon
28. ridden a gondola in venice
29. seen a total eclipse
30.  watched a sunrise or sunset
31.  hit a home run
32. been on a cruise
33.  seen niagara falls in person
34.  visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. seen an amish community
36. taught yourself a new language
37.  had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. seen the leaning tower of pisa in person
39.  gone rock climbing
40. seen michelangelo's david in person
41. sung karaoke
42.  seen old faithful geyser erupt
43.  bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant
44. visited africa
45. walked on a beach by moonlight
46. been transported in an ambulance
47. had your portrait painted
48. gone deep sea fishing
49. seen the sistene chapel in person
50. been to the top of the eiffel tower in paris
51. gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. kissed in the rain
53. played in the mud
54. gone to a drive-in theatre 
55. been in a movie
56. visited the great wall of china
57. started a business
58. taken a martial arts class
59. visited russia
60. served at a soup kitchen
61.  sold girl scout cookies
62. gone whale watching
63. gotten flowers for no reason
64. donated blood
65. gone sky diving
66. visited a nazi concentration camp
67. bounced a cheque
68. flown in a helicopter
69. saved a favorite childhood toy
70. visited the lincoln memorial
71. eaten caviar
72. pieced a quilt
73. stood in times square
74. toured the everglades
75. been fired from a job
76. seen the changing of the guard in london
77. broken a bone
78. been on a speeding motorcycle
79. seen the grand canyon in person 
80. published a book
81. visited the vatican
82. bought a brand new car
83. walked in jerusalem
84. had your picture in the newspaper
85. read the entire bible
86. visited the white house
87. killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. had chickenpox
89. saved someone’s life
90. sat on a jury
91. met someone famous
92. joined a book club
    
93. lost a loved one
94. had a baby 
95. seen the alamo in person
96. swum in the great salt lake.
97. been involved in a law suit
98. owned a cell phone
99. been stung by a bee

1. cook lamb
2. take pictures
3. open my heart
4. knit this sweater
5. make paneer
6. make saag
7. be brave
8. move my body
9. do SOMETHING big

It goes without saying, I suppose that I want to tend this little space better in the New Year. 

But this is our prettiest tree ever.

We're slowly slogging our way through ornaments and decorations.  It should all be done by this weekend.

The best part of the evening was when we put jingle bells on each of the dog's collars.  Three tiny reindeer.  Let the festivities begin.

We traveled to Atlanta for Thanksgiving this year.  Neel's parents have recently moved to the Peach State, leaving the cold white north for warmer climes and a new grandson.   It was a big family gathering, the kind you'd expect at Thanksgiving, and for us it was the first chance to meet Callum's new cousin and our new nephew.

There was lots of nephew playing, for sure.

We did some sightseeing...here's Centennial Park.

Neel and Callum took off for Coke World.  An interesting choice for a boy who's never had a Coke.  Next time I call, "CNN."

The Hindu temple took my breath away.  

It'll sound crazy to say that there was a subtlety in its shimmering opulence.  Layer upon layer of marble carved so intricately that you lose your eyes in it.  Cerulean skies make the perfect backdrop.

We skirted Stone Mountain, and lost Callum at the top.  I was too distracted to take pictures.

 
It's not hard to imagine losing a little boy in the face of that vast precipice, but we got him back. 

We're lucky, in Atlanta, to have a lot of friends as well as family. Some from college, some even from high school.  There were quite a few late nights over beer or wine, and I was too busy having fun to take pictures.

Did get some good shots of the boys playing pool, though.

My sister in law is originally from Honduras and her parents were in town for the holiday as well.  Lucky for us they did a lot of cooking.  So, of course, we did a lot of eating too. 

We had all of the traditional foods and some amazing Honduran fare as well.  That dish to the front, sort of at 9 o'clock?  Oh. My. God.  Merletons, and I need the recipe (although it sounds labor intensive), because seriously, I nearly fell face first into that stuff.  We ate around 2:30 or so, and sometime after six my sister in law's mother poked her head out onto the deck where we were all sitting around and talking.  "The turkey, he is feeling good now."  Good enough to eat a little more, that's for sure.

Gotta watch out for those turkey enzymes though!

Good morning sunshine!  I think that while everyone was participating in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), I was carrying the charge for NoBloPoWh...No Blog Posting Whatsoever.  I feel so accomplished! 

Truthfully, I needed a break.  I have been writing, and taking some pictures (Including a great shot of Callum's name spelled out in funyuns.  He has a whole post ready to go with that shot!).  I'm debating how much to say about our recent election (a bit late, perhaps, but for me the impact lingers), and how much to say about the state of my heart (I'm fine mom, really!).  We're headed further south for Thanksgiving (it was snowing when I got up this morning, can you believe it?) to meet a new nephew and see some family, so I'm going to lie low for a few more days.  You'll have all my attention, little blog, in the last month of the year.

If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and show,

'Twould not be you, Niagara - nor you, ye limitless prairies - nor your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,

Nor you, Yosemite - nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic geyserloops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing,

Nor Oregon's white cones - nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes - nor Mississippi's stream:

This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name - the still small voice vibrating -America's choosing day...

                                                     Walt Whitman, 1884

From our house to yours.  Go. And. Vote.

Autumn really arrived as I left my office for the last time today.  An impatient wind and sharply colder air.  On our drive home the skies were a leaden landscape, the kind of brushstroked shades of charcoal that herald winter.  Against the dull gray of the sky, the brake lights glowed vivid red.   It's been a cool fall, but the trees are late to change this year.

I'm heavy lidded and heavy headed and I have a miserably busy week coming up.  All-day meetings tomorrow and Wednesday, evening meeting tomorrow night and all-morning meeting Thursday.  All that and a head cold.  I am, predictably, already in my jammies.  So rather than just missing the posts (and feeling all of the ensuant guilt), I'm giving myself a bye-week.  Taking a pass on posting until I get through this quagmire.  I have some posts bottled up, but all of the October-themed entries (like an Oktoberfest party and our visit to Busch gardens - where we learn that Callum was really born into the wrong family) will have to wait until nearer November.  Catch you on the flip side.

I've been waiting ages for a Saturday like we had this past weekend.  Blustery and cold, all of us cozy and lounging.  There was reading (Harry Potter #4 for Callum and #1 for Neel) and knitting (baby sweater done, except for the seaming).

There was playing.

And house-guarding.

And wondering why the rest of us weren't as invested in house-guarding.

I followed the boys from the quiet of the living room to MarioKart in the family room, soaking up the sound of the rain and the time together.  And about that house-guarding?

That's better.

So look who popped in just in time for dinner last Saturday?

Neel and I were cooking out, and when I came into the kitchen, there he was!

We tried to strike up a conversation, but apparently he wanted to sneak in, grab a snack and sneak out without chatting.  After a brief respite on one of our kitchen lamps, Neel managed to encourage him to head on out and perhaps swing by another time.

I feel very passionate about this election.  I've been following the process for months (and really years now), and somewhere deep within me there thrums the beat of near-frenzy as we wind down (or up) towards November 4.  I feel passionate also about voting.  Especially as a woman, I feel that it is both my privilege and my duty to vote whenever I can.  Women suffered and sometimes died for my right to slide into that voting booth, and I do not feel that I have the right to decide that I'm too busy or not interested enough to get over there.

On my morning runs, I've developed a little game to distract me from the agony I'm enduring.  I count political yard signs.  I have very specific rules for this:  signs and bumper stickers both count, I can only count signs that I actually run past (looking down a street and seeing a sign in a yard a few houses in does not count), while I can assume that if a yard has only a sign for the local Republican senate candidate that they are also voting for the Republican presidential candidate, I can not count that sign, and finally, if there are a couple of signs perched on the borders of side-by-side yards, I have to make a judgement call.  Two yards or one?  Let's face it, I usually decide based on whether or not I like the sign!  (We're a battleground state here, and this morning Obama edged out McCain 5-4, btw.) 

I have donated money to my candidate's campaign, my friends and relations know where I stand and who I will be pulling the lever (or touching the screen) for in a few short weeks.   I have passionate conversations with like-minded individuals, and I can hear my son pick up the (also passionate) drumbeat of our beliefs.  I'm proud of him for that.  I will not however, put a yard sign in my yard, a bumper sticker on my car or a pin on my shirt. 

This baffles my son.  He's as out there for his candidate as he is for his football team. But he's nine and the nuances of these adult issues (fortunately) elude him.  Am I not passionate enough?  If I felt it more strongly, would I have a sign out there, proudly declaring?  I don't think it's that, exactly.  I am surrounded, both here and in my home by people I love very much.  They also happen to be people with whom, in some cases, I disagree quite ardently.  Our relationships are not about liberals or conservatives, Republicans or Democrats, left or right.  They are not about these things, and I do not want them to be.  In my world, we all ultimately want the same thing, it's nothing more than semantics to say that we disagree about how to get there. 

On the way home from school one day (we count signs and bumper stickers in the car too), Callum finally asked if we could put the sign that's sliding around in the back of the car into our yard.  When I said no, here's how I explained it to him:  We know that some of our neighbors will be voting differently from us, and that's okay.   (It really is!)   We know we disagree, and we love each other enough to be respectful of those differences.  How would you feel though, if every night when we got home we had to look at a sign for the other guy in their yard?  He got it then, I think.  Suddenly our friendships would be about more than what they are, and not in a good way.  That sign, that vote, would become the thing, highlighting the differences between us rather than what we all already share.

So here, and out in the front yard, is all I'm going to say about that.  Those who know us know where we stand, and those who disagree with us also know that I respect and love them enough to not make it a part of who we are.  All I'll end with is to say, go out and vote on November 4th.  I can't wait to do it.  I can't wait to stand up and participate.  It's the process and the participation that's the key.

You can't really get through this day without thinking about where you were and what happened seven years ago.  We were on the West Coast back then, living in San Diego and Callum had just turned two.  My friend Sarah, who was then home with her own daughter, called us as we were starting our day to say, "Turn on the news.  I think something really weird is happening in New York City."  Do you remember how long it took to figure out what was actually going on?  Callum was in a swim class on Tuesdays and Thursdays back then, and as we drove to Pacific Beach on eerily empty freeways, I listened to report after report, fearing that a wave of horrific violence was washing across the entire country.  That the next report would come from Memphis and then Chicago and then Denver all the way to the Pacific Ocean.  Thank God that didn't happen.  What did happen was awful enough.

That was the first time the battery on my cordless phone actually died.  That was when I started listening to NPR.  I was a doula back then and had a client due to deliver any day.  Her husband was Middle Eastern, and when we did go to the hospital a few days later, as more and more information was trickling in about how this had happened to our country, I actually worried about the reception we'd receive.  I needn't have worried.  Because time marches on and life is precious and what a beautiful respite  it was to leave the leave the tv and the radio behind and focus on nothing more than bringing a tiny baby into the world.  For a little while at least the whole world was this hospital room and helping this mother and welcoming her baby. 

There is very little more exhilariting than bearing witness to the miracle of birth, even if you've been awake for 24 solid hours to watch it happen.  I would always stay with the mother and father for about an hour or so after the baby was born, to get them settled in and help where they'd need it.  By then, they are always ready to be alone, to revel in the seismic shift their lives have just made.   It was daylight, morning, when I walked back to my car, and it had been full dark when we first arrived.  I had that familiar gritty feeling of having been up all night, and the sunlight was almost a shock.  A new day.  When I turned my car on, there was NPR and Morning Edition, my faithful companions over the last days.  But back in that hospital there was a new family, and not just my new family, but many couples welcoming their babies.  Families for whom the world was not only buildings and planes and fires and terror, but awe and wonder at the miracle, the newness.  Awe and wonder at tiny feet and squashed noses and shocks of hair and blue-gray eyes.  I turned NPR off and drove home in silence.  It was a new day.

Empty Boardwalk

View to the south.

Tropical Storm Hanna is on her way, and what do I do today?  Windex my gridless windows!  Must be the domestic equvilant of wearing clean underwear in case you're in an accident.  We're off to a neighborhood Tropical Storm party, I'll be back tomorrow with more pictures.

To Alicia for her kind acknowledgment of me on her blog.  She's the whole reason I started blogging, you know, something that has brought me (if no one else,) a great, great deal of joy.