Darling boy,
You are eleven. Daddy and I are so in love with you, so enraptured with your unique you-ness, so crazy happy that we get to be your parents.
Also: sometimes you frustrate the shit out of us.
But mostly, we adore you; and we're grateful that you are here with us. When you were born, Daddy brought C. Peevie, age 2.5, to the hospital to meet his new baby brother. He ran into the room, totally ignored me, and commanded, "Baby A. Peevie! Me hold him!" He's been warm and nurturing to you ever since.
Not.
On day ten of your ex-utero existence, we noticed that you were too sleepy to nurse. Daddy and I went Christmas shopping, and when we stopped for lunch at a local Vietnamese restaurant, I tried again to wake you up to nurse you--but you would only latch on for a minute before falling back asleep.
By late afternoon, we were concerned. Ignorantly, we decided to wait until the next day to call the doctor if you were still abnormally lethargic--but then at 5 p.m. Daddy said, Let's just call the doctor to be safe.
He saved your life.
The doctor told me to pinch you to wake you up. You didn't respond. He said, pinch him again, HARD. I didn't want to hurt you, but he said, Pinch him HARD. So I did. You didn't even squeak.
"Bring him in to the ER right away," the ped said. My heart felt cold with fear.
At the ER, the in-take nurse said, "How long has he looked yellow?"
"Since birth," I said truthfully.
"Well, you should have brought him in sooner. He's very jaundiced," she said helpfully.
Fortunately, the rest of the ER staff was appropriate, kind, and professional. I do not know the name of the doctor who put his arm on my shoulder and told me as gently as he could that you were in very serious condition with and needed to be moved to a hospital with a Level IV trauma center--but I will never forget that he was as kind and gentle as he could be under the worst of circumstances.
By this time, your tiny chest was heaving, and you were struggling to breathe. The ER staff debated whether to intubate you right then and there, or to wait for the ambulance trauma team to do it. Meanwhile, Daddy called Roseanne, who was keeping C. Peevie for us.
"A. Peevie is very sick," he managed to choke out, before he burst into tears.
The first ambulance that came to pick you up was not equipped to handle a tiny infant in heart failure. There was a flurry of phone calls and conversations; we considered the possibility that you might die because of a failure to communicate. When the second ambulance came, at least 10 emergency transport personnel surrounded you as they rushed you out to the waiting vehicle.
I started to follow, but one nurse held me back. "You can't go in the ambulance," she told me; and I looked at her with despair. "There's no room," she explained gently. "Everyone in the ambulance has a job to do. Get in your car, go home and get your things, and meet us at the hospital."
Daddy and I just knew we'd never see you alive again, that you'd die in the ambulance on the way to the trauma center. We drove home in a daze, packed a few things, and called our pastor before heading up to the hospital.
The next time we saw you, tubes and wires stuck out all over your chest, arms and even out of your scalp. The intubation tube taped to your face kept you breathing in a regular rhythm; and for the first time since we brought you to the hospital, I started to cry.
I'll finish the story tomorrow; but let me just say for today that I'm glad you're still here, still growing, still being your own one-of-a-kind self. Happy birthday, darling boy.
Love, Mommy
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Wedding Gifts, 25 Years Later
Mr. Peevie and I still have items we received as wedding gifts in use in our household--nearly 25 years later.
The most useful and still-in-good-shape gifts are in regular use in our kitchen. A block of good knives and most of a 12-piece set of Revere pots and pans see frequent action (except for the one I burned to a crisp when I fell asleep while boiling eggs, and woke up to a house filled with smoke and the fire alarm screeching). Also, stainless flatware, a cute quiche plate, and a full set of 12 every-day place settings from my former tennis partner, Sandra Dee. (Sandra Dee, had a set of dishes for every season. She generously gave us her fall dishes, which we still use for all four seasons.)
Two brown casserole dishes still pull their weight in kitchen duty out of the original batch of, I'm guessing, four or five that we received. (Brown casserole dishes were all the rage 25 years ago, apparently.) One of them is missing a lid, however, so I guess technically, we've got 1.5 brown casserole dishes.
The most worn-out wedding gift that's still in the rotation is a raggedy kelly green bath towel. Why have we not re-purposed this worn-out rag that's practically transparent in places? And by "re-purposed" I mean tossed, burned, or buried? Because we're cheap, that's why!
Actually, we have re-purposed it, from bath duty to pool duty. But our closet is also filled with about 10 beach towels, and of course no one chooses to dry off with a threadbare towel from the days of yore when bath towels were barely bigger than washcloths.
That does it. I'm putting it into the rag bin for car washes and spill clean-ups.
One of the most hilarious and still-useful gifts that Mr. Peevie and I received when we married at the not-yet-ripe young ages of 22 and 23 was a drill-and-bit set. Mr. Peevie finally felt included when we opened this one, and has drilled many times since then.
Hee! "Drilled."
Oh, and I can't forget the three or four cookbooks we received--and especially My Favorite Recipes, where I've collected 25 years worth of recipes, like sangria, baked scallops, and Grandma Moore's homemade noodles. I really should just convert all these recipes to an electronic file somewhere--but that sounds like too much effort.
When I started this post I was pondering that mangy green towel, and wondering if we had very many wedding gifts still in use. Turns out there are at least a dozen! How about you? What's the longest time you've kept and used a wedding gift? Not doilies embroidered with your names and wedding date, but things you actually put to use?
The most useful and still-in-good-shape gifts are in regular use in our kitchen. A block of good knives and most of a 12-piece set of Revere pots and pans see frequent action (except for the one I burned to a crisp when I fell asleep while boiling eggs, and woke up to a house filled with smoke and the fire alarm screeching). Also, stainless flatware, a cute quiche plate, and a full set of 12 every-day place settings from my former tennis partner, Sandra Dee. (Sandra Dee, had a set of dishes for every season. She generously gave us her fall dishes, which we still use for all four seasons.)
Two brown casserole dishes still pull their weight in kitchen duty out of the original batch of, I'm guessing, four or five that we received. (Brown casserole dishes were all the rage 25 years ago, apparently.) One of them is missing a lid, however, so I guess technically, we've got 1.5 brown casserole dishes.
The most worn-out wedding gift that's still in the rotation is a raggedy kelly green bath towel. Why have we not re-purposed this worn-out rag that's practically transparent in places? And by "re-purposed" I mean tossed, burned, or buried? Because we're cheap, that's why!
Actually, we have re-purposed it, from bath duty to pool duty. But our closet is also filled with about 10 beach towels, and of course no one chooses to dry off with a threadbare towel from the days of yore when bath towels were barely bigger than washcloths.
That does it. I'm putting it into the rag bin for car washes and spill clean-ups.
One of the most hilarious and still-useful gifts that Mr. Peevie and I received when we married at the not-yet-ripe young ages of 22 and 23 was a drill-and-bit set. Mr. Peevie finally felt included when we opened this one, and has drilled many times since then.
Hee! "Drilled."
Oh, and I can't forget the three or four cookbooks we received--and especially My Favorite Recipes, where I've collected 25 years worth of recipes, like sangria, baked scallops, and Grandma Moore's homemade noodles. I really should just convert all these recipes to an electronic file somewhere--but that sounds like too much effort.
When I started this post I was pondering that mangy green towel, and wondering if we had very many wedding gifts still in use. Turns out there are at least a dozen! How about you? What's the longest time you've kept and used a wedding gift? Not doilies embroidered with your names and wedding date, but things you actually put to use?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The Circus Problem
The Circus is coming to town.
At church we've been hearing sermon anecdotes about the pastor's tradition of taking his girls to see the circus every year; and we're being asked to make a donation to send refugee children to the circus.
I'm all in favor of family traditions, and I'm all in favor of giving refugee children an opportunity for an entertaining outing.
However. A few years ago my friend Q sensitized me to the animal cruelty issues that accompany circus acts that involve animals, to which I had been happily oblivious. So I am here today to use the Power of the Blog to educate you, dear readers (all six to eight of you) about the issue, so that you can make an informed choice about whether to support animal circuses in the future.
You might, like me, have the impression that anti-circus activists are card-carrying PETA members, extremists who throw paint on fur-wearing socialites and wear shoes made out of bamboo shoots. And perhaps some are.
But don't throw out the baby with the bathwater. Just because PETA has a reputation for extremism doesn't mean that they are wrong on every issue. To paraphrase Barry Goldwater, "Extremism in defense of the humane treatment of animals is no vice. And moderation in the pursuit of the humane treatment of animals is no virtue."
PETA claims that Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus mis-characterizes its handling of animals in its marketing materials. Rather than training methods using touch, food, and praise, as they claim, Ringling apparently uses bullhooks and beatings to dominate and subdue circus elephants.
The USDA has frequently cited circuses for animal welfare violations. Here's a link to an FDA Inspection Report from a circus in Florida (not Ringling) that cites problems with veterinary treatment, animals with untreated lesions, and unacceptable caging. It's not an isolated situation.
The Humane Society of the United States "opposes the use of wild animals in circuses and other traveling acts because cruelty to animals is inherent in such displays" (italics mine). They bust the marketing myths about the care and welfare of circus animals in this article. Surprise! Wild animals do not do their tricks out of love for their trainers. Elephants don't balance on tiny chairs for their own enjoyment. They do it to avoid pain.
We don't have to answer here the philosophical questions raised by the Circus Problem (i.e., What is our responsibility to animals? What does the ethical treatment of animals look like in a humane, civilized society? What should animals be used for?), even though those are excellent questions. It's enough to assert and affirm that animals should not be treated with cruelty. That's the law.
It's also a stated principle of the American Veterinary Medical Association: "Animals should be cared for in ways that minimize fear, pain, stress, and suffering." (Read the other seven principles of animal welfare here.) Circuses just do not meet these criteria, especially the part about using "thoughtful consideration for [the animals'] species-typical biology and behavior." A bear riding a bike is definitely not species-typical behavior.
So before you take your kids to the circus, think about the messages you're giving them about how we should treat animals.
Sorry to spoil your fun. Blame it on Q.
At church we've been hearing sermon anecdotes about the pastor's tradition of taking his girls to see the circus every year; and we're being asked to make a donation to send refugee children to the circus.
I'm all in favor of family traditions, and I'm all in favor of giving refugee children an opportunity for an entertaining outing.
However. A few years ago my friend Q sensitized me to the animal cruelty issues that accompany circus acts that involve animals, to which I had been happily oblivious. So I am here today to use the Power of the Blog to educate you, dear readers (all six to eight of you) about the issue, so that you can make an informed choice about whether to support animal circuses in the future.
You might, like me, have the impression that anti-circus activists are card-carrying PETA members, extremists who throw paint on fur-wearing socialites and wear shoes made out of bamboo shoots. And perhaps some are.
But don't throw out the baby with the bathwater. Just because PETA has a reputation for extremism doesn't mean that they are wrong on every issue. To paraphrase Barry Goldwater, "Extremism in defense of the humane treatment of animals is no vice. And moderation in the pursuit of the humane treatment of animals is no virtue."
PETA claims that Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus mis-characterizes its handling of animals in its marketing materials. Rather than training methods using touch, food, and praise, as they claim, Ringling apparently uses bullhooks and beatings to dominate and subdue circus elephants.
The USDA has frequently cited circuses for animal welfare violations. Here's a link to an FDA Inspection Report from a circus in Florida (not Ringling) that cites problems with veterinary treatment, animals with untreated lesions, and unacceptable caging. It's not an isolated situation.
The Humane Society of the United States "opposes the use of wild animals in circuses and other traveling acts because cruelty to animals is inherent in such displays" (italics mine). They bust the marketing myths about the care and welfare of circus animals in this article. Surprise! Wild animals do not do their tricks out of love for their trainers. Elephants don't balance on tiny chairs for their own enjoyment. They do it to avoid pain.
We don't have to answer here the philosophical questions raised by the Circus Problem (i.e., What is our responsibility to animals? What does the ethical treatment of animals look like in a humane, civilized society? What should animals be used for?), even though those are excellent questions. It's enough to assert and affirm that animals should not be treated with cruelty. That's the law.
It's also a stated principle of the American Veterinary Medical Association: "Animals should be cared for in ways that minimize fear, pain, stress, and suffering." (Read the other seven principles of animal welfare here.) Circuses just do not meet these criteria, especially the part about using "thoughtful consideration for [the animals'] species-typical biology and behavior." A bear riding a bike is definitely not species-typical behavior.
So before you take your kids to the circus, think about the messages you're giving them about how we should treat animals.
Sorry to spoil your fun. Blame it on Q.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
On Being Eight
I cannot believe it. Another whole entire year has gone by, and now I am eight years old. A lot has happened since I told you what it was like to be seven.
First of all, back then I was only in first grade, and now I am in second grade. Second grade is a little harder than first grade, but not much. My mom and my teacher, Mrs. MiPi, teamed up against me to make sure that second grade would be "challenging" for me. (Pretend I said that word "challenging" while making quotes in the air with my fingers.)
But guess what? It's still not even really that hard. I take a long time to do my homework so that my mom will think that I'm getting enough "challenge" (I did that finger quote in the air thing again), but I will tell you a secret: second grade is easy-peasy.
Today was my birthday, and my friend J0jo could not come to my birthday party, and I told my mom it was just not a birthday without Jojo. I cried and cried. And then my friend Juju got sick and she could not come either, and I was very extremely sad because how can you have any fun at a birthday party unless you have lots and lots of your best friends there, and now two whole friends could not be there.
You will be surprised to learn that I had fun anyway with my friend KK, my twin friends J1 and J2, and my extra friend Trixie. We painted ceramics at Paint-N-Party, which was fun even though it was not messy. (My motto is, the messier things are, the more fun they are.) I painted a beauteous picture frame and I'm going to put a picture of me and Jojo in it because I miss her. She moved away and goes to a different school now.
We all ate at a restaurant with a giant pretend elephant by the door. KK's mom Bella took a picture of all of us girls. She had a camera in her purse--but my mom did not even bring a camera to her own daughter's birthday party. Humph.
I had a corn dog and french fries, which I ate all of. My mom says I will eat anything, even a raw steak, but she is exaggerating, as usual. I do, however, like many kinds of food. I love to eat crouton salad, raw red peppers, and grilled asparagus; and I'm pretty sure I like every single fruit in the world. When I come home from school and I want a snack, my mom says to get some fruit, and I will eat a banana, an apple, a pear, and some grapes--and then I will ask for something else.
For my birthday my mom and dad gave me a pink DS, which is like a Gameboy, only better because it has two screens. I like to send messages to my brother A. Peevie, who also has a DS. I have only had the DS for about one day, and already my mom is telling me that I am playing too much DS. I can tell that this is going to be a problem for her.
My mom asked me what my goals for my life are now that I'm eight, and I told her my goals are to expand my vocabulary; become a better reader; and become better at art. Also, when I grow up I will plant trees and flowers to take the place of dead trees and flowers in public parks and gardens. I am very civic-minded, you know.
Anyway, I think I am going to enjoy being eight. I am happy most of the time because A. Peevie makes me laugh and he makes clubs with me. Also, C. Peevie wrestles with me, and my dad is funny. My mom is mean and horrible most of the time, but sometimes she is funny.
Oh, I'm just kidding around because I know she is reading this.
Now I have to go finish my "challenging" homework.
First of all, back then I was only in first grade, and now I am in second grade. Second grade is a little harder than first grade, but not much. My mom and my teacher, Mrs. MiPi, teamed up against me to make sure that second grade would be "challenging" for me. (Pretend I said that word "challenging" while making quotes in the air with my fingers.)
But guess what? It's still not even really that hard. I take a long time to do my homework so that my mom will think that I'm getting enough "challenge" (I did that finger quote in the air thing again), but I will tell you a secret: second grade is easy-peasy.
Today was my birthday, and my friend J0jo could not come to my birthday party, and I told my mom it was just not a birthday without Jojo. I cried and cried. And then my friend Juju got sick and she could not come either, and I was very extremely sad because how can you have any fun at a birthday party unless you have lots and lots of your best friends there, and now two whole friends could not be there.
You will be surprised to learn that I had fun anyway with my friend KK, my twin friends J1 and J2, and my extra friend Trixie. We painted ceramics at Paint-N-Party, which was fun even though it was not messy. (My motto is, the messier things are, the more fun they are.) I painted a beauteous picture frame and I'm going to put a picture of me and Jojo in it because I miss her. She moved away and goes to a different school now.
We all ate at a restaurant with a giant pretend elephant by the door. KK's mom Bella took a picture of all of us girls. She had a camera in her purse--but my mom did not even bring a camera to her own daughter's birthday party. Humph.
I had a corn dog and french fries, which I ate all of. My mom says I will eat anything, even a raw steak, but she is exaggerating, as usual. I do, however, like many kinds of food. I love to eat crouton salad, raw red peppers, and grilled asparagus; and I'm pretty sure I like every single fruit in the world. When I come home from school and I want a snack, my mom says to get some fruit, and I will eat a banana, an apple, a pear, and some grapes--and then I will ask for something else.
For my birthday my mom and dad gave me a pink DS, which is like a Gameboy, only better because it has two screens. I like to send messages to my brother A. Peevie, who also has a DS. I have only had the DS for about one day, and already my mom is telling me that I am playing too much DS. I can tell that this is going to be a problem for her.
My mom asked me what my goals for my life are now that I'm eight, and I told her my goals are to expand my vocabulary; become a better reader; and become better at art. Also, when I grow up I will plant trees and flowers to take the place of dead trees and flowers in public parks and gardens. I am very civic-minded, you know.
Anyway, I think I am going to enjoy being eight. I am happy most of the time because A. Peevie makes me laugh and he makes clubs with me. Also, C. Peevie wrestles with me, and my dad is funny. My mom is mean and horrible most of the time, but sometimes she is funny.
Oh, I'm just kidding around because I know she is reading this.
Now I have to go finish my "challenging" homework.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Meta-Poll Seeks Voters
By the way, don't forget to vote in my meta-poll in the sidebar.
The results of the last poll, which asked if Sarah Palin would help or hurt John McCain's chances: Voters were almost evenly divided, with 52 percent saying she'd help him and 48 percent predicting that she'd hurt him.
I think after a brief bump, she hurt him. If McCain had picked someone with more experience and more moderation, he would still have kept his more conservative supporters (who would not have voted for Obama even if he really did walk on water); and he would not have alienated the undecideds and others who found her to be, to put it kindly, not quite ready for prime-time.
Anyway, thanks for voting.
The results of the last poll, which asked if Sarah Palin would help or hurt John McCain's chances: Voters were almost evenly divided, with 52 percent saying she'd help him and 48 percent predicting that she'd hurt him.
I think after a brief bump, she hurt him. If McCain had picked someone with more experience and more moderation, he would still have kept his more conservative supporters (who would not have voted for Obama even if he really did walk on water); and he would not have alienated the undecideds and others who found her to be, to put it kindly, not quite ready for prime-time.
Anyway, thanks for voting.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The "Yes We Can" Moment
Last night, my family and I and our friend The Professor ate salsa-baked goat cheese with pine nuts and watched the election returns. Talk about reality TV!
From the comfort of the living room we felt the energy from the mobs standing shoulder-to-shoulder in Soldier Field and Grant Park. Part of me wished I was there, seeing the faces and living the excitement and optimism. But my motto is "don't stand when you can sit," and my other motto is "Have a glass of wine!", so I definitely made the right choice by staying home.
As the electoral votes inched steadily toward the magic number--270--the talking heads got more anecdotal and less objective. Warner Saunders recalled seeing young Emmett Till in his open casket, his 1955 murder catalyzing the civil rights movement which opened the doors for Barack Obama's presidential bid. By the end of the evening, Allison Rosati was wiping away tears. I think Mr. Peevie was stoic, but The Professor and I were both a little verklempt.
Chicago celebs were on hand to participate in the history-making, and we snorted and ridiculed the reporter who actually said to Oprah something outrageous like, "This wouldn't have happened without you." I can't find a story about this anywhere on the web, but that was some seriously ridiculous Oprah-worship. She pooh-poohed him, and changed the subject.
(It turns out that a social scientist dude interviewed on NightLine tonight attempted to quantify the Oprah Effect. Oprah's endorsement, he concluded, added 1.15 million votes to Obama's tally, giving him the advantage over Clinton in the early primaries. That's just one guy's math--but who knows? Maybe I jumped the gun with my snort.)
As Obama was making his acceptance speech behind the walls of bullet-proof glass, I'm sure I wasn't the only one wondering: Can they protect him?
The most mysterious images of the evening were the signs held in the crowd in New York City reading, "Cassoulet" and "Cassoulet forever." Why were they holding up signs for soup? Yahoo Answers has a few ideas, but none have floated to the top as the definitive explanation.
The unhappiest outcome of this election is the increasingly bitter division between right and left. Even though John McCain gave the most gracious and eloquent concession speech I have ever heard, I wonder whether his supporters will join him in
It's going to be hard for many of them. My dad, for example, a one-issue voter who suggested to me that if Obama became president, it would be God's judgment on our country for the abortion holocaust. And my friend who told me she is feeling impending doom. I'm sure she's not alone.
I feel the opposite of impending doom. The celebrations that spontaneously erupted across the nation last night, the fact that Obama very nearly claimed a landslide, the emotions and tears of so many Americans--I am totally swept up in it all. I feel hope and optimism.
I cannot imagine what it would feel like to experience this election from inside a darker skin, from the perspective of people who have never seen a president who looked like them; who never expected to see a person of color become president in their lifetimes. I love that McCain acknowledged this hugely historical accomplishment: "This is an historic election, and I recognize the special significance it has for African-Americans and for the special pride that must be theirs tonight."
I do feel hope and optimism; but at the same time, I'm a realist. Obama is a politician, and by definition, a politician is a deal-maker, a compromiser. He can't make everyone happy. He's also human, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't walk on water--so he's going to make mistakes.
But we can be caught up in the "Yes We Can" moment, for a little while at least, can't we?
Yes, we can.
From the comfort of the living room we felt the energy from the mobs standing shoulder-to-shoulder in Soldier Field and Grant Park. Part of me wished I was there, seeing the faces and living the excitement and optimism. But my motto is "don't stand when you can sit," and my other motto is "Have a glass of wine!", so I definitely made the right choice by staying home.
As the electoral votes inched steadily toward the magic number--270--the talking heads got more anecdotal and less objective. Warner Saunders recalled seeing young Emmett Till in his open casket, his 1955 murder catalyzing the civil rights movement which opened the doors for Barack Obama's presidential bid. By the end of the evening, Allison Rosati was wiping away tears. I think Mr. Peevie was stoic, but The Professor and I were both a little verklempt.
Chicago celebs were on hand to participate in the history-making, and we snorted and ridiculed the reporter who actually said to Oprah something outrageous like, "This wouldn't have happened without you." I can't find a story about this anywhere on the web, but that was some seriously ridiculous Oprah-worship. She pooh-poohed him, and changed the subject.
(It turns out that a social scientist dude interviewed on NightLine tonight attempted to quantify the Oprah Effect. Oprah's endorsement, he concluded, added 1.15 million votes to Obama's tally, giving him the advantage over Clinton in the early primaries. That's just one guy's math--but who knows? Maybe I jumped the gun with my snort.)
As Obama was making his acceptance speech behind the walls of bullet-proof glass, I'm sure I wasn't the only one wondering: Can they protect him?
The most mysterious images of the evening were the signs held in the crowd in New York City reading, "Cassoulet" and "Cassoulet forever." Why were they holding up signs for soup? Yahoo Answers has a few ideas, but none have floated to the top as the definitive explanation.
The unhappiest outcome of this election is the increasingly bitter division between right and left. Even though John McCain gave the most gracious and eloquent concession speech I have ever heard, I wonder whether his supporters will join him in
offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited.
It's going to be hard for many of them. My dad, for example, a one-issue voter who suggested to me that if Obama became president, it would be God's judgment on our country for the abortion holocaust. And my friend who told me she is feeling impending doom. I'm sure she's not alone.
I feel the opposite of impending doom. The celebrations that spontaneously erupted across the nation last night, the fact that Obama very nearly claimed a landslide, the emotions and tears of so many Americans--I am totally swept up in it all. I feel hope and optimism.
I cannot imagine what it would feel like to experience this election from inside a darker skin, from the perspective of people who have never seen a president who looked like them; who never expected to see a person of color become president in their lifetimes. I love that McCain acknowledged this hugely historical accomplishment: "This is an historic election, and I recognize the special significance it has for African-Americans and for the special pride that must be theirs tonight."
I do feel hope and optimism; but at the same time, I'm a realist. Obama is a politician, and by definition, a politician is a deal-maker, a compromiser. He can't make everyone happy. He's also human, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't walk on water--so he's going to make mistakes.
But we can be caught up in the "Yes We Can" moment, for a little while at least, can't we?
Yes, we can.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Inadvertent Prophecy
Mr. Peevie pointed out this unfortunate juxtaposition of politics and seasonal fun in our neighbor's yard.Can you read the sign on the right, on the tombstone? It reads, "R.I.P." Right next to the John McCain sign.
Apparently Officer Friendly's seasonal decorations are tracking the most up-to-date polling data, which give Obama a 96.3 percent chance of winning tomorrow.
My seasonal decorations tell the story in a different way.
Ain't it awesome? I carved it myself.
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