Barack Obama Makes Me Weepy
Obama. At around 10pm last night, briefly considered doing the responsible thing and going to bed, but tossed that notion right out the window because there aren’t many moments in a life when you get to sit on the couch and experience history as it is being made. That sounds grandiose, and I generally shrink from anything resembling idolatry, but there it is. When Barack Obama came onstage, I felt myself gasp. All evening long, it seemed too much to hope for, that at any moment something could wrong. There was Henry Champ (CBC) at the White House reporting about a sudden and unexpected mob of young people running down Pennsylvania Avenue, chanting for Obama and against Bush, and it felt, briefly, like something terrible was about to happen–a riot, a display unsuitable for the moment that could potentially ruin it. But, no. It was only students coming out of their dorms from nearby universities, using their (as Mr. Champ put it) “text message machines,” to call each other to a spontaneous and, thankfully, peaceful celebration. John McCain’s speech was gracious, better than his entire campaign, and perhaps redemptive. And, then, finally, there was Obama walking onstage with his beautiful family in a park in Chicago, and the impossible was suddenly real.
I fear for this man. I fear for his safety. I fear for him because he is symbolic, because he embodies the hopes and aspirations of a country, and of a world. I don’t know whether Americans can fully appreciate how stunning his victory is for the world. I don’t know whether Americans know how far their nation has fallen in the eyes of the world under the governance of George W., but the overwhelming popular turn-out, the line-ups hours long endured by voters, the grassroots support of Obama’s campaign, culminating in his victory, changes the way the world sees America. It renews faith in democracy. It legitimizes the American dream. A bi-racial man who never knew his dad, who has a foreign-sounding name, whose background is unusual, exotic, not privileged, who has not spent decades building backroom political allies, rises in his 47 years to the most powerful position in the country. I am genuinely proud to be American, in a way I never imagined feeling. There: I know it sounds grandiose. I can’t help myself.
Okay, I know he faces a crazy, impossible task, trying to set the broken economy straight, working within straitened budgets, two dismal wars underway, and all the rest of it. But he has a quality that’s rare: the ability to involve ordinary people in the processes of power. When people feel their voices aren’t heard, or that they, as individuals, don’t matter, they check out of the system. It seems like Barack Obama has the ability to bring people in, to inspire them to work together, to think of something other than themselves, other than immediate gain. Does that make him sound like a socialist? Well, where’s the balance? Individual responsibility, and collective gain. Does that fit with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Patriotism is a sense of belonging, isn’t it?
Clearly, speechifying is not for me.
Onward.
Another freakishly hot day, so I hung two loads of laundry. Seems wrong for November. I’m baking a batch of Amish Friendship Sweet Bread, with my own improvised alterations to the original recipe. Yogurt, chocolate chips, less oil. It rose up beautifully. Tonight our family is heading to Toronto for my brother Christian’s art opening at the Steam Whistle gallery. We’re very excited and proud. This morning, AB said, “He’s a real artist! And you know him even better than we do!” Oh dear, baby CJ is muttering to himself in the baby monitor, suggesting he’s ready to get up and get busy.
Election Day, USA
Need to hang laundry because it is bizarrely hot today. Walking home from school this morning, it felt like a pleasant spring day with buds about to burst from the bare limbs of trees, and I thought about Barack Obama. It seems impossible, after this long race, that today has finally arrived and Americans are at this very moment voting in their next president. It’s been George W. for as long as my children have been alive (in fact, I was working at the National Post when he first “won,” and I remember sitting up late waiting on the results, which were so disputed that no one could call it). I hope I won’t have to stay up quite so late tonight.
We talked about democracy and voting all the way to school. I found myself getting quite emotional. There’s almost too much to hope for.
Overseeing a playdate here, and, as mentioned, the laundry awaits. And after that, a cup of coffee. We’re having a beans-and-rice-themed week, so suppers are easy-peasy. Big pot of black beans served with brown rice last night, cabbage salad on the side. Tonight I’ll fry hamburger with a bit of cumin and onions, and serve with beans and rice fried together, lettuce salad on the side. And that will leave me with at least one more meal, likely a bean soup. Best of all, when we eat this simple food, it takes me to another country altogether, back to Nicaragua, where we hope to return again soon.
Tangents Galore
Who does one complain to about the clocks changing? What exactly is this policy and why are we forced to comply? This time change used to be the one I looked forward to–before children, that is. You know, that extra hour for sleeping in? Post-children, I spend a couple of days every year walking around glassy-eyed and frantic from lack of sleep, because BABIES CANNOT READ CLOCKS!!! Neither can almost-six-year-olds. CJ woke at 4:52, by the clock. I managed to keep him in bed for a full hour with lots of nursing, but by 5:52 he was climbing me and Kevin and grunting and playing and having a blast. Kevin kindly got up with him. Somewhere around 6:3oish, AB started shouting, wondering when she could get up. That was the tenor of our morning. And we can now look forward to exhausted children who are staying up an extra hour in the evenings, but waking at the same body-time in the mornings. For at least a few more days. And for what? Remind me? I know, I know, early birds like the morning sunshine; but I like walking home from school while it’s still light out.
Wow. That was not how I’d planned to start my blog. Guess it’s good to get the complaints over with first. Moving on …
We had such a wonderful weekend. The trip to Kevin’s mom’s was not exactly easy (driving late in the evening after the kids had binged on their Halloween candy, and after a full and long week), but once we’d arrived, we were able to relax and not do much of anything. I napped for about two straight hours on Saturday. Kevin and I slept in both mornings, while Grandma Alice managed the four children. It felt luxurious–was luxurious. The kids planted bulbs at Grandpa Jim’s grave. They went for walks. Did I mention all the nothing that I did? Seriously. Nothing. It was the holiday my body and mind had been craving. We buzzed home yesterday, the kids watched movies, CJ played in his car seat (!!!), and at suppertime we stopped at Ben Than (sp?) on the way home, just ducked off at the Cambridge exit and treated ourselves. Of course, Kevin and I spent most of dinner in the bathroom with one child or another, but hey. That’s what makes life interesting. Or something like that. Actually, I’m not sure that “waiting around in bathroom stalls with small children” belongs with the descriptive “interesting,” but it amused Kevin and me to compare notes afterward. If we’d had a stopwatch on the amount of time we’d spent sitting at the table and the amount of time we’d spent hanging around the bathrooms, likely bathrooms would have won. While I was in there with Angus (for the second time), the music system in the restaurant went on the fritz and we were treated to the very loud sounds of a CD skipping through eternity, stuck on the same two notes. This had a very trippy effect in the dimly-lit echoing chilly space that reminded me vaguely of hell’s waiting room (not that I’ve ever been there; just guessing here).
Must stop writing. I’m in tangent-brain. And it’s almost storytime.
Hanging With Kids, Not Hanging Laundry
Food. A neighbour dropped off a bag of sourdough starter batter for Amish Friendship Sweet Bread. I’m now on day 10 of the process, having followed the instructions all the way along, including the rather suspect pouring of a cup of milk into the ziploc bag on day 6–and leaving it sitting on the counter. Seemed wrong, somehow, but I guess that’s why the dough is sour. It smells fantastically yeasty. This recipe calls for two boxes of vanilla pudding, which, as a friend said (Nath) doesn’t sound all that Amish, but there are loads of alternate recipes online. I have no time to bake today, so I’m freezing the lot–it made five cups of starter. The idea is that you give away a cup to three friends and get them started. Sorry, friends. I’m keeping it all in my freezer. Not because I don’t think you’re worthy of Amish Friendship Sweet Bread starter, but because it’s feels too much like a chain letter. If any friend, upon reading this, is inspired to make Amish Friendship Sweet Bread, please let me know, and I will give you a cup of starter.
Our CSA was pleasantly chard- and kale-free on Tuesday. It was the last box, and it will make Tuesdays easier not to have to do pick-up and then clean and store all that food; but I will miss is sorely, too. Kevin picked a great box: lots of squash, another pumpkin, potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbages. I have been baking squash and mashing it with butter and a bit of salt, and it’s divine. Also have been saving some for CJ, who is a fan of tastes beyond barley cereal and breastmilk. He is savouring new textures (homemade bread crusts) and flavours (squash, pumpkin, banana).
It is a gorgeous fall day, sunshine and warming up, but I am NOT hanging laundry outside (or inside) today. I have made it this entire rainy, chilly month without using our drier, but I have three loads that need doing before we leave for the weekend, and I accepted as a smallish revelation the understanding that by not hanging all this laundry I could instead hang out with my kids this morning. And there is already way too much to do. Every once in awhile, economy and environmental considerations are not worth the extra workload. This is one of those times. I am definitely feeling stretched thin … or flattened, somehow, by all this responsibility. So will take advantage of modern conveniences, while they’re still in existence. Does that sound overly apocalyptic?
Aagh, am listening to the “new” CBC Radio Two–and it stinks! Easy listening for the dentist’s chair. Gonna switch to Jian Ghomeshi on Radio One … or try Radio Three. Feel like background music this morning.
Lists
My kids are in love with Eric Traplin. We have one CD called Bubbles and it’s pretty much on every time the kids think to push “play” on the CD player. (And they put the CD back in if I’ve removed it for something I’d prefer to listen to–piano music or the Curious George soundtrack). It’s pretty standard kids’ music, always on at high volume, guitar, drums, piano, cheery upbeat simple tunes. Everyone’s favourite is called “My Superhero,” and it tells the story of a vaguely drawn superhero who has goodness in his heart, is brave and kind, and runs down the hallway saving the world before bedtime. I like that A, despite being a “sophisticated” second-grader who says “su-weet” all the time, dances around the living-room singing along with these truly sweet (innocent) songs.
But anyway, I wasn’t planning on blogging about Eric Traplin. It just happens that F’s turned it on and is dancing around the living-room singing along … in fact, it’s the superhero song.
Preparations. As I said in my previous post, our schedule feels relentless these days, with no time to stop and catch our collective breaths. Or say hello to each other (me and Kevin). And to add to this, we are preparing for a pilgrimage of sorts tomorrow night. Hallowe’en night. Last year, on Hallowe’en, Kevin’s dad Jim died of cancer at around 6pm. The kids had just gotten dressed up for trick-or-treating when Kevin’s mother called with the news (she’d called about an hour earlier asking Kevin to come home as soon as possible, which we were already preparing for). As soon as the news came that Jim had died, I looked at Kevin and said, “We’re all going to go along with you.” But first, Kevin took the kids trick-or-treating. We decided not to tell them until afterward. While they were out, I packed for the trip. By the time they were home with their loot, I’d made necessary phone calls and gotten organized. We explained to the kids what was happening, changed them into pajamas, and drove off into the night–about a five-hour journey. It was an oddly and unexpectedly wonderful trip for our whole family. It felt like an adventure, full of significance and mystery and emotion. We were sad and the two older children had questions about death and Grandpa Jim, but it felt positive, not scary. At the time, Kevin and I almost jokingly said we should make that trip every year, as a way of marking Jim’s passing–making up our own unique and uniquely meaningful family tradition.
So we’re going to try it out. I love the idea, but am feeling overwhelmed by the logistics. Not only is tomorrow Hallowe’en (that would be the point), but the kids also have swim lessons right after school, and Nina’s very last buying club of the year (hopefully not forever!) is tomorrow night, and I couldn’t resist ordering even though it was, frankly, madness to add that in to the packing and the trick-or-treating and the rest of it.
I found this week that I was having greater than usual difficulty organizing myself, and I started making all these lists. I have a list for every day with all the mundane details written out: meal menus, what veggies in the fridge need to be eaten, and all the weird little odds and ends that dance across my brain ever so briefly and if not immediately attended to slip just as quickly away, probably till some three o’clock in the morning moment when “order cheques” is pretty much an impossibility. The lists made me feel slightly more in control. I haven’t put blogging or writing on any list, however. This week I ended up not having any writing day whatsoever. Kevin had a dentist appointment this morning, so I hosted playgroup instead. Then my babysitter cancelled on the afternoon too. Oh well.
Abruptly must end. Kids need their mama.