Election Day - Excited, Appalled, Sad & Pissed

I must say it was truly exciting to see lines of people out the door of the polling place across the street from my house. My own polling place - thanks to the lines of democracy drawn down the middle of th streets around here, I vote a block from my BFF's house and she votes across the street from me - was moved from the cramped choir practice room to a large auditorium. There were more poll workers than I've ever seen, including two teenagers too young to vote.

Outside, an immigrant voting for the first time posed in front of the auditorium and flag for his young daughter to take his picture. Ah, if we were only so patriotic.

In spite of the "record" turnout, the numbers that really have my attention are these: 37 / 32 / 29. Those are the percentages of registered voters from the Democratic / Republican / and Independent party that showed up to vote. Isn't that sad? How can you not care? How can you not see that this affects all of us? How can you be so cavalier with the voice people died to give you?

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Election-wise, I feel like a loser all around. I don't think I've ever felt this way after an election. I was so caught up in prop 8. Sadly, it passed and I can only hope that we take this battle to the Supreme Court. It is nothing more than discrimination. And that can't be tolerated!

I was also suddenly aware that the Yes on 8 jerks were advertising on MY blogs! I became aware of it when I went over to Becky's Constant Crafter blog to comment and saw a huge banner! I emailed and ripped into her and then realized - she doesn't feel that way; I KNOW she doesn't. And then I remember google adsense and the box to allow political content. I raced to check my blog and right next to my No on 8 tirade, there was a Yes on 8 ad. Shaking with anger and not knowing where to turn off political content, I took the ads of this blog. I was even more shocked to find an ad on my BEAD blog...no political content there; why advertise there??? I took those down too and as I hit various websites and continued to see them, I started clicking. Why not cost the bigots some money???

Too bad the ads are not around today....

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As for president, at least the year Ross Perot lost (Go Ross!), we still got Clinton and I could feel OK about that. I have so many fears about this guy that so many follow so blindly. Some rational, some not.

On the irrational side - please remember that I became a huge Obama opponent after his appearance on a Spanish radio program here - I fear he'll hang a huge Bienvenido sign at our Southern borders.

On the more rational side, I'm terrified of how he wants to pay for all his change. I somehow feel like I will be footing the bill.

And I have to wonder what all the masses that so adore him are going to think come summer when "change" really hasn't happened. It simply can't happen that fast and even he hinted at that in his acceptance speech last night.

And those of you that are so elated, please remember almost half of us more quiet voters are very sad and even afraid of what the future holds. Please don't rub your victory in our faces too much. Please, give us a little time to adjust.

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I spoke to Mom this morning and she was happy at the defeat of several new taxes in Baton Rouge. There, they recently increased the values of homes in hopes that a new property tax bill aimed at homes valued over $100K would pass. It didn't. They also defeated a measure that would increase their sales tax - already one of the highest in the nation. (I am shocked each time I visit that they tax groceries there, something we don't do in expensive California.)

The bottom line is, everyone is feeling the pinch and I for one and sick of the way our politicians waste our hard earned money. I have less money coming in than ever. I'm living off savings - and very little of that is left. When I have less money, I cut down. I don't go beg for more! It's time politicians from city hall to the white house all learned, tighten the belt!

Waiting on the World to Change

For a dog, the whole world changes by simply talking a walk. For most people, it's not that simple.

So while the rest of these United States collectively holds her breath, hoping and praying for a change, I going to join that cute dog waiting in that jeep and go for a hike (right after I vote, of course). Because I honestly feel, that no matter who moves into 1600 Pennsylvania come January, I don't feel he can do much to improve my world. I really think it's foolish to expect a president to have such power.

And yet, these two men-who-would-be-king have already changed our country. It has been said that more people voted for American Idol than voted in the last election. If you look at the numbers for my state, on average only about 50% of those eligible to vote are even registered and the turnout of those folks on election day is even smaller. Those who have the right to vote are so cavalier with their power and privilege, that often only 30% (on average) chose the direction of this state with each election. That's pretty pitiful!

But this election will be all accounts be different. Numbers as high as 80% are expected at our polls! Now, that's change I can believe in (and only pray that it lasts!).

So, while I don't expect much from the new president and things are pretty bad here economically - so many of my friends are facing desperate times - I still have people who love me, people who make me laugh, food in my pantry, a creek to hike in that's guaranteed to adjust any bad mood and a fur-kid to cuddle with.

Speaking of which, I need to go change her world.

Have a wonderful Tuesday and don't forget, if you don't vote, you can't bitch about it for the next four years!

One More Time: Yes on 8 = Hate

I have been absolutely astounded at the preponderance of Yes On 8 signs in my own neighborhood. I never knew I lived in such a hate-filled place.

This is an actual conversation a friend had with one such supporter:

So you remember our old neighbors Devin and Roger? They got married. The guy I used to work for, Jim? He married his long time partner. Can you tell me how that affects your marriage? Really, what does that have to do with your day to day life?

Oh it doesn't.

Then WHY are you voting Yes on 8???

(Excited) They're going to teach it in schools.

What do you remember being taught about marriage in school?

(thinks for a minute)... Nothing...nothing at all.

EXACTLY!

At the end of the conversation, she was on the fence. Baby steps = progress.

Twenty plus years ago when my sister's nieces and nephews were all grade schoolers, I met one of their cousins. The boy (aka "Jay") was obviously gay to me. I worried a bit about him growing up with a passion for dancing in such a "he-man," sports fanatic family. The other cousins would often make snide remarks about "fags."

Now that all of these boys are young men, I asked my sister's nephew how Jay was. He spoke in glowing terms of his Broadway bound cousin. When I reminded him of his and his cousin's homo-phobic tendencies growing up, he replied, "It's different when it's someone you know and love."

That's how we change the world, one little bit of love at a time.


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Re: Comment posting: Feel free to post comments IF you have a PUBLIC blogger profile and you keep the hatred to a minimum, otherwise they will be rejected. Again, MY blog is not YOUR forum. You are a visitor; please be respectful.

A Pop from Pop

In October of 2000, my Maggie May had a hip replacement surgery. Knowing she would be freaked, I pulled my mattress onto the floor in front of my bedroom's fireplace to be able to sleep near her. This scenario frightened me a bit. I was always terrified of being crushed by a chimney in an earthquake.

During this time, I had just been searching and searching for some sense of peace or fulfillment in my life. I was reading the book Something More by Sarah Van Breathnach. There was a section of the book that declared that your subconscious true self knows your future. It instructed to concentrate / pray / meditate on a question about your future for three nights an you would get your answer on the fourth day.

Surprisingly, this worked! It's how I found my house! I had sold my house and desperately needed another. For three nights I prayed...Show me my next house. For three days, I drove around looking and looking for a new home. The fourth morning, I dreamed of my feet standing on saltillo tile looking at a kidney shaped pool with mountains in the distance.

I wrote this off to nonsense. I wanted saltillo tile in my kitchen...why would I see it outside? Who puts saltillo tile on a patio? It was Monday and I went to work knowing my buyer would walk away by the end of the day. While home at lunch to take care of Mags, my phone rang. It was my BFF. She couldn't talk. She was literally so excited, she couldn't even speak coherently. She handed the phone to her sister, my realtor.

"[BFF] thinks she's found your house!"

I called my boss and raced over here. I saw the house in a daze. I knew immediately I loved it. We wrote the offer on the hood of my jeep and as I got in to drive back to the studio, I started shaking... yep, saltillo tile on the patio! (And the kitchen!)

This process had worked with several other things going on in my life. It was a heady time. And so, I got the crazy idea I wanted a visit from my father who had passed 25 years ago. Every night I prayed. Every morning, I awoke with the certainty that this was the one thing that I couldn't make happen.

One particular night, I awoke around 2 a.m. I woke up in a pissy mood. I was angry at my father.

"Dammit, he didn't come again. I ask for one lousy thing in 25 years and he can't do that for me. That's OK. He never gave a damn about me..."

As my silent tirade went on in my head... I didn't want to wake Mags sleeping in her bed right next to mine... I was aware of a "pop" in the wall.

It was a sound I was familair with having grown up in construction and the deep South. Houses settle and they pop as they do.

The house popped again on the eastern wall. Then the north side, then south. All of a sudden there were popping noises all in the walls all over the house. They were loud and scary and I was suddenly afraid we were having a quake and I was sleeping in front of a fireplace. I sat up feeling for Maggie's heiny sling so I could get her out of the house. And then I realized... the house was NOT moving.

I sat there in the darkness feeling for movement and then decided it must be a dream. But if it's a dream why was Maggie sitting alert in her bed and twisting her head toward each new pop?

I was really starting to freak out thinking my house was about to fall down around me. The popping was nonstop and getting louder and louder. And then it occurred to me: Daddy was a contractor.

I shouted to be heard over all the commotion: O.K. O.K. I KNOW YOU'RE HERE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO TEAR MY HOUSE DOWN!

And it stopped.

As I calmed down, I sat there in my bed and said, "I just wanted to have a conversation not be scared out of my wits. I guess I just wanted to know you were still around and maybe looking out for me. I wanted you to know I miss you."

With that, there was one more pop.

It took me a while to even be able to talk about this and another year or so to tell my mother. I guess I thought it would shock or hurt her. Instead, she was hardly impressed.

"Oh, I see him all the time. He's always in the mirror, just off the corner of my eye. He watches me get dressed."

So that's where he's been all these years!

All Souls Day

Tomorrow, in addition to being my sister's 66th, is All Souls Day. The celebration of All Saints Day (Nov 1) and All Souls Day dates back thousands of years in various cultures.

It was believed that at the end of the year (which was marked by end of harvest - hence the month of October in modern times), there was an opening in the Universe that allowed the dearly departed to return for a visit.

I've posted openly about such sightings before. My hiking buddy has decided that, had I lived in Salem at the time of the witch trials with my red curls, loud opinions, strange eyes, and "visions," I would have surely been burned at the stake. But I honestly feel there is no other explanation for some of the things I've seen. And so, I've decided it is time for another "ghost story."

My father died when I was only eleven. His death put my world and life in a tail spin. I wanted to grow up to run his business. I desperately missed his kind and gentle way in my life.

Shortly after his death, his older brother, my Uncle Hugh, wrote to my mom and asked permission to be my pen pal. We exchanged letters for a few years when he again wrote my mom and requested that I come spend a week with him and his wife, Aunt Christine, at their home in Petal, MS.

I had a blissful time with these two senior citizens. They were smart and funny and in love (having married at the age of 68! They were newlyweds!). My uncle and I would spend hours working in his amazing garden, picking peaches and apples and cutting dozens and dozens of roses. When it got too hot, we would lay down under the scuppernong arbor, picking a handful for refreshment and be grateful for their shade.

My uncle stepped up to my emotional plate and fed my heart and soul. He wanted me to know what McElhaney men were like. I think he wanted me to know what it felt like to be loved and adored. And I do. I would have him in my life until he died in 1992 and was lucky enough to have spent his last day by his side.

When I bought my townhouse in 1988, I found a box on my porch shortly after moving in. It was from my uncle's favorite rose breeder. Inside was my favorite rose... the one that has a scent so amazing and distinctive, I can tell if one is in the room by smell alone... the heirloom. I've dug that bush up and moved it to every home I've owned since.

But it was the love of working the soil that was my uncle's real gift. And after he died, I could spend hours and hours working in my garden and as I would stand back and admire my handiwork, I would feel a gentle squeeze on my right shoulder.

At first, it startled me. I jumped back and looked all around me. There was no one there. After I calmed myself, I "knew" it was my uncle.

This scene would repeat many times over the years and I came to expect it. As my health declined, I stopped working in the garden and my uncle doesn't stop by anymore.

But he's not my only visitor. For many, many years after my dad died, I would find myself somewhere in that state between sleep and wakefulness. I could feel someone sit down on the edge of my bed and slowly, brush my curls off my face. It was a man's hand and I was certain it was my father. I would awaken and cry realizing it wasn't real.

The older I got, the less frequently this happened and then my father was really gone. That is, until I asked him to come back.

To be continued....