Most of my friends and some of my family are Republicans.  But, I am an Independent voter. I always vote for the person, not the party. And I usually don’t share my politics with the world, because I hate the ensuing arguments. But this time, I think it’s important. I want you to know how I came to this decision. How much homework I really did.  I want you to know I have been fact checking for 4 years and that I have taken nothing anyone said at face value.

Last presidential election I did not vote for Barack Obama. I supported Rudy Guiliani. I voted for John McCain (by default) simply because I thought his experience in war and with foreign policy surpassed Barack Obama’s. The war on terror, the war in Iraq and the war in Afghanistan were my big issues at the time. Bigger than the financial crisis looming on the horizon- bigger than anything.

When I watched Barack Obama’s acceptance speech in 2008, I cried. I imagined the pride the blacks across the country must have felt. I was proud of America too. For not letting race stand in the way. Well- some didn’t anyway.  

The hate grew. Over the course of the last 4 years, I have heard the vilest things come out of people’s mouths about the President, and those horrible words have actually pushed me into his corner. If you know me then you know having me as an ally is s good thing. I am loyal and true and I will back you up with everything I have. So here I am. Voting for Barack Obama in 2012.  And here is who you can thank for that.

The Birthers, The Tea Party, The Conspiracy Theorists, The Bigots, The Zealots, The Christian Coalition all of whom would turn back the clock and burn free-thinking people like me at the stake if they could. Some people are so ignorant (like Birther’s) they would believe lie after lie, even though the truth is right in front of them.

The issues are important to me. Chances are, at 60 years old, I will not be getting pregnant any time in the future. But if I did, I would want to be able to decide if I could terminate the pregnancy or not. My body- my decision. I have never wanted and certainly don’t want now- anyone telling me what I can do with my body or turning back the clock on civil rights, civil liberties, and basic compassion for people of all ethnic origins and sexual orientation.

I have always been an independent person. My mom used to say I was the first women’s libber she ever met. But, I was never really a women’s libber, I was always more concerned about my personal freedom and not too wrapped up in the needs of all. A Katie’s libber is what I was.

Now, I feel compelled to make a case for voting Democratic. Or voting anti hate.  That’s what I am doing. The hate has worn me down. The people that have taken on the hate rants have turned my stomach. The people that have called the President of the United States a nigger, a monkey, a socialist, a radical, un-American, anti-American, elitist and so on and so forth. They have made my mind up for me. I am now deaf to their hateful noise.

I was worried that Barack Obama didn’t have military or foreign relations experience in 2008. Now I know- he has gained both of those things 10 fold. While he never served in the military, he is willing to listen to those who do- and those who have. When he ramped up the troops in Afghanistan, it surprised me. That fact that he continues to look for better ways to deal with Arab nations and the far-reaching pockets of terrorism around the world can only be viewed as intelligent.

For everyone that calls Obama a socialist- let me ask you this. Do you collect Social Security? Do you collect Permanent Disability?  Have you ever collected Unemployment wages? Are you enrolled in Medicare or any other government based medical care? Then you are a socialist. Did you go to public school? Socialist. Enjoy public parks? Socialist. Socialism refers to State Ownership. A truly socialist state would be one where the government owns and operates the means of production.

 

Is it a bad thing to want to see old people or sick people taken care of?  It is a bad thing to want to help people help themselves?  The United States has always embraced social welfare. It is not a new concept that came in with Barack Obama.

I watched both conventions, and heard many of the speeches. I heard Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, Ann. Romney, Julian Castro, Bill Clinton, Michelle Obama, and Barack Obama. I kept an open mind- though admittedly- it’s difficult when I already knew I was at odds with Republicans on some of the issues. Mitt had a small chance with me before he chose Ryan as a running mate- but the minute I learned what Ryan was about, (I had to read up because I didn’t know who he was)  my Katie’s Libber kicked in.

I liked Barack Obama’s speech; I didn’t feel manipulated by his words. It wasn’t over the top. It wasn’t full of pregnant pauses and coy looks. It was in my opinion humble and hopeful. And hope is a good thing. Without hope, we are nothing. Without education we are nothing in this global society, without the ability to stay healthy and productive- there is no hope. 

Also- It would be incredibly simplistic to say that the problems that plague the U.S. at this time could be cured in 4 years.  I have to agree with President Clinton on that one. And the way I see it by voting another new guy (with no experience) in we would face another 4 year learning curve.

Then of course, no one gives a speech like Bill Clinton. I know Republicans that wish he were running again. If I was short on hope before his speech- I was full up afterwards.

I don’t hate Mitt Romney or Paul Ryan or any politician really. There are some I dislike, but not enough to spend time writing about them. I actually do believe that most of the people that serve the nation in some capacity love their nation and do what they think is right. I respect that.

In the end – it’s the lack of hate and abundance of hope that has won me over to the Barack Obama camp. I just can’t see anything good coming from so much hate.  

I think it’s important to note that extremism on either side of the political spectrum is distasteful to me. Extremism creates more problems than it solves. It’s almost never based on facts- but instead emotion. Rosie O’Donnell, Michael Moore and their ilk, are conspiracy theory nuts who really don’t like America. They make mainstream democrats look bad. I wish they would go away- They are incredibly angry people- and they are angry about made up stuff, which is scary to me.

I’ve been called a bleeding heart liberal because I believe in things like affordable medical care, equal pay and equal rights for ALL. I never used to be- but maybe with age I have become more compassionate and lean towards liberalism. Maybe with age I have become less about my own interests and more about how to leave this world for future generations. Fairly recently I started really caring about recycling, the air we breathe, the fuel we use and all the things that might not change in my lifetime- but maybe I can help make better for future generations. Just recently, I started believing that there is a better way to solve problems then by going to war and blowing up our own kids and the sons and daughters of other countries, in name of freedom.

 I care about our troops more than I can say and those of you that know me know that is the truth. But I want them to have the very best chance to stay alive and in one piece. I want every effort made to avoid more military casualties. I have seen too many DOD releases in the past 11 years. Too many Gold Star Families and too many men and women have lost limbs, sight, hearing and mental capacities. For every wounded warrior success story, there are 50 more that have not done well, that may never be able to function in this world again. What good is freedom, if no one is left to exercise it?  

Just recently- I feel enlightened. Better late than never they say.  

Maybe your vote will cancel out my vote. (and visa versa) But I am voting for the future, for women and men of all sexual orientation, for all races, creeds and religions.  I am voting for education, I am voting generations to come. I’m voting for a better world. I am voting for hope and humanity.

So it turns out I do have an opinion about everything. That probably does not surprise some of you- but it sort of surprised me. It surprised me because I have spent the last few years prioritizing what things I cared enough to write about. (Sorry for the end of sentence preposition.)  Little did I realize that when I can’t write- my frustration level rises and suddenly I do have an opinion about everything.

After almost a month of no writing, here are my thoughts in a rather large nutshell.

I had two of my late brother’s three grandchildren here for four days, along with my own son. That is so many more people than I am used to I thought I might get cranky, but I didn’t at all, well,  at least not until the last half of the last day and that was more of me over mothering my son (and shrinking the jeans he specifically asked me NOT to wash.) and him getting cranky, then me returning the favor. At least that’s how I see it.

The girls are 14 and 11 and they are great kids, my niece Joanna and her husband Ben have done a great job with these kids. They are smart, funny, beautiful and just a dash of crazy. They fit right in here. The 5 year old stayed home, maybe I’ll take her next year.

Nick came up because he loves these kids, and I have to say they are easy to love. I’m not the super duper aunt I was to Kelly & Marni when they were young and I was young too- I am older and tired as hell and maybe a little less flexible when it comes to letting kids do things. But, I really did enjoy having the girls here.

While the girls were here, we heard the news about the killings at the theater in Aurora. A dozen people I spoke to must have asked – why would someone do this? There is no why. He is just crazy- there is no why good enough to explain this to my satisfaction. It’s not the fault of the movie, or the theater, or the President of the United States (I actually heard someone blame him) – and maybe it’s the fault of society in general for being cowards in the first place and not calling a nut a nut when they meet one. For allowing kids to act out and do what they will because they don’t want to deal with the fall out. Or maybe he was just born crazy. None of the reasons will ever bring any family member or loved one peace. Not one reason will make them say- oh okay- I get it now- INCLUDING calling it God’s big plan. Bullshit. No God worth a damn would plan this. Sorry all you God people- but I’ll never buy that load. Either God is good or there is no God- you can’t have a bad God.

I have noticed an uptick in the people interested in Veterans and their issues. Since I have been writing about this for 3 years or so, I have not seen a lot of attention out there- and certainly not a lot of answers or solutions. But in the past few weeks I have seen numerous articles and interviews on the subject- and maybe- just maybe the nations leaders will start to HEAR what is being said.

The Department of Veterans Affairs estimates 18 veterans die by suicide each day.

18 is 18 too many. They come home to families that love them but don’t know how to help them- and many of them alienate their families because they feel alienated from a world that does not understand where they have been or what they have done.  It’s the silent rule- don’t talk about it. Just deal. 

If you really want to help these veterans – then don’t forget to thank them for their service, if you have the ability to employ them do so, and try not to waste the life that all veterans have made possible for YOU; many by sacrificing their own lives. Do something selfless- just try it.

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Chick-a Fil: Who cares what some Southern Baptist cracker thinks about anything? Really.  We all know there are religious zealots in the world- some are Christian, some are Muslim, and some are Jews or whatever. ( I have never met a Buddhist zealot) . Honestly- I bundle all of them into the same package and toss it out with the garbage.

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Facebook: People- USE YOUR WORDS. I am sick to death of seeing little posters with little sayings written by unknown or possible some known people. An occasional quote is one thing- but 20 in row? Ugh.

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I watched with pride this week as a group of my fellow Marine Parents joined forces to help another Marine Parent whose 18 month-old granddaughter was recently diagnosed with cancer. Votes and prayers were asked for, and votes and prayers were given for little Sophie May, and her family ended up winning $10,000, which will go towards her medical bills. (Which of course is not fully covered by insurance.)  See link below to read more about Sophie May. The contest is over but positive thoughts are still needed.

The Olympics: I wish I had more time to watch the Olympics. I admire so many Olympians – especially those that against all odds make it through and then win a medal. Or maybe they don’t win a medal but they get there and they realize they have done something amazing.  I was especially moved by the South African runner Oscar Pistorius- because once again I was reminded that we can overcome many obstacles in life if we have the right attitude.

Politics: I saw a chart in some magazine that showed how much people have donated to the presidential campaigns. It made me sick to think that people would spend that much on political campaigns and not donate it to other more deserving causes, like – oh I don’t know- how about our veterans? How about the MILLIONS of people with no food for their kids because they have been out of work for forever? How about cancer research, ALS research, Parkinson’s research, MS research, MD research?   I have studied both candidates and I don’t love either one of them. For me it comes down to this: Who is most likely to get us into another war? Who has the least (or most) experience with diplomacy? Which one is the least arrogant?  (a toss up). Intellectually, who can best back up that arrogance?  Who has made up the most (and stupidest) lies about the other party? 

I am a registered unaffiliated voter. I have never voted for a “party” and I don’t understand why anyone does. I vote for the person that I identify with the most. I vote for the person that will make life better for the MOST people- even if that does not include me.

Here’s the thing about me though. I don’t hate either one of them. I don’t blame sitting presidents for every stupid ass thing that goes on in the world. (Especially things they have no power/control over.) I wouldn’t make up lies about either candidate to make my favorite look better. (Nor do I believe 75% of what I read in the media- ANY media.)  I research every single statement. Every. Single. Fact.

I would be less worried about the future if I thought people used common sense when going to the polls and not hatred. My only hope is to cancel out the vote of some moron voting for someone just because they “hate” the other guy.

Well- I think that is everything for now. Since I have gotten all this off my chest, I think I can now work on my novel without crazy lady thoughts jumping in my head and making my characters say things that they would not normally say. I’m sure you all wish I kept a daily journal so you wouldn’t have to deal with my occasional brain dump, but if I had time for a journal I would have time to write- and I just don’t.

Yesterday I made tentative plans to meet my sister Linda and go to the July 4^th parade in our little town of Novato. I woke up this morning stiff and sore as if I had run a marathon yesterday- without warming up or what I think that would feel like since I’m more like a fifty-yard dash person.

I woke up at 5:30AM like I always do but convinced myself that sleeping in was wise, forgetting that if my body lies still for too long it gets stuck. When I finally got up at 8:00 I made some coffee, sat down to reply to a few real estate related emails and then called Linda.

“I just got up; I’m stiff and can barely move.” I said.

“Me too.” She replied.

But we wouldn’t miss the parade just because of a few aches and pains- we just wouldn’t. 

I showered, applied my sunscreen,  put my red, white, and blue ensemble on, to show my July 4^th spirit and gave Toshi a couple of cookies to make up for not walking him and making him sit in the heat for two hours while watching a parade of Bassett Hounds march down Grant Ave. (That would annoy any Shiba Inu)

I walked downtown and met my sister and niece in front the Always Pampered facial salon where my niece has a part time job on top of her full time job. My niece set up the chairs, and was surrounded by friends and surprised to see me.

“Mom said you probably wouldn’t make it because you were so tired.” She said.

 

I always make it.

July 4^th is my favorite holiday- at least it used to be. Something about today made me sad though and I’m not quite sure what it was. Maybe it was many things. At one point, I felt tears well up and I forced them back, like I always do. I can’t remember now what it was though, so I must have forced it back farther than I needed to. 

The parade audience was like it always is. Lot’s of people lined the streets, sitting and standing six deep, kids cross-legged on the curb, dogs looking for water, old folks looking for shade, drunks looking for beer. Me looking for (and not finding) anyone I know.  

 

Speaking of pastures- there were some beautiful horses, ponies and a few mini horses all decked out in glitter and horse paint. There were fire engines, police cars, the usual politicians (who I thankfully missed) and the Rip City Riders of course. Finally, a face or two, I recognized. 

Two hours later, we all left. I walked back home and immediately laid back down on my bed. Toshi came and melded his body into my back and as I drifted off to sleep I knew I had gotten shingles from the sun and being worn out already and I could feel my back on fire where Toshi was snuggled in but I didn’t move. I was too tired.  

I woke up with a shingles headache. Now as I write this, I know why I was teary. I just didn’t feel well. Sometimes, I don’t pay enough attention to myself.

 I still love the 4^th of July, even though this was a quiet one for me. Even if seeing the few Marines march made me miss my son (who I just saw 3 days ago, so I’m just being a baby) even if I ended up with shingles from sitting in the scorching sun for two hours. (maybe it wasn’t really scorching- just hot.) 

It’s my favorite, because it celebrates our Freedom and Independence; two things I value as much as I value the air in my lungs. July 4^th allows me to thank a few old timers (and some young ones) for their service, and cheer the people who serve the city & state. We don’t thank people enough. That’s something to think about.

When I am old and gray- older and grayer, I hope my son can close his eyes and remember me before my face was lined- the information highway, I call it.

This line is when you started driving, I tell him. This is when you had that eye surgery. These twenty lines are when you were fighting in the war and I would go weeks on end without hearing from you. No news is good news: my mantra then and now.

This crease here, this is when you came home with invisible scars. I see them still.

I want my son to close his eyes and remember when he was about seven years old and I woke him up at midnight and drove to Madrone Canyon to watch a meteor shower. I want him to remember how I blasted Willie Nelson and sometimes Leon Redbone in the car and how I sang off key, the world’s worst rendition of “The Sun Will Come out Tomorrow” whenever he was sad.

These lines here and here, they are from the smile you have given me. Thank you for picking me as your mom.

Last Saturday I made plans to meet Nick’s ex-girlfriend Meg, who was visiting from New York, in Sausalito. I almost begged off because I was too broke to go to lunch but she said she was happy just walking around Sausalito and that sounded great to me too.

I had facebooked Meg an article about the Sausalito Stairs and asked if that looked like a good walk to her. I instantly started writing this blog in my head using the stairs as a metaphor for life… for about 3 minutes before my knees started to hurt. I thought it must be psychosomatic.

Meg was staying in the city with Galina, who is Nick’s ex-wife. They became good friends while Nick was still seeing Meg, and continued their friendship beyond the split. Nick likes intelligent women and these two ladies are that and more; their friendship was a natural. I love them both.

I felt guilty going for any kind of a walk without Toshi on a Saturday so I leashed him up and brought him with me.

Both girls met me near the ferry landing, both girls were happy to see Toshi and of course, he was happy to see them too.

When I mentioned to Meg and Galina my knees hurt and I didn’t think I could do the stairs they were more than forgiving. They were running in the Bay to Breakers on Sunday and didn’t need the added knee strain either.

So we started walking through the throngs of people on Bridgeway. Galina was holding Toshi and my eyes were peeled for any other animals since Toshi isn’t always a sweetheart with his own kind. But as we skirted our way through tourists and sun worshipers Toshi seemed fine, in fact he was happy as hell.

 

Near the seal statue on the waterside of Bridgeway, we came upon a bride and groom having their pictures taken. The bride was a pretty, Asian girl in a long white gown and held her pale pink bouquet in her hand.

Toshi stopped to admire the beautiful bride and she gently and cautiously put her hand out to touch him.  Their camera crew started snapping pictures and suddenly Toshi was smiling, posing and trying to outshine the lovely bride. Her new husband had already taken a back seat.

We stayed long enough for Toshi to get his picture taken and continued down the street. Taking in the sights like the rest of the tourists and letting Toshi sniff here and there. As we came back towards the bride and groom their camera crew was packing up. Toshi decided once again to don their wedding party with his presence and very sweetly laid down near the bride and smiled his best ever Shiba Inu grin. The bride lowered herself to Toshi’s level and ever so gently pet his furry head. The photographers rushed to get their gear unpacked and held light reflectors next to Toshi while clicking their shutters. Fifteen years from now when the bride and groom’s kids are looking through their wedding album they will ask, ‘We had a dog?” and the mom and dad will reply, “No we had a wedding crasher.”

 

It crossed my mind for a second that this simple walk was the real metaphor for life. Seize the moment! Be spontaneous. Smile for pictures. Enjoy a nice walk. Keep good company. Be happy for newlyweds. Walk your dog. Smell everything. (Well, almost everything.) Enjoy every minute possible.

I was so full of myself when I was thinking that stairs were the metaphor for life because they are hard and they leave you out of breath, and maybe if they don’t kill you getting to the top might make you feel good about the accomplishment, but everything will hurt and it won’t really be fun. Stairs as a metaphor was almost depressing.

 It’s amazing what some fresh air on a sunny day in Sausalito will do for your outlook on life.

Still, I would like to do the stair walk someday. Not because of the difficulty factor but because the views from up high are breathtakingly beautiful.

 

Thanks for a great day girls!! And Toshi too!

When my son was here on Mother’s Day, I noticed him limping a little. I asked if he hurt his foot and he said no it was blisters from walking all over town in dress shoes the night before.  I told him I had moleskins still, from when he was in the Marine Corps and offered them up but he said no thanks. A couple hours later, still limping I offered them again. “No thanks. He said. “I think I got this expression from you but – I’m really glad I have feet to hurt.”

Actually that was a bastardization of what my stepdad used to tell me when I was whining about what ever I was whining about. “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” 

Nick’s way of saying it made much more sense coming from him though- having witnessed more than one guy lose a foot or more in Iraq.

Most people- all but my few closest friends would say I am a glass is half-empty person. And most would say the same of my son. But I contend we are realist, he and I. The glass is unimportant in every sense. It’s what’s in the glass or not in the glass that counts. And if you have no glass then there is no point to the conversation. And those are the kinds of conversations I have with my boy and I love that he gets me.

I am occasionally caustic. It’s usually only with someone who has whined incessantly about something incredibly trivial (and yes I’ll make that judgment) like their hairdresser canceled on them, or their favorite store is closing or someone got their Starbucks wrong. There are work complainers that just never stop. I have from time to time suffered from this disease. They only cure I know of for this is to quit or get fired- hopefully for the sake of all around this person- one or the other will happen because the negative energy is oppressive. I tryto check myself on this.

I work with someone who appears to be perpetually happy or joyous may be the better word. At first I thought, oh that will end. Now I realize this is who she is. She just prefers to see the best in everyone. (Selfishly I am glad she sees the best in me.)  No matter how bad of mood I am in when I talk to this woman, I cheer up. She undermines my crappy mood every single time. I want to interview her; you know how they interview old people in the old folk’s home. “What is the secret to your happiness?” I would ask.  And she might say; “I turn around counter clockwise three times every morning and then clockwise three times every night and that is the secret.”  Or she might say. “I have seen such sadness in my life, that I refuse to spend one more minute there. I just refuse.” I think the latter may be closer to the truth. None of us get out of life unscathed.

Joy. Joyous.  It’s a spiritual thing. It’s not like opening Christmas presents happy, it’s a deeper more soulful happy. It alludes most of us. It’s an inner peace. It’s a quiet head. It’s a gift to be shared.

So the truth is, my son and I are not the glass is half empty people that many believe we are. We just have this way of saying what we think- actually stating the obvious most of the time, but somehow that comes off as negative and usually offends the offenders.

I suppose I could shut up. I suppose I could just swallow my words- but frankly I think I would choke to death if I had to do that.

I wake up happy everyday. I start my day off with this thought. Good, I’m alive. I reach across the bed, pet my dog, and say hello baby. I try to hang on to that grateful condition. I don’t always succeed.

Today I ran into someone who is almost never happy though their life by almost anyone’s standards is not too shabby. They complain of life and its injustice all the time. I know this person has had some difficulties recently, but I am having a hard time being sympathetic because I keep remembering the man who has no feet. The woman who has no breasts, the baby that won’t see her first birthday, the old man who has no years left.

I used to have a coffee cup that my employees gave me one Christmas. It said NO WHINING. Someone stole it off my desk at another job- of course.  My son bought me a refrigerator magnet that says the same. Whining is unbecoming on most human beings- yet we all do. I think I’ll make a rule for myself. I can whine once a week for 5 minutes straight and that is it. No more. 

I need to remember the man who has no feet- and the girl who sees the best in everyone because I think that is the recipe for joy.  

For now, I am a content mother. My son is 30 feet away, asleep on my sofa. He has a room here but he never quite makes it that far.

Last night I slept well knowing he was safe and sound. Well, safe anyway. I had crazy dreams though, about many of my fears, like holding a baby while up high and knowing I’m so afraid of heights I might drop him if I try to move. Giant dogs; Mastiffs and German Sheppard’s- twice their normal size chasing me down the street. Getting lost, feeling scared. Still, I slept better than most nights. My neurosis, my obsession with my son’s safety and well-being that started with conception and has increased exponentially ever since- temporarily abated.

Sometimes I think- if I could just stop worrying about him for five minutes life would be great- but I just found out that is not quite true.

I won a book last week called “Some Assembly Required- A Journal of My Son’s First Son” by Anne Lamott.  I have read all of Annie’s books and loved them all because I love her honesty and her quirky way of looking at the world. I was not planning to read this book though because I am not a grandmother and probably couldn’t relate. Since I won it and I was out of something to read … and on the recommendation of my friend Denise, I read it. Of course, I could relate to almost every word.

I worry sometimes if I will be a good grandmother. If Nick were smart, he would father a child now just to take the heat off himself. I could transfer all that neurosis to a fresh new face (like his grandmother did) and my son could breathe free air again. (not really) After reading Annie’s book, I can see how that happens. I could see myself in almost every page she wrote.

I know moms who are not neurotic. Mom’s that go about their lives and somehow- (and I have no idea how) let go and let God. I can’t do that. I don’t trust God to make the right decisions- I’ve seen Him get it wrong way too many times.

This Mother’s Day- I’m going to try to focus on the good stuff. I’m going to tell myself that PTSD, (his and my residual) is treatable if not curable and that eventually all will be right with the world. I’m going to remind myself that I raised a city kid who actually does know how to cross a busy intersection without getting hit by a car or the 38 Geary. He doesn’t stand too close to the BART tracks, or any of the nearby cliffs. His life has mirrored mine in many ways- and I’m still here- so I know I have passed some survival skills to him- and I guess the USMC taught him some tricks too.

Today- I will resist the urge to bang around the kitchen to wake him up so I can selfishly have a few more minutes of his time. Instead of taking this Mother’s Day to indulge my neurotic whims, I will stand down. I will relax. I will breathe. I will find my sense of humor and remake myself into a not crazy mama.  Then- perhaps when my son says “Happy Mother’s Day Mom” it will have more meaning- like the special day it should be and not just another day of crazy.