More Than A Calendar Change

I have a thing for calendars….

Every year, around this time, I struggle with which ones to hang, and which to donate to the “extra calendar pile” at the office.

It seems every charitable organization, to which I donate, sends me a calendar. Many of these, especially the ones portraying animals, are hard to resist. One year I didn’t. I hung five different calendars around my office, so that no matter which wall you faced, you were met by a furry visage, or a magnificent vista.

Last year, during a post-Christmas shopping trip, I stumbled upon a kiosk of interesting calendars in a local hobby store. I left with one for my son, featuring unusual, black and white photography, and one for me, decorated in a colorful, quilted pattern. I was enticed by the pocket at the bottom of each page, and the large, pastel-hued butterfly that adorned it. Each month was marked in a different color scheme; one more beautiful than the next. I really enjoyed that calendar.

During a spate of time, since 2004, really, when there didn’t seem to be much to look forward to, my calendars filled a New Year’s void.

The shock of that election changed me. My television went dark, and my radio presets changed. NPR could no longer be trusted. I shut off every media outlet that might remind me of America’s folly. I adopted a mindset of entrenchment. And, if ignorance wasn’t exactly bliss, it was definitely preferable to the panic, and utter embarrassment, which set upon my heart, and mind, at the sound of our president’s bumbling speech, or the sight of his “Aw, shucks” grin.

As 2008 dawned, I had a truly magnificent calendar, and a glimmer of hope, based in the knowledge, that no matter how the upcoming election turned out, one thing was certain; George W. Bush would no longer be President of the United States.

I struggled, for months, with choosing a candidate. There seemed to be so little difference between them. The feminists would have me vote for a woman, for gender reasons, alone. Patriots would have me support a former POW, based upon his years of military service, which ended over thirty years ago. Christian fundamentalists had their man, whose shining moment occurred during an appearance on Saturday Night Live. I was impressed. I would hire him as a straight man, but President of the United States?

And then, there was the tall skinny, big-eared, black guy, with the scary name.

I live in Georgia. I wish I had a dollar for every time, over the last eleven months, I’ve heard the following:

“Well, I just can’t vote for a man named “Obama”. It’s just not right!”

I assume this phrase to be uttered by those who choose their candidate based, solely, on appropriate surname…and their sports teams, by jersey color.

The feminists’ choice floundered, shrilly, when prompted for details. The patriot lost his edge, and the Christian choice threw in the towel, as did many other, less noticeable, candidates.

And, then there was one.

I began to research. I spent hours poring over internet articles. I listened to speeches, I sought highly regarded opinions, and by the time I flipped my calendar over to reveal November’s butterfly, I was content in my choice.

As is my custom, I took my son with me to our polling place. We stood, on a sun-splashed, blustery morning, in a longer than usual line of voters. We conversed with neighbors,rarely seen otherwise, and accepted the offer of a warm beverage from an excited, gray-haired poll worker.

At one point during our wait, my son scanned the affluent, monochromatic, bedroom-community crowd, and stage-whispered, “I don’t think many of these people are voting for Obama.”

I laughed, in surprise, at his insight; reminded, again that he is an old soul.

“You’re probably right!”, I began, before bending closer to him. “But, that’s ok. That’s what makes our country great, the ability to choose. We just have to hope that enough of us make the right choice.”

And, to my thinking, we did.

My television remains, for the most part, dark, but NPR has, once again, become part of my morning commute. The economic legacy, left by Mr. Bush, dampened my Christmas, and continues to spread its pall over the new year. The devastation didn’t come about rapidly, and, recovery will take some time.

My son-in-law was laid off, with a reasonable severance package, two weeks ago. My daughter has made arrangements to support her family by increasing her hours, from weekends, only, to full-time, starting this week. One of my sons has seen his hours cut back, drastically, with the warning that lay-offs could come in January. My next paycheck will reflect a ten-percent salary cut, in an admirable move, made by our administrators, to protect all our jobs.

And, while these events are somewhat disconcerting, they are not devastating. I find myself anticipating 2009 with a sense of hope, based in the fact that, despite our former misguided choices, this time, we, as a people did the right thing; we put aside petty differences, and superstition, and bias, and chose a rather unlikely leader to guide us through, what will surely be, very treacherous times. We dared to hope, we took definitive action, and we showed the world that we can change.

And, the world expelled a long-held sigh of relief…and applauded.

“How do you measure a year? In daylights, sunsets, midnights, cups of coffee…in laughter & strife. Remember the love. Measure your life in seasons of love.”
Jonathan Larson

Fruition…

“There is a freshness to the air, this morning….” These words began an email from a friend, whose status as an Irish expatriate rendered him unable to vote, but no less concerned with the outcome.

Our daily wake-up call, and the question I was eager to answer, greeted as expected, by juvenile shouts of joy. And his exuberance; as he detailed his plans to enlighten his middle-school friends with, “I told you so…” The image of a visage, flush with responsibility prompted my cautionary tone, as I encouraged my son to enjoy the victory quietly and gracefully, with a sense of community.

And, the ensuing, excited text message, “My bus-driver is mad. The kids are yelling “Obama”, but I didn’t do it. She says we can’t talk until Tuesday.” And, my answer, “Thank you, honey. I love you.”

The sob-clouded voice of a local radio DJ, openly wearing the label “Lesbian” in hopes that others like her will find un-closeted comfort, describing her reaction to his words of inclusion;

“It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled.”

A friend’s exuberant voice over my headset, as he describes a recent conversation, fraught with “pregnant pauses”, with his McCain-supporting brother, and the grace he was proud to offer.

The long-legged stride into my office, by a Republican hard-liner wearing a forced smile above his alligator-embossed shirt, and his cheery “Congratulations!”. And, as I swivel, my response;

“And, to you, too!”

“Oh, you mean the senatorial race…”

“No! I mean, you are an American, too. This is a great day for all Americans!”

And, an email from a Dutch friend, followed by a message from a German friend:

“Indeed it is true: in the USA fairy tales can come to reality!
We watched our TV during this night and early morning: of course CNN, but also 2 of our Dutch stations had a full-covering 9 (!) hours programme of the results of your election (what illustrates that not only “the Americans” were interested in the outcome).
We are so happy with the clear outcome: it will be Obama for the next 4 years. No doubtful 49.5 % versus 50.5 % but a huge non-arguable victory for Obama!
We sincerely hope, that he (and his administration) will soon get the opportuinity to show that he (they) can do better than your today’s president. Not only for the benifit of your country, but also for the other “inhabitants” of our world.”

“Hi, thaaank you for this mail after talking with us. You know me thinking like you! – and one of these days I will come over to meet you, so stay healthy and in good condition, so are my wishes for you. We got up this morning at 4 am to bring Marlen to the airport sur looking to the TV to see that B. Obama made it – that made us lucky and happy. This will be very important for your country and the relationship again between USA and Germany! (that`s what I want to come up again after these long 8 last years.) Marlen should be between GB and your continent, we two tried not to be sad like all these times but like ever we didn`t really made it.”

And, the artificially-cooled memory of watching, with interest, an aged black man, whose love for my father thwarted a punishing sun, as he withdrew remnants of the previous night’s dinner from a grease-stained brown paper sack while he perched on our back stoop.

And, Kathy. As integration creeped slowly into the deep south, we were bussed across town to a new elementary school. Kathy had skin the color of creamed coffee surrounding snapping dark chocolate eyes. It was difficult for me to understand why something as simple as skin pigment could render a person “less than”, and I defied my mother’s admonitions right up until the day we moved away from the city. Understanding, through experience, came easier to Kathy. I never heard her voice, again.

“Four years ago, I stood before you and told you my story, of the brief union between a young man from Kenya and a young woman from Kansas who weren’t well-off or well-known, but shared a belief that in America their son could achieve whatever he put his mind to.
It is that promise that’s always set this country apart, that through hard work and sacrifice each of us can pursue our individual dreams, but still come together as one American family, to ensure that the next generation can pursue their dreams, as well. That’s why I stand here tonight. Because for 232 years, at each moment when that promise was in jeopardy, ordinary men and women — students and soldiers, farmers and teachers, nurses and janitors — found the courage to keep it alive.”

The Journey

I am discriminating. I can be hard to please. I am slow to trust, as years of failed promises have left me skeptical. I have to remind myself, sometimes, to see the light hiding behind the darker surface. I tend to set very high standards for those who would court my trust. I want answers, answers that make sense, and I do my homework.

The last two presidential elections were, for me, at best, painful, and, at worst, devastating. In my opinion, George W. Bush’s shortcomings are plain for anyone to see, and his cabinet, nothing less than dangerous. Sadly, the Democratic Party failed to offer up a reasonable alternative, and though I voted for the man I considered the one less dangerous, I did so half-heartedly, at best. My reticence, however, did nothing to appease my disappointment and embarrassment in our electorate.

The 2004 election was particularly hard to swallow. John Kerry was not an exciting, or even hopeful choice, but the alternative was unthinkable. Our country had been in free-fall for four years and every misstep I had ever imagined, combined with those no one could ever have foreseen, to create a recipe for disaster; and still, many eagerly vied for a place at the table.

I remember dark hours immediately following the election, and the utter hopelessness filling those days. I remember sleepless nights punctuated by tears of frustration, and I remember my decision. In the fall of 2004, after America spoke, I made the decision to disconnect. I turned off my television and changed my pre-sets. Top-forty radio, instead of National Public Radio, now fueled my commute. Novels replaced the newspaper at lunch, and a click to my homepage now revealed carefully crafted, voluminous lines of internet jokes, sent to me by my former mother-in-law. Life lessons, and the accompanying character traits, had taught me how to insulate; to protect.

As you might expect, I was slow to board, as our most current election geared up…

Rudy Giuliani, and his handling of one of the most traumatic events in American history, warranted a second look. Arrogance killed his candidacy, early on.

Mitt Romney showed promise. As a businessman, he had shown remarkable financial acumen, and even two years ago, as those in the know began to scrawl upon the wall, I could see the merits of that trait. Honor, though, and party loyalty prevailed, as he threw in the towel in order to increase the chances of his party rival.

And, then there were three…

In 2004, I pinned my hopes on one John McCain, still, at that time, a true maverick. Karl Rove had other plans. Most of us easily saw through the allegations of impropriety surrounding the ethnicity of McCain’s daughter, completely unaware of backroom negotiations which would ensure McCain’s exit, leaving Mr. Rove’s candidate alone on the Republican ticket. In my despair, I looked forward to 2008, when “Maverick” could ride, again.

The face was the same; the voice familiar. The rhetoric, however, markedly changed. Need had removed the teeth from his message, and the 2008 incarnation of John McCain in no way resembled the man I once admired. Desperately, I turned to the other side of the aisle…

A feminist at heart, I really wanted to support Hillary. Admittedly, her handling of her husband’s repeated infidelities had left a sour taste in my mouth, but it was her shrill rhetoric that provided a barrier I could not jump. I listened, eagerly, for meaningful words that would invoke confidence, or even hope, and heard, instead, the cry of a fish-monger’s wife. I was not unhappy to see the odds piling against her.

The very idea that a man named “Barack Hussien Obama” would entertain the notion of being elected president of a country wrought with fear labeled “Muslim”, struck me as ludicrous; and I said so, to anyone who would listen. But, as the months ticked by, and his opponents became less and less desirable, I was forced to take a second look.

During this time, a good friend smilingly presented me with an Obama bumper sticker. He didn’t insist; he offered, through a face bright with hope. Feeling bereft of alternative, I accepted the offering, placing it in my carry-all. It rode there, under a succession of lunches, for several weeks, until a bright Saturday morning several weeks ago.

I accompanies me, now, on my commute, as it rides my back right bumper, and, today, the sight of it inspires pride in our journey.