Journey from Conservatism

I'm not sure when it happened. I voted for Reagan, and then again for Bush 41. I didn't vote for Clinton either time, although I remember not liking the Republican choices very much.

At some point, Republican views became the politics of fear and hate - for me, at least. I read news from both sides, and I get emails spewing things to be afraid of (mainly Obama) from many of my friends.

They seem to be afraid of:

• Diversity - this is evident from the racial tone of emails sent around about the Obamas personally. I won't dignify them by listing them, but you know which ones I'm talking about.
• A woman's right to choose whether or not to carry an unwanted pregnancy. Of course, the only alternative anyone ever offers is adoption, but for most married women, this isn't a viable alternative because of social pressure. Education and readily available birth control are the best ways to reduce the need for termination of pregnancy.
  
• Offering health care to those who cannot afford it. The argument that it's too expensive is ridiculous. It's a hell of a lot cheaper to fund preventive care and doctor's visits up front than it is to provide health care through emergency rooms. And, when the top group opposing universal health care is insurance companies - well - HELLO - need I say more?

What really pushed me over the edge, away from conservatism, was the campaign of Bush 43. When he butchered John McCain in South Carolina, with the help of fringe groups, I knew this was not a candidate I could ever support. He wanted to take the country back to 1950's-era times socially. I considered him dangerously inept, next to Al Gore. So, I jumped, and I've never looked back.

It makes me sad to see so many people I love still mired in fear and anger, but I can't do or say anything about it without triggering the anger response. They seem to prefer being there. So, I keep my politics (mostly) to myself, unless asked. Enlightenment isn't for everyone.

One of the things I deliberately appreciate is a beautiful commute. After growing up in an area dominated by fields of something (and always wishing I was somewhere else), every day I see the water breaking over the reef is a special blessing. On the way to work, I notice flowering trees and shoreline. On the way home, I notice how the clouds paint themselves around sharp volcanic ridges and ancient peaks.

As the sun lowers, the clouds change into beautiful pinks, lavenders, and eventually dusky purple and blue. Add in afternoon water vapor, and rainbows abound. It's all the colors I wore on my eyes in the 70's. Geez, I miss loud eye shadow!

Living in Colorado, I used to thank God every day for the front range view that took my breath away on the drive home. I could see from Pike's Peak to Long's Peak. I also learned that looking at mountains was romantically moving, but getting up amongst them wasn't the nirvana I always believed it would be. Once you're IN the mountains, you can't SEE anything much! Well, you can when you get up towards the top, but the top of a fourteener sucks the breath out of your body and gives you a bad headache.

Knowing this didn't lessen my appreciation for mountains. It made me enjoy the view from my commute even more.

And now, because visiting my roots is a rare pleasure and privilege, I find myself watching the fields of whatever as I drive, feeling happiness all the way to my core.

3/8 Workout

I can walk down the steps in front of the building without wobbling and holding on to the rail - yippee! My left knee doesn't feel like it's going to collapse anymore. Feels good to feel good.

Abs and glutes - abs and glutes - pay attention. Heck, I don't even know if it's spelled correctly. Glutes = butt muscles.

Who'd have thought the most innocent-looking workout would make me feel better in two months than 6 months of physical therapy? Just goes to show, a holistic approach is best!

Grandmama's stories

My first grandparent died when I was 28 - my beloved Granddaddy. It was way too soon. I still can't write or talk about him without choking up.

Next to go - about 18 years later - Grandpa Sam. He lived quite a colorful and interesting life, and when cancer struck him at about age 90, he was still hauling his little fishing boat in and out of the lake on a regular basis. His decline was rapid, and the end was quick - just as he hoped it would be.

In October of 2009, I visited my Grandma who had been moved into a nursing home only weeks before. Grandma didn't want to go. She was a retired secretary/bookkeeper who became a prolific artist and writer. After I moved away from the family base, she was the one who kept me up-to-date with regular letters. I became closer to Grandma after I left - funny, isn't it!? Her love of sports was bestowed on me.

A few weeks after my visit, Grandma developed a condition that was extremely painful, and a permanent resolution was not available. By the time we made it back for the holidays, she had been admitted to the hospital. On December 23, Grandma left us. Her legacy was her loving family, a large body of artistic work, and an unpublished autobiography. I was only able to read a couple of chapters of the book before I left, but the clarity of her memories was striking. We're very fortunate to have so much information on her family history and her life.

So now, my brother, my sister, and I only have one grandparent remaining. Grandmama is 88, still drives in a limited fashion to the places she's comfortable going, and lives with her older husband, whose health continues to decline.

She isn't an artist or writer, although she's always been very creative in her own way. She's a knitter from way back, and I can tell she's delighted that her great-granddaughter (my daughter) inherited this passion. Over the years, the family has heard many of her stories, told with love and laughter at family gatherings. Most of them revolved around us. She remembers all the funny and brilliant things her children,grandchildren, and great-grandchildren said or did. Once in awhile, she throws in a reference to her own past, or to that of her parents.

It struck me that her story isn't documented anywhere. Requests for her to write it down over the years have been met with a "should" response. Yes, I should, I know I should, etc.

On the long plane ride home from Christmas, I realized that Grandmama won't write her story down because her preferred way of communicating is story-telling, not writing. What if we could get her to record her stories? After thinking about the best way to get information without making her feel weird about it, I approached her with an idea of a series of phone conversations which I would record. She seemed pleased at the idea, and after a few technical problems, we launched the Pauline Project.

More to come...

Sedentary Life

After spending the last 30 years working mostly behind a desk, and developing interests that are sedentary, I am not a great candidate for outdoor sports. Still, at 48, I know I either need to find work that is active, or develop hobbies requiring physical movement. The deterioration in my hamstrings, knees, hips, and gluts is a testament to too many years of neglect!

How does a fairly accomplished, extremely busy manager make a lifestyle change to a level of physical activity that increases health and well-being?