Dear Diary

The reality of the world we live in quakes with possibility; the possibility of disaster, the possibility of rapture. I can feel both of these impending within a 15minute window of opportunity. Sometimes, it seems as though I feel them both at the same time. The financial disaster looming on Wall Street, the trees crashing to the ground in front of my eyes, juxtaposed with yesterday, painting side by side with my youngest and oldest sons, taking all three boys out for Chipotle, lying in Fabulous Guy’s arms as he squeezes me in his sleep, sighing contentedly. How can disaster strike when so much else is good in my life?

I shouldn’t ask that question.

I have given every homeless person I’ve seen a dollar just to balance out Karma, just in case she is watching, just in case too much good fortune will upset the apple cart.

I have three new family members. I wish I could post some pictures. My middle son’s girlfriend took in a pregnant stray. She had kittens when she was six months old, then promptly got impregnated again. Greg had talked me into stopping by her house on our way home from work one day, to see the babies. I asked to meet the mommy as well. They were going to take the mommy kitty and her kittens to the pound, but how could I let that happen after I’d already seen them? I particularly liked the mother kitty.

Greg claimed one of the kittens and before I knew it, all of them were residing at my house…in my room! For years, my room was a no pet zone. Since last week, I’ve had kitties creeping over all of my things…and I’ve loved it. I love having a cat I can hold on my lap, who enjoys my attentions, who gives something back. One of the kittens even chose to sleep on the bed with me, until my middle son came to take him back to his room.

My middle son and I got into an argument over the weekend. I’d taken all three kitties to the vet on Friday, and the vet said that if the mother was still allowing the kittens to nurse (they are about 7 weeks old) then the kittens were still needing something from her and should be allowed to continue. My middle son claims that as long as the kittens are still getting their emotional needs met by their mom, they won’t bond with humans. He claims that we need to separate the kittens from their mom so that the kittens become emotionally dependent on us for companionship. Otherwise, he says they will grow to be aloof and unfriendly, like the other two cats we have, who now reside outside.

Unfortunately, when we separate the kittens from their mother, everyone howls in protest. It feels mean, it feels wrong, to put them all through such distress. Middle son assures me that it would only last for a few days. I don’t know what to do. Middle son is abdicating his ownership of the gray kitten because he says I’m spoiling it. He is right that when they are separated from their mother, they are friendlier to us. He is also right that when left with their mother, they run from us when we approach them.

Anybody have any ideas?

I’m going to call the vet, ask her opinion.

The roller coaster of romance continues its uphill and downward spirals. Everyday, I debate the angst, wish that I was a more confident lover, wish that I could trust the process and just let be what will be. But no, I have to agonize over every day without a phone call, every weekend away from me. I always assume the worst and it eats me up inside. This is the only area of my life where I can call myself a pessimist. The rest is bathed in the light of my rose colored glasses.

I have enrolled and paid for a sixteen week course in Cognitive Behavior Therapy, in my never ending attempt to manage my food addiction. As part of that, we will be exploring the underlying reasons behind the pain that causes us to reach for the refrigerator instead of just wade through it. I thought it would be a good time to resurrect the book I was trying to write about my childhood experiences. I wrote fifteen chapters ten years ago. I didn’t finish it because at some point, I decided I wanted to stop spending all day on Friday sobbing onto my keyboard.

Now, I can’t find it. I can’t find the disks, I can’t find the hardcopy, it is as if I never wrote it.

Does this mean I have to start from scratch?

I am a totally different person than I was ten years ago. More jaded and cynical, to be sure, but also more in touch with myself, more knowledgeable about the real Betty, more confident in my abilities to be on my own.

Perhaps there is a reason for this. As someone in my group mentioned, as soon as I finish re-writing, I’ll find the old one.

Perhaps that is exactly the point.

Did I mention how much I’m enjoying Fabulous Guy? Despite the angst? At least, this morning I’m enjoying it, despite the angst.

Everyone needs to take a deep breath on Wall Street…and in front of the billions of computers thinking about pushing the button to get out of the stock market. Our monetary system is based on faith. If you sell, you are giving into the urge to distrust, which is what will topple the system and then everyone loses. The bottom line is that if you have funds in the stock market, hopefully, they are funds that you don’t need short term and they will weather the storm. They always have and they always will. If you have money in the stock market that you need short term, then by all means, take it out. Just remember, it shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Short term needs should always be kept liquid and secure. That’s why they are short term needs. If you play with risk, you’ll get a blister.

My garden is fading as fall approaches. I can see her settling in with her paintbrush, festooning the trees in their fall fashions. Leaves will soon slip from the skies and seek the comfort of the ground. The trees seem to have so little problem with letting go. As I read in a friend of mine’s book, I seem to leave claw marks on anyone I try to let go of. I usually choose to keep them. Letting go of someone I love is particularly difficult for me. I admire the leaves their ability to love, and then let go.

My sister has invited me and my family to come to St. Louis and watch her husband race is Cobra. I might do that. I might take my youngest son out of school for one day and make the drive, although I am trying very hard to live within a budget, and I haven’t budgeted for an event such as this. I’ll have to work extra hard over the next two weeks and make it happen.

My boys are all hitting milestones. Last Wednesday, I watched Kevin play football for the first time. He was number 23 on the eighth grade team. He played defense, and was in a couple of pileups. He seemed to be having a great time and they won, earning the right to go to Chipotle on Friday, along with a crisp $5 bill from his mother. Greg started college. He seems to be really into it, off to classes at least an hour early every morning, studying well into the night, swimming midday with his buddies at the University Center. Scott is moving into his own apartment and seems to be headed in the right direction, seems to be interested in finally taking a pro-active role in his life.

A new lover and kittens and mommy cats and sons growing up and further away every day. Paint and plants and tulip bulbs chomping at the bit to be planted: this is the fabric of my life.

I feel so blessed.

An Hour of Power

Tuesday, as Greg and I were driving in the car, the radio announcer for 103.5, WGRR, announced that their station was giving away “An Hour of Power” to those who called in with the saddest sob story as to why they needed the WGRR generator for an hour during this blackout. I gave Greg the number and he dialed, leaving a message of our urgent need on the voice recorder.

Yesterday, while I was tip tapping on an engagement letter for my upcoming busy season, my phone rang. I was a little excited, thinking it might be Fabulous Guy, who I hadn’t heard from since he left for Michigan on Monday. It was, instead, Captain Bob Paul, offering me an hour of power if I could be home by 4:30. I quickly finished what I was doing, hopped in the car and arrived home minutes before the radio van crept down my street, dodging the swaying wires from the power lines, still precariously entwined in branches and fallen trees.

I apologized to Captain Bob for not being able to offer him a cold drink, having no refrigerator, as he unwound coils of extension cords and we hooked up the washing machine so that I could salvage the load I had washed and forgotten on Sunday. Then he hooked another extension cord up to my fish pond’s aerator to give the fish a break. I plugged in my cell phone, then settled down with Captain Bob on the lawn chairs by the pond.

The hour passed by quickly as he shared stories of the other places he had visited and his plans for help tomorrow. I air dryed the laundry, said good night to the fish, took the boys out for Subway and was in bed by 8:00pm.

Wyoming’s blog noted that my neighborhood was the worst hit and wouldn’t have power until Sunday. I haven’t minded the inconvenience, but for the eye strain of staying up past dark. Rarely do my eyes have to work so hard, anytime of the year.

So, a big thanks to WGRR! 103.5! I love your music even if I do detest your politics. Just for the record, every time you joke about the Democrats, I switch back to Warm98.

Powerless

Day five-We are still powerless in the aftermath of Hurricane Whatever here in Southern Ohio. Kevin did his homework by candlelight last night, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. I hear trucks outside the door, hold on, I’ll go see if it’s Duke Energy, come to restore sanity into my life. (pause) Nope, just the garbage men on their standard Thursday morning jaunt through Wyoming, Ohio. Sigh.

No electricity…means no television, of course, no internet, no electronic entertainment of any sort. It also means no stove, no microwave, no garbage disposal for the massive amounts of food rotting in my refrigerator. No refrigerator. Of course. No dishwasher, no washing machine to scrub away the mildew off the clothes I stuck in the washer and forgot about in the excitement of Sunday. No dryer for the items I handwashed, or for the daily towels I sneak out of the boys bathroom.

No lights. No lights to read by in the evening before I go to bed. I was right in the middle of reading Wicked when the storm hit and have had to read by the meager light of an oil lamp every evening since. I finished the book last night, thank God. My eyesight was protesting, but as you all well know, my Project Completion Disorder insisted that I finish, regardless of how much my pupils were dilated.

I have been sitting by the still waters of the fishpond each morning because you guessed it. No electricity, no waterfall. I’ve been listening to the birds and watching the antics of the squirrels. They are out by the dozens in the storm aftermath, securing as many hickory nuts as possible, cheeks bulging, tails twitching. They chatter to each other, and take out time to chase one another up and down and across the branches of my majestic backyard sentinals. The leaves are still, now. No movement at all, but for the quiver from a passing squirrel. I watch those leaves and it's hard to believe the difference a few days make.

I’m grateful to my tall trees, for weathering the storm, for not succumbing to the gale force of the winds. I stood in front of my brown and withered garden a few days ago and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. My garden provided so many hours of entertainment for me, this long and lonely summer. She returned to me an over abundance of beauty and affection and positive reinforcement. Flowers bloom within her bosom, still, surrounded as they are with the remnants of those that bloomed before.

As I stood there, loving my garden, thanking her, a female gold finch lighted on the head of a rudbekia seed pod and began her breakfast. With every mouthful of seed, she looked around, alert and wary of danger. I stood as still as I could, noticing from the corner of my eye, the panthered creep of my cat along the back edge, close to the house. The bird noticed her too, keeping a watchful eye on her progress, but continuing her feast. I moved after a bit, but the bird did not seem concerned about me. I was safe, a well recognized fixture of the garden, proven to be danger free.

Hurricane in Ohio

I turned off the lights and closed the windows, locking them tightly against the wind bustling outside in a burst of fall freedom. I’d seen the trees swaying, heard the gusting as we finished up our meeting for business, tip tapping the minutes on my computer. I was the last one to leave, prone as I am to Project Completion Disorder, a term I invented to describe my proclivity to obsessively finish projects I start, regardless of other commitments or time pressures. I had finished the job, emailed my work to the responsible parties and was ready to go home.

I closed the heavy oaken door behind me, double checking to make sure it was locked, before striking out across the lawn, head bent low over my computer. I looked up to see a large aluminum object flying across the sky, like a scene from the Wizard of Oz. I’m sure the fact that I’m currently reading Greg McGuire’s Wicked contributed to my immediate analogy. The object zoomed through space and time, landing about a foot behind me in the driveway of the Quaker Meetinghouse. It was a vent from someone’s roof, measuring, I think, about 5’ by 3’, with sharp edges and pin pricked holes.

My heart raced for a minute, registering my narrow escape from decapitation and I hurried to my car.

The wind picked up, howling a protest against some transgression, and I had trouble keeping my car in it’s appropriate lane as I headed home. Leaves were flying, trees were undulating as if to some unheard Hawaian beat. I slowed to a crawl down my street, seeing my sons climbing into Greg’s car as I drew closer. I rolled my window down.

“Wow, look at this wind!” as if one can see the wind.

“Mom, I’m taking Ben home, then I’ll be right back.” Greg spoke authoritatively. Kevin peered at me, wide eyed from the back seat.

“Ok, but be careful. The wind is really something out there.”

I was about to pull my car into my driveway when the thought occurred to me that I should park in front in case the tree guarding the north side of my house let loose of a limb or two. A place further from trees would be a better idea.

I got out of my car and surveyed the surroundings. Trees moaned at the wind’s mistreatment. Everywhere was movement. The leaves moved, the grass moved, the flowers were skittish with nerves and excitement. I looked up at my hill and the tall hickories swayed, all 150 feet of them. I could feel the power crackling in the air. My neighbor was climbing out of his car, which he had parked in another neighbor’s driveway, and was also further from the swaying branches.

“Put your car in your garage!” he shouted.

“I can’t, I have furniture in my garage!” I shouted back.

He gave me a look of incredulity and it registered how silly that sounded. I drive a very nice car, worth more than all of the furniture in my house put together. He had a point. All power was off at that point, so I disconnected the garage door from the opener and heaved it heavenward. I pushed and pulled and tugged and lugged and cleared the way for Molly Mercedes to have cover from the storm. I pulled the broken pink couch out next to the driveway. I ran to the front of the house, revved Molly Mercedes back to life, and eased her into my crowded garage.

At that moment, the tall hackberry in my neighbor’s yard moaned loudly and a fifty foot limb crashed to the ground, raking branches across my vibernum. A few minutes later, another limb let loose and tangled itself in the utility wires close by. The wind calmed for a moment then unleashed with infuriating force, trees cracking and moaning all around me. I watched as one street over, a huge sycamore gave up the ghost and rested itself across Maple Avenue, snapping even more utility lines as it succumbed to gravity.

I know I should have gone inside. I know I should have sought shelter, but I was turned on by the power, aroused, in a primal sort of way, by the carnage, impassioned by the wrath of a very angry goddess, pointing her finger, waving her mighty hand as wind whipped through my hair and trees gave up their lives in acquiescence to her greatness. I held out my arms, felt her caress, and closed my eyes to the destruction.

I remembered, as I stood there, that my sons were not home. A bubble of panic rose in my throat and I dialed my son’s cell phone. No answer. I dialed my youngest son’s number. No service. I dialed the home phone of the fellow they were transporting. I wanted my babies home, but if they were still at Ben’s, I wanted them to stay there. I wanted them safe even more than I wanted them home.

“Hello?”

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Is Greg still there? This is Betty.”

“No, they left about five minutes ago.”

“Did they say if they were coming straight home?”

“Yeah, they should be there in a few minutes.”

I stood on my front porch, needing to watch for their car. I would go back inside once they were safely home. I felt my panic escalate. Suddenly, nothing, NOTHING was more important that having my boys back home. I hurried across my lawn so that I could look further down the street. I was keeping an eye on the trees swaying above me and ran right into the power line dangling limply from the utility pole stationed in the front corner of my yard.

I jumped back, flinging the rubber and wire off of me. Because the power was cut off of my entire neighborhood, I was not hurt, but what a wake up call. Two brushes with death in one day! I stepped forward, onto the street, so that I could watch for my boys and warn them about the downed power line.

I stood on the street and watched another neighbor’s tree fall. Wood cracked all around me as I stood stupidly in the street, dumbfounded as the enormity of these moments crashed into my consciousness. I headed back onto the porch, to watch from what seemed to be a safer vantage point, but it occurred to me that no where was safe. No where was safe, not with four humongous hickories dancing in the back yard.

The boys arrived home and I herded them into the house. We lit candles as the sun descended, the wind continuing to howl. I had my grill in the back, and I grilled as much meat from the refrigerator as I could. We dined as carnivores that night, no vegetables, no pasta, no starch, no fruit. We stuffed ourselves with brazened beef. We watched a movie on Greg’s computer, until its battery died, then we watched another movie on mine. My computer went into hibernation just as the movie climaxed, and we were forced to sit and talk to each other, to tell stories of other storms, to surmise as to the safety of Scott, who did not answer our calls, and to discuss the nature of uncertainty and the uncertainty of nature.

By morning the wind had calmed.

Greg was scheduled for Orientation at UC, so I left Kevin to fend for himself and took Greg to Clifton. I stayed for a few of the parent sessions, treated Greg to lunch, then headed back to see to Kevin. Only a handful of parents were there. Most of the kids came by themselves. I had gone to orientation for Scott and was glad to do the same for Greg, but over Wendy’s burgers, he acknowledged that I wasn’t needed.

I drove home, my mouth open in amazement at the devastation of the night before. Every street onto which I turned, was blocked by downed trees, some pulled up by their roots, hunks of earth the size of a wall in my living room baring their underclothes to all who passed by; the trees, inert across the lawn of the hapless owner.

My trees held firm. I had green leaves scattered across the weedy grass, but lost no limbs larger than a foot or two. My neighbors were not so lucky. Trees fell onto power lines and all four streets to my house were cordoned off with caution tape. I felt like a criminal slowly creeping under them to assume the safety of my cramped garage.

It’s three days later and we are still without power. I gave up trying to salvage refrigerated food yesterday, and we dined at Skyline, the only restaurant open close by. No one has power in my neighborhood, but at least we have water, and a gas water heater, so we are able to shower and hand wash dishes. The neighbors gather at the edges of our lawn and compare notes, say a few prayers of gratefulness that no one was hurt, offer support to each other, laugh about the inconvenience, and the dependence we’ve all developed to electronic entertainment.

Life goes on, even after a hurricane…in Ohio. A hurricane, without a drop of rain. Is that possible?

I copied this from one of my favorite writer blogs:

Date: Mon, 8 Sep 2008 08:53:03

ABOUT SARAH PALIN

I am a resident of Wasilla, Alaska. I have known Sarah since 1992. Everyone here knows Sarah, so it is nothing special to say we are on a first-name basis. Our children have attended the same schools. Her father was my child's favorite substitute teacher. I also am on a first name basis with her parents and mother-in-law. I attended more City Council meetings during her administration than about 99% of the residents of the city.

She is enormously popular; in every way she’s like the most popular girl in middle school. Even men who think she is a poor choice and won't vote for her can't quit smiling when talking about her because she is a "babe".

It is astonishing and almost scary how well she can keep a secret. She kept her most recent pregnancy a secret from her children and parents for seven months.

She is "pro-life". She recently gave birth to a baby with Down syndrome. There is no cover-up involved, here; Trig is her baby.

She is energetic and hardworking. She regularly worked out at the gym.

She is savvy. She doesn't take positions; she just "puts things out there" and if they prove to be popular, then she takes credit.

Her husband works a union job, 2 -- 0n the North Slope for BP and is a champion snowmobile racer. Todd Palin’s kind of job is highly sought-after because of the schedule and high pay. He arranges his work schedule so he can fish for salmon in Bristol Bay for a month or so in summer, but by no stretch of the imagination is fishing their major source of income. Nor has her life-style ever been anything like that of native Alaskans.

Sarah and her whole family are avid hunters.

She's smart.

Her experience is as mayor of a city with a population of about 5,000 (at the time), and less than 2 years as governor of a state with about 670,000 residents.

During her mayoral administration most actual work of running this small city was turned over to an administrator. She had been pushed to hire this administrator by party power-brokers after she had gotten herself into some trouble over precipitous firings which had given rise to a recall campaign.

Sarah campaigned in Wasilla as a “fiscal conservative”. During her 6 years as Mayor, she increased general government expenditures by over 33%. During those same 6 years the amount of taxes collected by the City increased by 38%. This was during a period of low inflation (1996-2002). She reduced progressive property taxes and increased a regressive sales tax which taxed even food. The tax cuts that she promoted benefited large corporate property owners way more than they benefited residents.

The huge increases in tax revenues during her mayoral administration weren’t enough to fund everything on her wish list though, borrowed money was needed, too. She inherited a city with zero debt, but left it with indebtedness of over $22 million. What did Mayor Palin encourage the voters to borrow money for? Was it the infrastructure that she said she supported? The sewage treatment plant that the city lacked? or a new library? No. $1m for a park. $15m-plus for construction of a multi-use sports complex which she rushed through to build on a piece of property that the City didn’t even have clear title to, that was still in litigation 7 yrs later--to the delight of the lawyers involved! The sports complex itself is a nice addition to the community but a huge money pit, not the profit-generator she claimed it would be.

She also supported bonds for $5.5m for road projects that could have been done in 5-7yrs without any borrowing.

While Mayor, City Hall was extensively remodeled and her office redecorated more than once. These are small numbers, but Wasilla is a very small city.

As an oil producer, the high price of oil has created a budget surplus in Alaska. Rather than invest this surplus in technology that will make us energy independent and increase efficiency, as Governor she proposed distribution of this surplus to every individual in the state.

In this time of record state revenues and budget surpluses, she recommended that the state borrow/bond for road projects, even while she proposed distribution of surplus state revenues: spend today's surplus, borrow for needs.

She’s not very tolerant of divergent opinions or open to outside ideas or compromise. As Mayor, she fought ideas that weren’t generated by her or her staff. Ideas weren’t evaluated on their merits, but on the basis of who proposed them.

While Sarah was Mayor of Wasilla she tried to fire our highly respected City Librarian because the Librarian refused to consider removing from the library some books that Sarah wanted removed. City residents rallied to the defense of the City Librarian and against Palin's attempt at out-and-out censorship, so Palin backed down and withdrew her termination letter. People who fought her attempt to oust the Librarian are on her enemies list to this day.

Sarah complained about the “old boy’s club” when she first ran for Mayor, so what did she bring Wasilla? A new set of "old boys". Palin fired most of the experienced staff she inherited. At the City and as Governor she hired or elevated new, inexperienced, obscure people, creating a staff totally dependent on her for their jobs and eternally grateful and fiercely loyal—loyal to the point of abusing their power to further her personal agenda, as she has acknowledged.
It happened in the case of pressuring the State’s top cop (see below).

As Mayor, Sarah fired Wasilla’s Police Chief because he “intimidated” her, she told the press. As Governor, her recent firing of Alaska's top cop has the ring of familiarity about it. He served at her pleasure and she had every legal right to fire him, but it's pretty clear that an important factor in her decision to fire him was because he wouldn't fire her sister's ex-husband, a State Trooper. Under investigation for abuse of power, she has had to admit that more than 2 dozen contacts were made between her staff and family to the person that she later fired, pressuring him to fire her ex-brother-in-law. She tried to replace the man she fired with a man who she knew had been reprimanded for sexual harassment; when this caused a public furor, she withdrew her support.

She has bitten the hand of every person who extended theirs to her in help. The City Council person who personally escorted her around town introducing her to voters when she first ran for Wasilla City Council became one of her first targets when she was later elected Mayor. She abruptly fired her loyal City Administrator; even people who didn’t like the guy were stunned by this ruthlessness. Fear of retribution has kept all of these people from saying anything publicly about her.

When then-Governor Murkowski was handing out political plums, Sarah got the best, Chair of the Alaska Oil and Gas Conservation Commission: one of the few jobs not in Juneau and one of the best paid. She had no background in oil & gas issues. Within months of scoring this great job which paid $122,400/yr, she was criticizing her pay as too high in the press. I was told that she hated that job: the commute, the structured hours, the work. Sarah became aware that a member of this Commission (who was also the State Chair of the Republican Party) engaged in unethical behavior on the job. In a gutsy move which some undoubtedly cautioned her could be political suicide, Sarah solved all her problems in one fell swoop: got out of the job she hated and garnered gobs of media attention as the patron saint of ethics and as a gutsy fighter against the “old boys’ club” when she dramatically quit, exposing this man’s ethics violations (for which he was fined).

As Mayor, she had her hand stuck out as far as anyone for pork from Senator Ted Stevens. Lately, she has castigated his pork-barrel politics and publicly humiliated him. She only opposed the “bridge to nowhere” after it became clear that it would be unwise not to.

As Governor, she gave the Legislature no direction and budget guidelines, then made a big grandstand display of line-item vetoing projects, calling them pork. Public outcry and further legislative action restored most of these projects--which had been vetoed simply because she was not aware of their importance--but with the unobservant she had gained a reputation as “anti-pork”.

She is solidly Republican: no political maverick. The State party leaders hate her because she has bit them in the back and humiliated them. Other members of the party object to her self-description as a fiscal conservative.

Around Wasilla there are people who went to high school with Sarah. They call her “Sarah Barracuda” because of her unbridled ambition and predatory ruthlessness. Before she became so powerful, very ugly stories circulated around town about shenanigans she pulled to be made point guard on the high school basketball team. When Sarah's mother-in-law, a highly respected member of the community and experienced manager, ran for Mayor, Sarah refused to endorse her.

As Governor, she stepped outside of the box and put together of package of legislation known as “AGIA” that forced the oil companies to march to the beat of her drum.

Like most Alaskans, she favors drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. She has questioned if the loss of sea ice is linked to global warming. She campaigned “as a private citizen” against a state initiative that would have either...
a) protected salmon streams from pollution from mines, or
b) tied up in the courts all mining in the state (depending on who you listen to).

She has pushed the State’s lawsuit against the Dept. of the Interior’s decision to list polar bears as threatened species.

McCain is the oldest person to ever run for President; Sarah will be a heartbeat away from being President.

There has to be literally millions of Americans who are more knowledgeable and experienced than she.

However, there’s a lot of people who have underestimated her and are regretting it.

CLAIM VS FACT

§ “Hockey mom”: true for a few years

§ “PTA mom”: true years ago when her first-born was in elementary school, not since

§ “NRA supporter”: absolutely true

§ social conservative: mixed. Opposes gay marriage, BUT vetoed a bill that would have denied benefits to employees in same-sex relationships (said she did this because it was unconstitutional).

§ pro-creationism: mixed. Supports it, BUT did nothing as Governor to promote it.

§ “Pro-life”: mixed. Knowingly gave birth to a Down’s syndrome baby BUT declined to call a legislative session on pro-life legislation.

§ “Experienced”: Some high schools have more students than Wasilla has residents. Many cities have more residents than the state of Alaska. No legislative experience other than City Council. Little hands-on supervisory or managerial experience; needed help of a city administrator to run town of about 5,000.

§ political maverick: not at all

§ gutsy: absolutely!

§ open & transparent: ??? Good at keeping secrets. Not good at explaining actions.

§ has a developed philosophy of public policy: no

§ ”a Greenie”: no. Turned Wasilla into a wasteland of big box stores and disconnected parking lots. Is pro-drilling off-shore and in ANWR.

§ fiscal conservative: not by my definition!

§ pro-infrastructure: No. Promoted a sports complex and park in a city without a sewage treatment plant or storm drainage system. Built streets to early 20th century standards.

§ pro-tax relief: Lowered taxes for businesses, increased tax burden on residents

§ pro-small government: No. Oversaw greatest expansion of city government in Wasilla’s history.

§ pro-labor/pro-union. No. Just because her husband works in a union doesn’t make her pro-labor. I have seen nothing to support any claim that she is pro-labor/pro-union.

WHY AM I WRITING THIS?

First, I have long believed in the importance of being an informed voter. I am a voter registrar. For 10 years I put on student voting programs in the schools. If you google my name (Anne Kilkenny + Alaska), you will find references to my participation in local government, education, and PTA/parent organizations.

Secondly, I've always operated in the belief that "Bad things happen when good people stay silent". Few people know as much as I do because few have gone to as many City Council meetings.

Third, I am just a housewife. I don't have a job she can bump me out of. I don't belong to any organization that she can hurt. But, I am no fool; she is immensely popular here, and it is likely that this will cost me somehow in the future: that’s life.

Fourth, she has hated me since back in 1996, when I was one of the 100 or so people who rallied to support the City Librarian against Sarah's attempt at censorship.

Fifth, I looked around and realized that everybody else was afraid to say anything because they were somehow vulnerable.

CAVEATS

I am not a statistician. I developed the numbers for the increase in spending & taxation 2 years ago (when Palin was running for Governor) from information supplied to me by the Finance Director of the City of Wasilla, and I can't recall exactly what I adjusted for: did I adjust for inflation? For population increases? Right now, it is impossible for a private person to get any info out of City Hall--they are swamped. So I can't verify my numbers.

You may have noticed that there are various numbers circulating for the population of Wasilla, ranging from my "about 5,000", up to 9,000. The day Palin’s selection was announced a city official told me that the current population is about 7,000. The official 2000 census count was 5,460. I have used about 5,000 because Palin was Mayor from 1996 to 2002, and the city was growing rapidly in the mid-90’s.

Anne Kilkenny

annekilkenny@hotmail.com
August 31, 2008

Disquiet

I woke this morning after tossing and turning during the night, but feeling rested, and turned to look at the clock. I was shocked to discover 4:25 glowing red in the darkness of my bedroom. I laid back, listened to the rain beat a steady rhythm on my roof. A feeling of disquiet invaded me; sadness and concern and doubt…a horrible combination. I know it’s hormones; I’m on day 27 and I felt the familiar tug in my lower abdomen yesterday. Men are so lucky to escape these surges, but then, they also miss the decades of oceanic movement as well. One goes with the other, so I’ll resist the urge to complain. Being female is an honor, I’ve always thought, through the good times and the bad…like this morning.

So much good stuff in my life right now. I got the big client I wrote about earlier. One of my staff and I sat in front of a roomful of white haired gentlemen and charmed them into hiring us. We were explaining to them that one of the reasons they should hire us is because every person in our firm is over the age of 35 and would be able to focus on their work instead of worrying about their fantasy football pics or their My Space page. One of them joked and said, “Oh, so you’re the senior citizen accounting firm.” To which I countered, “Actually, we like to think of ourselves as the Hot Chick accounting firm.” They all laughed and at that point, I think their decision was made. It might also have had something to do with the fact that we are respected specialists in their industry, are just 15 minutes away, and the other firms were out of town and not as focused on affordable housing, but I really think it was the flirting. I do well with older men.

I have a man who I like, respect, and lust after paying attention to me. He’s not quite as attentive as I would like, but he is still there, fairly consistently, so I’m trying very hard to ignore the hormones who chant to me that if he were really into me, I’d be seeing more of him.

I’ve been nesting over the past few weeks, cleaning and reorganizing, and fixing up. I have only the bedrooms left to do, and it feels good. I’ve been deep cleaning, sorting out, throwing away, polishing and putting away. I’m going to have a party in two weeks, so all of this work is necessary. My garden is not occupying as much of my time. I purchased $100 worth of tulip and crocus bulbs to plant, but I’ll do all of that after my party. Right now, it’s cleanup time.

I’m getting the exterior of my house painted. Patches by the fishpond and the front door have chipped and peeled down to the white of the concrete underneath. Two men will arrive on Monday and will stay for a week. I haven’t had my house painted in ten years. I’ve debated changing the color of the house, but I think not. I like the color. I’ve discovered something fundamental about myself. I don’t fear change, but I don’t really need it, either. When I like something, I try to keep it. I don’t feel a need to change things up to get energized. Just the opposite. The sameness of things often brings me comfort. My energy is almost always internally generated.

Sarah Palin. As a feminist, I feel the need to chime in. I don’t like her, although I admit to an hour of heart beating excitement when I heard the news that McCain chose her as his running mate. I immediately got on the computer and started reading everything I could about her. My delight faded into dismay. Any political poser who thinks that Palin can draw disillusioned Hillary supporters is going to be sadly disappointed. The woman could not be more different from Hillary than Ralph Nader is from Dubya…the only similarity about them being their genitals…and I bet Nader’s balls are bigger.

She claims to be this awesome mother who is fighting the good fight with the old boys' club, but when I look at her record, I have to wonder who's side she's on. Certainly not on the side of women's rights.

She has a four month old who I’ve never seen in her arms. The baby is always in the arms of one of her daughters. Is she breast feeding? Is she insane to think that being Vice President will be in the best interests of her already troubled family? Where does Family Values come into play in this decision making process? Of course, I’m not opposed to women working…even women going back to work three days after the birth of their disabled child…but I’m opposed to hypocrisy. Don’t preach family values to me and not live up to what you preach yourself.

I’d like to run for public office. I have been waiting for my youngest son to grow up so that I can do so without negatively affecting him. Can I say with a straight face that if someone walked up to me and offered me the Vice Presidential candidacy when Kevin was four months old, would I have risen to the challenge? I like to think I would have said, thanks but no thanks. I believe my record to be clear in putting my children before my personal ambition. Besides, I was breastfeeding and that tends to be frowned upon in national political campaigns.

Sarah Palin’s record is not so clear. She has had an active political career throughout the lives of all five of her children. I have trouble envisioning her breast feeding any of her children, and I suppose I’d be hypocritical to think that breastfeeding is a torch bearer of good mothering, but…isn’t it? Sacrificing the beauty of your (gulp) breasts for the good of your child?

Enough about the breastfeeding. Why is that such a sticking point for me?

She had a Down’s Syndrome baby when she was 44 years old. Being profoundly Anti Choice, she feels qualified to say that every 44 year old woman (or woman of any age) that finds herself in the position of birthing a special needs child is adequately equipped to parent said child. No woman should have a choice as to whether or not they are up to that particular, lifelong challenge. She also feels that her 17 year old daughter (or any 17 year old) should not have a choice as to whether or not their minds and their emotions have caught up to their body’ reproductive abilities. This alone disqualifies her in my book. Just as it is her family’s right to choose what happens next in her daughter’s life, it is the right of each family to decide that for themselves. Personally, I think it’s the daughter’s decision alone, but what do I know, other than having once been there myself.

She is a beauty queen. Could I ever trust a woman who subjected herself to that sort of patriarchal degradation? Beauty pageants are the ultimate anti-feminist institution left in our society. How could the McCain crowd hope to draw disenfranchised Hillary supporters with a candidate such as this?

So, at first blush, I was excited. The race will be interesting to watch. The American people were gullible enough to give Dubya a second term, so anything is possible. Regardless of who wins, history will be made and I’ve always been a big history buff.

For the record, I was and am a staunch Hillary supporter. I can see past my uterus though, which for the record is still fully functional. I can see Sarah for who she is and regardless of my excitement at the prospect of having a woman in a position of real power in the White House, I can’t get excited about the prospect of that woman being Sarah Palin. I wonder if her uterus is just a ruse. She doesn’t look like a man…but she sure thinks like one, acts like one, sounds like one despite the pitch of her voice. Where is her voice for equal pay for equal work? Where is her voice demanding healthcare for everyone? Where is her voice pleading for educational equality? Where is her voice doing anything at all to address the issues directly affecting woman? What good is it to have a woman in the White House when she thinks like a man?

No good at all, in my book.

At least with a guy, I don’t think of him as a hypocrite and traitor.

Were I a person of color, I’d be thinking the same thing about Obama. Is he willing to stand up for the unique concerns of equality for those also of his race? Or will he don the coat so familiar to persons of color and be just another face in the crowd, albeit a shade darker.

Time will tell.

But I’m more willing to risk my bet on the black man.

Breathing Room

I’m trying to slow it down
Catch my breath
Calm the rapid fire beating
Of my heart.
What am I, fifteen?
Where is the calm, rational accountant that I know
lives in me somewhere?
Pleasure invades my consciousness
Every time I pause, even for a moment
While doing the dishes
Boiling the pasta
In conversation
With my thirteen year old.
Color pinks my cheeks
At the vivid memories
Nestled at the edges of my brain
Of when I was with him
Just a few short hours ago,
Or was it days?
Weeks even?
He hugged me,
Full bodied,
Just on the conscious side of waking up
Pressed against my back.
He hugged me tightly,
Kissed my hair
As I sought to commit the memory
Into the harddrive of my mind
For times like now
When I’m back home
In my normal routine
Getting ready for church
Making coffee
Clipping brown leafed flowers
From their proud green stalks
Hoping that before those memories
Fade, like the flowers,
I’ll have new buds of memories
Coming into full bloom.