just another political dance

They are partners in a dance.  He leads, she unwillingly joins in.


She can say no.  Statute says she must say no, but too much is at risk.  Following the rules would lead to publicity and a law suit.


She wants to say no; her partner wants her to say no.


Her only option is seduction.  Slowly, carefully she leads him to infer that she's really on his side, a dyed in the wool, life-long conservative.  He sees an ally in his fight against the liberals.  The dance stops.


He agrees to a compromise, a cease and temporary desist while he investigates her premise. His signature gatherers complain, but haunt the business next door.


She feels dirty. 
                          

When I was 20

I owned a new, red '72 Super Beetle.  

I lived in a small apartment in Arlington, TX and worked full time to put my childhood sweetheart through college.

I could see our future very clearly.  After his graduation, I would quit my job and become a housewife whose only purpose in life would be to take take of him, his house, and our children.


He graduated, went to work, and sent me to college so he wouldn't be ashamed to introduce me to his co-workers.  He could see our future very clearly.  After my graduation, we would be a childless two-career family with a wonderful townhouse and fancy cars.  


His perfect planning had one flaw; college grads do not good doormats make.


Today, I own a red Element, live in a modest house, with a different hubby, two almost grown children, and a wonderful career.    

Socks, the standing cat

Oh kitty-kitty, why is it you stand so?


Most lap kitties snuggle down and are content.


But you, my dear friend, insist on standing.


For the last 17 years each of us has tried to convince the other they are wrong, but to no avail.


If I were wiser, I would accept you for who you are -- a standing lap cat.

abandoned

A knock at the door.

The boyfriend has arrived.

The daughter quickly pulls on her jacket, grabs her backpack, and heads out to begin her day.

Muffled voices filter through the door as she lovingly greets the boyfriend and his dog.

Her now abandoned cat sits stiffly and glares at the door.

Oh kitty-kitty, she still loves you.

Please Mrs. Obama - no more cold feet

It seems that far too many are spending their time trying to prevent our newly elected president from doing the job he was elected to do.  The very same folks who created this mess are now ... but I am too busy dealing with problems I have some control over to jump into the "not invented by my party so I won't support it fiasco".     

I do have one word of advice for for Mrs. Obama - it's okay to be stylish and have warm feet. You are not the only otherwise intellligent woman to dress warmly from the knees up while leaving your calves, ankles, and feet at the mercy of the elements.  However, you may be the only women in this country who is positioned to start the warm feet & legs trend.

Stylish shoes and nylons don't protect from icy wind and frozen pavement.  Anyone who has ventured out into a storm shod only in stylish shoes and nylons knows this.  Anyone whose professional credibility is tied to her appearance doesn't really have any fashionably acceptable alternatives.  The Obama girls were stunning and warm.  Mrs. Obama, you could have been equally stunning and warm.  All it takes is a little courage.

My personal fashion choice recently when I needed to brave a cold commute to attend a funeral was a grey turtleneck, a long straight linen skirt with one side split to the knees, textured grey winter weight hose, and my black mammoth crocs.  Okay, this is the Pacific Northwest where we are a bit casual.  If I were still residing in Fort Worth, I would have never worn crocs to a funeral, but then both pairs of dressy leather boots wouldn't have stayed in the back of the closet so long they were relegated to the donation box.

     

... variations on a theme ...

11/04/08

My travel weary toes wriggle in the sand 

  Crocs in my hand.

    Someone waits, but they can wait a bit longer.

My cell phone vibrates against my hip

  I eagerly grab the phone - usual curses forgotten.

    Waikiki has mellowed me.

Jan's voice rings clear, we have a new president!  

  Obama's won - McCain's conceded - There won't be a fight!

    I sink onto the sand and savor the sunset

      Hope restored - I smile.

******************************************************

1/20/09

Late, rushed, overworked before I even get to work

  I treat myself to a mocha with amaretto - free flavor day

    Lucky me - I smile.

At work television's on, staff gathered round to watch

  Books checked in while eyes watch the events unfold.

    I sink onto the kick-stool and savor my coffee

      He raises a hand and lifts a nation.

I guess I've joined the 21st Century.

My peers are amazed that I have a facebook account.  Well why not; it's a perfect way to keep in touch with my progeny and my daughter set up the account.  Yes, I use it a bit and suspect I'll use it even more once my peers try out this new technology, but then again maybe not.

When my daughter suggested I create a blog in order to follow her blog, my ears picked up.  Now this is 21st Century that I feel at home with.  Writing is simple - no wall to wall or "mom, you realize that my egg won't hatch for 7 days?" kind of obstacles to get in the way.  With a blog, it's just me and the keyboard.  This is technology doesn't require any skills I didn't have 35 years ago when I pulled an all-nighter by candlelight to finish my English term paper on my trusty Olivetti.  Okay, if the power goes ou