Herban Sprawl

I broke an earring and had been meaning to run it downtown to the jeweler for ages. Since I was going to be around the block today, volunteering at the local campaign office, I decided to pop in and see about the poor thing.

My jeweler is a gem, no pun intended. I mean to tell you, a truly nice guy, and one of those people who always knows the exact right thing to say. I like to tease him about his ability to follow the Episcopalians’ 11th Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Be Tacky, but I think it’s innate with him. I don’t think he could be tacky if he took lessons.

So when a visiting merchant in his establishment asked me about my political buttons (I was just with the twenty-somethings, remember?), I was a little taken aback.

Okay, pick up your jaws. I might write about my ‘a-sordid’ opinions, but I am really, really careful about those with whom I will engage in political discussion. I may have written about it in this space, but I am reticent to discuss abortion - or Sarah Palin’s oddball religious views - and I really do not like to engage in arguments with people who do not agree with my candidates’ points of view.

Call me a big ole chicken, but I’d just rather not argue politics. And I especially don’t want to argue politics with a stranger in front of the guy who selected my engagement stone, puts up with my teasing and whose employees are always as sweet as pie to me. I’ve known him for over twenty years, but I have no idea how he votes and don’t consider it any of my business. He’s a businessman and he has to make a living dealing with people of all political stripes. I would eat lamb rather than put him on the spot. (I despise lamb.)

So there I was. The man wanted to know if I hated Sarah Palin. (Truth: I don’t hate her; I just think she’s the south end of a northbound horse.) I gurgled.
He wanted to know why I don’t like her. (Truth: she belongs to a version of holy roller churches that scare the tar out of me, her husband is a secessionist, she doesn’t believe in abortion, she shoots animals from an airplane, and I’m sick to death of her claim that she’s a regular person. She’s a sham.) I blubbered.
I tried desperately to come up with something palatable without getting into specifics. I was sweating bullets, there, people! I managed to choke out disapproval of her inability to string together coherent sentences, but I didn’t even get that right! Jeweler to the rescue. He interpreted it exactly right, and with the grace and tact that is his hallmark.

The guy pressed me for more and finally, in a last gasp, I just said it. “I disagree with her views on abortion.” Lord have mercy. I didn’t like saying it.

Why? Why would I, who have written about that issue with the same consistent viewpoint, right here in this space, why do I find it so difficult to say that to people I do not know, but who might disagree with me?

I think that Ellen Goodman hit it right when she said that women are very circumspect in discussing this issue. It’s such a controversial issue that many of us are careful about where and with whom we will discuss it. Much the same as outing a gay person, no one wants to out a woman who may have had an abortion. If there women around and the topic comes up among strangers, who in that group might get hurt feelings? Who might inadvertently be put on the spot?

So there I was, a blithering idiot, unable to make my points. Unable to say, lookit here, I was a moderate Republican once upon a time, but then the Republicans sold themselves out to the racists, religious radicals and rich-beyond-rich. The party of Mr. Lincoln is no more. I cannot espouse the same views and be true to my conscience when it comes to social justice. I am a firm believer in the separation of church and state, and unlike the religious right, I have read enough history to know that the founding dads were not uniformly Christian in the same way that they are. They did a lot of praying because they had just embarked upon a political experiment that could sink all of them! It had nothing to do with this being a Christian nation.

Put a pen in my hand, or a keyboard before me, and I can tell you exactly how I feel. Confront me and I blither. I just don’t want to offend anyone, but at this point, I may just have to prepare myself for the inevitable.

An addendum to my friend Esthers’s conundrum (as opposed to corundum!) with the right wingers who had filled her emailbox with their propaganda:

I wound up engaging with a man who, in exasperation, made a perjorative remark about arguing with a Unitarian Universalist that had me chuckling merrily. It was really funny, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it that way. That I emailed him back and told him thanks and then told him another UU joke probably made him decide I’ve lost my mind. Bless his heart. If he wastes his vote on the Old Fart and the Beauty Tart, that’s his right.

My friend Esther, with her Biblical name, is a devoutly religious woman. She is also devoutly pro-choice. That she is raising her grandsons demonstrates she is devoutly pro-family. Nevertheless, she has been bombarded with a lot of right-wing bombast and she’d had it. She sent me a plea for help, but while I was considering how to help, I got an email from her that she’d sent to the offending parties.

Here’s the thing about Esther - she’s a good, ole girl and she calls ‘em like she sees ‘em. She is retired from the public schools and she’s seen it all. So when she gets this discouraged, it’s time to chime in. After all, she’s been there for a lot of people, and how quickly they forget. Shame on them for being so inconsiderate of her feelings. Shame on them for remembering that she has the right to not be badgered.

Here’s the other thing about Esther - she provides me with good writing fodder. This is my “reply to all” response to her latest:
Amen, Esther.

I stood in line with two ladies who told me their grandmother died of a botched abortion in 1933. She had had ten pregnancies, the last being a multiple birth. When she became pregnant again, her husband was out of work and it the the Depression. In desperation, she decided an abortion was the only chance her living children would have at being looked after. These two women were devoutly religious, yet maintained that being pro-family means that women should continue to have the privacy guaranteed by the Roe v. Wade decision that came forty years too late for their grandmother.

The Bible doesn’t say that life begins at conception. In fact, in the book of Numbers, (5:11-29) it recommends administering an abortifacient to a wife if her husband suspects her of being unfaithful. Similarly the sentences for inducing an abortion versus putting a human being to death were explicitly delineated in the ancient Code of Hammurabi. Even the law of Moses followed that precedent. (You could look it up!)

In her column, Ellen Goodman pointed out that one in three women has had an abortion at some point in her life. That means that in any room of women, there will be some who have had some form of abortion. The thing is, women do not discuss it. They take the approach that it is none of anyone’s business. And truly, the stigma attached to it is a recent phenomenon.

Prior to Roe v. Wade, I knew women who traveled first to New York, and later to California, for legal abortions. It is significant that Ronald Reagan was the governor of California at the time, and it was he who signed the legalization of abortion into law. In those days it wasn’t a badge of honor, by any means, but women were matter of fact about it. Given the numbers of women who are unable to use certain forms of birth control and given men’s reluctance to have their pleasure denied by use of a condom, it is no wonder there continue to be unplanned pregnancies. Women networked and shared where to go for the most affordable abortions. Indeed, there were ministerial counseling groups who arranged trips for women! Ministers! Imagine that! And from main line protestant denominations! Gasp! Baptists! Presbyterians….. (Apparently, they were well enough versed in the Bible to know there is no imperative prohibiting abortion.)

Abstinence? Tell that to the woman who died in 1933. Her husband knew good and well that sex with his wife could result in another pregnancy. He had no job. What was he thinking?

Abstinence? Tell that to Bristol’s pistol. Where was his condom? What was he thinking? Oh, hell, we know…. I’ve got a boner, Bristol, come on, it’s only one time… it’s all your fault….you got me hot… If we women had a penny for every time we heard that, we’d be able to bail out Lehman Brothers.

So while the self-righteous among us continue to berate, badger and belabor their friends and neighbors with their particular point of view, remember this: you might very well be talking to a woman to has had an abortion. And she might be nodding her agreement, but deep down inside she might be saying, ‘Are you nuts? My husband raped me the night I told him I was leaving his alcoholic, abusive self. You think I wanted an abortion? I had no choice. I had no home, no money and no prospects. All I had was a broken nose and the reminder of how he violated me.’

The Bible does tell us to have compassion and to be kind. Telling other people, especially women  -who earn 70 cents for every dollar men earn - that they must bear the brunt for someone else’s 5 seconds of pleasure is cruel and inhuman. Forcing poor women to have babies that they can ill afford and don’t necessarily want, foists even more abused children upon an educational system already strapped by the crack babies and fetal alcohol syndrome babies that are clogging the special needs classrooms.

Finally, I would remind my Christian brethren of the following:
In the United States of American, we have the Constitutional right to worship, or not, as we see fit. That means a Muslim has the same religious freedom of worship as a Hindu or a Christian. All religions, if people would take the time to study them, preach the same thing: be kind to your fellow wo/man. We are all in this together and we must help one another in times of need. We must have mercy and compassion in our hearts. We must love our neighbors, whether we agree with them or not.

By the same token, the Constitution has granted women the right to vote. If the Constitutional right to privacy in a decision between a woman and her doctor isn’t good enough for you, try this one:
Matthew 6, 5 - 7.
That involves Jesus’ command to keep one’s prayers private. That should help you in your understanding of what     Jesus considered to be sacred. Remember, he was a practicing Jew. He had no written Bible. He only had the law of Moses, as taught by the rabbis. And Moses didn’t prohibit abortion. Women can take that to the polls the next time men threaten to erode their rights.

With all love and support in your current struggle to be left alone with your own opinions,
Auntie

The Windy City got waaaaayyyyy breezier the day the Chicago Tribune endorsed Barack Obama for President of the United States. That was its founder, the stalwart Republican Col. McCormick, spinning in his grave. It was a first for the Trib and signaled the change that was inevitable with new ownership of the paper.

Here in the Star City, our paper today endorsed two newcomers in the race for the U.S. House of Representatives. I was astonished! In the past they had stuck with the two old-line politicians, but this time they cited reasons that were cogent and, quite frankly, needed to be stated in front of Goddess and everybody.

One was blatantly whipping up bigotry among a constituency not noted for its open-mindedness, and his ads had all the subtlety of a cross burning in somebody’s front yard. The other has overshot his own call for term limits, saying he had to run because no one else would. His predecessor never used such a flimsy excuse for wanting to hang onto power and the connections he’s gained. After all, it wasn’t for nothing that he got his picture taken with “Ahnold Schwahtzenegah.”

The late Col. Hart, my neighbor and the patriarch of one branch of my clan, once ran for office because he said somebody had to run against the Byrd Machine. Sam Rasoul and Tom Periello are each doing that - they are running against the Bush Machine because they feel the same moral imperative to challenge the narrow-mindedness and poor judgment displayed by each of the incumbents. That the Roanoke Times endorsed them and called the incumbents on their particular weaknesses is telling.

To be sure, the Rep. Good Latte, has brought home the bacon and the chops. However, in this era of belt-tightening, he’s also endorsed Bush plans that have our country in hock to the Chinese. That’s scary. Then, when the ultimate spending bill came up, The Big Bailout, he got parsimonious, all of a sudden. He’s good with the money we’re wasting - not to mention the lives - in Iraq, but when it came to ponying up the capital to keep American industry from collapsing, he suddenly had a fiscal conscience. What’s up with that?

Virgil Goode is a bigoted, racist waste. Not more needs to be said. When he had the chance to prove he had a shred of decency left, he didn’t take it, so now he gets to be called a bigoted, racist waste with impunity. He proved it with his own words, which he did not retract, as well as with that ad he ran in which he tried to make and Italian-American look like an Arab.

There are some concerns that have been expressed about Sam Rasoul - that he really isn’t a true Democrat, he’s too young and inexperienced, and that his idealism won’t carry him. Well, you know what? This is America. If he is elected to Congress and he doesn’t catch on, we’re free to run someone else against him. In the meantime, I’m willing to give the kid a chance. If he’s willing to put himself out there, he has no skeletons in his closet, and he’s honest with the voters, then we should take him seriously.

As for Tom Periello - well, being a devout Catholic who lives his beliefs is no different from being a devout Unitarian Universalist who lives his or her beliefs. His idea about tithing community service time is a way for people to connect with their communities and to take ownership of them. That’s not a bad idea. He connects it to his faith. That’s fine. He’s not asking us to convert to Catholicism, he’s just asking us to live our beliefs: help the poor, be kind, don’t steal, mind our manners, be true to ourselves. What’s so awful about that?

I begin this day cheered by these turns of the tide in politics and hopeful that we will indeed be able to heed Ghandi’s words:

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

I think it was John Lennon who said that life is what happens while you are making other plans. If I’m wrong, I know the Tribe will wire me the correction - Be that as it may, all of us get caught up in the day to day drivel of living, and sometimes I think we forget that we aren’t alone.

How many times, as I was growing up, were there projects underway in our household that involved a variety of personalities? My aunt Pep, a cigarette (with a 2 inch ash that never dropped - I kid you not) stuck to the corner of her mouth, would be on a ladder, painting our living room. When it was time to clean out the closets, Mom, my sister and I were up to our ears in clothes and hangers and plastic dry cleaner bags. In my dad’s shop there were always guys who wandered in for one thing and wound up sticking around while they held a piece of steel in place while my dad welded. Truck drivers thinking they could grab a snooze while he worked on their broken springs were often surprised to find he expected them to get under the truck with him while he hoisted a huge leaf spring into position.

Everything was a team effort and it was fun. The tasks always got done more quickly and probably more thoroughly.

What’s happened to us? Why is it that when a friend needs an extra set of hands to pull the tarp over the pool, he doesn’t think to call. Why is it that when it’s time to scrape and paint the porch, it’s a solo act?

A few years back, I had Stephanie here, forcing me to toss out stuff that was jammed into the kneewall storage area. Then we migrated to the locker. Oy! I sucked it up and tossed out boxes of old materials from when I taught middle school. Painful, but she made me and I’ve never regretted it. Last year when I did the Big Purge of 2007, I did it alone. It was hard. I waffled and I weasled. Finally, it was the sheer numbers of trash bags full of Goodwill items that inspired me. If I’d had my niece, who has a garage sale every year, here to help, it would have been a piece of cake. (”Auntie, that is ugly and you are never going to wear it again!”)

Our lives have gotten to be so insular. We hunker down in our abodes, we aren’t necessarily happy, but we never think to ask our friends for support. It never occurs to us that one friend or another is toughing it out over something else and would welcome thinking about somebody else’s issues for a change! Maffa and I bolster each other by phone. She’s a better caller than I am, but then she doesn’t read the Sprawl regularly, so I get to tell her what’s going on in technicolor detail, complete with profanity and voice inflections.

I dunno, but it seems to me that we need to make the effort to include others so we aren’t feeling so terribly alone and disconnected. As our lives bump along, there is no reason why they can’t bump into the lives of those who matter to us. As a case in point, I wound up eating lunch with BGF and his daughter a lot this summer. I was there teaching her, the tomatoes were coming in and a tomato sandwich was a treat not to be missed. We drove daughter crazy with our insane wordplay and teasing, but it connected us again. After years of isolation due a rather unusual family situation, it was good to have that other person who “gets it” about us.

Life gets in the way. Maffa had her stuff going on, but now things have shifted, and I’m kind of hoping that when she’s no longer the main care-engineer for her mama, that she might consider coming back to The Star City. For the record, she’s Big Kitty’s girlfriend, too! Now that we are in touch regularly, I don’t intend to let it slide like before.

Even with our aching joints, these are gardens we can tend, and if we’re smart, we will apply tender loving care to them. It’s good to gather around the table, share dinner and check in with each other. It’s even better when everyone takes turns at initiating the fun activities.

Something tells me I’m getting in the mood for a party. Only this time, I don’t want to cook alone…….

The other day I received an unusual email. To tell the truth, I don’t check my Herban Sprawl email very often. Most of the people that have something to say to me are people who know me and use my personal email address. Copiously! So to find a message was a surprise, but imagine my shock when the person asked if I would be interested in selling my domain name!

The people who know me well will be “ROTFLTheirAO,” because they participated in a contest to help name the blog, and among them, they know this is the title I really wanted. I was running a marketing test, as it were – But it made perfect sense. An herb enthusiast (some few would call me an herbalist, but I kind of cringe because I am no Rosemary Gladstar) with an eclectic range of interests, I’ve been writing in journals and for myself for most of my life. I can thank my dearly departed mother for my insistence on the use of commas, but I must apologize to her for my lack of pithiness. On the other hand that’s what got me into trouble with the query.

I was so taken aback that I responded rather directly, in my 40° below zero-get-back-inside-before-you-freeze-to-death-out-here Midwestern way. This is as opposed to my chat-for-an-hour-learning-the-family-lineage-and-full-life-story Southern way. The person asking was offended and responded that I had been terse. (Mom! I was pithy – finally!)

People come up with interesting names for their blogs. They also put a lot of time and effort into them. While Doonesbury’s Rick may rail about the plethora of narcissists on the ether waves, as it were, the fact is, it’s communication, and it’s what ties human beings together. When I sit down to write, I often have no idea what is going to come out. I try valiantly to keep my posts to a certain word length, and if anyone is counting, they can see a pattern of obsessive-compulsive numbers, regardless of a “terse” piece or a run-away-with-the-typing piece.

Clarice will call, after having enjoyed a few cocktails, and gush about whatever it is I have written. I don’t dismiss him because he’s my flagpole reader. You know the old saying, ‘run it up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes.’ I take about 20% of the gushing as helpful and chalk the rest of it up to The Brothers Smirnoff, which will cause him to barrel over here in the Cadillac and threaten to take back Sal and turn the cats against me. But the truth is, that 20% tells me if I’ve been hitting my points. (Hopefully, one of these days he will tell me when I have been way the hell off! Then I will know it isn’t just because he loves me!)

As I reflected on my refusal to part with my domain name, I know I need to do something with the web page that goes with it. Thanks in part to my tutoring gig, I need to recertify as a licensed schoolmarm, and one of the classes I thought I’d take will teach me the tools I need for building my web page. But, as I told the person who’d like my domain name, it hasn’t been a priority. I’m still reluctant to identify myself in public like that. After all, the white supremacist is behind bars for the time being, but his brotherhood will be scanning the internet looking for dirt on those who would smear him. All I need is for one of them to read my website and start trouble. (You just can’t be a closet liberal if you’re going to be on the internet!)

This brings me back to something I promised readers way back when – the topics would sprawl around. I hope I have achieved that, in spite of the persistent crabbing about Saracuda of late. As soon as the election is over, sometime next spring?, I promise to get back to the benign ranting of yore.

Example: have any of you been wiping your eyes after reading Sally Forth lately? I have. It’s been touching and I will admit to watering down my espresso over it. Likewise, I know that Funky has to deal with Cory and his acting out. Life isn’t right if I haven’t started my day with the newspaper.

Lastly, we’ve had some frost here, which nailed the fruit sage and made it ugly. But the bright red of the pineapple sage is astonishing against the yellowing backdrop of the rest of the garden. I need to get out there and harvest the hot peppers, and I also need to clean up the herbs. Yesterday I chopped together rosemary (lots) and garlic (6 cloves) and rolled a little pork loin in it. What I did differently was inspired by some very large Bergartten sage leaves that were beckoning to me. I made a bed of those on the bottom of the baking dish and set the rosemary/garlic encrusted roast on top of them. Different bites of the roast put flavors in different parts of the mouth. Fascinating!

Simon sez, “When are you going to write about me? You covered Barney and Charlie and everyone knows I’m the most important cat around here.”  Soon, my feline son, soon. Just get over this idea you are most important because I love each of you the same, and like it or not, Salvatore da Betta figures in this family, too. Besides, as I have told you over and over, the Alpha Cat in this household is the one with two legs and a pair of Kleins in his hand, not any of you! Meow.

It’s been an eventful day here in my little corner of The Star City of the South. First off, The House Goddess came by today and she was duly impressed and shrieking with glee that I stood in line to see Sen. Obama. The House Goddess was slow to warm up to the political scene this year, but once she made up her mind, that was that.

In her eyes, Barack Obama is part Martin Luther King Jr., part JFK and sweetened by a touch of Tiger Woods. The Goddess had a twinkle in her eye when she told me that. Then we hopped around and giggled like dopey schoolgirls.

The House Goddess went off on a toot about the $150,000 wardrobe and the expensive stylist who is traveling with Gov. Palin. I won’t put down her exact words, but if you can imagine what the Lady Chablis might say, you’ve pretty well got the Goddess’s take on the situation.

Her final comment was a doozie, “She got clothes she ain’t worn in that plane? Then she can take ‘em back to the store like anybody else. She ain’t givin’ them to no Goodwill and if she thinks we women b’lieve any other woman gonna throw away clothes from them big expensive stores, she crazy, Girl!” Amen, Goddess. Amen to that.
The campaign office finally called me and I’m all signed up to help next week. I’ll be answering the phone and such, which is a good thing for me to do.

Shannon called while the H.G. was here. She’s left her job as a prosecuting attorney and was still feeling beat up. I invited her for dinner and talked her out of the tree for a while. I hate it when my girls are treated badly. That former boss of hers better not decide to take a run down my street… I’ve got a big, heavy Studebaker with his name on it.
Then, after a perfectly nice little pork roast, I got a call from Stephanie - and here was the night’s big news - she was selected as Virginia State Teacher of the Year! It’s like being Miss Virginia, only better. She was just bubbling in her new suit from Talbots - I didn’t realize she needed to be dressed to the nines for the banquet or I’d have fixed her up with one of my old Opera outfits! At any rate, the superintendent was on her phone calling everyone near and far, so they were all busy celebrating in Richmond.

I am very pleased for her - there will be a lot of travel, though, so she and her spouse are going to need to be extra careful to build in family time. Toddlers aren’t toddlers for very long - got to be there a lot or you miss the big milestones. But, what a great honor! Wow!

Last night at Herb Society, I bought a Meyer lemon tree. The House Goddess eyeballed it warily and we chatted about how the tea tree had risen from the dead, so it was entirely possible I could grow this little lemon tree and see it fruit. I sure hope so. I have been wishing for a sunroom in which I could grow a Key lime, a Meyer lemon, and be able to keep lemon verbenas going all year long. I have a thought about having a corner that has a terrazzo floor with a drain and a hand sprayer so I could give the tea tree a regular shower, and how large the bay could get with that sort of atmosphere. Alas, as the House Goddess pointed out, if wishes were horses, between us we’d have a whole stable.

The Star City is getting rain, which is needed, and hopefully it will wash away Shannon’s cares. As for the Old Tart and the Old Fart, we’re just feeling blessed to be surrounded by such bright, promising young people and dear friends like H.G., Clarice and the gang.

The latest running joke is the amount of money the Republicans lavished on the former beauty queen. In the neighborhood of $150,000, as a matter of fact – and also they needed to beef up the wardrobe of her husband the secessionist.

Gee, what couldn’t I do with that kind of money, and especially given my exquisite Italian taste?

I gave it some thought last night as I was drifting off to dreamland. The Republicans took Sarah to Neiman’s, Saks and Nordstrom’s. Any of those places is bound to have some comfy Ferragamo pumps and a few decent designer outfits. Add a few details like a gold brooch for a lapel and some new earrings and I’d be in business. For the amount of money they budgeted for hair and makeup, Remona could travel with me for a few months, making sure my dye job wasn’t rooty and my curls were styled. As to make-up, well, I need Clinique, so they wouldn’t have to shell out a fortune for the latest trendy war paint. Clinique is cheap by comparison. I wonder if I could have sneaked in a new bottle of Shalimar or tried Je Revien Couture…

Big Kitty already has a tailored navy suit, gold cufflinks and silk ties. He also has a tux, and gold studs. I suppose he’d be okay with a new black Armani suit and a couple of new dress shirts, but there is no way he’d give up his gold Steinlen cat tietack.

No matter which way you slice it, that was a lot of money for a woman who is telling Americans who are struggling to shop at WalMart that she is one of them. Sure you are, Gov’nor. Those people shrieking racial epithets and demonstrating religious intolerance are just like you, but they don’t have the couture wardrobe to dress it up. It’s easier to strut around in a pair of Italian pumps than it is in cheap ones made in China. Just ask my feet – they will affirm that not all high heels are created equal. Here in America, all people are created equal, whether they are wearing couture or not.

The polls are tightening up because the bigots are ‘coming out’ as fast as gays at a Pride Parade. Where they once were reticent to state their views publicly, they are now letting the rest of America know where they stand. Sen. Obama was right. Don’t take any lead for granted. Gen. Powell was right, too. We are headed down a very slippery slope if we allow an erratic, grumpy old man to win.

I did it. I signed on to Facebook. It wasn’t anything I would have thought of on my own, but then here came Kay, my ladyfriend who is ‘of an age,’ with an invitation to be one of her friends on Facebook.

Admittedly, she is probably the most computer savvy person I know, but this was not something I would have expected given all her other activities, not to mention her website, etc. etc. I capitulated because she always sets such a good example for me, and also because the nieces were on Facebook and both had sent me the invite. What’s an aunt to do?

My first problem was that I needed a picture. I used a really cute one of Barney that I took the other day. He was ensconced on the living room loveseat, his power spot, and a pink mousie was on the floor. I tucked the mousie into the crook of his paw and he just sniffed Mousie and kept watching me watch him. Barney is partial to pink. I got the camera.

Next I had to fill out all that other stuff. I was amazed by all the people they thought I’d want to be “friends” with. Granted, I knew a few of them since they are in-law in-laws, but we aren’t all that well acquainted.

Suffice to say, I did what I needed to do, posted a couple of pix and even chatted with Stephanie a little. (Wait until she finds out that her boss is happy about her new suit selection!)

So what’s more fun? Herban Sprawl or Facebook? Aw, the Sprawl! By a landslide! It’ll be even better when I get the picture uploading gremlin figured out!

Barack’s gram is very ill. I hope that all of us good Democrats are saying prayers of love and support for Toot.

Two weeks to go, Toot! You’ll have raised yourself the next President of the United States! Thanks for all your hard work and sacrifices - it has definitely paid off!

Gen. Colin Powell, a Republican of the same stripe as the Illinois moderates I remember, has endorsed Barack Obama. He picked out the key attribute that President Clinton spoke of here in the Star City a week ago. When the economic crisis came to a head, John McCain flitted from idea to idea, with nary a clue as to the probable outcomes of any of them. Meanwhile, Barack Obama approached the problem by hunkering down with a field of experts in order to understand it and hammer out a possible plan. Gen. Powell likes that in a man.

He remains a Republican, but he strays from the right leaning attributes that would tamper with abortion and so forth. He is also a man who was betrayed by that party’s leader and Commander in Chief when he was sent off to the United Nations with a pack of lies and instructed to sell the U.N. that pack of lies. For a man of his integrity, it had to have been a terrible shock to learn the truth. Who among us couldn’t feel for him?

And so as the campaign continues, especially in hotly contested in battleground states like ours, the great soldier and statesman has spoken his piece. It is time for a new generation to take over. He has chosen his words carefully, but he has made it clear that Sarah Palin is a problem. Many old-line Republicans, who don’t really give a rip about the far right’s issues, agree with him. For the people who support the troops, he remains a figure of admiration, and it is he who has told them it is time to think about things in a different way – that change can be good. Will they listen to the old soldier?

It’s a beautiful, crisp autumn day here in the Star City of the South. I’d really like to be working in the yard, but I got this bizarre case of tendinitis in my arm which has cramped my style in very strange ways. I had no idea that holding my bowl of oatmeal with my thumb in a certain position would cause a shot of electricity to go zapping up to my elbow! Eegad.

Nevertheless, I was tired of the pile of junk mail that needed to be shredded but too cheap to go out to buy a new shredder, having melted down the switch on the last one! Instead, I decided to defy every city ordinance against open flames and fired up the Weber! Mind you, my Weber is not a large kettle, but an almost 30 year old Smokey Joe version. I smell like fall from my youngsterhood, when the people in my aunt’s neighborhood would rake their leaves to the curb and set fire to them. It was a totally satisfying experience, and I am seriously thinking about getting one of those cool fire pits instead of another shredder! The ash from the credit card and insurance offers can be used as mulch.

I also caught up with Clarice today. He was in Ohio, another swing state, visiting relatives. All this business on Wall Street and with the banks has him as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. His bank is fine, but, as he is quick to point out, thirty minutes up until they announced they were bankrupt, that’s what Wachovia said, too. Anyway, he had to catch up on the news here at the Sprawl, and was guffawing over my experience at the Obama rally. Clarice was a skeptic, early on, but as the campaign has worn on, he has decided that the party hasn’t lost  its mind and he can get behind this candidate. He was a Hillary guy, after all, and like me, he mourns the loss of President Bill. Barack is earning his respect.

Clarice and I haven’t hit the road in a long time. That aircraft carrier of his is a bit of a glutton for gas, plus both of us feeling broke and scared of the future has been a lot of the problem. And, I think we’ve just gotten lazy. I was still in my pajamas at nearly 1:00 when we hung up, for pete’s sake. You can’t just up and do something when one of you hasn’t even hit the showers yet!

One of the things I did last week was to volunteer at the campaign headquarters, and part of that is to house an out-of-town operative on election day. It’s only a short time off, so I figured I should do a few things to spiff up around here. Luckily, with my sister having just been in residence, I had half the battle of the clutter demons under control, but then there was the matter of all that paper that needed to be shredded. Now I can cross that off my list and move on to something else.

We put the bay tree and the tea tree on the screened porch last night. Today I tidied them up and brought them into the house. The tea tree is high maintenance, but I am determined to keep it going. Evelyn at the greenhouse didn’t make cuttings last year, so I can’t just wait for a new one. We can have a frost and I won’t worry, although I do need to make sure the aluminum hose wands are brought inside. And that’s the crux of autumn. We clean up and make sure we can batten down the hatches when the hard frost is nigh.

It’s the time of making soup and crusty bread and it’s the time to thumb through the recipes to plan heartier meals. Clarice and I will be thinking about the Christmas decorations before too long, but for now, I’m just going to enjoy the scent of smoke in my sweatshirt and be pleased that I have the guest room ready for the next visitor.