Herban Sprawl

Well, at least that’s what it felt like today!

I ventured out into a pretty steady rain - light, but steady - and amply covered by my poncho, made my way to a shuttle parking area and got bused to the civic center. On the way, I made friends with two other supporters and we three hiked to the end of the line. When I say hiked, I do mean we had to hoof it all the way to the opposite side of the parking lot, the side which parallels the exit ramp from I-581.

Part of the fun of one of these events has to do with the people you meet. In line with us were two women who told us that their grandmother had died thanks to a botched illegal abortion in 1933. She’d just had triplets, found herself pregnant again, and it being the Depression, knew there was no way - this would have been her eleventh pregnancy. These ladies could never in a million years understand the government’s need to interfere with a procedure that should be legal and safe. They were very, very liberal and lived in a very, very conservative area - Mecklenburg County.We had people there from North Carolina, D.C. and all parts in between.
We were in line until they opened the doors promptly at ten, and the volunteers came around often to get us to sign up to help (I did that yesterday), and then to shout the directions for what we could take in and what we’d need to leave outside. (Umbrellas, mainly.) Sam Rasoul stationed himself along the line and shook hands. He remembered me from yesterday and I gave him the atta boy.The others in my immediate area asked what he was like. “Passionate and very smart. Committed and dedicated to keep it clean. He may be a Muslim, but he also went to Sunday school at a Brethren church, so he has both sides of the moral equation to guide him.” The pleasant surprise was visible. Sam’s got their votes. And they’ve been asked to talk him up when they go back home.
Going through the security spot was easy. People were cooperative and took everything seriously. The lady in front of me needed to be scanned with a hand-held business. She didn’t fuss. She willingly did as directed and even asked, “Anything else you need me to do? Are you sure? I don’t want no danger comin’ to my candidate! You need to treat me like a terrorist if you ain’t sure!” “Move along, ma’am,” one assured her, smiling.

I could have chosen to stand down in front, close to the candidate. I’d been on my arthritic knee and my tendinitis needed to be rested, so I opted for a seat. They blocked off a whole section, for security reasons, but the fact is, they filled it with latecomers. There were thousands of people there and they were excited.

My neighbors were a lady and her two daughters (a lot of kids came on school buses and there were a lot playing hooky), and a retired U.S. Army master sergeant, who was waiting for his wife, a parole officer, to get out of a meeting. One of the little girls got the bright idea to start a wave, and after a half dozen tries, the section next to us got the drift and with just one more effort, the wave went around - not once, but six times! It was great and we were copious with our praise for her efforts.

Our master sergeant was critical of McCain - he was flyin’ where he wasn’t supposed to be flyin’ and that’s why he got shot down. He never bothered to follow orders, he tore up planes and he was reckless. The message was that while he respected the fact that he’d been a P.O.W., he had no sympathy for the act of having been shot down because it had endangered the lives of the crew and showed a complete lack of respect for the equipment. Following orders doesn’t seem to be something John McCain can do with ease.

We got the usual suspects on stage - Dick Cranwell, the state Democratic chair came out and rabble-roused, as only he can do. We had a soulful rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, we had an invocation, we had the Pledge and then Rep. Rick Boucher came out to speak. He introduced Sen. Jim Webb and the crowd went wild. And finally, those with cell phones that have all the bells and whistles had successfully passed the word that the eleven car motorcade had rolled up and HE was in the building. Excitement was building even higher, if it was possible - and mind you, we were in the amen corner!

Finally, he came out - shaking the hands of those lucky enough to have been positioned along the roped area to the stage. The place went wild.

Sen. Obama gave his stump speech, with the updates we’ve come to expect, and he almost couldn’t get it all out - people would stand up and start cheering the instant he started on a theme they thought they knew by heart. They absolutely could have miked him better - it was hard to hear him and the crowd just wouldn’t let him finish any one thing.

What they did hear, though, was his admonition to not believe the polls. He pointed out the lead in New Hampshire, where he lost, and all the others that had similar outcomes. He encouraged everyone to get out there. He pushed the young people and he asked for our help. I don’t think anyone’s arm was twisted unwillingly.At the end, the crowd roared and clapped along to Stevie Wonder as Barack Obama wound around the line in front of the stage and shook hands with the standing crowd.
I saw a lot of familiar faces in the crowd and it was fun to see people I’d met briefly at other events or in other circumstances. Everyone was energized. I could hear The House Goddess in my head, “I’m feelin’ it, oh, yeah, I’m feelin’ it!”  The lady next to me said, beaming, “God has made this happen, uh-huh. God is here with us. I can feel Him.” I would never dispute that, doubter that I am. There was a kind of energy that was palpable.

Upon leaving, I ran into an elderly lady from our church and helped her find her umbrella in the bush where she’d stashed it. She was hobbling along with a cane, so I muscled her to the front of a bus line and saw to it that she got on. Then I went down the line to wait for another shuttle. There people continued to talk and make friends. You learn a lot.

One lady declared that Sen. Obama is a true African-American. She and her sister declared that white people had no excuses when it came to race because the man is half white, after all. Then they proceeded to tell me about their very light skinned great grandfather - “he was as light as you are, honey!”

So is it about race? Yes and no. Black people are feeling empowered in a way that they haven’t dared to expect. White people are disgusted with the powers that have destroyed the American way of life (I heard those exact words a lot) and have linked arms with their black fellow citizens in a show of unbelievable passion. I asked a black lady if she thought our kinship would dissolve after the election. “I hope not, Sweetie. I hope not. We are all God’s children and we need to stand together.”

The energy in the stadium was fabulous - it was positive - it felt good! People were smiling. Umbrellas weren’t stolen and everyone got along. Nobody was cross. “We need this rain,” was the refrain. “It’s October, of course it’s going to cool down.” “We’re gonna win by a landslide!” “We gotta keep an eye out for voter fraud!” “Them Republicans are gonna try some kinda scare tactic at the last minute.” Those were the common themes of those waiting for the shuttles.
I’m awfully tired tonight as I write this. I feel like I might be getting a bug, but I can sleep in tomorrow and dose up with herb tea. Whatever. It was soooooo worth it! It was history! I’m feelin’ it, uh-huh. I definitely am feelin’ it!

We in the Star City are the lucky recipients of the full court press in a battleground state. And we have been a battleground state since General Lee decided to side with the Commonwealth instead of his country back in 1860 or so! (Except for Big Kitty, who is a native Virginian, few are willing to concede defeat in that little unpleasantness of over 140 years ago.)

Senator Obama is coming to town today. It is also raining. Am I going to go stand in a line to get into the Civic Center in order to see him? You betcha. This is an historic occasion. I have a bigass Totes poncho, after all. If I can weather rain at a bluegrass festival, the Blizzard of ‘79 in Chicago and the various and sundry Roanoke City Schools administrators, this oughta be a damp blip on my screen.

Am I excited? You betcha.

In this morning’s paper, the local white supremacist’s computer had been seized by federal agents. Unfortunately for them, he was off buying new equipment already, swearing they have nothing on him. Probably true, but it’s like having a really good lock on your door. It’s no guarantee you’ll keep the bad people out, but it might slow them down enough to discourage them from sticking around long enough to get in.

If you are the FBI and the Secret Service, would you want his operation shut down while Candidate Obama is in town rallying the troups? You betcha.

I’m off to get in line. More later! Enjoy the rain. We surely do need it.

We had a lovely visit with my sibling, her spouse and their friend, Fifi. Fifi was, as we’d been forewarned, a gas. We really enjoyed her company.

Yesterday we piled into Red Rocket and went up to Montpelier, the home of James Madison, which has been undergoing a massive transformation from DuPont family home back to that of President Madison. The progress is extensive and it is awe-inspiring that there, on “that” spot, in “that” room, is where the great man wrote the Constitution of the United States.

Think of it! This guy, no taller than I, but possessed of the brilliance and the temerity to investigate all possible solutions to the Articles of Confederation’s limitations, decided we had to start over. The going was tough, and even his best friend, the Sage of Monticello, declined to support ratification of the Constitution! Luckily, he was able to convince everyone that this was the only way we could get started, and that with the addition of a Bill of Rights, we would have a good document.

It was with this in mind that I read an email apology sent to me by an underling in Congressman Bob Goodlatte’s office regarding their failure to be ready for our group to tour the Capitol. It was with this in mind that I thought of the young man, a first generation American, who has the passion and the desire to challenge Mr. Goodlatte for his Congressional seat. I drove up to the other end of town to get a couple of his yard signs.

And, lucky for me, Sam Rasoul was just coming in, so I had a chance to tell him my story about how this was the last time I planned to have anything to do with Bob Goodlatte’s office.

This is what separates Sam from the other politicians - he listened to the story, and he extrapolated an important point: the trophies on the wall - all those pictures of one with the famous and the influential- reflect one’s values. Who one runs with affects one’s point of view and it is important to be careful of one’s associations in order to maintain a balanced view of the issues.

I’ve put the signs in the yard and I will tell anyone who listens that it’s been a long time since the Democrats fielded a candidate to oppose Bob Goodlatte. He’s hard to beat becasue he’s an incumbent and he’s entrenched. It’s way past time to call him on his own cry for term limits and see to it that his term is up come November 4th.

Say what you will about Bill Clinton. This afternoon he arrived in the Star City to champion the cause of Barack Obama, and to rally the troups here in this swing state. The press has been sniffy about his speeches, saying he hasn’t been stumping very hard for Obama. Oh, yeah?

You couldn’t prove that by us.

We toddled downtown and got into a line that was already a block long to wait to be allowed into the fenced area. The wait was long, but when it moved, it moved. The rally was loud and we wished we had earplugs because we were right by some speakers that were blaring some pretty awful country music. (Okay, okay - if it ain’t Tammy or Loretta, it ain’t country in my book.) We did all the usual things and the young man who is challenging the incumbent Republican for our Congressional District, Sam Rasoul, got up and did his thing. I was impressed. He was articulate, he was passionate and he is YOUNG! He is the youngest person running for Congress, and if we have sense enough to elect him, he will be the youngest Congressman ever. Cool, huh?

Finally, Bill Clinton arrived. I had a great view and I wished I’d made BK bring his camera because he’d have gotten much better shots than I did. he’s a slimmer man than he was as president, but he is as razor sharp in his speeches as ever. He made the case for us to get out there and not only elect Barack Obama, but to elect a good supporting cast as well.

He was passionate, he was a policy wonk and he connected with the crowd. Standing next to me was a 6′8″ young man who works at GE. (I correctly guessed his height!) He was into it! I was so glad he was there - that a young person who is concerned about his 401K cares enough to do something about the direction of his country tells me this campaign means something to a real cross section of what this country is all about.

President Clinton pointed out that when the crisis hit, Barack Obama gathered around him all his own economic advisors, the economic advisors from Clinton’s White House, and even President Clinton, himself. He sought information and he based his position on that information. Unlike Mighty Mouth he didn’t run off shooting his pistols in every direction - he did the presidential thing. Voicing his solid approval of the people Obama has chosen as advisors (they’re smart, they understand what is going on and what needs to be done) Mr. Clinton was not effusive and flowery in his praise. He was straightforward and factual. He made the case, he backed it up with his reasons, and he said that Obama is the best man to right the country.

So what is the press looking for? Do they want the sycophant Bill Clinton? (Does that man exist?) Do they want an emotional Bill Clinton?(We got a good amount of that, actually.) What exactly is it that they need to hear?

I really can’t say, and I’ll bet most people who were there today would wave off those reports. Bill Clinton connected with the crowd today and as I watched him, I remembered those eight years when my portfolio grew, and when the Democrats in Congress let him down on health care. Those people got voted out, and part of me isn’t sorry. This was a man to reckon with when he was out to get something passed. In order for his legacy to be sealed, we do need Barack Obama. We need smart men and women to lead. We need people who are passionate about something more than what’s in it for them. We need people who haven’t been involved in scandals like the Keating 5 or Troopergate.

People who attended this rally were in agreement - President Clinton still has IT. He’s still My President. That tall young man pushed to the front of the crowd. I really hope he got to shake Bill’s hand. He was excited and hooted throughout the speech. We oldsters were proud of him for caring enough to be there and we want him to have his own president. We understand completely.

It’s the early 1990s. Big Kitty and I are jammed into one end of one of the funky old sofas that line the walls of The Prism Coffeehouse in Charlottesville. Bill Vernon, our pal and the evening’s emcee is jammed into the opposite end. Tony Rice has just begun playing The Tennessee Waltz, one of my favorite old tunes. He glances up, sees us entwined and transported by the music, smiles to himself, and throws in a beautiful run that would bring tears to your eyes. Later, after the show, Bill gets Tony to autograph a Prism poster for me, because I am too shy to invade the green room myself.

Big Kitty just brought home a new release of Tony’s. It’s a compilation of singer-songwriter music that he had recorded long ago. I finally listened to it all the way through and I couldn’t help but recall so many of the things that happened in my life for which Tony Rice provided the soundtrack. I also remember the times when he was my therapist, and a good one, too.

The late Bill Vernon used to say that when he felt good, he wanted to hear bluegrass; when he felt bad, he had to listen to bluegrass.

I had accompanied my father to Peoria for back surgery. We’d had a particularly stormy fight the night before they ran the first tests, and in typical fashion, he was petulant as they rolled him off for the surgery. As angry as I was, I was also feeling emotionally bloodied. I had my Walkman and as I started to listen to tunes while I did needlework in the waiting room, I was disappointed to discover that the wrong tape had made its way into the John Hartford case. It was Me and My Guitar by Tony Rice. Knowing Bill’s axiom, I decided to let the music do its job and I would do mine.

By the end of the tape, I was completely rearranged emotionally – still fragile, but feeling I had a friend. Those of you who are familiar with that album know it ends with the particularly poignant song, Fine. I cried through Fine, but they were the tears of release – the letting go of pain and the tears that cleanse the soul. Tony told me I was fine and that was all I needed.

When I returned home, I went back to the rest of Big Kitty’s Tony Rice collection and rediscovered him. During the times when my life was in turmoil, Tony’s smooth baritone and elegant guitar shaved off the rough edges of my emotions. While the guitar studs were busy trying to play his hot licks, I was listening to the songs he chose and I was hearing the way he sang the words. It took a rare man to sing that body of work given the depth of the emotions they could arouse. When dysphonia struck his vocal chords, I mourned my own loss as much as his. I needed him!

What is remarkable about this album is that he has chosen to include three songs that he had recorded some time ago but hadn’t released. One is by his late brother, Larry Rice, a gifted songwriter and wonderful mandolinist. Another is a simple song that he recorded in the lower range of his current voice limitation. The one that knocked my socks off is the one he wrote and the fact that this is the first recorded song of his that has lyrics. And what lyrics they are!

Let me return to Fine. There was a mysterious dedication on the album regarding that song. I consulted Bill Vernon, the absolute authority on bluegrass dirt, and he explained that Tony had been hit squarely between the eyes with a marital explosion. Evidently Never Meant to Be was written around the same time. Where Fine was a declaration of love, Never Meant to Be expressed his feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Clearly, Tony Rice is a man whose emotions have been all over the map and his music is his refuge. In creating it, he made it my refuge, as well.

I don’t know whether it’s our common age (I’m a whopping six months older, but he’s the one who wears the mileage -) or the era of insouciance with regard to relationships that we lived through in the seventies and early eighties, but each of us bears the scars. We’ve both known the meaning of Hard Love, and we’ve both been able to smile through The Tennessee Waltz. When I hear his version of Norman Blake’s tune, Green Light on the Southern, I can cheerfully sing along, substituting my off-key words ‘the green light on the Rock Island Railroad Line…’

I admire Tony Rice’s courage in recording the work of songwriters who could express what he was feeling. When I hear his rich guitar work, I am transported. When that guitar is accompanied by the nuanced mandolin playing of Jimmy Gaudreau and Jimmy’s tenor harmonies, life is good.

Sunday morning is the time of ritual. I am not speaking of the religious types of rituals, but rather that of the ordinary Sunday morning person. It is the day when I use a bone china demitasse cup (from a Replacements yard sale, of course) for my morning shot of Lavazza. I sprawl out on the living room floor with my coffee and the paper, leaving a big patch of sunshine for a lolling Barney or Charlie.

Simon, ever the ambitious porch monkey, then lobbies me to let them outside to the screened porch. However, fall is when we start explaining the realities of ice fleas. (He doesn’t believe us.) We engage in a ritual of him standing on the article I’m reading, me annoying him so he will leave, him returning to crawl into my lap, my knee giving out and making me annoy him some more (he’s easily annoyed), him swatting me when I get up for a second cup of coffee, getting chomped at when I return to the paper without opening the door, and so on. Simon is nothing if not persistent, and highly vocal about his displeasure.
With an economy in the cellar, the articles about saving money with compact fluorescent bulbs and grocery coupons have been ramped up. I read that there is a woman who rarely pays more than fifty cents for a bottle of Tide. I thought that was pretty awesome, until I realized what all she went through for that. Does no one ever take into account the gasoline and time involved, not to imagine the amount of storage space required for all the stockpiling she does. We’d need to rent another storage unit!
Anyway, I began to go through the coupons that come in the Sunday paper, and I have been doing this for about six months now. I used to do this, but gave up because there were never coupons for things that we use. There still aren’t.

I have come to the conclusion that Americans must have the most horrid smelling homes on the face of the earth, given the sheer numbers of air freshening devices and products. Indeed there is one aisle in Wally World that I avoid like the plague because it makes my throat close up.

My nephew used to have an amorata who brought two delightful cats into his life. Along with the two kitties came plug in air stinkers that gave me a stopped up nose, post nasal drip and a sore throat. When she left, the cats remained, but the air stinkers were removed. His place didn’t smell bad at all. In fact, you could finally smell his fabulous pizza baking in the oven!

But I wanted to save some coin of the realm so I began to peruse the Sunday fliers for coupons that I could use. In six months, I have gleaned maybe ten, causing me to conclude that the only products for which coupons are generated are those for people who don’t cook, who like to try a lot of different shampoos, and who want their houses to smell like dime store perfume.

I’m thinking there has to be a better strategy, but until I come up with one, I think I’m going to skip that part of the Sunday ritual. My time is better spent on the crossword puzzle and trying to do the Jumble in my head.

Who is the tall, dark stranger there?
Maverick is the name.
Ridin’ the trail to who knows where,
Luck is his companion,
Gamblin’ is his game.
Smooth as the handle on a gun.
Maverick is the name.
Wild as the wind in Oregon,
Blowin’ up a canyon,
Easier to tame.

Today I attended a forum sponsored by the AAUW Public Policy committee. In attendance were former Virginia Delegate Richard Cranwell (belovedly known as Dickie) and John Anderson, the Republican Committee Chair. Each spoke to us about the things that had been going on in Washington and gave us their reasons for why we should support their candidates.

Dickie is an eloquent guy with a wonderful way of drawing analogies that leave his enemies scratching their heads and his supporters grinning. He ruled over the House of Delegates for 30 years, until “the recent unpleasantness,” as he so euphemistically put it. (The Republicans did some redistricting and Del. Cranwell chose to retire rather than oppose a colleague in an election.) It was easy to follow his logic, but you always have to listen carefully because he can blow smoke with the best of them.

Mr. Anderson talked to us about why we needed to vote for McCain, but he had to pick his way through an awful mess of a minefield – George Bush had not done a good job, things had gone amok in the financial industry, etc. etc. But we should vote for John McCain. He didn’t mention Congressman Goodlatte, which I found very, very interesting. He also didn’t stump for former Gov. Gilmore.

So as I was cleaning the cushions and tidying up the porch in preparation for the seasonal storage of saidsame, I pondered what he’d said. That’s when the Theme song to Maverick came into my head. I’m still scratching my head.

For the last several years, John McCain, who is reinventing himself as he goes along, has played nice with the Bushies because he really, really wanted to run for president. That means he voted according to the Bush Doctrine, as it were. He is unapologetically in favor of a war that is costing us way more than we’re ever going to get out of it, just like Bush. He is against regulation of the financial institutions that we are now having to bail out of trouble. And he had to pretend to suspend his campaign while he rushed off to… what? What was it he was doing? I don’t know and I bet neither does anyone else. The point is, he wanted to get into the Bush sandbox and he had to play by George’s rules in order to do it.

According to Mr. Anderson, Bush is a loser (my words, not his – he was more circumspect), but we should still vote for a Republican because he’s a maverick. Right about now, the only Maverick I can identify with absolute certainty would be Bret or Bart!

So I had to do it. I had to ask him about why Bob Goodlatte is running for the House of Representatives yet again. The late Jim Olin represented our district for ten years and stepped down, just as he said he would. When he ran for Olin’s seat – the one Olin didn’t want anymore – Goodlatte was all caught up in the Republican term limit craze and was calling for term limits. I asked Mr. Anderson why Goodlatte wasn’t imposing his own term limits, since that had been so important to him – when he was trying to take over a seat that had been voluntarily relinquished. Mr. Anderson’s response was that he had advised Goodlatte not to campaign on that.

I pointed out that you can learn a lot about a man by the photos on the walls of his office – that Mr. Goodlatte’s were all sorts of high rolling business types – the kinds we were now bailing out on Wall Street. (By now the AAUW members were perking up and I saw some dancing eyes. We weren’t really supposed to be partisan, but I just couldn’t help myself.) I had him in the corner and Del. Cranwell was declaring that I ought to run!

Okay, let me summarize, class. We are supposed to vote for a guy who lied about his own intentions when it came to term limits and is in bed with big business. We are supposed to vote for a former maverick who is now in bed with the Bushies, and who has insulted our collective intelligence by gambling on a token woman with no experience at the national level.

Ya know, I’m smart enough to know I should never run for political office because, as I stated today in more ladylike terms, I can cut through the crap mighty fast and I certainly don’t suffer fools very well at all. Cheri, it was a great program.

VOTE

Obama/Biden

Warner

Rasoul

on Nov. 4^th!

We’ve finished watching the person who majored in broadcasting vs. the person who has served in the Senate for a lot of years. I want to be fair, but how can anyone be fair when you have someone who plays to the camera but doesn’t answer questions? How can anyone be fair when the guy who is accused of being loquacious (I feel your pain on that one, Sen. Biden - I have the same disease.) is pithy and answers the questions precisely and eloquently?

I liked Joe Biden before. After last night, he has earned my respect. He is a man who feels deeply, has endured tragedy and has persevered as a dad and as a Senator. What he showed in this debate is that his far-reaching knowledge of our nation’s history and involvement in the issues that are before us on this day deserve the opportunity to be used to our advantage. He was impressive.

I didn’t like Sarah Palin before and I like her even less now. She could not hold her own. When the questions veered from the script that she’d been coached on, she had no answers. She rambled, she winked, she flirted and she had no substance. Stupid people will love that.

In all fairness, this was the first time I actually watched her and listened to her. The political cartoonists have her down pat. She reminds me of Holly the baton twirler in Funky Winkerbean. Only Holly has grown up to be a woman of substance. This one is still too scary for me.

The Republicans needed a grand slam home run but Joe Biden held them to one hit, and it wasn’t even a run producer. I heard one pundit say she accomplished what she needed to. Yep. She didn’t drool on herself, but she did get wound up in some of those sentences that make a sentence diagrammer’s day, so I’d disagree.

The Democrats needed Joe Biden to keep his wits about him and to not go overboard. He accomplished that and he managed to connect on the issues that matter. He showed that his understanding of our situation abroad is great and that helped me trust him.

I am grateful for this because as of bedtime last night, the Cubs were being pounded by the Dodgers. Now there’s a group that needs change we can believe in!

Here in southwestern Virginia, there is change afoot. Not only are the leaves turning, but Ralph Stanley is stumping for Barack Obama. I really should be outside, doing some end of season gardening, but instead I’m inside cowering. This is prime allergy season for me and what with my sib’s impending visit next week, the last thing I need is a bout with clogged sinuses and all the attendant gross results.

My brother Clarice has been manning the phones at work. The recent events on Wall Street and in the banking industry, especially with Wachovia, have had his customers in an uproar. They had to give him a day off because of all the overtime he’d put in soothing the frantic depositors. One thing about Clarice, the blue-hairs and old duffers love him, so when he solemnly informs them that things are fine at his bank, they will calm down. They know better than to believe him entirely because in this economic climate anything could happen, but he knows his clients well and they trust him. Clarice is nothing short of a gem.
Tonight I could be faced with a terrible choice. My nephew will be rooting for the Cubs from across the street on one of the Sheffield Avenue rooftops. The opportunity to see my darling boy waving at me is exciting. My record of the Cubs winning when I watch them is bad. Really bad.We need change in Wrigley, too. Why didn’t Warren Buffett buy the Cubs as well as the Wm. Wrigley Company?
I also want to watch Joe Biden demonstrate once and for all that he has the right stuff. I am hoping Big Kitty can set up the laptop for live streaming. This is a choice I don’t want to have to make! Seeing Neph on TV is priority number one! Seeing Joe Biden defeat the Tina Fey pretender is also priority one!
And so it goes. A little fall housecleaning so I won’t feel guilty about the yard, slipping down to my awfiss to add a layer of this or that to an art project, and occasionally harrassing the cats. (Barney is napping with a pink mousie tucked in the crook of his paw.) Back to the ironing board. I want to get caught up on my chores - for a change.