What a day!

And now, we have a new President! Barack Hussein Obama was inaugurated this morning before about 2 million joyous Americans who filled the D.C. Mall, and 11 more who filled my living room, sitting on the couch, on dining chairs and folding chairs, eating lox and bagels, English muffins, and toaster waffles, watching MSNBC and hanging on to every word of the ceremony.

When the Oath of Office had been administered (John Roberts managing to scramble it) and nevertheless gracefully taken, we raised our glasses of Champagne in a rousing toast to our new President. Some of us cried buckets as Aretha Franklin began to sing our National Anthem. We sang along with her! We cheered! We talked! We laughed! We said a few less-than-complimentary words about the 43rd President as he—at last!—left the building, decided that seeing his Vice President being wheeled away in a wheelchair couldn't have been better scripted, and were grateful beyond words to see the back of them.

And once again, I was struck by the elegance of our system of government, by the wisdom of the Framers, who crafted a Constitution that allows such an orderly transfer of power from one leader to the next. No coup, no disruption, no chaos. We have a new Chief of State, a new Commander-in-Chief, we changed from a Republican to a Democratic President, and yet after all that, I could leave my house to walk downtown, and everything was peaceful and orderly, people riding their bicycles, driving their cars, shopping, eating, going about their business as usual. I am so lucky, and so grateful, to be an American. What a country . . . and what a wonderful new President we have been blessed to elect. Mazel tov, Barack!

The E Street Inaugural Ball

(Standing) Phil, Joseph, Milt, Allan
(Seated) Dorothy, Gishi, Lorna, Stacy, Alison, Robin

Inauguration eve

Nine more hours, and we'll have a new President. I'm filled with anticipation, delight, excitement, gratitude, joy, thanksgiving . . . and a small frisson of apprehension. My prayer tonight, as it's been every night since Election Night: Baruch haShem, please keep him, and us, safe. And let tomorrow bring a new day of hope.

I am not making this up

According to a story in yesterday's New York Times, President Bush's stand-in at Sunday's Inauguration rehearsal was Army Sgt. Bruce Cobbeldick. This cannot be mere happenstance. 

Julie

The headline in today's Davis Enterprise read, "Farewell, Julie," over a 1999 photo of six mayors of Davis, Julie Partansky in the foreground. "Oh," I thought, "Julie's leaving Davis; that's a surprise." Then I read the story's subhead: "Former Mayor Partansky, a seminal figure in Davis politics, dies at 61." Of stage 4 lung cancer, diagnosed just five weeks ago.

Fey, funny, talented, dedicated Julie. For me, she occupied that more than a casual acquaintance, less than a friend place, our circles overlapping owing mostly to our mutual connections to others: Davis' progressive, lefty politics, or sometimes at the synagogue. I didn't see her often, but when we'd encounter one another at the Co-op, or downtown someplace, or at the Farmers Market, we'd always say hello and chat for just a brief moment. She had the sweetest smile.

Julie was ridiculed, maligned, dismissed by many in our town, but her seemingly whimsical or impractical ideas have been shown to make perfect sense: a dark-sky ordinance to keep light pollution from blotting out the stars; riding our bicycles instead of driving. Her first foray into the public eye came because she protested the city's plan to pave the alleyways that bisect several blocks here in my Old North Davis neighborhood. "We like our alleys," Julie said. "We have flowers planted there, and vegetables. Leave them alone." She won that battle, keeping the alley behind my house from becoming a shortcut speedway for cars. It was the alleys that launched her campaign for City Council.

She didn't have pots of money, she didn't have influential connections, she wasn't a career politician, using her city council seat as a launching pad to bigger and better things. She just loved this town, cared about its future, could see where rampant growth would take it, and in her own quiet, determined way, she kept the council, and us, focused on what mattered. I never heard her be mean. She just knew what was right.

So long, Julie; you left us way too soon.

Changing the decor

The West Sacramento office of Social Security has two photos on the wall, one on either side of the agency logo. The one to the left is of George W. Bush, the other is of Dick Cheney. Both of them look impossibly, improbably young, W. the more so, who looks like the frat boy he was (in some ways, still is; Cheney not so, but the trademark smirk is there, front and center.

I'd already noticed in recent days, seeing Bush on TV, how much he's aged in the past eight years; not just looking older but tireder, worn out. And seeing him and Barack standing next to one another in the Oval Office, along with the three ex-presidents, revealed again, in high relief, Obama's youthful vigor compared to the rest. But it makes me wonder . . . what will he look like when four years have gone by . . . or eight?

Regardless, it'll sure be nice to have some new photos up on the walls of federal offices. Ten more days . . .

Christmas, and a birthday

My son and his family being off to Santa Fe for the holiday to celebrate Fred and Jen's 10th anniversary, I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my friend Dorothy in Santa Cruz, at the home of Dorothy's ex-husband's third wife, Greta (and no, I'm not going to elaborate on this), along with Greta's daughter, Alison, Dorothy's son and d-in-law and granddaughters, and a couple of other folks related distantly and not-so. And although I had no family there, myself, I couldn't have felt more at home nor had a nicer time. Weather was cold and unsettled, shifting from rain to bright sun and back again, but inside the house it was warm and cozy, with lots of good food and conversation. Christmas Eve dinner was salmon; Christmas Day, we had a pork tenderloin. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring along my camera on Christmas Eve, but here's Christmas . . .

Pork tenderloin, with fennel and fuyu persimmons

The really beautiful dinner table

Just before we sat down to dinner, we lit the menorah for the fifth night of Hanukkah . . .


Today, December 30, would have been my son John's 45th birthday. No way to know what he would have been like had he lived, but I'm betting by now his hair would be gray, just like his father's, grandfather's and uncle's was at that age. Happy birthday, son; you're always in my heart.

Stormy Sunday

First real winter weather came in this morning; not a hard rain, but kept up all day, and cold, much colder than it's been. A good day to stay inside, which is exactly what I did, bundled up in two sweaters, tights and wooly sox to stay warm while I read the paper. All day long. It was a treat I don't usually allow myself, and it felt just fine.

I did venture out this evening, though, to a gathering instigated by the Obama campaign folks and organized by a woman here in Davis. About 20 or so of us met at her home in North Davis to discuss how we want to help the President-Elect both now and after January 20. After offering information on who we might know in national and/or local politics and in media (the idea being to compile a source list of influential contacts that may be helpful in moving Obama's agenda forward), we listed the issues we think deserve attention by the new administration. It was a long list, headed by the Iraq war and continuing on through health care, closing Guantanamo, education, the economy, food policy, and national service. There were more, and though all are important, it seemed pretty clear to us that if we can stop spending $10 billion a month in Iraq and get the economic recovery program jump-started, there might just possibly be some money for the rest of the stuff to happen.

It was a smart, involved group; many of them had been quite active in the campaign and a number of them are folks who have been rubbing elbows with local pols for a long time. Despite having lived in Davis for more than 30 years and being active in a couple of city council and ballot issue campaigns, I've never been among the politcos here in town. It's never interested me much to be that "connected." But it's good that some people are, I guess. Anyway, this particular meeting this evening was one of 4,000 taking place all around the country this weekend, a start by Obama to fulfill his commitment to involve us, the citizens, in working for change. It's been a long time since a president asked us to do anything other than shop, so this is both an opportunity and a challenge. Obama is right in saying he can't do it alone. If it's change I want, I need to help make it happen.

Moonshine

After what has felt like weeks and weeks of foggy and overcast days, with only moments of soon-disappearing sunshine, today began clear and stayed clear. All day long. Bright blue sky. Crisp air. And topping it off, the celestial cherry on the cake, an almost-full, almost-Winter Solstice moonrise.

Going green in flames

Coming home from Woodland on Hwy 113 yesterday afternoon, a pale green Prius approached me from behind. "Nice color," I thought, putting the mottled-looking hood down to my less-than-clean rear window. Then the Prius passed me and I saw the real reason for the odd-looking paint. Flames, gold ones, painted on the hood and front fenders.

Prius as hot stock car—Detroit, are you listening?

Bias

My cousin sent me a good piece from the Los Angeles Times on confirmation bias, which you can read here. I've been aware of confirmation bias in myself (one of the perils of living in Davis, where "everybody" is a Democrat). And I've made vows to myself to read opposing (i.e., Republican) opinion and viewpoints, but so far, the only opposition voice I can stomach is David Brooks. Will it be different once He Who Regrettably Is Still President is finally gone and Obama is in the White House? And if so, will it be because my President is a pragmatist who wants diverse opinion or because at last MY guy is in charge and I can be charitable toward those who are no longer running things?

Thanksgiving weekend recap

As promised, photos and notes from Thanksgiving Day, plus the rest of the weekend . . .

The pre-dinner "hike" (a walk, really):
Despite the cloudy, overcast day, lots of other people besides Susan and me thought this was a good idea, but it wasn't anywhere near as crowded as Disneyland, and everyone seemed to be having a lovely day—grandparents, parents, kids, dogs, boyfriends and girlfriends—and though the vistas were limited, it was still a beautiful walk, especially the eucalyptus, with their peeling bark . . .
I turned around at the 2-mile marker, knowing I would have done 4 miles by the time I got back to the car and happy to have made it that distance despite the creaky hip and only a bit of limping . . .
Susan is a much stronger/faster hiker than I, so when I turned around she sprinted on up the trail a bit farther to check out whether the Nike missile site was still there (the missile site being the reason for this paved "trail" (a road, really). She didn't find it, but only because she'd miscalculated our location and the thing was much farther on. Here's Susan; it's astonishing how accomplished she is despite having no hands . . . ;-)

So, back to the car and on to Marilyn's, who is Susan's stepmother. Her live-in helper, CeeCee, and CeeCee's neice, Olla, were joining us for dinner, but first we had wine and a delicious crab mold made by Marilyn. Alas, no photo of the crab mold and its accompanying Ritz crackers, but here are CeeCee, Susan and Olla . . .

and Susan and Marilyn . . .
Time to go to dinner, which, as has become tradition, was at Hs Lordship's, a restaurant on the Berkeley marina.
(N.B.: This is pronounced "His Lordship's" even though there is no "i" in the "Hs"; note also the absence of an apostrophe in "Lordship's." I have no idea what these people were thinking.)

This is a buffet-style place, with just about every style of cuisine you might fancy: freshly made sushi, omelettes, cracked crab, peel-and-eat shrimp (my personal favorite), innumerable salads, plus the traditional roast turkey, roast beef and ham and the not-so-traditional catfish and shrimp in a tomato-y sauce (yummy), and of course mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, mixed steam veg, stuffing, gravy . . . and then there's dessert, again ranging from the traditional pie, cake, bread pudding, flan, to the odd (individually packaged Rice Krispy Treats—a perennial kid favorite). But the food's decent, and there's certainly plenty of it. We had a table next to a window facing out across the bay toward the City, where we could watch the light change on the water. The clouds didn't obscure any of the views, and it was a lovely evening.

Looking west, Golden Gate Bridge across the bay

San Francisco, Thanksgiving evening

As for the rest of the weekend, did a couple of bike rides, walked in the Arboretum, and saw the latest James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, which was predictable, but who cares—it was fun, and you always know that Bond will come out OK in the end. I think I like Daniel Craig's Bond best of all the ones who've played the role; he's got a less-than-perfect face, which I find interesting. Two surprises from this one, first, none of the usual-issue "gadgets" that ordinarily are in evidence, and (best for me) some of it filmed in Siena, in the piazza. A treat to see it—it was one of my favorite cities when we did the bike tour in 2006. Ciao!

Thanks, giving of

A good Thanksgiving Day, with much to be thankful for. Pictures and tales of my day will appear tomorrow, as I'm too sleepy to write or fiddle with pix tonight. So, taking the easy way out, I give you Gail Collins, in today's New York Times. Count your blessings, as we have many.

A day in the hills

Dorothy and I drove to Apple Hill this past Tuesday, Veterans' Day. In years past, she and a few othr friends who had that day off did an annual bike ride in those hills. Time has taken some of the friends, and Dorothy doesn't ride much these days, so we drive up, wander through the scenery, eat apple crisp and finally buy some apples before heading back down the hill.

We stayed off the main road for quite a while, so there was little traffic, and we could just putt-putt along and look at the lovely trees.



The day was overcast, with once or twice a hint that it might rain (though it never did). But it was warm, and the leaves were turning yellow and gold, the apple crisp (a huge serving) was delicious, and I found some Braeburn apples at a bargain price.


Ended the day with split pea soup, Waldorf salad and corn muffins at Dorothy's, with apple pie for dessert.

Confession

It's happened. I'm glued to the television. From being a person who watched TV rarely (a baseball game, maybe, if it happend to be on broadcast TV, and sometimes the Nightly News on PBS), I'm now an MSNBC groupie—Keith Olberman, Chris Matthews, Rachel Maddow—plus a daily dose of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. And Jim Lehrer is still at the top of the list.

I got cable to watch baseball and in this election year I figured it would be fun to have some of the all-news, all-the-time channels. Well, baseball is over, but the election and its aftermath are keeping me tuned in, turned on, and dropped onto the couch. I expect it won't let up much until after January 20. Good thing it's getting to be less-favorable cycling weather.

Yes we can

Oh, yes . . . we can!

President-elect Barack Obama
Vice President-elect Joe Biden
November 4, 2008

The cookie vote

This e-mail came this morning from my cousin Joe, a self-described "born again Democrat" who lives in Torrance, in Southern California. On this eve of what is, beyond question and for so many, many reasons, the most significant election of my life, it's a good note on which to head into tomorrow.

"The good old Torrance Bakery has been taking a cookie poll (instead of a straw poll, a much more accurate poll because people prefer cookies to straw 10 to 1) and at last count Senator Obama is leading Senator McCain 5732 to 5213. Very encouraging for Senator Obama given that Torrance tends to Republican. I know that the Obama/Biden camp is following this poll very closely."

Live your values. Love your country. Vote.

D-Day minus one

Went up to Dem HQ yesterday morning around 11, figuring I'd spend an hour or two phoning voters, then go do some grocery shopping, come home, make some soup, finish reading the Sunday papers, maybe even get some real work done on transcribing those interview tapes that are sitting there. Some seven hours later, I finally got home. No groceries bought, no soup made, no tapes transcribed, but a whole lot of calls made to voters in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and pages and pages of what we callers learned entered into the Wisconsin Democratic Party's voter info database.

The office was jammed with volunteers, people at phones in various nooks and crannies, all with their lists, all asking, "Have you voted yet? Are you going to vote? May I ask if you're supporting Sen. Obama? Do you know where your polling place is? Do you need a ride to the polls?" When I went outside to take a break, I discovered there were callers out there, too, sitting on the curb, or on a folding chair, cell phone in one hand, the list in the other.

Most of the numbers called don't reach a live person, but we reach some. I talked to about 10 people, and was lucky—they were all voting for Barack, and quite a few said they, themselves, were volunteers for the campaign, along with their husbands, kids, maybe even their pets.

I've mentioned this before, I think, but for me, the best thing about doing this calling and volunteering is the connection I feel with all those other people, both here where I live and all across the country, who care as much as I do about our country, feel dismay at how terribly we've been governed these past eight years, and who are working so hard, putting in so many hours, to change our direction. I've talked to people in North Carolina, in Florida, in Colorado, in Michigan, in Washington, in Wisconsin, and worked alongside old friends (and now some new ones) here in Davis. There is strength—and reassurance—in numbers. One more day.

Rainy Saturday

It's rained most of the day and into the evening, at times coming down hard for several minutes at a time. It was a good day to do nothing at all, and that's pretty much what I did. Nothing "productive," that is, unless you count as productive the thoroughly enjoyable two-plus hour chinwag Susan, Alison and I had this morning at Crepeville, sitting at a back table eating scrambled eggs, drinking tea and coffee, and talking politics. We never seem to run out of fodder on that topic, each of us immersed, saturated, obsessed, and anxious.

For an hour or so this evening, I watched MSNBC's Chris Matthews and Keith Olberman's recapitulations of this long, long, campaign season and once again found myself becoming emotional watching clips of Barack Obama's steady progress toward Nov. 4. There are so many of us who want this man as our president so deeply, so desperately. I've already cast my ballot, so now I wait, along with everyone else, for Tuesday.

Possessed

Election Day is now just four days away. And not a moment too soon. Unless, of course, it is too soon, and Barack Obama needs still more time to convince the majority of the American people that he's their best, really their only, hope to start turning this oil-tanker ship of state in another direction. There isn't any more time left, though; and if people haven't gotten the message, his message, by now, I don't think they will. I'm trying to remain positive and hopeful, trying not to worry, not to think what it would mean if he loses. But it's almost impossible. No matter what the polls say, or the talking TV heads, or the New York Times, the Washington Post, hell, the Davis Enterprise—I've been around the political campaign/election day block a few times, myself (most of us over the age of 40 have been similarly), and I know all too well that Charlie Brown-Lucy-and-the-football syndrome—every time, Lucy convinces Charlie Brown that this time, she'll keep the football right where he can kick it, and every time, just as he swings his foot forward, she snatches it away and he falls flat. So, I worry, read the paper, listen to NPR, worry, talk to my friends, fret, watch Jon Stewart, worry some more.

It's the voting that will determine the outcome, of course. All of our votes, whether cast by mail, or in an early-voting polling place, or on Tuesday. Barack Obama has done all he can, and he'll continue to campaign right up until the last possible minute. But, come Tuesday, when he enters the voting booth and marks his ballot, he, like all the rest of us, gets one vote. Just one. It gets counted along with all the rest of the one votes, and, God willing, there will be enough ballots marked with "Obama/Biden" to push him over the top. But, until that's a certainty, I'll worry.

********

Postscript: Tony Hillerman died this past Sunday. His mystery novels introduced me to the Navajo people and their culture; his Navajo Tribal Police officers, Lt. Joe Leaphorn and Sgt. Jim Chee, were as interesting as the plots of the stories, themselves, and they grew as people with each succeeding title. I don't recall exactly when I read my first Hillerman, but it must have been in the late 1980s, and by the time my friend Robin and I took our epic three-week car camping trip to the Four Corners region in fall 1991, I was eager to see the territory and its people that Hillerman's stories had described. When, sitting in a little cafe in Tuba City, eating a Navajo taco, a Navajo Tribal Police vehicle pulled up outside and two uniformed officers came in, I was beside myself with glee. So thank you, Tony Hillerman; I'll miss you.

Winter ball

The fifth game of the World Series is currently under way in Philadelphia. It's 40 degrees and dropping, the wind is blowing about 20 mph, and oh yes, it's now started to rain.

This is the World Series, people. It's the culmination of 160 regular-season games played IN THE SUMMERTIME. Baseball is a summer sport. That's "summer," as in warm days and nights (OK not necessarily in San Francisco, but the ballpark is so lovely who cares if it's a bit chilly?). Pitchers should not be required to pitch in pouring rain. Batters should not have to try to hit that slider when it's wet. And the infielders and outfielders shouldn't be playing in all that water. And the fans in the stands are heroic; at least the players are reaping monetary reward for their slogging, whereas the fans have paid dearly for the privilege of getting wetter and wetter. And think of the umpires, and the base coaches! And the hotdog vendors in the stands! Is anybody having any fun? 

I don't know what's to be done about this dopey situation, but somebody should figure something out. Baseball played in the waning days of October just doesn't make for good baseball. Harrumph.