Getting out the vote in Arizona

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Bernie at the Tucson Convention Center, March 18, 2016. Photo credit: Tucson Sentinel

Do I care that Bernie’s Jewish? Nope. I don’t think that he cares either, nor do I think that anyone else cares, and that’s the beauty of it.

I care that he’s a Democratic socialist, which aligns with my political philosophy. I’m Jewish, too, a fact of my heritage, my DNA.

A Jewish Facebook friend posted that he took his young son to hear Bernie at the Tucson Convention Center last night, because he’s “a Jewish socialist” (although this acquaintance is a Hillary supporter).

I guess he’s proud that Bernie’s Jewish. Is he proud that Bernie’s a socialist? I don’t know.

It’s odd to me that we draw attention to someone’s background when it seemingly has little to do with the issue at hand. We all do it, whether it’s conscious or not.

In my last post, I noticed that my three favorite sessions at last week’s Tucson Festival of Books featured Jewish writers; they were so smart, so funny, so insightful, so compassionate.

I noticed. I’m usually in denial about my Jewish identity. Maybe I was proud, too. Maybe I care more than I thought I did?

What I care most about is open-minded consideration of a presidential candidate, foreign policy, or political philosophy, because it aligns with my beliefs and makes sense to me as the right thing to do, not because of a slapped-on label that’s supposed to be me.

We’re all more complex than that.

 

 

Posted in Bopping Around Tucson, politics, Tucson Festival of Books/good books, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Tucson Festival of Books: Return of my Past

Should I have gone to law school? Making the decision to not attend Vermont Law School, when Brook was 2 years old, wasn’t easy. I can let it go now, even as I listened to the brilliant and very funny Linda Hirshman, an attorney and the author of “Sisters in Law” (about Justices O’Connor and Ginsburg), at the 8th annual Tucson Festival of Books.

Was it just yesterday that I read “Death at an Early Age” by Jonathan Kozol, and discovered that the Boston schools were as segregated as many schools in the South? In the early 1960s, Boston School Committee Chair Louise Day Hicks was adamantly opposed to school bussing for desegregation (who could easily have been Donald Trump’s mother; that’s how bad she was). When she ran for mayor in 1967, her slogan was “You know where I stand.”

Saturday morning, I helped Jonathan Kozol get to his TFOB venue on the University of Arizona campus. He’s pretty old now (way older than me), crotchety but still sharp. And he’s right:

“We still run an apartheid education system in America.” We’re also succumbing to a “misery agenda” of testing and terror, which is inflicted on both kids and teachers.

I also agree with Kozol regarding the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, among others. Charity is not a substitute for systematic inequality.

Jared Diamond’s session (he’s the author of the blockbuster Pulitzer Prize winner, “Guns, Germs, and Steel”) focused on evolution and change, which got me thinking. Although there’s always been change, it now proceeds at such a rapid pace.

Or does it?

It’s 2016, but Kozol still must talk of apartheid in today’s educational system. A Boston bigot had lots of support back in the day.

That day has returned, or perhaps, never entirely disappeared.

Bigotry and divisiveness seem worse these days, even as we make progress, such as with our fabulous first black president, who’s such a decent, smart man.  Women don’t yet receive equal pay, but I’ll bet our next president is a woman.

The dissolution of the middle class doesn’t help. The March 14 New York Times editorial notes:

“Mr. Trump’s calls to violence are the sickest part of the con that is his presidential campaign. Yes, some people who attend his rallies are bigots; others are simply upset with a nation, or a life, that’s dealt them a bad hand.”

And me, I take this educational and political turmoil to heart, but not as much as when I was young. Age brings not resignation, but a more mellow heart, which brings me to the most tender reminder of my past at this year’s book festival.

For me, the highlight was meeting up with Avi, author of “The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle” and “Nothing But the Truth” (probably my favorite of his 75 books). He recommended “Catch you Later, Traitor” about McCarthyism, which I bought.

Avi visited my OZ bookstore in Maine around 25 years ago. I can recall sitting around a table on the Claremont Boat House deck, overlooking Southwest Harbor on a glorious summer day. I think Brook was there, and also Chris, one of the Ozettes (were you, Chris?).

He was quirky back then, and smart (he still is). We had a fascinating conversation all those years ago, sipping on gin and tonics.  I have no memory of what it was about.

On Sunday, Avi presented such a tender view of his writing life, including a slide show that included a radio play he wrote at age 5 or 6. He was so kind to a 12-year-old girl who asked a question about her writing. If you’re not already, he told all of us, “Become immersed in the book culture.” (People always ask writers about their “process,” but we’re all unique. I agree with Avi. Writers must first be voracious readers.)

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The still prolific author in his late 70s. He’ll keep writing. Like me, Avi’s much more mellow now. But his writing is as exciting as ever. He read the beginning of his next book aloud on his computer. Here’s what I heard: “In which I introduce myself and immediately plunge myself into a desperate situation…”

The past hasn’t left me, although I somehow feel braver and more ready for adventure than I did during my younger years. Thank you to books and their authors!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in For Love of History, politics, The inconvenient truth about education, Tucson Festival of Books/good books, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Calm the f***k down. But I could be wrong.

Here’s my 2016 presidential election theory: The screamers are coming out in droves for the nincompoop Donald Trump on the Republican side. On election day, those angry, hateful, uneducated voters (as the dumpster, uh, trumpster, himself said) will comprise a small percentage of the overall electorate.

A Democratic president will be inaugurated on Jan. 20, 2017.

My presidential election theory was the same in 2008 and 2012. So many of my like-minded friends were worried that Obama wouldn’t win. I tried to explain that very few voters participate in state primaries and caucuses.

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Although U.S. voter turnout isn’t great in presidential elections either, millions — compared to thousands in primaries and caucuses — will vote for president (62.3 percent of eligible voters came out in 2008; 57.5 percent in 2012).

Let’s hope that quiet Americans, people who don’t care about politics, are too busy raising kids, working at two jobs, or are just too busy with life, will not cast their ballot for a racist, hateful, mean-spirited buffoon like Donald Trump. Period.

On the other hand, Rachel Maddow is worried, and she’s not just a TV talking head, she’s a real political scientist. It’s all about voter turnout.

Bernie Sanders supporters need to worry about unspectacularly high voter turnouts in the first few primaries. That’s what Bernie is banking on, getting out the vote, which hasn’t happened — except for the nasty Trump voters.

If Trump ever became president, would Maine be far enough on the fringe to get away from it all (first get rid of that awful Gov. LePage!)? Probably not.

So repeat after me…a smart, decent, caring, Democratic president will be inaugurated on Jan. 20, 2017. Our futures depend on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Welcome 2016!

New Year's Eve at home, drinking prosecco from lovely glasses brought from Vienna for my 60th birthday.

New Year’s Eve at home, drinking prosecco from lovely glasses brought from Vienna for my 60th birthday.

I’ve decided it’s the Year of Sheila (although I’ve heard it’s the Year of the Monkey).

There’s the excitement of planning my great adventure to Kyrgyzstan in May for a visit with Ethan and Steph. Where will I disembark on my way back east, before heading to my Maine home with Dan for the month of July? The west coast of Turkey? Finally learn Greek mythology with a UA professor friend who’s leading a fabulous tour http://wingedariela.com/? Meet my oldest friend Charlotte for a weekend in Morocco or Paris? Who knows?

Here’s what I’ve decided so far: It’s my year to talk less and meditate more (looking forward to training as a library meditation leader. Pretty cool, huh?).

And, it’s my year to be fearless. I turn 70 on June 11, 2016. Why not (still waiting to turn 80 to eat as much chocolate as I please)?

Wonderland down Seawall Road a bit from my island home

Wonderland, down Seawall Road a short distance from my island home

One of my greatest pleasures in life: It’s always my time to be outdoors. I’m lucky to live in the Tucson desert and return to my Southwest Harbor home every summer. Surely, they’re two of the most beautiful places in the world, but I still crave to see more of the planet.

So dear friends, what are your personal plans, hopes, and dreams for 2016? Rent my house in Southwest Harbor this August? Join me somewhere in the Mediterranean region of the planet in late May? Join me in a fearless new year?!? Let’s tawk. Meanwhile, here’s to a happy, healthy, exciting, and I hope more peaceful, compassionate 2016 for us all!

Beautiful Catalina State Park

Beautiful Catalina State Park

On the street where we live...

On the street where we live…

Posted in Baby Boomers, Bopping Around Tucson, Fight wimpiness, Mount Desert Island/Maine, Nature Girl | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Snippets of Hiking

Sunday hike on Douglas Spring trail

Sunday hike on Douglas Spring trail

I was on my Sunday afternoon hike, heading up the Douglas Spring trail in Tucson’s Rincon Mountains. You know, I start humming after being in nature for a few minutes.

Two fleet-footed boys of 7 or 8 appear behind me.

One of the so darn-cute little guys asks the other: “Aren’t you sad cause his sister died when she got bit on the arm by the zombie? Wasn’t that sad?”

Their moms are huffing and puffing up the trail. My motherly heart cozies up to all four.  I like that they’re in this together. I hum some more.

A few miles later, I’m heading back down the trail to my car. Almost there, I’m thinking about going home to make a breakfast frittata. I come upon an odd sight.

A young blonde woman, maybe in her 20s, lying face down in the desert a little way off the path.

A man pacing on the path (her father, husband, brother, friend?) begging, “Won’t you let me help you? I want to help.”

Quiet.

My motherly self gloms on for a second, Can I help?

Not my business, I’ve learned to answer.

Back at my car, the man has also returned to his car, across the road from mine.

“Maybe she’ll come back to your house,” he says. “She’s so irrational. I’ll go back and try again.” I want to hear more of his phone conversation but I can’t.

Meanwhile, I walk to the end of the road to snap photos. When I get back to my car there she is, the blonde. Seated in a yoga position, reading a book on the hood of the man’s white car (wearing dark sunglasses, of course).

He had gone to find her. How did they not cross paths coming back down the trail? There’s a short story here. But I’m not the one to write it. Or am I?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Trying to make it easier — a short one

Walking back to Brook and Gian’s house, up the main drag of Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, NC, I see a way to make it easier. Cut through the woods.

Some folks may think I’m a bit nutty. I prefer “fearless.” Hell, why not? I recognize their house, surrounded by a wooden fence and short patch of woods nearby.

It’s their hood, right? Their new community.

Ah...community

Ah…community

Walking between their wooden fence and a small hidden house, which I hope to scurry past without anyone seeing me.

No such luck: “Hello, hello!” a woman smoking a cigarette on the screened-in porch calls out. “Stay right there. He’ll be right out,” she says.

A hefty young guy emerges from the side door.

“That’s my daughter’s house over there,” I say,  pointing to it. “I’d just like to try taking a shortcut through the woods.” He looks dubious.

“I’m visiting and I’ll only do it this once,” I tell him. He still looks dubious.

“I don’t know what’s back there. Could be spider webs, all sorts of stuff,” he says.

What can I do but pull the Maine woods card?

“That doesn’t scare me. I’m from Maine. I’m used to the woods. But that’s okay,” I give in. “I’ll walk up the road.”

“I love Maine,” he says, sounding way more comfortable.

 

 

 

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Thankful for taxi drivers, leftover leaves, and Thanksgiving leftovers

So nice to see leftover fall leaves...

So nice to see leftover fall leaves…

Kalid, the taxi driver from Dubai who took me from the airport to Brook and Gian’s new home in Chapel Hill, was full of Thanksgiving wisdom.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because it’s not about religion. It still came up, but we  agreed. “ISIS is not Islam,” Kalid tells me. “The Koran says that anyone who kills a stranger is not a Muslim.” As a secular Muslim, he says that Jews and Muslims are brothers.

“You know, you can be a good person without being religious,” I say. Kalid considers this, then says that he’s learning a lot from me. My teacher self is appreciative.

I’m surprised when he adds, “The Palestinians are not good people.” I point out that there are good people and not so good in every ethnic group, but that I believe 95 percent of us are decent folks, we’re all part of the human race, and that race is a social construct.

He likes this.

And, there’s always politics. “We need a president who’s a mother,” Kalid says. I couldn’t agree more. He loves the Clintons, and thinks that Wild Bill was the best president ever.

Kalid’s been in this country for five years and already owns his cab, a gas station, and a small grocery store. “I make good money,” he says. I’m happy for him.

His background reminds me a little of President Obama’s. His father came from Dubai to attend Harvard, and is now a retired engineer living in Minnesota.

As my kids sometimes say, I often find out more about cab drivers than their families know.

I love these conversations. Perhaps I’m a born interviewer.

With my own family, I try to be quiet. Let them take the initiative.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving. I’m happily doing my own thing at Brook and Gian’s gorgeous Carolina home, eating chocolate, knitting Ethan’s scarf, and waiting till they’re ready for a field trip.

What a beautiful home!

What a beautiful home!

But first, Brook comes downstairs after doing some schoolwork. It’s time for Thanksgiving leftovers. I’m ready.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family Matters, Food/happy hours, politics, The Rest of the World | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cyclovia Tucson… Decorated bikes, no cars, happy cycling!

Hundreds of people whooping it up with no annoying cars driving too close. Small children on tag-along bikes with their dads, kids proud as they could be. Colorful fake flowers arranged on bike baskets, shimmering streamers flowing from bike helmets.

The scene along the way

The scene along the way

Biking in Cyclovia twice a year was fun. In November, as soon as it turns cool, a five-mile easy ride through central Tucson, and even better, the spring tour of the barrio.

Yup, the old lady was ready to go, after drinking lots of coffee and munching on weekend biscuits with eggs, at the B-Line with her honey.

At the first traffic light stop along the Cyclovia route, she didn’t hesitate getting off her bike, watching the svelte young thing barely expending  any energy jumping rope. Assuming she could hop right in and do it, too.

No stopping her.

Three tries before she fell backward. Smack on the concrete road. On her coccyx.

Jumping rope — even double Dutch, and fancy hopping from one foot to the other  — had been so easy for the old lady, more than 60 years ago.

Time has passed. Lots of time.

What was she thinking? Was she in denial of her  somewhat advanced age?

She hates to think of herself as old, although in reality. most of her life has passed.

After getting up off the road, a young  Cyclovia volunteer looked at her Oz t-shirt, and said, “I was born in Portland, Maine.” (There’s always some Maine connection, everywhere in Tucson).

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Since they had started a conversation, the old lady asked, “Do you know how old I am? I’ll be 70 in 2016.”

“No way!” the young woman replied. The old lady felt better, like she wasn’t really that old.

Bullshit.

But she rode away and all was well. Except for her headache.

Posted in Baby Boomers, Bopping Around Tucson | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

I’m with Bernie: ‘A grotesque level of inequality…’

That’s the real issue, isn’t it? I’ve been a political junkie my entire life, but never have I been so afraid for the future of representative democracy in the United States.

Citizens United has made a mockery of any semblance of fairness in politics. Undoubtedly the worst of the Supreme Court’s ubiquitous 5-4 decisions, it allows corporations to act as people.

What does that mean? No holds barred in humongous political donations by the super-duper richest among us.

So last night I went to hear, Bernie (Sanders), the iconoclastic Independent (Socialist) Vermont senator.   I remember hearing about Sanders when I lived in Vermont in the early 1970s. Wow, a socialist/progressive/truth to power guy I could believe in! And I still can.

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Photo: Gwen Russell Harvey

http://www.tucsonweekly.com/TheRange/archives/2015/10/10/bernie-fills-the-reid-park-performance-center

“A grotesque level of inequality”: Republicans aren’t the only rich donors; Democrats have their share, too. But as Bernie said, when the ultra-conservative Koch brothers plow $900 million into the 2016 elections, what happened to one man [person], one vote?

When 1 percent of Americans have more money than 90 percent of the rest of us — yet they oppose raising the minimum wage from a pathetic $7.25 per hour — how can we call ourselves a democracy?

“A grotesque level of equality” is right. Now what are we going to do about it? I wanted to see a woman president in my lifetime, but if there’s a choice I’m going with Bernie.

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Thirteen years in Tucson…a few thoughts

I drove into Tucson at sunset on my daughter Brook’s 25th birthday, Sept. 25, 2002.

“I did it,” I said to myself. “I don’t know what I’ll do next, but I did it.” I had driven cross-country from Southwest Harbor, Maine, left my much-loved community and home for sunshine and adventure at age 56 (mostly sunshine).

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What I did next was head to the closest motel off Interstate 10 and go to sleep. But first, I put on a vintage, pink lace nightgown, which friends gave me as a going-away present. Who knew what excitement awaited me in the big city, right?

Guess that’s another story.

What did I discover in the big city?

Tucson, with its population of more than 800,000 people is for me a giant place, coming from an island of under 10,000 hardy year-round inhabitants.

It feels like a small city. No cars surge by on interstates within the city limits.

It’s surrounded by natural beauty, a  protective circle of desert and mountains, which I love.

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Tucson has a liberal, laid-back bent. I’ve been invited to attend “Drinking Liberally,” where like-minded political fanatics can rant and drink freely. I’ve never gone but it’s nice to know that the group exists.

There are hidden book-lovers in Tucson, more than 100,000 who emerge from their homes every March for the spectacular Tucson Festival of Books, which I also love.

I don’t like hibernating like a desert rat in the heat of summer. Luckily, we’re in Maine coolness for a good part of it, yet even a month or two indoors is too much for me. I could do my hiking at 5 or 6 a.m. Doesn’t appeal to me whine whine…

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Education — as I knew it teaching in Maine — is nonexistent here. At least 30 kids per public school classroom. Arizona, shamefully, ranks 5oth in per-pupil spending. Teacher friends must buy their own tissues, pencils and notebooks. (Watch for my Teacher Hero piece on Nanette Longchamp, one incredible educator, in a December Tucson Weekly.)

Equality of education is the backbone of society, and here, it’s mostly been tossed aside leaving fixed black and white views collected on Fox News. That’s also another story.

Tucson loves its local musicians (I often think about dancing more). The arts are not a luxury in Tucson, except in the schools.

As a former journalist, this speaks to me. (Thanks to Deborah Hilary Sussman)
“It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.”  
— William Carlos Williams

Seeing beauty in this fucked-up world, whether I’m in Tucson or Southwest Harbor, is what sustains me.

Posted in Bopping Around Tucson, Journalism/Writing, Nature Girl, Tucson Festival of Books/good books | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments