A poem today.

Entropy: A Physics Lesson From my Family

I climbed to the treehouse

To fix the clothesline.

It had come off the wheel.

Up the rickety ladder

It was a quick job

While a blanket lay damp on the porch.

Before I climbed down I checked.

Inside the door was a bushel

At least

Of pine needles

Collected in a winter of neglect

The clever window board

Left propped open

As if last August

Had never ended.

Bits of sap have collected on the deck

Just enough to remind me

The tree’s wood is still alive

And the house is a guest

In its branches.

At the top of the ladder

I looked down at the yard

My little dog

The one I bundled in my jacket

Said I’d “find him a good home”

Two years ago: a family joke.

He sleeps between us in our bed

And protects us from home invasion

By our closest friends.

My little dog was rolling in the grass

A sunny spot where cut blades were mulching

Trying to take along

Some special smell

I could never comprehend.

Bugs churn in sunbeams

The green has exploded

This one sunny day

In a rainy June.

I’ve worked hard for this house

This tree

This family

The kids who are safe

Enough to be bored

On a blue-sky Saturday.

But the laundry sits.

A comforter still damp on the back porch

Waits for me to make use

Of the fleeting dry air.

I’m still drying

Or drying again

The one from last week

That I never brought in.

Things fall apart.

This we know.

A rainy June

Gives days of beauty

Sometimes when you can use them.

Even if it’s only to dry laundry.

Out on the line.

Boston's Run to Remember 2013: Race Report

Here's the abbreviated race report:

My official time was 2:31:28. My stretch goal was 2:30 and I think I ran a smart race and put everything I had into the last 5K, so it was a great success in all of those ways. My last PR was last fall at 2:44, so this is a pretty big win and shows that all that training is paying off!  Ran most of the race with Kathy and her friend Judy, who were awesome race companions.  My mom took 20 minutes off her time from her first half at Nike last month, and good times were had all 'round.  Now if I could just stand up without wincing...



Oh, you want the whole story? Glad to oblige. Get a drink, friends. It has been a while since I did something blog-like and you know how I get. Ready?

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, seriously, it was. Memorial Day weekend in Boston. You know, low 40s, 20 mph wind with gusts up to 40, driving rain? Yay, race day! It least it's not 90 and humid. That was earlier this week. Love New England.

My mom jumped into this race too, and Catie was willing to babysit during the race (after having just PR'd the heck out of the Brooklyn Half last week), so I brought Ellie along too. We got a hotel right at the start line (Best. Thing. Ever.), hit the expo Saturday and then had a nice dinner. Met up with Kathy from Fitterknitters and her friend Judy at the expo and bored the heck out of Ellie by having a long chat, but they had to get home.

 

 Holding my bib upside down. Yeah, I'm cool. (Photo by random stranger.)

My mom and I spent a lot of time obsessing about the rain and what to wear. I packed thinking it would be a repeat of Smuttynose, mid fifties and rainy, so shorts and armwarmers. The night before the forecast switched to low forties and rainy and windy. Luckily, my mom brought ALL THE RUNNING CLOTHES and was willing to loan me a pair of compression pants.  (She would come to regret this decision.)  After plenty of obsessing about clothes and what to carry and blah blah blah we finally went to bed around 9:30. My monkey mind of course kept me up until about 11.

At 5 am we were up, drinking coffee, me eating my sandwich and granola and a banana (I've learned that I need a lunch-sized breakfast before a half), getting dressed. Kathy texted from the parking lot, and she and Judy came up to our room for a more luxurious location to putter and pee than a cold starting corral. The weather turned out better than expected. High 40s, and the rain blowing out to sea. Not exactly the memorial day weekend weather we might have expected, but better than feared.

Ellie woke up, and was excited to see us off. I had arranged for her to get room service, and when we left her she was in bed waiting for them to bring her belgian waffles, and for Catie to come take her to the finish line in an hour or so. She told me afterwards that she was able to watch the race start from the hotel window. WIN!

 Downstairs we had to go around the block to enter through security, which was not as draconian as advertised in the pre-race emails.  We got up close and personal with 10,000 or so other runners, had a moment of silence for the officers killed in the line of duty in whose honor we were running, including Sean Collier whose bib many people were wearing (unfortunately my mom and I didn't get a bib for him, but I thought about Sean a lot during the race). National anthem, and we're off.

 
Photos by Judy. (Garbage bags. We're all about the style.)

 I had promised my mom during the Nike Half that I would go on ahead at RtR, which is the only reason she let me stay with her at Nike. This spring I ran three half marathons, but this is the only one I raced.  The others were the princess, which was basically a 13.1 mile sparkle party on sneakers, and Nike, which was my mom's first half and which she paced.

So I hugged her goodbye and took off right from the start. At Smuttynose last fall I spent the whole race with Kathy in my sights, as she became more and more distant ahead of me. I figured I'd use her as a rabbit for this race too, and stick with them as long as I could.

There were some nice vistas in the first mile as we crossed the Seaport Street bridge and turned into the financial district. I should have realized the GPS was arsed up when the first mile marker was at 1.2 by my watch. I just figured I'd started the watch too early. I saw the 7:00 pace group sign ahead of where I'd noticed the timing mat, and thought maybe I hadn't noticed a second mat, and maybe the first one was for the finish.

There were a couple of crowd-related slowdowns in the first mile, and it felt pretty easy, but the first mile of a long race always feels easy. That's why you run it too fast, right? I was managing to keep up with Kathy and Judy, and they didn't seem too upset to have me crashing their party, so we were all good. Past Government Center and over the Longfellow Bridge into Cambridge and still feeling good.

 
(Cambridge St., photo by Judy)

The Cambridge stretch is a long out and back on a nearly perfectly flat riverfront highway. It's a longer take on the route for the Tufts 10K, and it's just as nice as it sounds. Partway through was a long line of officers giving high fives to the runners. There must have been 100 of them. Judy took a photo of them too.
 
(Another Judy original.)

Along here Kathy started getting smart, and questioning whether the pace was reasonable for 13.1. She decided to walk a bit and hang back, and Judy and I kept running, not knowing whether we might see her pass us later on. At mile 8 I started coughing, kind of out of the blue. A puff of albuterol (works best when not left at home!) and a little self-talk and I managed to catch up with Judy. I was getting a little bleary at this point but Judy was conscious enough to initiate a fist bump at every mile from then on, which was awesome. That woman can run--she set the pace on all the up-slopes (bridges and underpasses), and kept me moving.

My watch had me at an 11:25 pace, which I thought put me on track to run under 2:30. (Spoiler: it was lying.) Back over the Longfellow and it was the 10 mile mark and we were back in Boston. Coach Caleb said run the last 5K like a 5K race after a moderate 10 miles. I spent most that bridge psyching myself up to step on the gas at 10 miles.

Down Charles St. and we were passing people. Coach said to see how many people I could pass, but I lost count, partly because we passed a lot of people, and partly because when I tried to count I found I was unable to get past two, cognitively, at that point.  It was pretty much "green shirt, you're going dow...um, I'm kind of achy...did I count that guy?...clompclompclomp...pancakes.  Yeah, pancakes."  Didn't take much to move on from that whole distracting and difficult counting thing on to a mental narrative of "uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," for the next three miles.

Next round the Common, a little turn down Comm Ave. Weirdly, Gu at mile 11, which I skipped--there was a sign saying "Gu Ahead" at mile 8, which would have made more sense, but no Gu to be seen then. I skipped the mile 11 Gu, I'd had my own nutrition throughout the race (learned my lesson on previous races: I'm not an empty stomach runner), and I wasn't in any mood to ingest anything but oxygen at that point. 

The next two miles are a blur. I remember thinking about Sean Collier and the manhunt and pulling strength from the public safety officers who handled that day. I remember crazy potholes, people standing in front of a homeless shelter waiting to get in, and a woman standing in the middle of a tangent to prevent people from falling into a giant puddle/pothole (Mental process: "What the hell is her problem get off the course I don't have time to go around you...oh, um, thanks.") I pulled ahead of Judy and then she pulled ahead of me and then she was gone.

Shortly thereafter I had to pee. In theory I totally could have held it, but at this point my heart rate has been above 90% of max for two miles and I'm running what was likely my fastest mile ever at the end of my fastest 5K ever, except it was at the end of a half marathon. A little came out and then the next thing I know I'm still running while peeing on my shoes. THANKS MOM FOR THE LOAN OF THE PANTS!

Back over the Seaport bridge and toward the flags flapping in the wind and the finish. At this point the sun had actually emerged. As I ran I searched the crowd for Catie and Ellie, since the pre-race instructions had been very clear that there would be NO spectators allowed at the finish line. I figured I missed them, but as I finally got to the timing mat, there they were, cheering up a storm. I crossed the finish line, using my last ounce of energy to raise my arms in triumph. At this point my garmin had passed mile 14 so I had no idea what was going on. The clock time said 2:34 and I was hopeful, but not sure.

I leaned against the fence separating the spectators from the runners and tried not to die. Ellie asked if I was okay, and Catie, smart runner that she is, looked at my watch and told her my heart rate was coming down so I'd be fine. I was able to speak English surprisingly quickly after that and got to see Kathy finish just a couple minutes later and then my mom at 2:49 for a 2:46:54 finish, 20 minutes faster than her first half just a month before. I ran back and crossed the finish line with her.



Ellie had never been to see me at the finish line before, and it was so great to see her and Catie there, and to anticipate them being there as I ran the last mile. Catie has given me the honor of calling me one of her "DailyMile moms" so I took this "sisters" photo of the two of them. Uncanny, right?

 

After getting our bling, eating bananas and chips and drinking water, my mom and I headed back upstairs. We didn't manage to reconnect with Kathy and Judy who had reunited with their families, but congratulatory text messages were flying. A quick swim in the hotel pool, showers all round, and we packed up to check out, stashed my bag in the car, and headed out to dim sum in Chinatown.

Of course we walked. Two miles. While pulling my mom's rolling bag (she was taking the train back to NYC). Good for the muscles, right? Dim sum was the real deal with carts and all but not very vegan-friendly for my mom. She wound up eating a bit of shrimp by mistake, but we managed to get enough veggie mei fun into her to keep her from passing out.

Ellie and I saw her on to Amtrak and walked back to the hotel to get the car. I had promised Ellie a shopping trip and off we went to the Natick Mall. Home at 10 pm and passed out. While we were at Dim Sum I saw Catie's post of this video that she made for us.

 

It is so wonderful I can't even believe it. I told Catie she was my favorite daughter. Ellie was not overly pleased with this and a flurry of text messages ensued between Catie and Ellie, including Ellie claiming to be an angel but mistakenly typing angle. She's okay, I was just being obtuse.  Har.

Today I'm sore and a little chagrined at the garmin, thinking different information earlier might have helped me pace the first half a little faster and gotten me under 2:30. Looking at the map, the Cambridge portion is fine, but the Boston section has me running through buildings, jiggering back, and cutting off-course through the Common.

Both my phone and garmin maps have these crazy problems (phone only had me at 13.8 by the end of the race, hah) and my mom's and Kathy's devices had similar problems. I guess it was a bad morning for GPS. Coach Caleb says to run races without a watch, and maybe this is just the universe telling me to listen to my coach.

Nah.

So, all in all a wonderful day, enormous progress toward what for me is a challenging goal, good friends, happy family, and sore hamstrings.  What more could I ask of a holiday weekend?  Today I barbecued a pork roast from our meat CSA and did a lot of laundry.  And wrote this.  And drank a lot of water.  And sat down a lot.  I enjoy sitting.

Anybody know the best way to get pee out of running shoes?

Okay, I give up (for the moment)

I give up on trying to get my domain working. You can email me there, mama (at) mamacate.com , but I can't get the mapping working and I have dueling tech support people (it's yahoo's fault! it's typepad's fault! and so on) so basically I'm at an impasse. I have a few ideas and I haven't batted the lastest lob over to typepad's court yet, but right now I just don't have the available brain space to deal with it.

Anyway, long (too long!) way of saying that for the moment at least, you should come see me over at typepad. http://mamacate.typepad.com

Click here for mamacate's new home

See ya there!

PS: Don't forget to resubscribe with bloglines too--there's a handy-dandy button over there. ;)

Wait!

Oh lordy, of course I have to make this complicated. Don't update anything yet--I've just registered www.mamacate.com, but it's going to take a little while to get everything set up and the typepad site linked there. I'm doing this because after wrestling with typepad, I can tell I don't want to get locked into that system forever (sheesh, anytime you want to do anything YOURSELF, you have to upgrade!). So if I just register a domain, then I can move things around with minimal disruption to you, gentle blog reader.

So, who can tell me how to add my bloglines blogroll to my typepad sidebar. Anyone?

If anyone is still reading me by the time I finish messing things up, it will be a small miracle, I think.

I No Heart Blogger

I'm glad y'all are commenting, because if I had to rely on my own perception alone, I would say that my blog had disappeared. Happily, I received two comments via email today, and they didn't say "what the heck is wrong with your blog, girl?," and even referred to actual blog content, so I'm thinking that maybe you're seeing something I'm not.

So, why is my blog a big mess? It's because...

I'm movin' on up!

To typepad.

http://mamacate.typepad.com

Just as soon as I figure out how to correct the feed, and maybe even put an automatic redirect thingy on here, I'll do it.

Why am I moving? I want categories. I want 'em bad. I want to be able to respond to the kind souls who comment here without having to divine their email addresses from the ether. I want to escape from the shame of a standard blogger blog on a standard blogger template (okay, so now I have a standard typepad template, hey, I didn't say I was moving that far up). I wanna be a cool kid.

So come on over. If you have me on your blogroll (and I know about it) I'll be emailing you with my new address. And slowly, but surely, I'll be putting up curtains and cleaning the carpets over there. Don't hold your breath though. I think I lived in my current house for 3 years before I put up curtains.

Does anyone have a Queer Eye for the Lesbian's blog link?

Tell us about those "moral values," will ya?

We're back to more red-state cognitive dissonance, but this time it's me who can't seem to parse the difference between what they say and what they do.

It started when I heard from a friend of a friend that an old mutual acquaintance whom I knew had voted for Bush, is a "swinger," along with his wife. The have three kids and live in the suburbs. In a red state, of course.

At first I said, "oh, wow, they're poly!" But upon hearing more from my friend, no, they're not poly. They're swingers. They go to sex parties and hook up.

That's cool, whatever. I mean, they've been doing this for long enough that it doesn't seem to have affected their relationship. According to my friend, they are happy, and that's great. I'm happy for them. Everyone is consenting, they're all adults, and they're enjoying themselves. Bravo, I say. Have fun.

But then, to vote for someone who opposes gay marriage, I mean, what the fuck? In a way, the two have nothing to do with each other from my perspective. If we weren't the same sex, we would be the most boring, run-of-the-mill couple you'd ever meet. We have been monogamous for over 12 years. Our lives revolve around our kids, our jobs, our home, and our community. We do exciting things like knit and scrapbook. Sex parties are not even on our radar screen. Just. Can't. Imagine.

But it seems that the red states think that I am a threat to the moral fabric of our nation. Not exactly sure what that's all about--I guess I figured they thought we were having kinky sex all over the place (let us pause for a moment to laugh cynically--um, ever lived in a house with twin toddlers?). But shit, apparently they're having kinky sex all over the place in those red states, and here I am trying to figure out how to get dinner on the table and worrying about transitioning to preschool and....um, this is where my brain just loses traction and starts to spin out, you know? And it's not just my old acquaintance who is doing this. There's a whole club he belongs to in his red state suburb. How many of them do you think voted for Bush? And, um, uh, what the fuck, huh?

So you know, I'm not coming out against swingers. Like I said, have fun, consensual adults, safe sex, all that. No problemo. But uh, could you please not vote for people who have pledged to take basic civil rights away from homosexual Ward & June Cleaver?

So dude, if I'm going to be maligned and vilified for my "lifestyle" (because it is very, very, stylish--in an Erma Bombeck kind of a way), I think I really need to make my lifestyle a little more interesting. Being an upstanding, responsible, tax-paying, faithful, monogamous, church-going (ok, UU, but it still counts!), community-minded citizen hasn't done shit for my image. I'm pretty much a pervert, as far as red America goes. And I though that they just had a really low threshold for perversion, and while I thought they were very wrong and didn't understand, it turns out that they've got "lifestyles" of their own and are busy doing stuff that I don't think is perverted, but hey, you can't deny that it's a little kinky. But what exactly does a girl do with that kind of information? And this may be really sad to say, but I don't WANT to start a suburban sex club here in my blue state. I'd rather go to knitting night. I am telling the gods' honest truth. How sad is that?

In a much more depressing piece of red-state hypocrisy, see what Republic of T just posted about a little more red-state morality:

http://www.republicoft.com/index.php/archives/2004/12/07/red-morals-ws-america/

Sigh. If someone can explain this to me, I'd be grateful. Thanks.

Knitting Presents

I am now wearing a wrist brace. Too. Much. Knitting. As if there was such a thing. It's mostly a matter of prevention, but things were getting a little wonky there, and I know wrist injury is not something I want to mess with.

The multidirectional diagonal scarf is *almost* done. I think I will abandon the plan to do a mitered square hat, at least on a deadline basis. I may be struck with insanity, give the scarf for birthday (Sat.) and then make the hat an Xmas deal. Yeah, that's crazy. I'll probably do it.

I am also making THREE scarves with miserable novelty yarn for my kids' 3 daycare teachers. I think they'll like them but oh lordy, give me wool!

The Lopi sweater is coming along around the edges, but I'm procrastinating it to the last minute because I know I can work on it in the car up to NH where we're celebrating Xmas, and I don't think I'll see the recipient until Xmas night or even the day after. So I have TONS of time on that, and the scarves are going to be gifted the week before so back to the nylon ladder nightmare I go. Hey, the colors are pretty, at least.

Meanwhile, the voice of reason sounds from across the pond.

How to avoid a designer tea cosy

Props to Mary-Helen for the link.

Memo to the Nearly-Three-Year-Olds

I know you are getting bigger, and that like any normal children of your age, now is the time for you to become more focused and deliberate about your boundary testing. A year ago, you careened from one activity to another, pausing occasionally to see if I was paying attention and would tell you not to do some dangerous thing, but mostly you were simply bent on destruction exploration, and your limit-testing was more incidental—a by-product of your curiosity and exuberance.

But now, you are studying. Carefully probing the places where you sense any sign of weakness, whether it be the rare (yeah, right, I try, okay) inconsistent response, or the thing that makes me growl "NO" through gritted teeth. In short, you are checking out how best to piss me off.

I thought maybe we could all save ourselves some time. I will provide you with a list of things that piss me off. That way, you won’t have to check Every. Fucking. Day. to see if they still piss me off. In future, you can refer to this memo. I promise that if one of these things ceases to piss me off, I will update the memo to reflect my new attitude. I’m not expecting to do a lot of editing.

So here we go.

1. Putting your feet on my body, face, arms, etc. while nursing. What IS this???? And you BOTH do this bizarre behavior incessantly, even though you know that after 3 warnings the milky session is OVER. We’ve talked about touching with hands. We’ve talked about respecting mama’s body. But somehow, the feeling of feet (bare, socks, shoes, even rainboots, it doesn’t matter) against my body is just too appealing. It annoys the hell out of me. Sssssstop. K? Glad we’re clear.

2. Asking me for a cup of juice at dinner time, then climbing up on the table when I leave the room to get it. You know, I know you’re doing it when I hear the hysterical giggling. And you know that if you do it you are required to take a break from being in the dining room. You are allowed to leave the table whenever you are finished. No bonus for getting kicked out. So, well, this is pretty straightforward. I promise to be pissed about this every time you do it. As I think I have alluded to on more than one occasion in the past, it’s not safe, and it’s rude. So we can just stop with that little drama, because it’s not gonna change. Nope. I will remain this mean FOREVER. Just wait till I have car privileges to take away.

3. Demanding one single exact clothing ensemble, regardless of whether it is clean or not, and then whipping it off 5 minutes later and demanding another one, treading, of course, on the initial outfit in the process. Seriously. I already, surprisingly enough, have a fair amount of laundry to do. Not really necessary to create more by wearing a different outfit every time you walk into a different room in the house. And I'll tell ya right now, being completely naked is not always my favorite alternative, especially when I have EXPLICITLY told you that we are leaving in five minutes and when you are in the other room disrobing while I am putting your brother’s shoes on. Duct tape? Is that the only answer? And no, it’s not okay to go to the library naked. I don’t really have time to explain the many reasons WHY right now, but trust me, they are the same as the last 25 times we have had that conversation, okay?

I think that will do for now. There's more, oh there's more, but if we can start there things will run a lot more smoothly around here.

PMS? Moi? Shut up, it has NOTHING to do with that. Nor is it related to the fact that I have been home solo with the kids for the past week, and for 3 weeks in the last 6 (or something, it’s all a blur now; that’s a conservative estimate), and one of the weeks DP was home involved dinner for 10 and houseguests. And the freelance project and the 9:30 phone meeting with a fucking COMMITTEE (I love phone meetings on Saturday mornings with COMMITTEES reviewing my work--LURVE IT!). That makes me extra perky.

Over at Naked Ovary, one of Karen’s trolls used her cursing as evidence she that she is not ready to be a parent. In that case, three years into it, I am DOOMED.

I had to edit to add this from the comments:

Stephanie has a great #4:

4. I know that you like to nurse standing up and that it seems like a real time saver to you. Despite how this makes me feel less like a loving, nurturing mother and more like a SNACK BAR I am willing to do it if you will simply NOT JUMP AROUND with my nipple in your mouth.

(also, if you could stop stuffing the leftovers from your snack down the side of the couch I would like that.)

Um, yeah, that one too. Technically, the drive-through closed shortly after the take-out and delivery service went offline (pumping, that is) at 18 months. I think around 2, I insisted that all milky sessions be sit-down meals. We did have one session on some days where the rules were off and they got to stand up and SHARE (the other fun twin nursing excitement. You haven't lived until you've had your kids execute an entire wrestling session WHILE latched on). That one session has been spot weaned because I was going to start breaking china if I had to do it again. It was mostly the wiggling, but also the casual way they would turn, holding the breast in one hand, to see what was going on behind them. Sit-down diner from now on.

Thanks, Stephanie, and congrats on the book.

Cool Web Thingamabob #642

Check out TypoGenerator, a cool thingy for creating random text-based graphics, found over at The Other Mother.



What does your vanity plate look like?

The Yarn of Froggage

So I think I mentioned that I would be making a Lopi sweater out of yarn frogged from a poorly-conceived sweater started in, um, 1989?

Well, I frogged the offending garment, and started my Lopi sweater, destined to be a Yule gift for my step brother-in-law, the (arguably) lucky winner of my gift in the sibling gift lottery this year.

I knitted away, watching with satisfaction as the thing grew swiftly, having only 128 stitches on the needle for the entire body.



Wait a minute....that looks a little small....

Let's try to explain my thinking here. Bear with me, this promises to be convoluted.

When it comes to ribbing, I almost always use the same size needles for the ribbing as I do for the body. Only the more traditional (or outdated) patterns tend to have that kind of drawn-in ribbing these days anyway, but when I encounter them, I typically rib with the larger needles, figuring it will draw in a bit because it's ribbing, but it won't have that dreadful boofy look that really tight ribbing can produce (we've already discussed my desire not to draw attention to that particular area).

But this time, since it's for a man with broad shoulders who will probably look good with a tighter waist, and since I figured I'd be traditional for once, I used smaller needles for the ribbing. This was a conscious choice. I remember deciding to do it. Well, now I do.

So, when it came time to change to the body stitches, I had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

Reading: "Hmm, change to larger needles and k 1 row in MC, increasing, blah blah."

"Change needles? I don't change needles. Those instructions are for people who follow instructions. Not me, no siree. I remain, immutably, a person who, as a matter of identity, does not change needles. Keep knitting there mama, and pity those poor pathetic souls who have to change needles at the top of the ribbing."

"Hey, colors! Fun. Keep that tension right. Follow that chart. Loop de loop, in and out, front and back, lalalalalala...pretty geometric forms....lalala..."

"Wait a minute. This fabric feels kind of thick. And you know, the body hasn't really started to expand below the needles as I knit. It's looking, well, like it's not much bigger than the circ needle circumference of 29". That's weird, I'm knitting a 40" sweater. My gauge can't be THAT far off. Let's measure."

"FOUR stitches to the inch? Must be wrong. Oh, definitely. Let's measure again. No, there really isn't any way I can claim this to be 3.25 sts/in, even in some sort of denial-fueled fantasy world."

"Hey. Wait a minute. These are SIZE SEVEN NEEDLES. Now it's not altogether unusual for me to go down 3 needle sizes to get gauge, but I have a vague recollection of only going down one needle size for this project. Now that I think about it.....ack! I *did* rib with smaller needles.....Hello, frogpile."

Sigh. This is not a brain with great powers of observation, is it? No, I don't think so either.

So I put the project in time out before frogging it (and not the positive, take a break time out my kids get, no, this was the shaming, you've been a bad, bad knitting project kind of time out), during which time I shared my tale of woe with Thanksgiving guest Sara, and drowned my sorrows in Eloise, who has met her own bump in the road, though at least it doesn't involve frogging, just waiting for yarn.

This past weekend, I refrogged it (this is the yarn that had already been frogged--should I just throw this stuff away and figure it's a bad omen? I think it has one more chance--you know, 1-2-3 Magic).

Luckily, frogging is not so painful when you're knitting with rope. By Monday evening I had this:



The whole thing is now on the backburner, however, as I frantically try to complete a Multidirectional Diagonal Scarf for Rhys, who is out of town with her sister, supporting her through chemo #4. BTW, solo parenting twin toddlers is TIRING and I have been doing it far too much the last few months. I'm glad she's helping her sister, but I'm also relieved Rhys won't be traveling much (except her one day per week in NJ) after this. The upside is I can (probably) knit her a scarf without her knowing, and that will be cool when I surprise her. (Well, that is if she continues her impeccable record of not reading my blog, despite having been given the address. Rhys, if you're reading this, tell me so I can stop sneaking around.)

I'm using some Kureyon in color 128 that Alison RAOK'd me a few weeks back. I think in order to make a respectable scarf, I'm going to need a 3rd skein. Webs' website claims they have that color. I want to put it in the middle of the scarf so any dyelot differences won't be too noticeable, so off to buy yarn with the kids tonight on the way home. Should be interesting. I'll look forward to being laughed at again...

Belated apology

When my parents were up for Thanksgiving, we did a Sorry Everybody photo. Here's our contribution to world contrition.



My mom is wearing the International Traveler Apology T-Shirt. (Perhaps we should also apologize for misspelling "traveler?" And "apologize." And for putting punctuation inside quotations. Oh, never mind.) The shirt was my early Yule present to her.

Still sorry over here.

Picture of Perfection

Go see my friend Sara's essay on parenting an "atypical wonder," a child with CP. Toby (and his big sister Hannah, aka the golden goddess of school-agedness according to my kids) came to be with us for Thanksgiving.

It was perfect.

Since she wasn't kind enough to share with you a photo of the smiling charming blondie boy, I thought I would do the honors.



See what I'm saying?

I think I have A Plan

Thank you, Norma, for pointing me the way. I have been wanting something as beautiful, as obsessive, as perfect as Shedir from the Knitty Fall Surprise. I loved knitting that thing, even though I did it at a snail's pace. I've been doing mindless knitting since I came back to it last year, and this reminded me how much fun it was to have a "thinker" project. I thought about Rogue, which even has the advantage of being from the same designer.

I've seen so many lovely Rogues made, but I just cannot see myself looking anything even vaguely resembling okay in a pullover with a pocket in--um--my least attractive area. No, we do not need two layers of worsted weight fabric in that particular zone. Even knitted without the paunch pouch, the hoodie thing makes me look like a marshmallow. So, with great regret, I left it behind.

Little did I know that the fabulous Claudia had made modifications to the pattern to turn it into a zip-front cardigan. Now this, I can work with. Much more doable than St. Brigid, which would probably take me a year to knit, and frankly, a lot more wearable too.

So what yarn? I have a closet full, you know. Just ask anyone who works at Webs, where they laugh at me when I walk through the door. No, not really, only when I go to the cash register.

But I realized, I have a couple of pounds of blue-faced leiscter roving that is just waiting to be spun. I have been knitting so much that I have been letting my wheel languish, and I miss it. So I am going to spin and then dye the yarn for my Rogue Cardi. In other words, don't be looking for photos of the WIP soon, LOL. But I have A Plan. And it is good to have a plan. I have spun a wee bit of the BFL to do some swatching. I haven't spun to spec much (my main experience was the mothy zeus that has just found its way to the garbage pile, and that time at least I had a photo to work with), so I'm going to find my way here.

But first, I WILL get through my current WIPs.

Like I said, Zeus is history. No pretty Aran cardi, not this year. If I happen upon a beautiful gray shetland fleece next spring, then you never know, but for now, I'm done. On the trash pile, grubs (YECH) and all. Oh, how I pray they haven't gotten into anything else!

Eloise, on the other hand, is almost done.



In fact, she would be done if it hadn't become absolutely clear to me that I was going to run out of yarn. You be the judge. That's one sleeve cap and a full sleeve.



Yeah, I think so too.

I have a long torso (came in handy when pregnant with twins), so I added an inch to the body length. I thought I had extra yarn, since the pattern called for 400 gms and I bought 10 skeins. Guess what? Blossom comes in 40 gm skeins. That would be, um, NO extra yarn. And for once, the designer was not overgenerous with the yarn requirements. And I bought all of the colorway that was in stock at the store where I got it. So, it's off to find someone who won't charge me 50% of the price to ship one skein of Blossom color #2. Or if you have one to get rid of, LMK and I'll buy it or trade for it. I have a big pile of yarn I will never knit wonderful stash.

The bottom line, Eloise is on hold. Which is good, because it was keeping me from my holiday knitting. I would have more fabulous pictures of said holiday knitting if blogger hadn't just trashed the rest of my post.

More tomorrow. That's enough for now anyway. Goodnight Gracie.

A Real Holiday

Hi there! Wow, things have been busy around here. We hosted a wonderful Thanksgiving with chosen family and bio family. Our tiny house was full to the rafters with kids. My parents stayed at a B&B, which helped everyone have a better time, I think. Dinner was delish if I do say so myself, and Sara and I had an absolute blast spending obscene amounts of money at Northampton Wools and Webs. It's official: I am now at the point where they laugh at me when I walk up to the counter with a big pile of yarn. Yes, laugh. At me. Buying yarn. Sara, I believe, described it as a "guffaw." I got 10 balls of Kureyon to make another Klaralund. At some point. Hey, I got the 25% discount because Sara, my mom and I all combined our purchases, so it was like $6 a ball, okay? And that's no shipping, no tax. Okay? Guilty conscience, here. They did get very interested when I mentioned possibly trading some consulting for store credit. Now, in addition to my other freelance job (ugh!) I need to do a letter for Webs proposing the idea more formally. Guess which one I'm motivated to do?

I have been having some second thoughts about my decision to let my job go when the grant is up next fall (I know it's the right thing, but it's a very "good" job in all the normal ways, it just doesn't make me feel good about myself and my work), but this makes me feel a bit more confident that I will find my way and find something I'm more passionate about. I've always dreamed of working in fiber arts, ever since I was a teen, and I fantasized about becoming a professional weaver (have I ever learned to weave? no.). I need to have faith that I can do this, that I can have more than just a *good* job, but instead, a job that I love. Heck, I never really believed I'd have a good job, so it's amazing (and plenty scary) to grab for that brass ring. We'll see. I'm still not thinking of making a living as an artist, but using my marketing/marketing research skills in the fiber arts field, heck, maybe I'll be able to pay myself more than minimum wage AND work in fiber arts, right?

The holiday was so wonderful--perhaps the first time in my life I felt that warm glow people talk about during holiday celebrations. I thought, this is what holidays should be like--kids making a ruckus, people knitting, Harry Potter, eggnog with rum, and our course our longstanding family tradition of More Pies Than People. My parents had their wacky moments, but heck, my mom asked Sara and me to teach her how to knit, and she got off and running quite quickly. It was nice to have the sane counterbalance of Sara and Terry to neutralize my parents (and the b&b didn't hurt either!).

Ahhhh. Nice weekend. Too bad the end of it is marred by freelance work, and then a week of solo parenting while DP goes to Colorado to help SIL get through her fourth chemo treatment. She's hanging in there, but it's getting harder. Sara knitted her a chemo cap too, which Rhys will bring out.

When I get the photos off my camera (any suggestions for a digital camera with good macro capabilities that is EASY to download from--mine is a nightmare), I'll show you the knitting debacles I am engaged in, including Eloise on the verge of running out of yarn and The Lopi Sweater I Have To Frog.

Happy happy...

Birthday Girl

First, THANK YOU to all the friends and email buddies and just plain nice folks who sent me birthday wishes. Today I am 35. I spend much of my time writing, administering, and analyzing surveys (well, I actually spend most of my time procrastinating the latter, but I understand that that just makes me more of an academic). So to me, this means that I am no longer "25-34," and even worse, I am no longer "under 35." Also, as an infertile, I am now in that steep part of the fertility graph, sliding down at increasing velocity: think of it as the toboggan of fecundity-doom. Okay, don't. Like it matters, anyway: being 29 when I started TTC did, um, exactly jack-shit (I think that's the medical term) for my personal chances of conceiving easily, and as the kids get older I am starting to feel more sure that our family is complete. Don't quote me on that one, though.

So, it's a little weird, a little freaky. I kind of feel like my life has been frozen since Henry & Eleanor were born; actually since they were conceived. I have to remind myself not to say "thirty-one" when people ask me how old I am (and don't ask me how they can be two and I can be 35 now and 31 when they were conceived, but it's actually true). So I guess I don't really believe it. I suspect I will feel more and more like this. I know my mom thinks that the fact that she's in her 60's is a big joke, except of course when she looks at her retirement funds.

So my day, it was nice. Ish. It involved a trip to a yarn store, because, you know, how could it not. Webs, of course. They were having this goofy radio promotion. I'm such a dork, I thought, "Hey, a drawing for a $250 shopping spree, there will probably be only a few hundred people in the hat, MAX. Definitely worth doing." So I get there right before it's about to end, and there are people milling around and I see the box for the drawing, but to enter you're supposed to shake some radio guy's hand and I have no idea who this guy is or where he is and it feels kind of wrong to just enter without doing the required steps (dork, remember? Yes, dork). So I just poke around for a minute and then get SUUUUCKKKED into the world of yarn.

I emerge a really very restrained 30 minutes later and the whole thing is over and it's too late to enter. Shit. I probably wouldn't have won anyway, but you know, I actually have won things like that before, and wow, it sure would have been nice. Can you say, "drum carder?" Or perhaps a swift and some combs? Or maybe enough nice English wool to make St. Brigid and plenty left over for fun?

So the worst part of it, and this is where I am such a huge dork that you really will be shaking your head in pity for my stupidity, the worst part is that I kind of rushed to get there before this thing was supposed to end at 2, and so I decided to go the pharmacy to get my inhaler at the end of my outing instead of at the beginning. Yeah, because breathing=optional; more yarn I don't have enough time to knit with and a contest I didn't even enter when I had the chance=much more important than breathing. (I should mention that I only get asthma a few times a year, at the tail end of a cold. And when I try to run. I was recently diagnosed with it and I'm new to this whole thing. My previous technique was to suffer through the colds and, um, never exercise if I could help it. Still haven't done anything about that last part.)

So did I mention that I was thinking about making St. Brigid? I know, nothing like going for the gusto, but I want a long-term thinker project, with cables, damnit! So I went to the library, which conveniently has Alice Starmore's Aran Knitting (no, I am not paying over $100 for it on eBay). And lo and behold, my local library, which has crapola in terms of infertility books, actually has a great fiber arts section. So I checked out more books than I can ever read to go with the more yarn than I can ever knit. And I headed over to the pharmacy, which, as the weather started to turn rainy, was becoming increasingly urgent.

And it was, and I say this in the nicest possible way, Fucking Closed. It closed at 3pm. Who closes at 3 pm on a Saturday? Well, apparently my pharmacy. I got there at 3:15. So it was off to the CVS to get some primatine mist, which I don't even know if it's okay for me to use but I was desperate and I had seen ads on TV with little arrows going through people's lungs in a friendly kind of way and I thought it might help. Mostly it just got me high though. Well, I survived 34 years without an inhaler, what's one more day, right? I just thought it would have been nice to breathe on my birthday. Totally My Own Fault, too, which really just makes it worse.

So that was a lot of bitching wasn't it? And apparently the anniversary of my birth brings out the sailor in me, language-wise, so apologies there. Despite not breathing and losing out on theoretical free fiber stuff, it was a fun day (oh yeah, and the part about having to do freelance work this morning, whatever).

Rhys made breakfast and brought me coffee on the couch; she corralled the kids while I bought yarn. Gifts included the third season DVDs from The West Wing (I need fantasy--Martin Sheen is my President!); some carded and dehaired cashmere MIL bought off some lady who was spinning it in Mongolia (note, it feels and smells a lot like wool--do you think she got ripped off? Is there a burn test or something I can do to check? Won't tell her, though); and my own little shopping spree. I got a bunch more Lana D'Oro and some pink superwash for a sweater for Eleanor. And shoes. On sale. For me.

Dinner was at our favorite BBQ place, and that was yummy, then we got a cake from Cold Stone Creamery. Cold Stone is kind of un-PC in our town because it's one of a few chains that have recently moved in after years of almost all of downtown being locally-owned (not to mention the cultural clash of singing ice cream scoopers in a New England town that serves attitude on the side of everything). But I wanted cake and it's my birthday. And the independent ice cream shops don't have cake. Okay? I'll try to do better next year, but man that is good ice cream.

The kids were about as cute as can be singing me happy birthday and DYING to eat the cake the whole way home with it. Nobody gets into the birthday spirit like a couple of two-year-olds.

So that was my day. All in all a nice one. Now off to watch the Apprentice I taped, before I read about what happened on someone else's blog. Stop blogging about my stupid reality shows before I have a chance to see them, people! (Just kidding, blog about whatever you want.)

Gratuitous cute kid shot, because, say it with me: it's my birthday!

Guerrilla Marketing

Look what's going on over at Brand Democrat | Oliver Willis.





Love it...

Also, alert commenter and RAOK ring neighbor Elka emailed me this link from John Kerry even before it showed up in my email box from the campaign! Go sign the pledge. Part of me feels so bruised from the defeat that I am having trouble getting up to fight another day with him, but part of me admires his leadership. I think I'm going to allow myself to be inspired.

The "Talk"

Who knew I would be talking about sex with two-year-olds!

Eleanor is obsessed with babies. She will spend hours playing with babies at playgroups, showing incredible patience and tolerance of grabbing, slobbering, etc. She's just baby crazy.

So in the car this morning, she had her baby doll, and she was talking about how there was a baby in her tummy..."no there are two babies in my tummy. No, just one, a girl baby. I'm a mommy and I have a girl baby in my tummy and the daddy has a boy baby in his tummy." She said this with a certain inquisitive tone in her voice.

I wasn't sure what to do, but I figure if we talk about sex early and often it won't be a taboo subject. So I say "actually, the daddy puts a seed--like the seeds we planted that turned into tomatoes?--the daddy puts a seed in the mommy's tummy and it combines with the mommy's seed and a baby grows. So both girl and boy babies grow in mommies' tummies, but the daddy helps them grow."

Henry was not impressed: "I want a baby to grow in my tummy!" I just mirrored it back to him: "You'd like to have a baby in your tummy?" Then we talked about how, while our family has two mommies and a donor daddy who we don't see, in some families daddies are really important. I reminded them of the dad of one of their classmates who used to eat lunch with the kids. I said, "Some daddies are like your donor daddy and they only help with the seed but other daddies are like Tom and are really important in the family. Would you like to be a daddy like Tom someday?" Henry liked that idea. "I'm going to be Tom. I'm going to be daddy Tom." Ellie said, "I am going to grow up and have a baby in my tummy." Then the weird part: "Sometimes the babies fall out." I thought, yeah, hon, sometimes they do, but I hope it never happens to you. I didn't say anything, though.

I was on a roll so I decided to keep going. I said, "Someday you might find someone you love and you might make a house with them. It might be a girl or a boy, and then you can have a baby together." Ellie immediately volunteered that she wanted to make a house with a girl. Henry also wants a girl. Well, glad we've cleared that up, LOL, it will certainly make the adolescent angst go by quicker.

Then Henry started imagining himself as a daddy. Now, I swear to you, we are not shoving gender down our kids' throats, pink and blue pull-ups notwithstanding. "I'm going to have a beard. And a moustache. And I'm going to drive a truck. A garbage truck. No, a recycling truck." (I pause to thank the goddess that some of our influence has paid off here, LOL.) I asked "Is that what you're going to do when you're a daddy like Tom?" "No," announces Henry, "I'm gonna be a GUY."

Troll Starvation

Well, I confess I have done a lousy, lousy job of troll starvation. And the troll seems to be coming back for more. It's my own fault for linking to her posts in a main post. And here I go again.

So here's the deal. In future, I will delete anonymous postings at my discretion. In case it isn't completely obvious, I am not talking about postings that are categorized by Blogger as "anonymous," I mean posts where the poster does not sign her name and/or provide a link or url for her blog. (I'll just take this moment to say "duh." You don't have to log in to identify yourself.)

I would also love it if anyone who posts as "anonymous" for blogger purposes would leave their url because I love to find new blogs. I know that the structure of the blogger comment feature makes it easy to forget to do this; I suspect I've forgotten it at times.

Obviously, I won't delete friendly comments that are left anonymously. But I think my troll friend is having a bit too much fun.

And one other comment for my troll. Please, oh please, if you are going to identify yourself and continue to post (and I am willing to have a debate with you if you will identify yourself), can you please, please get a spellchecker for your browser. I think it's a bit petty for me to make fun of your spelling mistakes, but I'm telling you, I'm having trouble resisting the temptation. Please. It might make you seem slightly less ignorant. Well, maybe.

Cognitive Dissonance Redux

Newly emboldened to prattle on about politics and not knitting, I thought I'd return to a link that we all saw a lot a few weeks back, before the election. PIPA's report on The Separate Realities of Bush and Kerry Supporters. Kerstin at HomeGrown Daisy (if you don't know the story, this is a formerly knitting, now political blog, great in both incarnations), linked to it again today, and it is timely once again. As those of us in the blue states ask WTF??? over and over again, as we gently bang our heads against the wall in the hopes that we might develop some form of brain damage that might make it seem like it's all going to be okay, this report seems to have an answer, at least a partial one.

Essentially, those Bush voters were all just believing what they wanted to believe. And I thought they were supposed to be the absolutists in the class--apparently one truth is as true as another, especially if it comes from Rush Limbaugh and Faux News.

So why do Bush supporters show such a resistance to accepting dissonant information? While it is normal for people to show some resistance, the magnitude of the denial goes beyond the ordinary. Bush supporters have succeeded in suppressing awareness of the findings of a whole series of high- profile reports about prewar Iraq that have been blazoned across the headlines of newspapers and prompted extensive, high-profile and agonizing reflection. The fact that a large portion of Americans say they are unaware that the original reasons that the US took military action--and for which Americans continue to die on a daily basis--are not turning out to be valid, are probably not due to a simple failure to pay attention to the news.

The roots of the resistance to this information very likely lie in the traumatic experience of 9/11, and equally in the near pitch-perfect leadership that President Bush showed in its immediate wake. In response to an unprecedented attack on US soil, with the prospect of further such attacks, Bush responded with a grace and resolve that provided reassurance to an anxious public. In the war with the Taliban he showed restraint as well as effectiveness. Large numbers of Americans had a powerful bonding experience with the president--a bond that they may be loath to relinquish.

While I take issue with the idea of pitch-perfect leadership (erm, the footage of his school visit in Fahrenheit 9/11) and with restraint and effectiveness characterizing his war with the Taliban (sure, if you don't count the part about letting Bin Ladin get away), I think it's true that there must be something blocking these people from parsing what is pretty widely-available information. Maybe it's a guilty conscience for the war. Or maybe they just trust authority so much that if W and Karl Rove say it, it must be true.

But here is the most prophetic statement of the whole report:

Bush appears to assume that his support is fragile. He refuses to admit to making any mistakes. He admits that he was surprised that WMD were not found, but does not say that the most reasonable conclusion is that they were never there and continues to talk about “disarming” Iraq. He asserts that he never said that Iraq was directly involved in 9/11, but maintains that there were contacts with al Qaeda in a way that implies that they were significant. Most telling, his supporters as well as his opponents overwhelmingly say that they hear him still saying that Iraq had WMD and supported al Qaeda. To remain loyal and bonded to him means to enter into this false reality.

Bush may be right. Admitting his mistakes may shatter his idealized image in a way that some supporters may not forgive. But there also risks in succeeding in getting elected based on false beliefs. The number of people in the public who see through the illusion will likely continue to grow, eating away at the implied mandate of an election. Further, the cohesion of society can be damaged by a persisting and fundamental division in the perception of what is real, undermining pathways to consensus and mutual sacrifice, and making the country increasingly difficult to govern. (Emphasis added.)

Sadly, I don't think Bush will really pay the price for this--what price is left to pay? I have no doubt as to how history will remember him, and it's the rest of us who have to rebuild this place. Perhaps people will learn to take a critical view of the information they receive. I can dream, can't I?

The Future

Thanks to Terri of Spinning Wheel (a great blog, btw) for leaving this link in the comments. Urban Archipelago

I have always enjoyed Dan Savage, ever since I first read his book The Kid, about his open adoption experience. Of course, I'm not entirely comfortable with his coining of the new word named after your friend and mine, senator Rick Santorum, but then I'm a lesbian, so the subject matter is not exactly up my alley (note: do not click on this link if you are easily grossed out--how did I suddenly become the queen of sm^t links anyway)? I do love a good anti-wingnut google bomb, though.

Anyway, there has been a lot of discussion of where we should go from here*, who is at fault, and how the democrats can recover from this loss and WIN. Talking Points Memo also questions the impulse to pander, as well they should.

I'm glad we're thinking and talking about strategy and WINNING, but you know, I think it's a fair amount simpler than all that. I agree with those who say that we should not be dumping on Kerry, blaming him for the loss. I did not think it was a choice between two evils; I liked Kerry. Yes, he made some expedient choices that I disagreed with, and I even wrote in a challenger in his last Senate race because he voted for the war (little did he know how much he would regret that vote). But I would have been PROUD to have him as a president. PROUD.

I don't think he did anything wrong in terms of policy or even the campaign. As a phone bank volunteer, I was stunned at the efficiency and accuracy of the phone lists I got on-demand on my computer. But I don't think he was a good choice. He would have made a great policy leader in the party or in a democratic administration, but in my opinion, it was a matter of substance over style. I know this has been said over and over again, but I want to say it again because I think it's simpler than everyone is making it out to be. We need to nominate someone with heart and energy. And I hate to say this, but we need to nominate that person with heart and energy, even if he's not the most qualified, most intelligent, most experienced person who's "turn" is up.

Perhaps it shouldn't be this way, but I think we democrats are just too inclined to nominate people for president who simply cannot connect with voters. Brilliant, accomplished, eminently qualified men, but people who are distant and policy-oriented and who think and speak in complexities and nuances. I don't want to pander, but I think we need someone that people can understand, and, more importantly, can trust.

Kerry was getting there, but he was only simple and straightforward and easy to relate to when he was talking about the war and GWB, and that's not enough. I admit that I never heard a simple, clearly-articulated "elevator speech" about why Kerry (not ABB, anybody but Bush, a worthy cause to me but perhaps not to swing voters), was going to do great things. He did not inspire. And speaking with relatively moderate republican family members who had deep concerns about Bush but voted for him anyway, they just didn't trust Kerry. As Atrios points out in the link above, any candidate will get the same treatment, but we need someone whose personalilty and trustworthiness shines through all that. Someone who will look into people's eyes, and suddenly none of that will matter.

Think about it. The republicans have tried to tar every single democratic nominee in the last 20 years with the same brush: they waffle, they only care about polls, they're too liberal, they have some skeleton in their closet. And who is the one candidate to whom did it not stick: CLINTON, probably the one candidate for whom most of those allegations are true. Don't get me wrong, thank god for Clinton, but the one difference between him and Kerry, Gore, Dukakis, and Mondale (heaven help us), is that Clinton was able to *outshine* the allegations with the sheer force of his personality and his simple likeability. And even post-Monica and post-everything else that went down, if Clinton were running for office today, he'd win in a landslide. Maybe that's because people think he could bring back the economy, but I don't think so. I think it's because people simply LIKED him.

If you haven't listened to Ira Glass's pre-election coverage of swing voters on This American Life (be aware that the pre-election hope may be hard to handle if you're still feeling sensitive), check out his discussions with Gig. Gig was dying for a democrat he could believe in. He was educated, informed, and reasonably thoughtful, but he just needed an emotional connection. And he found it in Bush. Lord knows I don't like him, but I understand why people think that he's a likeable guy. My partner had a very similar experience talking to my BIL, also a relatively intelligent, well-educated person. Do I want to wring his neck and disown him for voting for Bush, yes. But I'd rather give him a better choice next time.

I was not an Edwards supporter early on; I confess I was a fan of Dean. I was excited and carried away with the idea that a true progressive could generate such energy. But I am sad to say that I think Dean's proof of concept failed in Iowa, before, I might add, the scream ended it all, fairly or not. I would frankly love to secede and elect Dean president of the Northeast, but I doubt it's going to happen--those red states need our tax money too much to let us go quietly. But you know what, I think if Edwards had topped the ticket, he might have won. I wish he'd given it a few more years--he appears a bit too young at this point, and I'd like to see a little more experience--but he is a democrat who can shine in the way we need to shine.

I should add that I work with a similar issue every day. I work for an historic and important women's college, supporting the marketing effort (we don't call it that, it's Enrollment Management). There is so much here to be proud of: the history of women's empowerment and education, the quality of faculty and scholarship, the important women who emerged from here and changed the world, the connections students will make to that long line, the community that is built and rebuilt every year as new women join this community that has continued for more than 150 years. But you know, every time we connect with prospective students, we have to explain that yes, they will meet guys, no, they won't become lesbians if they don't want to be, and yes, they will have parties and a social life. In order to honor and maintain the higher purpose of this institution, we have to address some pretty base and lower-level concerns. There was a time when this institution did not stoop to address those concerns, and it lost ground in selectivity and prestige, which hurt its overall mission of educating women and helping them avail themselves of positions of societal power. I think we as democrats are making a similar error. It's not pandering, we just need to select candidates based on their ability to make an emotional connection with voters, to be trusted in the face of mudslinging and slander. That's the only way we'll swing the swingers, and even though it makes me sad, I think this election, right back to the primaries, proved that we do need to reach that group. I just think the job of reaching them is not as complicated (or as reliant on anti-gay or other divisive politics) as people think. William Saletan got it right in Slate the day after the election. Simple.

Oh yeah, and if the local democratic parties in "swing" states could please make sure that the elections boards allocate voting machines by population and not by penetration of republican registrants, that would probably help. Sigh. A full investigation might be a good idea too.

*Link at Salon.com--you must subscribe (so worth it!) or subject yourself to advertising in order to read full text.