It's a Question of Leadership

When it comes right down to it, this Presidential election is about leadership. Which man do we best trust to lead us through what will certainly be a tumultuous four years?


The last few weeks of economic craziness have shown us the kind of leadership we can expect. One hot, the other cold. I think it's instructive to look at their leadership style.

McCain announces he's suspending the nasty work of political campaigning to help fix the economy - an act which was the ultimate campaign ploy. He blasts Obama for "phoning it in," when he spent nearly all his time - you guessed it - working the phones. On Monday morning, he and his surrogates claimed victory for the bailout package that subsequently didn't pass.

He was all over the place.

Obama rightly cautioned about injecting the politics of the Presidential campaign into the bailout talks, though I wish he'd had some suggestions on how to solve this mess. Yesterday he suggested raising the level from $100,000 to $250,000 on FDIC-insured bank deposits...a move McCain quickly seconded. But what else to do?

Add to all this McCain's choice of Sarah Palin for vice president...an unwise move at best. God love her, she is just not ready for prime time. Nor is she ready to be a 71-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency.

I like John McCain, admire his courage and commitment to country, his ability to work across party lines. His principled stand against torture was admirable.

But we've had a cowboy in the White House for the last eight years and I don't think we can afford another four. We don't need a Teddy Roosevelt charging into battle; we need a Franklin Roosevelt to get us out of all the various and sundry messes in which we find ourselves.

I want someone who is thoughtful and inspiring. Somebody smarter than me. And somebody who plays it cool rather than running all over the place. McCain's antics this past week smell like desperation.

I can't wait for Thursday's debate....

The Bush Administration Finishes Its Job

Okay, I get it. Unless we bail out the greedy bastards on Wall Street, our economy - and the world's - comes crashing down around us. No loan for me if I needed a new car. No money spitting out when I hit the ATM. If I owned a business, I'd be screwed.

Well, we're screwed anyway.

W now has another accomplishment to add to his legacy. He's managed to totally diminish our political standing in the world thanks to his invasion of Iraq and consequent incompetence in managing that effort. Now he and his fellow GOPers have completely fucked up the US economy, brought the global economy to its knees, and added another $700 billion to the ever-mounting deficit.

At his press avails last week, he looked like a deer in the headlights. The man doesn't have a clue.

Or maybe he does. In my paranoid moments comes the thought that suggests it's all a plot - the Dick Cheney/Newt Gingrich plan to "starve the pig." If there's no revenue coming in, government HAS to shrink.

My Republican friends have - for years - told me how much better we'll be with the GOP in charge because (OMG - we're seeing it at the municipal level too) they're "smart with the money."

So much for that theory.

I understand that we need to "restore confidence" to avoid a meltdown. Like most Americans, I am thoroughly pissed. So now its OUR tax dollars that will have to pay for the overwhelming greed that has been on display. Somebody - LOTS of somebodys - need to go to jail.

In a Funk

We live - just barely - in Kansas City, Missouri (the city's boundary runs through my living room and - yes- that means we pay taxes to two municipalities but only get to vote in one - the one where the house is located: KCMO).

I confess: I voted for Mark Funkhouser.

I thought it was a choice between a really smart man and a really nice one. I've worked in and around City Hall and knew them both. Liked them both. But I figured with all the problems the city faces - crime, huge liabilities taken on during the Barnes administration, the looming gazillion dollar sewer re-do (for the first time, I'm glad we have a septic tank - no sewer fees for us!), the looming light rail plan, the backlog of deferred maintenance, etc. etc. etc. - we needed the smart guy.

Boy, am I disappointed.

You'd think, after 18 years as City Auditor, he'd have figured out how to work City Hall. Ummm.........not so much.

Mayors Cleaver and Barnes knew how to count to seven and they didn't eschew the label 'politician.' When you are elected to political office, you are by definition a politician. And if you want to get anything done at City Hall, you have to get seven votes or it ain't gonna happen. Pissing on/off your colleagues is not a good idea.

The "Drama of the Barefoot Contessa" now playing at 12th & Oak has been wildly entertaining (who could write that kind of stuff???) but, uh, unhelpful. That show needs to close.

I have a feeling that, if I ran into Gloria, I'd probably like her. (I tend to like strong, opinionated, feisty women.)

But enough is enough.


Dear Mark and Gloria,

My, oh, my, what a mess you've made.

I'm sure it's been a rough one-and-a-half years. But hopefully you've learned from past mistakes - like how to do simple background checks on potential Park Board appointees and to not accept free cars.

Since I voted for one of you, I feel entitled to give a little advice prior to Thursday's Council meeting.

Take the high road. (Always a good idea in public and personal relations.) Don't threaten or demean the 12 people you're supposed to be working with. (Remember the number '7.')

In the little time you have left, try to find a compromise. (Difficult to do when you've pissed everybody off, but try anyway...the fine art of compromise is what politicians DO. Half a loaf is better than none.) And if you lose, move on. Swallow the insult and do what we elected you to do.

Gloria, I'm sure you're great, one-on-one, with constituents. You both say that's one of your strengths. So go to all the public meetings you want - outside of City Hall. Represent the mayor all over the place. Personalize your rather austere spouse.

Your role is not that of co-mayor and your place is not the 29th floor. Your intemperate words inside that office have placed the city at risk. Your undefined role has caused confusion and concern among staff and constituents. And a real 'first lady' keeps her shoes on. (Going barefoot in the workplace is just gross. Not to mention highly unprofessional. It's the office of the city's top elected official, for God's sake - show some respect and decorum.)

Usually the people I vote for lose, so it was kinda nice when I picked the winner for a change. Right now I'm regretting that vote.

You've got two-and-a-half years to change my mind. Don't waste it.

Demosthenes

Crystal Beach is Gone

So much for my family's Thanksgiving tradition. Hurricane Ike took care of that.

The house we usually stayed in was right on the water. It's not there anymore.

My family, mostly scattered across Texas, has been getting together nearly every Thanksgiving to celebrate the holiday in a rented beach house in Crystal Beach, Texas. We started that tradition the year after my father died. My mother had always hosted turkey-day at their house, and my siblings and I decided, that first year, that Thanksgiving at the beach would make the holiday much easier for her. It did - and we continued the tradition for another 15 years or so.

Long walks, bonfires on the beach, bocci ball, nieces and nephews laughing and playing, penny poker games at night, investigating tide pools, reading for hours on the porch, always to the soundtrack of crashing waves. November on the Gulf Coast can be iffy - some years it was warm enough to swim; other years demanded mittens, coat, and a wool hat. It was never crowded (though why Texas lets people drive their CARS on the beach is beyond me.)

Some of my happiest memories...

My mother died a few years ago. We had a couple beach Thanksgivings after that, but it wasn't the same. She'd been the center of our little family - and her absence was palpable. So last year, we skipped the beach and had our celebration at my sister's house in Dallas.

This year, we'd decided to try it again - mostly at the insistence of my three nieces, all in their early 20's now, who really missed the traditional family time at the beach. My mom's been gone for four years now, and we figured enough time had passed and it would be okay.

Guess not. It's all just gone.

Crystal Beach wasn't classy - a lot of crappy beach shops selling shells and fish nets, a couple pizza joints, a water slide, you know the drill. The attraction was the water...which was also its undoing.

I'm stunned by the devastation and know that my wistfulness for times past is nothing compared to what the residents of the Texas Gulf Coast are dealing with. MSM attention has gone to the next big thing - but those folks are still in the thick of it.

Canine Harvest

A walk in the woods is very different these days for the dog. Usually she's bounding ahead, stopping occasionally to sniff the ground or raise her head to catch some airborne scent. She's learned not to chase the deer - but, boy, does she want to. She'll sit there quivering, eyes fixated, as she overcomes the innate instinct to give chase.

Now, though, she keeps her head to the ground as we walk, snuffling back and forth, searching for the perfect specimen.

She is on the hunt for her autumnal prize.

She'll sniff, but then pass by, several of the offerings, waiting to find the one she wants. I'm not sure what criteria she has locked inside that Labrador brain, but when she discovers the one she desires, she surreptiously - even guiltily - snatches it up and, mouth slightly agape, starts hurrying towards home.

Only when she's reached the safety of the Oriental rug in the living room will she settle in to devour it...a task which requires no small amount of work.

But she has her treat: the perfect hickory nut. Not for her the green or damaged ones. Nor will she take the easy road and go for the already-shelled nut. She likes hers whole, dark, big, and round.

A word of warning - these can be nature's banana peels. Step on one, and your foot can go rolling right out from under you.

And one more thing: remember to pick up the remnant shards of the extremely hard and thick hickory nut shell left on the rug. If you forget, your bare foot may pay the price.

Fall Equinox and an Explanation

Tomorrow summer supposedly ends, and autumn begins. Though I must say, we haven't had much of a summer here in the Heartland. The air conditioner (sorry KCP&L) wasn't used as much as in past years - and the days seemed to speed by.

I've noticed a few trees beginning to turn. The nights are cool and great for sleeping - windows open and a comforter in use.

"This is the Autumn Equinox, when the fruits of summer are taken inside and made ready." - Danaan Perry

On the seasonal wheel, this is a time of balance, of equal hours of dark and light. My Celtic ancestors celebrated the Equinox as a time of harvest - called Harvest Home or Harvest Thanksgiving or the Feast of Dionysius, among others. Christianity co-opted the holiday, as they did so many others, turning it into Michaelmas.

It was/is a time to give thanks for the gifts of the Creator. And it was a wake-up call that winter was coming...when life recedes into the earth and the world appears dormant or dead. A time for contemplation.

I've had plenty o' time for contemplation - I injured my back the day after my birthday and have spent the last several weeks alternately communing with an ice pack and a heating pad. The best description I have for it is "sledgehammer to the middle back." Thank God for a chiropractor whom I've dubbed 'the miracle worker.'

(Here's where the explanation in the headline comes in: I wrote my first blog entry in Word on Aug. 26, my birthday, but because of the back thing, didn't get the entry posted and the blog going until yesterday. Hence the mismatched dates on my first entry.)

How did I injure myself, you ask? I TURNED MY HEAD. Period. No great exertion. Just turned my head to the side to look at something and felt a pop deep in my middle back. What a pisser...

A friend of mine always asks, "And what's the lesson here?" Hmmmm. I have a birthday that is of a significant number and - wham - the universe debilitates me. As my brother the shrink told me yesterday, "In the last third of your life, you can't be casual about the body you live in."

The seasonal wheel keeps turning...and sometimes it's a bitch.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! (And the XIX Amendment…)

It’s my birthday and we’re giving me a blog as a present.

I’m older, wiser (well, one can hope), and definitely crankier. With the descriptor “little old lady” showing up off there on the horizon, I figure I should start taking advantage now of one of the only advantages of being old: you get to mouth off and people just react with a “Well, you know how she is…”

You also have a lot of stories to tell because you’ve seen a lot: death, chronic illness, menopause, adventures, extended unemployment, incredibly stupid decisions on your part (it’s a wonder you’re still alive!), and even more incredibly stupid decisions on the part of our so-called leadership (from city government on up).

Balancing that out, though, are those moments of sweetness, those moments of clarity when you see beyond the mundane (or monumental amount of) shit with which we all deal.

I like the way Ralph says it: “Evermore in the world is this marvelous balance of beauty and disgust, magnificence and rats.”

Though often disgust and rats seem to have the upper hand…

But then a hummingbird stops by to feed at a bright red zinnia.

Ergo, this blog…



And happy birthday to the XIX Amendment, into law on this date in 19??.

That’s the one giving women the right to vote. So today, in case you didn’t know, is officially Women’s Equality Day AND my birthday. (When I pointed out this synchronicity to my mother, she just nodded and said thoughtfully, “Well, that explains it…”)

Women were jailed and force-fed for our right to vote. Let’s exercise it in November.