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sitepic This is my “about” page.  A page, sometimes even more important than the thoughts which lie within this blogdiary.  This particular diary is a chronicle of my thoughts as we go through the administration of Barack Obama: January 09 through, at least, four years from now.  However, the genesis of which lies within a story.  A story whose picture herein suggests a joyful moment turned…something else.

Without creating an entirely different blog entry, the background to the story, is that this woman you see here is my grandmother.  As far as I know, she is still alive today.  I cannot be certain because she is living in my father’s home, and we are not speaking at the moment.  You see, it happens like this from time to time with he and I.  Since I was little, anyway.  And so this was the last time that we were together.  This was also the first time she has seen one of my children face-to-face.

I tried.  I took a video camera with the first coos of Jackson.  She dismissed the video camera as being too fancy for her to comprehend.  I have taken her pictures of Jackson and Emma, and she gratefully accepts them and displays them.  My grandmother is an odd woman, flavored by a lonely existence and dependence upon others.  She doesn’t get out much.  She won’t even plug in a telephone.  But, again, this post isn’t about her.  It’s about the meeting.

I am sure you can pick up from gentle cues:  my smile, her frown, her bizarre knack for scarfs – going so far as to knot one on her lapel.  Her face speaks of disdain, as if an intruder had come upon the premises.  I suppose in some ways she may feel that way.  As a child, we were fast friends and she is deeply raveled into the fabric of my being.  During my father’s visitation times, she would most often have me; baking pineapple upside-down cakes, sewing aprons for my dolls, making gigantic strings of necklaces from clover.  Maybe she sees those times gone by and wishes for me to be that size.  Fresh for raising, and playing in the backyard.

Then, she looked up and said, “Why do you keep having these children?  Why would you want them to grow up in this world.”

I know, she’s not right.  She’s not exactly fully there.  She’s part of two generations past, and don’t they always reflect, “ah, how the times have changed.”  And aren’t they really just saying: “and the good is being dealt off the top?”

Well, as strange as she is and as weird as our story goes, she cut me to the core with the question.  I am having these children because they are a symbol of the love I share with my husband and the things that we have felt for each other and our world at the time of their inception and their time within our home.  I hope to give them love, responsibility and skills to take into the world which will protect it for future generations.  For my grandchildren and theirs.

So, with them in mind, and my nature for political debate, I find it necessary to talk about the political landscape.  I find it more dire than the kinds of clothing my children are wearing, the kind of SUV I’m toting them in and certainly more important than the friends that I make or keep.  I want this experiment which George Washington framed as an experiment, to succeed:

“The preservation of the sacred fire of liberty,
and the destiny of the republican model of government,
are justly considered deeply, perhaps as finally,
staked on the experiment entrusted to
the hands of the American people.”

- George Washington, First Inaugural Speech

I declare myself part of this experiment.  And my hypothesis is that this nation is the greatest nation ever formed through thought and love by forefathers who gave it all up to form it for you and I.  But, for the experiment to be a success, it takes advocacy for the thought which fired the ember.    The continued fire is entrusted to you and me.  I am taking it personally.

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