Brothers of Re-Invention

My maternal grandmother, Miss Bessie, had a very inventive memory. She imagined “balls of tornadic fire” approaching her home during a violent storm. (She was a “weather worrier” – always watching cloud formations during summer storms and phoning to tell us to take cover. She seemed about as accurate as the TV guy on Channel 6, maybe a little more so.)

In her later years, she invented a “boyfriend” from California. He was dashing and was totally smitten with her. He had wealth, great charm, and drove a Cadillac. She was resolute in the fact that he was going to whisk her away in his convertible and drive into the sunset toward a better life.

She would often remark that “Harold” had phoned and they talked for hours. He was arriving any day now and she just wasn’t prepared.

Of course, Harold was “made up.” It probably happened to impress the ladies in her Sunday School Class at the Methodist Church. Maybe Mabel Calloway had “one-upped her” with a cake recipe and she had to get things evened out. However, it was of no consequence. Harold never appeared and eventually dropped from conversation.

Upon her death, she had arranged for Lucille Brown, the leader of her Bible study group, to deliver what was a very eloquent and glowing eulogy. At the graveside services as we made our way to greet those who had come to pay their respects, I happened to pass my mother. “I hardly recognized the woman described in Lucille’s remarks,” she whispered.

Miss Bessie had “one-upped” Mabel yet again.

This years political stumping has lots of inventive and often imaginary information being proffered as “why you should vote for me.”

There are two interesting examples by men seeking Senate seats. I think of them as “Brothers of Re-invention.”

One is patrician.

Something I have always wanted to be. I don’t know why, maybe for the same reason that I like the title “Metropolitan” (as in the Greek Orthodox way). But, I am neither tall enough, thin enough, nor wealthy enough to be “patrician.” I don’t think the “patrician types” perspire.

The other is baby-faced and Republican. He has a look of innocence.

Neither of which I could ever be. Despite the fact that I always say that my eyes are not just blue, “they are virgin blue,” I could never convince anyone of such innocence, most especially my purple-haired mother. Her response was, “for that to be the true, you must have kept a sack over your head most of your life.”

The reason I could never be a Republican is an issue of morality.

The Patrician is Blumenthal of Connecticut who has admitted to some “misplaced words” in his re-invented resume; all in an attempt to convince the veterans of war that he was one of them.

The other is Mark Kirk of Illinois. Same reason.

It seems you cannot be a serious candidate for a spot in Washington without having been shot at. Remember Hillary’s famous tarmac incident?

So this has got me to thinking about my own resume.

It could do with some serious updating. No, I am not going to run for political office, but I will croak one day and I want the eulogy to be as eloquent as that of Miss Bessie and I do want my children to think their father has accomplished something.

So we add the following:

“Consultant in Cardiology, St. Francis Hospital.” When I go to rehab, they ask me about my heart, my pacemaker, and my general sense of well-being. I respond in kind. We consult. And in the UK, a consultant in healthcare is considered the same as a physician in the US.

“Internationally read author.” Hey, this blog is followed by a guy in Abu Dhabi.

“Family Therapist.” I spend a lot of time on the phone with my kids, and my grandchildren.

“Advisor in Economics.” I caution my sister on how much she is spending at fast food restaurants and how much less it would be to cook at home.

"Media Consultant." I tell everyone about the great Farsi flick I just discovered.

“World traveler.” I landed once in Dubuque, Iowa.

And not to forget:

“Spiritual Advisor to Oprah.” I pray daily that she will discover the joys of anonymous altruism.

You know, I sound pretty good. If I had 70-million, I could probably convince some group somewhere to elect me to high office. And, oh yes, I was required to take two years of ROTC as a college student, so hey, I guess I am a veteran. Andy Culberson shot me with a BB-gun.

I'm on a roll to a political career. Is this not a great country we live in?

With proper "parsing" anything goes. Even Blago is innocent. It is just missplaced words.

Blogless In Chicago

Gracia: Adoration Of The Child

My son reminded me earlier this week that I am falling behind with my blog entries. It was a gentle prod, but nevertheless, it pointed to my frustration.

I have started four or five or more entries without any real desire to complete them. They ranged from my frustrations with “change for the sake of change, not in response to a need” to the failure of people and groups to assimilate.

There was also the great photo that opens this post. This resulted from the youngest of the “little people” (my grandchildren) assembling her favorite characters in a type of “Adoration of the Child." However, that idea fizzled as well, along with a story about the "middle one" in Dallas and her obsession with her "dancing shoes."

There was the “birds and bees” and my father’s inability to deal with the subject. When asked about my being born, my parents told me that I was found in a hollow log while they were walking in the woods. There is so much trauma lodged in that concept that I qualify for free therapy on a daily basis. Did they stumble upon the wrong log by mistake? Am I really a Rockefeller? Will the anti-abortionists take on the logging interests?

There was the incident of the adopted child being shipped back to Russia. Since when I asked my mother, "Am I adopted?" and her response was, "Bless your heart, had you been adopted we would have sent you back," this rang too close to home.

I am livid with national politics, but have probably overstayed my “blog welcome” on that series of subjects.

And for all those who have insisted that “offshore drilling” was an “ok” concept, you might want to stand at the mouth of the Mississippi in the next couple of days to witness the impending disaster along the Louisiana coast. European offshore wells are required to have “remote shut-off valves” but not in the US. Like “mine safety,” it would be a cumbersome burden to place such requirements upon an industry.

And then there is the craziness that is also known as Arizona. Blame it on the cactus? There was a brief foray into the ever-changing ideals of their senator. Maybe it is time to retire and work with the family beer business?

Sarah has been quiet for the past couple of days.

I thought about writing about the guy in cardiac rehab who breezes in boisterously to have a go on the “NuStep” after announcing to the nurse that he had two pieces of pound cake for his breakfast.

I continue to pray that Oprah will discover the joy of anonymous altruism.

So, I am blogless for the moment.

I am awake from all the noise inside my head - why does cellular technology change so rapidly? the hollow log, possible adoption, does the tanning salon give John Boehner frequent flyer miles? - waiting for the muse.

Why do Southerners feel "Bless your heart" will solve all our problems?

I Killed Off Norman Lear

Oops!

My readers informed me that Norman Lear is indeed alive. I am very happy about that. I never meant him any harm. Somewhere among Maude and Archie, I mistakenly thought he had also joined the list along with “Weezy” Jefferson.

Mr. Lear is alive and well and living in California. He owns the only copy of the Declaration of Independence to be found in private hands. The Norman Lear Center at USC is a research and public policy center devoted to multidisciplinary studies bridging entertainment, commerce, and society. He founded PFAW, People For The American Way, a liberal advocacy group.

So, why did I think otherwise? Why did I kill off Norman Lear?

Lear brought us biting social commentary. Albeit, sometimes misunderstood and misappropriated. I miss that. I am tired of bad singers becoming major talents. I am bored with sexually-driven comedy. One reality show per decade is enough. I am not interested in Tiger’s “on air” confession. I want Oprah to learn the joy of anonymous charity, but I digress.

Can you imagine missing the collision with the station wagon filled with nuns had Loretta Haggers been able to do “American Idol” instead?

I have become my father in the fact that I am constantly scouring the newspaper. My friends know that it will be the New York Times. Those who follow these “elder rantings” also are aware of my frustrations with the very vocal conservatives who seem to relentlessly attack the ideals and programs of which I feel so strongly otherwise. I get very excited when David Brooks agrees with the President. I worry that Evan Bayh has given up the fight.

Maybe I feared that the voice of the left has grown too quiet. If you compromise you ideals enough, there is nothing left to challenge the spirit.

Maybe I worry that politics is now considered a career path rather than a way to give something back to your country. If it is your “job” you worry about being re-elected. If it is your service, you do so until you are told you are no longer needed.

I wonder if the “Right-wing” would be upset if they were aware that the entire concept of Left versus Right grew out of France? Mr. Jones and Mr. Ney, any comments?

Enough with the bickering. There are people in need. Serve them!

Welcome back Norman, and thanks. Your premature death was an exaggeration.