California, we love thee

Our California, she is in trouble...

When you have lived here your whole life, you sort of grow accustomed to the good and the bad times in this state...to the ever-changing cycles of prosperity and dearth...

Now, with a double-digit billion dollar deficit and an ever-more persistent drought, we natives are humbled...and sad. Our state is a mess, and our tendency toward largess has helped to make it a mess.

We can't manage money any better than the Wall Street hot-shots and all our wishing won't make the rain come. While I can say "We're all in this together" when discussing the global financial crisis, I can't still the Al Gore voice in my head that suggests that this dry spell is the one that will do us in...

There is no snow in the mountains...or rather, the few inches of snow, now dirty, that fell two weeks ago is just about dried up as the temperatures here in the valley hit 70.

Dad grew up in Michigan (where the snow continues to fall, and), where the failure of the auto industry is currently very bleak news. His attachment to California is through marriage and circumstance. I am a third generation Californian, and though I have struggled in the past to attach myself to a culture and a region, California, if by no other reason than default, is my home.

I love the beauty of this state, and its grand history. But I am also aware that the children in my city are more at risk than ever, that at my school more of our students are coming to us with profound and complex needs.

California, we love you. But our love now had better get tough...

we are parched, and our children are hungry...

Be still my Heart...

I received my invitation to the inauguration today. It was quite a moment. Now, there were no actual tickets enclosed, and I have no plans to attend the inauguration, but the thought counts...

I gave money to the campaign in the form of payment for Obama items, so I got put on that VERY long list. Still, I thought back to this morning, listening to Obama on NPR, elated that he soon will be OUR president. It is so very lovely, really. So delightful to think of him, and his family, there, in Washington...leading us.

I smile at odd moments, just considering this new reality. Yes, these are very difficult times and yes, the challenges are great. But there is a belief out there that these challenges will call out our presidents' greatest gifts and resources, and that he will show us the true nature of his being.

He is smart...and he has a village of smart, dare I say "young", visionary and hip people on his team.

My heart is beating with optimism and hope...

it's been a while.

2009

Perhaps the words have found me again...

or perhaps our little fam has recovered from the events of 2008's twilight. We lost our dear Diane on September 20, Eva began her first year of high school, dad settled a bit more into life in Sacramento, and we made our way to our first Christmas without Diane's light and love of the holiday to guide us...

Here we are, 2009. We are grateful for a new (beautiful) president, our health, and the promise of a year that teaches us all more about peace and healing (local and global) and sharing our blessings and the grace we've been shown.

Resolutions:

I will read a poem a day...
I will write more...

Soccer Magic

Eva and Emilio played hard soccer with their teams this past weekend in the Land Park Shootout. We were on soccer fields all day, both days. The temperature was in the upper 90s, both days. Eva's team, the Extreme, played all four of their games with only 10 players, no substitutes. That means that each of the girls was on the field for each of the 40 minute halves played.

There are times when I find things my children do to be odd. Playing competitive soccer in the heat is one of those things. They did not get their soccer genes from me. Their grandpa watched the morning games. He is fond of believing that the children's "extreme" soccer and inclinations toward athleticism are somehow hard on them. It is all too much, don't I think?

Respectfully, there are some woosy genes on my side of the pool, and I got them. Eva and Emilio did not. Not once, the entire weekend, did I hear one girl on Eva's team complain about the heat. Not one time did I hear a girl say she was too tired, or needed to come off the field. Not one time did a girl make an excuse or hesitate, not once. Each of those 10 girls remained on the field, in the heat, and played her heart out for her team.

And, they won. They kept winning. Against all odds they made their way to Sunday's 5:00 pm championship game. Small miracle (throw in some good skill), times 10. Those young ladies were something.

First half, no score. Second half, no score. Parent leaves to get more cold water. First 10 minute overtime half, no score. The parents are unsettled. Second 10 minute overtime...no score. I was experiencing feelings and reactions that I am ashamed to own. I felt occasionally juvenile. All the while, my daughter was out there on the field, in the heat, playing the best she knew how, trying desperately to score a goal for her team.

Eva's team won the under 16 girls championship in penalty kicks. It was really a moment. It was one of those rare, sweet moments when it is so great to be a parent. She might as well have been an Olympian...
Mostly though, I am in awe of her ability to play on a team, under the harshest of circumstances, and stay committed to her team mates. Lifelong skills, those are.

Emilio's team played the Sunday evening championship game also. They also went into overtime. They took second place in under 14 boys.

Dad stayed home in the cool of the house, and finished off the Sunday New York Times. Boy, though, was he proud.

We celebrated that evening with BBQ and soccer stories.

Magic...

we are here...

well...maybe...
in any case...we have survived the summer...
dad has been to Oregon, and Eva and Emilio and I have been to Oregon (that is certainly a longer story) and now we are all settling ourselves into routines for this next season...

Summer, however, in California, is a long season. While Eva begins high school tomorrow, I still have two weeks off before the first day of school. Dad can remember those days, those early September days when you wonder who your students are, what their needs will be, how you will meet those needs, and how you will take care of yourself, on top of it all. Dad and I have had vastly different teaching experiences. I think that is to be expected, this is a different time, the needs of students are different.

I am excited to meet my new ninth graders. But tonight, I am excited for Eva. She has four wonderful years ahead of her.

Grandpa and I wish you the best, Eva. May you make sweet friends and love your studies and learn how to be a young woman who cares about her world...

When can you start, Barack? (or...respectfully, president, sir, can you get some empathy now?)

Craig Ferguson's joke, relating to Obama's visit to Baghdad and the Iraqi leaders asking him this question, made me laugh. It's good to have an occasional laugh when reading the newspaper. Dad gets upset a lot. He's not really very optimistic about either of the two presidential candidates. I understand political malaise, and in general, would listen to him and nod in agreement. But this year I happen to be very excited about one candidate, and I'm hoping to help dad join in. (I'm trying to not rant about politics. Kelly has suggested that this isn't the most effective way to communicate one's view, and I think he could be on to something...)

There was another thing in the newspaper today that was not very funny. "Bush uncensored: 'Wall Street got drunk'" (originally reported in the Houson Chronicle). I read the sad piece and then, really feeling more sad than angry, considered the stark lack of empathy than our current president appears to possess. We talk about empathy a lot in education. We talk about how to teach it, understanding that, for many, it is not an inborn trait. Certainly, some children appear to have lots of it, and they grow up to be sensitive, nurturing and often emotionally healthy adults.

Some adults didn't learn empathy from their parents or their teachers or their life experiences or any other way. President Bush clearly falls into this category. How can a leader, charged with leading a proud people, make jokes about the economy or the housing slump when vast numbers of his people are suffering under said unfortunate conditions?

"And then we got a housing issue, not in Houston, and evidently, not in Dallas, because Laura was over there trying to buy a house today." Said our humble leader.

"Before friendly audiences, especially in Texas, Bush tends to be more relaxed and candid than he appears at the White House."

So we can expect that when our president is "candid," he feels comfortable enough to show how insensitive and uncaring and lacking in empathy he truly is? It is possible that these comments were taken completely out of context. Given his position, however, and the current financial woes of the ever-growing middle class, how could jokes such as these ever be appropriate? We have certainly had more than enough proof that he really isn't "a man of the people" like so many of the citizens who voted for him (twice) wanted to believe. We wanted to believe that being inarticulate and smug equaled being "one of us."

Problem is, we don't make the issue of empathy central to how we evaluate our potential leaders. We ought to look at their lives, their experiences, the reading they engage in and how they treat others (among many other things) to determine how they might empathize with our need and pain in troubled times.

Problem is, it probably won't be an important issue this time around, either. One could argue that both Obama and McCain possess certain amounts of empathy. But right now the bar isn't very high. Obama has already been called aloof and "out of touch" with the average working class American. Is that because we can't imagine him sitting down and having a beer with us? We need to learn, as a country, to distinguish true and sincere empathy from other "qualities" that we might often confuse with empathy.

I'm going to be watching Mr. Obama, and studying his life, for signals that he can "walk in our shoes," including the shoes of the most disenfranchised among us. I'm going to hope that he'll build policy that will reflect this.

For the time being, Mr. Bush, look up "empathy" in the dictionary, and figure out how to get some for yourself.

How we Eat

We took dad to the Sweetwater Restaurant for his 85th birthday. Sweetwater is my favorite east Sacramento neighborhood spot. I knew we would win there because the menu includes both traditional fare and creative cuisine-type items. I LOVE their wedge salad (with grilled, carmelized onion, bacon chunks and the richest blue cheese dressing around)--ok, ok, I know that a wedge salad is made with iceberg and not arugula, but I'm not that much of a food snob. Their grilled artichoke is killer. Mostly, we order off the appetizer menu, and have never been disappointed.

Dad selected the pork loin with garlic mashed potatoes and green beans. He wasn't disappointed either. Dad likes simple, midwestern-type food. He isn't very adventurous when it comes to dining. He could live out his days on a diet of german bologna and pale bread, with ice cream thrown in for good measure. No offense to dad's midwestern sensibilities, it's just that he has lived rather extensive portions of his life in California, and well, you'd think he'd enjoy this great state's food just a bit more.

I've been fortunate enough to either live in or spend considerable time in every great (and large) city in this state, and those sojourns have contributed to a palate that is both curious and, for lack of a better word, dignified. A food writer I am not. And I'm only really snobbish when it comes to coffee, ice cream and wine (if someone else is buying). But dad is still happy at predictable chain restaurants like the ones he and mom took us out to during childhood. Eating out, together, is a challenge for us.

He isn't fond of Mexican food and sushi (Eva and Emilio's current culinary obsession) is beyond reason. Nor does he like Indian, Thai or anything else remotely ethnic.

We're going to have to navigate this dining out issue. Really though, he's 85, and he can eat, or not eat, anything he darn well pleases.

For now, I think we'll stick to the Sweetwater. We can all be happy there.