tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23749484533240589342024-03-13T14:52:27.870-07:00November Surprises - Lucy's Political BlogFictional Character...
Real (liberal) PoliticsLaurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-14020387111897975822016-11-12T17:08:00.000-08:002016-11-12T17:08:31.396-08:00Stronger Together<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wkFRiJsjVzW82pgibTnbTkxb0MuxWknZxkZrgraNtJYEymJ1e-BfhyphenhyphenKcRL1xJlAy4jhQrtE0wP3wru9pgD6-jAALfURlBDjLNnr2ABU8LbFO1PJqpMUnjocuU68cxPqOA1YRuxMJeFY/s1600/P1000650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wkFRiJsjVzW82pgibTnbTkxb0MuxWknZxkZrgraNtJYEymJ1e-BfhyphenhyphenKcRL1xJlAy4jhQrtE0wP3wru9pgD6-jAALfURlBDjLNnr2ABU8LbFO1PJqpMUnjocuU68cxPqOA1YRuxMJeFY/s320/P1000650.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood before the class on Wednesday morning, wondering how
I would make it through, wondering how all my assumptions and beliefs had been
so wrong. I am a scholar and a teacher of the American political system and
throughout my career, I’ve always had faith in the fundamentals of democracy. I
was sure that most citizens, when given a choice, would make compassionate, responsible
and informed decisions rather than merely selfish ones.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sea of student faces stared at me, some openly hostile,
some tearful, others just curious over whether I would break down. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was curious too. I ignored my headache and queasy stomach,
and spoke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“As I expect you all know, last week I handed in my
resignation. I’d decided it was better to leave than to go against my beliefs
and apologize.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian, the student who always sat in the front row with his <i>Make America Great Again</i> baseball hat
perched victoriously upon his head, scoffed. He was the one who had filmed my
speech, which the dean had declared “too partisan.” After I’d refused to apologize, the dean had accepted
my resignation. Yet I quickly regretted my choice, so my cousin Robin, who
knows a few things about PR, helped me contact the media to get my story out.
The school didn’t want negative attention, so they recognized my request, and
let me make amends and return.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’d never really believed that Donald Trump would
surprise the nation and win, or that my return would be on the morning after
his horrifying victory. I hadn’t slept and my eyes still stung from all my tears.
I’d been unable to stomach breakfast and was literally running on empty. Now
Brian leaned forward in his seat, ready to pounce on whatever I might say. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another deep breath. “After a lot of reflection, I decided that
my refusal to apologize was misguided.” I spoke directly to Brian, meeting his
gaze. “Brian, I am sorry for inserting my own politics, for making you feel
judged for your ideology, and for implying that you shouldn’t voice your
opinions.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rolled his eyes. “Sure you are,” he said sarcastically. “We
all know you’re just here for the paycheck.” This drew a few laughs from some
of his classmates, so buoyed, he continued. “No, wait. You’re here to spout
your liberal agenda. Well, wake up. It’s a new day in America. This country doesn’t belong to you anymore.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were a few more laughs, but also some gasps. I let my
eyes scan the room and found enough silent support that I could continue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“See, that’s the thing. I may be in the minority now, but
doesn’t mean that the country doesn’t still belong to me, or to anyone.” I let
my eyes settle on a couple of my Latina students, girls who I expected were now wondering how long it would be before they or their families got deported. “The
Bill of Rights was written for us all. We’ve <i>all</i> been given the freedom to express ourselves, to practice our
chosen religion, to assemble and protest when see fit, and to make our voices
heard.” I leaned forward, gripping the podium and choking back tears. “I came
back because it is my job to educate you on the strength of our democracy,
which will only succeed if we understand both the privilege and responsibility of
our civic rights and our civic duty. If
you remember nothing else from this course, remember this: you <i>all</i> deserve the right to life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness. Our forefathers founded this nation on that idea,
and we must not lose sight of our potential.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I slowed down, inhaling and letting my breath out in a rush.
“You all know how I feel about the results of the election. I’m sad; but no
matter what, I still have faith that our people can achieve greatness, but
only if we refuse to give in to fear or ignorance.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now my tears fell, but I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
What was the point? The wiped-away tears would just be replaced by new ones. “I
believe in all of you.” My eyes travelled the room. “Even you, Brian, though your
insults make that difficult, but I still do. And I will fight to educate you,
and everyone here, if for no other reason than that is my role in strengthening
our democracy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The room was silent. For once Brian didn’t have anything to
say, though the scorn in his squinting eyes and puckered lips spoke loud and
clear. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took a loud sniff, pulled myself together, and turned on
my power point presentation, which was about the fourth amendment (which
protects against search and seizure). “So, let’s going,” I said. “We have work
to do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After class, I went home and collapsed on the couch. All my
adrenaline had drained way, and I was shaking from fatigue and raw emotion. I
didn’t think I’d be able to nap, but I was too spent to try and do anything
else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must have drifted off, because an hour or so later I was
woken by a hand softly brushing my cheek. I blinked my eyes open, not trusting
that the face I saw looming over mine was really there. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Monty?” I rasped. “When
did you get back?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was supposed to be in DC through Thursday. We’d argued
about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several days ago, I’d called and laid it on the line: I
loved him, but was crazy jealous over his devotion to his
ex-girlfriend/co-worker, Evelyn. We’d talked it all through, but while I
believed that he wasn’t having a physical affair, I wasn’t so sure that he wasn’t
having an emotional one. “You’re not going to be home for election night?” I’d
said. “That’s supposed to be our night. How can we not spend it together?”
Eight years ago, when Obama won the presidency, Monty had proposed. That had
been the best night ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But clearly election night 2016 wasn’t going to measure up. “We’ll
talk on the phone while the results come in,” he’d answered. And we had, but it
had been strained, and once Florida looked lost, and North Carolina and Ohio
were called for Trump, and he was doing way too well in Michigan, Pennsylvania,
and Wisconsin, neither of us had the fortitude to keep a conversation going. “I
feel sick that she lost Iowa,” I’d said weakly. “I should go to bed. I need
sleep for tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Good luck with your class,” he’d said. “I love you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks, me too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the words had felt vast empty, and that night, our bed
had felt vast and empty too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, as I laid on our cozy little couch, he was close enough
to touch. Yet I didn’t trust my senses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How’d you get here?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I caught a flight
this morning,” he said. “Didn’t you see my text?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat up, shaking my head. “I haven’t looked at my phone for
hours.” I rubbed my eyes, trying to regain a sense a reality. “Why you’d come
back so soon?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sat next to me and captured me in a fierce hug. “I had to
see you,” he said, his mouth at my temple. “I couldn’t stop worrying about how
you had to apologize to that awful student, who would surely be gloating after
last night.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He did gloat, but I got through it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course you did.” Monty released me and raked a hand
through his wavy hair, which looked unwashed. His cheeks were stubbly, and he
wore the soft sweatshirt that he often changed into in the evenings. He must
have skipped a shower this morning, but that only made me want to get close, to
inhale his familiar scent. “I needed to tell you, in person, how proud I am of
you, and how important I think it is that you keep teaching, especially now
that Trump has won.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. I stared
at the blanket that I’d draped over my lap. “Is that why you came home? To tell
me that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Partly.” He attempted a sad little laugh. “I needed get out
of DC, and get you into my arms. It was the only way things might make sense
again.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked him in the eyes. “Are you okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course not,” he replied. “Are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shook my head no. “But I’m going to try to be.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded and his face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Luce – for everything.
I’m sorry I made you doubt me, I’m sorry we weren’t together last night, and
most of all, I’m sorry I can’t give you the world that you wanted.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I never expected you give me the world, Monty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But I really wanted to.” With a deep inhale, he leaned
back. “I’ve haven’t slept and you’re probably won’t believe me. But I’ve been
thinking about this for a while.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thinking about what?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That I’m tired of leaving all the time. That you, Noah, and
Abby deserve better.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I smoothed my snarled hair, tucking it behind my ears,
trying to be composed. “Traveling is part of your job, Monty. We understand
that you have to be in DC at least some of the time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But I’m saying I want a different job.” His mouth set into
a firm line and he made two fists, to keep his fingers from tapping against the
couch cushion. “There’s a firm here in Des Moines that specializes in
immigration law. They take cases from all over the country, and I want to see
if they’ll let me work with them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Immigration law?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He unclenched his fingers and took my hands in his. “I’m
going to stop that bastard from deporting every single person that possibly I
can.” He raised one of my hands to his mouth and kissed my palm. “And I want
you to know that I’m still with you, that home is where I want to be, and that for
now and forever, you will always be the only woman for me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His gaze was deep and penetrating, profound enough to stop
my shaking. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you think?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I answered him with a kiss and his mouth responded to mine with
passion. One hand pressed me to him, while his other hand caressed the back of my
neck before he plunged his fingers into my hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stopped kissing him just long enough to speak. “I love you
so much.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I love you too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our bodies intertwined. But more than that, on this most heartbreaking
of days, we found the potential for healing in each other. No doubt that there were
dark days ahead, but a glimmer of hope still shone through, the notion that
when you least expect it, love can still trump hate. <o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-5879002712892177772016-11-05T15:09:00.000-07:002016-11-05T15:09:09.339-07:00Fighting, Faith, and the Apocolypse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZAoOtIQ1lou9pHBDL_hR8ya8HbMFy8BEiwzfnFb3uwLcRZGBTc763E_4-JYjVt0Wtm8lnVRYDFx7EeMrET5apR_CCFKJBkGMAqn-Pm11g6PHHIJM8Uj0PL9jkj34Udo7m_2a6Nvbmfw/s1600/20161105_100843_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZAoOtIQ1lou9pHBDL_hR8ya8HbMFy8BEiwzfnFb3uwLcRZGBTc763E_4-JYjVt0Wtm8lnVRYDFx7EeMrET5apR_CCFKJBkGMAqn-Pm11g6PHHIJM8Uj0PL9jkj34Udo7m_2a6Nvbmfw/s320/20161105_100843_resized.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday night I watched <i>Poldark</i>
with Monty’s cousin, Robin, thinking that if nothing else, the eye candy of the
moors in Cornwall and Aidan Turner’s abs would be a pleasant diversion. But
early in the episode I knew that my plan was foiled, when Poldark’s cousin,
Verity, asked Demelza (Poldark’s wife) if she was jealous of the attention
Poldark was paying to his ex-girlfriend, Elizabeth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Demelza said no, that marriage is like church, and if you
don’t have faith, what’s the point?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pressed pause. “Wow,” I said. “I wish I could be that
philosophical and trusting.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin arched her back and adjusted the pillow she’d place
behind her, while rubbing her protruding, pregnant belly. “Aren’t you though?
Monty told you that he wasn’t having an affair, you believed him, and you didn’t
raise a stink when he left for D.C. on a moment’s notice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, he was so calm after I quit my job without talking to him first, what else could I do?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Absently, I ran my fingers through my hair
and they caught on the curls. What I didn’t say was that I was almost glad to see him
go, almost glad to have some space to figure things out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s keep watching.” I pointed the remote toward the TV and
pressed play. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Would Poldark be forced into debtor’s prison on the day
after Christmas? Would he ever notice poor, suffering Demelza again? Robin settled in,
clearly enthralled with the story, but I barely paid attention. My mind still
swam in my own personal drama, and I replayed much of what had happened in the
last few days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I’d spoken my mind about the ugliness of the Trump
campaign to all my students, Dean Hughes said I could only keep my job if I
apologized to the class, and especially to Brian, the student who told me I was
a pathetic liar that deserved to be “gotten” by the riots that would surely happen
if the “rigged system” elected Clinton. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I won’t apologize,” I said to Dean Hughes. “I have too many
students who don’t yet realize that they have a voice, who face the very
real possibility of violence or discrimination under a Trump administration. I
won’t lie to them and pretend to be sorry for something that I’m actually proud
to have said.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dean Hughes pinched his nose and momentarily squeezed his
eyes shut. “Lucy, can’t you just do what I ask? Because the only other option
is for me to ask for your resignation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No worries,” I said with false bravado. “You don’t have to
ask. I’ll give you my resignation before I leave today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I exited his office with a sinking heart and went to pack up
my own office, fighting tears all the while. I would miss this job.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. Maybe
I was crazy to throw away my career over a few lousy ideals. I worried about
setting an example for my students, but why kind of example would my quitting
set? Maybe I could figure out a way to word my apology so I basically said <i>sorry, not sorry</i> – and wouldn’t that be
better than leaving?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I wanted was to run home and bury my face into Monty’s shoulder,
to make him sit and listen while I voiced all my anxiety and posed all my
questions. And after all that, I’d ask him what he thought: had I done the
right thing? Besides being my husband he was also my best friend. Nobody’s
opinion was more valuable to me than his.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But once I walked through our front door and found him in
his home office, hanging up the phone and rubbing his eyes in the same way that Dean Hughes had, I knew I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. The vertical crease
between Monty's eyebrows, the clench of his jaw, and the slight flush to his cheeks told me that bad news was coming.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He attempted a smile when he saw me, but didn’t
quite manage it. “You’re home early,” he said. “How did it go with Dean Hughes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My throat constricted as I swallowed. “He said I had to
apologize if I wanted to keep my job, so I quit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty stared at me like he was trying to focus and find the
correct image of the woman he’d married. “You quit? Just like that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His head dropped so that he was now staring at his desk
instead of at me. “Okay.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waited for probably thirty seconds. “That’s all you’re
going to say? ‘Okay?’ That’s it?” I kept my voice soft, trying to contain the
panic that had been clawing its way out since I had handed in my resignation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked back up at me. “I’m sure you did what you felt you
had to do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My salary wasn’t that great,” I replied, “and maybe I can
find something better.” This was beside the point right now, but I felt obligated to say it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure.” He inhaled sharply. “Look, I have to go to D.C.
tonight. Sorry, to spring this on you, but there’s no other way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? Why?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Evelyn is in the hospital. She called, panicked, because
she has a project due and she’s worried they’ll fire her. I said I’d fly out
and take care of things.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why’s she in the hospital? I thought she was doing well.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty started shuffling some papers on his desk like he was just
looking for something to do. “She was, but she hasn’t been feeling too great
lately. The doctors think it might be liver disease.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Evelyn, Monty’s ex and co-worker, suffers from AIDS. I supposed
that puts her at a higher risk for liver disease. It also puts me at a higher
risk for having a husband who will run off without warning to help his
ex-girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d already given up on something important that day.
I couldn’t risk any more loss, so I simply said, “Tell her I hope she feels
better.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I focused back on the TV, on the episode of <i>Poldark</i>, which had reached its final
moments. (Spoiler alert) Poldark HAD finally realized he was neglecting
Demelza, and right before the credits rolled, he promised her his love as they
came together in a passionate embrace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned the TV off. Robin pivoted towards me while wiping
away tears. “Dammit,” she said, “everything makes me emotional lately. I cry
every time I pass the greeting card section in the grocery store.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was a good episode,” I replied. “If I wasn’t cold and dead
inside, I’d be crying too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re not cold and dead inside, Lucy. You just need a kick
in the pants.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at her. She was serious. “Huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You give up too easy. You didn’t fight for your job and now
you’re not fighting for Monty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I reeled back, shocked by Robin’s bluntness. “I shouldn’t
have to fight for what's already mine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? What if that was Hillary’s
attitude? Then where we would be?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t understand...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin swiftly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and
leaned toward me with intensity. “<i>You’re</i> the one who’s all into politics. But
don’t people say that she felt entitled to the presidency? That she felt
entitled eight years ago, and during the primaries against Bernie, and
especially now, running against an idiot like Donald Trump? What if she’d used
that entitlement as excuse to just give up?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What if she had? She’s fought for so long and she still
might lose.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, she might. But there’s also a good chance that she’ll
win. Isn’t that worth the fight?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tugged at a loose thread of the blanket I’d draped over my
lap. “What are you suggesting that I do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have some faith in yourself and in your
marriage. And fight for what belongs to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, so Robin was right about one thing. Turns out I wasn’t
cold and dead inside after all. Tears flowed from my eyes. “What if I don’t
know how to fight?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well,” Robin said, “I think I can help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then we talked for hours without coming to any definitive
conclusions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet this morning, while the kids were at swimming class, I
stood in line at the grocery store and saw the <i>Globe </i>headlines- <i>Doomsday if
Hillary Wins the White House! World War 3! Donald Trump is the only one who can
save us!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do people believe this stuff? I suppose they must; just like
I feel the apocalypse will be looming if Trump wins, other are convinced that a
Hillary win will signal the end of days. But I’m not ready to sacrifice all
that’s important, and even if I don’t understand faith, I must learn how to fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took out my phone and took a picture of
the <i>Globe </i>cover. It would serve as a
reminder for everything that’s at stake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I texted Robin...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Can I still take you up on your offer?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-76103382634907172242016-10-29T17:52:00.000-07:002016-10-30T11:11:24.346-07:00A Nasty Woman Who Can't Seal the Deal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TUyn9-ikpohLiqCoKizYr6PKdOqdsjPM0tO1ZjbTEMqvzEhh7O73aAXuXmlEPmEiGJ5o2SnFhY5AaP2oP-1IQ9P2DmO_KLNNyXUnZr2I3GVJvoRcKvYtsEUXRqaDzGHPO5syVFN3uU8/s1600/nasty+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TUyn9-ikpohLiqCoKizYr6PKdOqdsjPM0tO1ZjbTEMqvzEhh7O73aAXuXmlEPmEiGJ5o2SnFhY5AaP2oP-1IQ9P2DmO_KLNNyXUnZr2I3GVJvoRcKvYtsEUXRqaDzGHPO5syVFN3uU8/s1600/nasty+woman.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, quick review: Three weeks ago, one of my students
(Brian) filmed me saying that Trump is a demagogue, and BAM, I was put on two
weeks leave. I could only go back to my job teaching 20<sup>th</sup> Century
American Government and Politics at the local Community College if I promised
not to say anything partisan. I argued that by NOT speaking out against Trump,
I might alienate any of my students who happened to be immigrants, Muslim, Hispanic,
African American, or anti-sexual assault. “There’s never been a more dangerous,
divisive candidate in our lifetime,” I told Dean Hughes. “The normal rules of teacher
impartiality just don’t apply.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll decide what rules apply,” he testily replied. “You’re
not to talk about your own political views.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I did my best. I really did. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, yesterday, I gave a lecture on the Electoral College.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was part of the curriculum - not something you can just “skip over” when
teaching a course in American Government and Politics.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian sat in the front row, smirking and sighing the entire
time I spoke. I resisted responding, resisted rolling my eyes, resisted digging
my nails into my palm or giving off any sign that he was bugging me. I had been
resisting such things all week. But the girl who sat behind him was also bothered
by his behavior, and when she kicked his chair I couldn’t help but smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian spun around. “Why’d you do that?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because you’re so annoying! Stop disrespecting our teacher.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Chill out,” he answered. “I’m not disrespecting anyone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You totally are,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, let’s move on,” I interjected. “Anyway, even though
the electors aren’t legally required to honor their pledge, there have been
very few cases when they haven’t complied with the will of the people.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian barked out a laugh. “In other words, the system is
rigged.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. The Electoral College
exists to ensure that we <i>won’t </i>have
rigged elections. It’s a safeguard.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bullshit,” said Brian. “They’ve already decided who’s going
to president, and if crooked Hillary and her people fail at all their voter
fraud, the Electoral College will still make her president even if it’s obvious
that Trump got more votes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, that’s not how it works,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He jumped on my response. “Trump is right. There’s no way he
should make that lame promise to concede. There will be riots if even he doesn’t
win, and I hope they get the pathetic liars like you."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew I should just pretend I hadn’t heard him, but my
response escaped before I could reign it in. “Brian, if that’s what you think, I suggest
you move to Burma or North Korea, because what you’re suggesting is more
befitting of a dictatorship than a democracy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Excuse me?” He whipped out his cell phone, held it up, and
very obviously hit record on the video camera app. “Do you care to repeat that,
now that your job is on the line?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Had it honestly come to this? A bully in a <i>Make America Great Again</i> baseball had
all the power? If that was the case, maybe I needed to rethink my job. Maybe I needed
to rethink my entire life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly I was fueled by my boiling blood. I stepped in
closer, so that his camera phone would clearly capture what I was about to say.
“Propagating ideas that our election is rigged, or that the losing candidate
shouldn’t concede and give way to the peaceful transition of power, is
un-American. Our democracy was founded on the idea of justice, and this year it’s
been threatened by a misogynist who mocks and slanders anyone who threatens his
massive ego. He gains followers like you by spouting off his misinformed
authoritarian propaganda, and it’s ugly and it’s wrong.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stepped back and looked Brian in the eye. “Got it? Or do
we need a take two?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes narrowed into a glare. “You are so fired.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine,” I shot back. “Then I suggest you leave. That will
give you a head start on reporting me to Dean Hughes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He leaned back and just sat there, in this silent,
aggressive way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Go!” I nearly yelled. “I don’t want you here, especially if
this is my last class ever. I’d rather go out happy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian stood, ever so slowly, and walked to the back of the
classroom and out the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the most amazing thing ever happened. Two thirds of the
class burst into a spontaneous, standing ovation. The other third rose as well,
but not in applause. They stood to follow Brian out the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was Friday morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday afternoon brought the infuriating, muddled headlines
that Comey had “reopened” the Clinton email case, and even when that was proven
not to be the case, all the news outlets seemed more interested in speculating about
how devastating this bit of non-news would be for the Clinton campaign than in
correcting the facts. I could feel Brian gloating, even if he (thankfully) wasn’t
near enough for me to witness it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d heard nothing from Dean Hughes by the time I got home on
Friday evening. I felt unsure how to funnel my nervous, angry energy, so after
we put the kids to bed I went downstairs and got on our treadmill, thinking I’d
just run off all my aggression. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty came and found me. “Don’t you want to watch Lawrence
O’Donnell?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not tonight.” I answered through heavy breaths. “I’m not in
the mood for politics.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He gave me a wry smile. “Who are you and what have you done
with my wife?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d filled him in on everything at dinner, so his joke
seemed a little out of place. Wasn’t it clear why I felt out of sorts?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obviously not. “Is everything okay?” Monty asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah.” I sighed, hitting the down arrow on the treadmill so
I could slow to a brisk walk. “I’m just trying to get my mind off things.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He raised an eyebrow and moved forward, like he was reaching
for me, but his arms fell short. “I could help you with that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt myself stiffen involuntarily. “No thanks,” I replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay.” He frowned. “I get that you’re worried about your
job, but did I do something wrong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rubbed my eyes, wishing I could make this situation go
away. But no, when I focused back on Monty he was still there, waiting for a
reply to a simple question that I didn’t know how to answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The other night you…” I took in a
breath and clenched both my hands, trying to keep my voice level. “The other
night you said ‘Evelyn’ in your sleep. It was the same night you’d talked to
her on the phone for so long, when I asked if you have feelings for her and you
said no.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes widened, but otherwise, I could see him making the
conscious effort to keep his face relaxed. “I said her name in my sleep? Are
you sure?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look, I don’t know why that happened, but believe me,
there’s nothing -”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I briefly held out my hand, palm flat, several inches from
his face. “Don’t,” I said. “I don’t want an explanation. That’s why I didn’t
mention it sooner.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He regarded me, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. “I’m not having an affair with her, Luce.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I flinched and looked away. “Did I say that you were?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, but -”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I straightened my back, squaring my shoulders. “I get that
you could have an affair if you wanted to. Lots of men in your position would,
being out of town for work so often, knowing they could get away with it. But I’ve
always trusted you. Maybe I’m naive.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty reacted as if he’d been slapped. He took a moment,
staring at his feet “What do you want me to say?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing. Seriously, don’t say anything more. You’ve already
made it worse.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine,” he snapped. Moving away, he mumbled under his
breath. “That’s so like you - tell me I did something bad but don’t give me the
chance to make it right.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, well, you’re obviously married to someone with some
serious flaws.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shook his head like it wasn’t worth his energy to respond
and then he walked away. I knew I should follow, that we should, in fact, talk
this out, but I couldn’t make my body agree with my brain. Moving at twelve
miles per hour on that treadmill, I was paralyzed with fear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew I was lucky, with every apparent advantage going for
me. Yet despite it all, I couldn’t seem to secure my own, personal victories.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d become a nasty woman who just couldn’t seal the deal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*****</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The image at the top of this post is from a website that sells political posters. You can buy it as a poster by clicking <a href="https://www.redbubble.com/shop/funny+hillary+clinton+posters">here.</a></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-82419163257431574262016-10-25T03:47:00.002-07:002016-10-25T03:47:35.567-07:00November Surprise is FREE Today!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWvg5mDKR5TMc9-UOfleY5hCGkemObAPoA5z3BQrV5dRKaADYKzS5HHPfBVk4DIsRJEg8Z9oTFJaf5CFlUO2p-9umj1sKHHhBdMkyQFOlCKSX4yVtayDZm_RmrGN5BL6BVF6k7OhG-p8/s1600/november+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWvg5mDKR5TMc9-UOfleY5hCGkemObAPoA5z3BQrV5dRKaADYKzS5HHPfBVk4DIsRJEg8Z9oTFJaf5CFlUO2p-9umj1sKHHhBdMkyQFOlCKSX4yVtayDZm_RmrGN5BL6BVF6k7OhG-p8/s1600/november+cover.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Twenty years...<br />
Six Presidential Elections...<br />
One Consuming Love Affair<br />
<br />
A new post is coming soon, but in the meantime, read the novel that inspired the blog ABSOLUTELY FREE. This offer is for one day only, so download your copy from Amazon <a href="https://www.amazon.com/November-Surprise-Lucy-Bricker-Novel-ebook/dp/B008TWYW0U/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1477392014&sr=8-5&keywords=laurel+osterkamp">Here</a> right now!Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-34135893800449143132016-10-15T17:20:00.000-07:002016-10-15T17:20:43.469-07:00Sex, Lies, and Shackles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDv3NSctnhPo08dXrH1iALaLq2BLK61t8j7tuRC3W7at18bRdJEvwvoNMK0dpGPdnrQNgJtI5GEpkloT2DkTGaQviOT3TBG77j2vFJOn09sICrpgE1E1Ovph4kJNoZoZg49lGL8_hKkE/s1600/1-IMG_8379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDv3NSctnhPo08dXrH1iALaLq2BLK61t8j7tuRC3W7at18bRdJEvwvoNMK0dpGPdnrQNgJtI5GEpkloT2DkTGaQviOT3TBG77j2vFJOn09sICrpgE1E1Ovph4kJNoZoZg49lGL8_hKkE/s320/1-IMG_8379.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Sunday night Monty and I watched the debate, but as he
was in D.C. and I was in Des Moines, we had to put our phones on speaker to have a joint-viewing experience. We shared observations and occasionally
I glanced down at my cell, where it sat on the couch next to me, taking the
place of my actual husband.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Martha Raddatz is kicking ass,” his tinny voice said at one
point.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I agreed. “Do you like her as much as Judy Woodruff?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty has admitted to thinking Judy Woodruff is attractive,
in a sexy-librarian sort of way. “You know how special Judy is to me,” he
joked. “But don’t you think Martha is doing a great job?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure.” Neither of us mentioned Anderson Cooper at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought Anderson was fairly invisible that night. Now I
realize that A.C. deserves major props, that he is responsible for perhaps the
biggest moment in the entire campaign, perhaps the biggest moment of any
campaign. But it took me a couple of days to come to that conclusion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Monday I woke at my usual time and got the kids ready for
school. Yet after I dropped them off I had nowhere to be, not since I was put
on a two-week leave for telling my students that I was unequivocally
anti-Trump. The Clinton campaign field
office only needed volunteers on weekends and evenings, so I came home and
caught up on all the laundry, cleaning, and household stuff I needed to do.
Meanwhile, the media went crazy for undecided-voter Ken Bone and said maybe he was the real winner of the town hall on Sunday night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was little mention of Trump’s multiple lies, of his
whining over perceived inequities, of how he stalked Clinton on stage, of how
he called her the devil, of how he said she has hate in her heart and
threatened to put her in jail. Instead, Chris Matthews said Trump was more “on”
and other moderators seemed happy to call the debate a tie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Wednesday Monty got back from D.C. “Are you going
stir-crazy from not being able to work yet?” he asked, giving me a tight hug. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sort of,” I answered. “I wish I was teaching, but maybe it’s
good that I’m not. With all my knowledge and experience about the history of
our democracy, I still don’t understand how as a nation, we have sunk so low.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“At least she’s ahead in the polls.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True, I told him, but the ramifications of Trump “taking off
his shackles” could be severe. Trump doesn’t even act like he wants to win
anymore. He’s itching to lose so he can use it as proof that the whole system
is rigged, so he won’t concede the election, so he can call Hillary’s
presidency into question from day one, while he, Roger Ailes, and Steve Bannon
go off to start their ultra-right wing media company that roughly 40% of voters
will be built-in audience members for.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went on and on and Monty was a patient listener, agreeing
with me on most of my points. Finally, I took a breath and asked if he was
still working on getting aide for Haiti, even though his job is to write policy
for family planning initiatives and women’s health in underdeveloped countries.
“We’ll see,” he said. “Evelyn doesn’t
give up easily. Once she gets an idea for something, she latches on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Right,” I said. Evelyn,
Monty’s long-lost ex-girlfriend, had recently started working with him in D.C.
and while I was trying to get used to the idea, I wasn’t there yet. So what I didn’t say, but merely thought, was <i>has she gotten the idea to win you back? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He glanced at the clock. “It’s about time to pick the kids
up from school. I’ll go.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later that night, after dinner, bath-time, and putting the
kids to bed, I wandered downstairs. Monty had disappeared into his office a
while ago and I wondered what he was still working on. When I got to the ground
floor, I could hear him talking on the phone, laughing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And something about his soft-tone made me sure that he was
talking to Evelyn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went back upstairs and watched Rachel Maddow while I
waited for him to come back up. That was when I learned about the new allegations
from two women who said that Trump had molested them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s also when it hit me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have you ever done those things?” Anderson Cooper’s insistent
question during the debate had backed Trump into a corner, and in the middle of
a rambling response, Trump finally conceded, “No, I have not.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you, Anderson, for forcing the issue. Because it’s
obvious why these women, and several more in the last week, have come forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody likes to be lied to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, Monty came upstairs, and as soon as he walked into
our bedroom, I asked, “Were you talking to Evelyn?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He plopped down on the bed. “Yeah. Work stuff.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Work stuff, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nudged my knee with his foot. “What? You don’t believe
me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to look him in the eye. “Tell me you don’t still
have feelings for her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unblinking, he responded. “I don’t still have feelings for
her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let it go at that. But later, in the middle of the night,
I got up to go to the bathroom. When I came back to bed, Monty was murmuring in
his sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I swore that he
mumbled “Evelyn.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things said in private, unintentional words meant for only
one other set of ears or maybe for no one’s ears at all, are all the more
powerful when overheard. Funny how one little word could slice right through my
heart, could confirm my suspicions and alter everything. Now I can say from
experience:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one likes being lied to.<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-37954968942287396582016-10-08T12:18:00.000-07:002016-10-08T12:18:16.683-07:00Hot Mics and Lonely Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_gdBIxLNMlTGaTks-MbiDCLZfMkYRojG-aGIxRqL50pNxdtf8ZaodbyuzWitbLu4o-mNTw9Ye092uqzRqJbVX74n7p8_gSC5pRWL9C0dxwxtP1nz_8PGbszwGYywyLesLS3plIe9Tq8/s1600/64-1013-A0066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_gdBIxLNMlTGaTks-MbiDCLZfMkYRojG-aGIxRqL50pNxdtf8ZaodbyuzWitbLu4o-mNTw9Ye092uqzRqJbVX74n7p8_gSC5pRWL9C0dxwxtP1nz_8PGbszwGYywyLesLS3plIe9Tq8/s320/64-1013-A0066.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was put on paid leave for two weeks after my
Trump-supporting student, Brian, accused me of giving him a poor grade, due to our divergent political affiliations. He’d recorded me on his cell phone,
blatantly coming out against Trump, and used that as “proof” that I am biased
against students who want to make America great again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some would argue that two weeks of paid leave is like a free
vacation, but I was having trouble seeing it that way. A letter would go in my
file and I’d carry the stigma of being reprimanded for the rest of my career.
Maybe I could have groveled, offered a sincerer apology than the “I’m sorry if
I upset anyone” concession I made when called into the Dean’s office. I could
have just changed Brian’s grade to an A, but his paper was poorly written,
using unfounded claims like <i>Obama is a
non-Christian Arab whose made the country unsafe. </i>Forget about Brian’s
misuse of “whose” – if he can’t back up his claims with actual facts, he should
feel lucky with the C-.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not so worried about Brian’s grade,” the Dean told me.
He’d read Brian’s paper and agreed it wasn’t “A” material. “But the cell phone
footage does worry me. You can’t be so transparent about your political
beliefs, Lucy. Otherwise, you risk alienating your students and belittling them
for their conservative views.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What about alienating or belittling females, homosexuals,
Hispanics, Muslims, or any other demographic that doesn’t happen to be white,
straight, and male?” I sat in a chair opposite his desk, my back ramrod
straight. “If I pretend to support Trump, I run the risk of alienating and
belittling them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dean Hughes shook his head, his mouth twitching and his
hands shaking, sort of like Tim Kaine during the debate. “You shouldn’t pretend
to support either candidate. You should remain neutral.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In most cases I’d agree. But not this year. Silence is just
as bad as condoning everything that Trump stands for.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I see.” Dean Hughes clasped both hands together to ease
their quivering. “Then I think you should take a break. We’ll get you out of
the classroom for a little while, give you some time to cool down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew he was trying to be magnanimous, but I left his
office fuming. Time to cool down? I felt dismissed, like Megyn Kelly after that
Republican primary debate, when Trump attributed her hardball questions to her being
on her period. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I doubted myself for about an hour or two, wondering
if the Dean Hughes was right and I was wrong. Was I too polarizing? Should I
consider representing all views, even the ones I found deplorable?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I checked the headlines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holy Crap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is a total game-changer!” I spoke to Monty on the
phone, since he was still in D.C. for work and would be for the next several
days. “It’s like when they found out McGovern’s running mate, George Eagleton,
had electric shock therapy. There’s nothing else that’s bad enough to compare
it to.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m glad you’re so happy,” he said. “The timing is great,
like you’ve been vindicated,” Monty referred to my enforced-leave, which I’d
started our conversation by telling him about.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, of course the irony is that Trump’s apology is almost
exactly like the one I gave to Dean Hughes, ‘I’m sorry if I offended anyone.’
And we were both busted by a recording. I should feel bad for Trump, but I
really, really don’t.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a pause and the clicking of a keyboard. “Are you
still working?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “Evelyn is obsessed with the
hurricane victims in Haiti, so I promised I’d look into outreach.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But that’s not even your department’s area.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Right, but if it’s possible for us to do something, we
should. Don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, of course.” I swallowed roughly. “Is she there with
you right now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. She had to pick up her son at daycare.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh.” If I asked how it was going for him,
working with his ex, would that sound prying and suspicious? I didn’t want to
risk coming off as critical towards Evelyn, as she battled AIDS, conquered
single-motherhood, and spent her extra time worrying about Haitian hurricane
victims. No. I could only criticize her if Monty criticized her first, and even
then, I had to be careful not to prompt him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But suddenly everything I had to talk about seemed trivial.
I felt like Gary Johnson, unable to identify anything the beyond the borders of
my own little world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I should let you work then. Good luck with the outreach.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Love you,” he said. “I’ll call tomorrow. Skype with the kids.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure. Love you too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We hung up and I spent the rest of the night glued to MSNBC,
wondering if Trump would drop out. Today he says that he’s staying, that there’s
zero chance he’ll quit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess that’s one more thing he and I have in common.<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-22271070041082962092016-10-05T04:16:00.001-07:002016-10-05T04:16:58.923-07:00Anyone's Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4IGyLh7QVKYzZLdLBcIx7xnMqrCkoKOjAgdSWSDDYdojICgUFjmFH0aJF_GQFkVPV-z05GWHvJ8XZc9vPpdkbdi_5cI3aUziClba1jcJAjDPPM8CDmFA6mETtZB-5zESaKFVlIxVQ3Uc/s1600/PA281188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4IGyLh7QVKYzZLdLBcIx7xnMqrCkoKOjAgdSWSDDYdojICgUFjmFH0aJF_GQFkVPV-z05GWHvJ8XZc9vPpdkbdi_5cI3aUziClba1jcJAjDPPM8CDmFA6mETtZB-5zESaKFVlIxVQ3Uc/s320/PA281188.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the last Monday in September, I looked at the polls, saw that Trump was gaining on Clinton in Pennsylvania and Colorado, and thought, “He’s going to win. He’s </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">actually</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> going to win.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I couldn’t immediately pack my bags for Canada because I had to go teach </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">American Government and Politics</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, where Ryan (the most vocal Trump supporter of all my students) immediately raised his hand yet didn’t wait to speak before I called on him. “Did you hear about that teacher who made her class compare Trump’s speeches to Hitler’s? The story was on Fox News. This guy recorded her on his cell phone and after he proved she was trying to indoctrinate her students, so they fired her.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at the clock. Two minutes into class and I already was wishing it was over. “What’s your point, Ryan?” </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He shrugged, his face beaming underneath his </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Make America Great Again</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> baseball cap. “I thought you’d think it was interesting. Everyone talks about the liberal bias of the media; what about the liberal bias of our educational system?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I lifted my chin and squelched down the hot ball of resentment that had formed in my stomach. “I don’t think there’s a liberal bias with either the media or with public education. If anything, both institutions have to go too far to prove the opposite.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But you admit that you’re for Clinton.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No.” I stepped out from my podium and walked in front of it so I could stand closer to Ryan. I couldn’t let him get the best of me. “As your instructor I won’t say who I’m voting for, but I will admit that I’m against Trump.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ryan burst out laughing. “That makes you a hypocrite! And I’m so tired of women like you trying to turn Trump into a bad guy.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t have to try! With the stuff he says about immigrants, minorities, and women – I can’t even pretend to have an open mind about him. He </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a ‘bad guy.’”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Better be careful,” Ryan sneered. He held up his cell phone. “I might be recording you.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stepped even closer. “Go ahead.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What was I thinking?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I should have been more careful. Instead, I forged on with class and then went home to watch Hillary and Trump debate. My mood lifted dramatically as I realized that maybe packing my bags for Canada wasn’t necessary, not yet. And I could learn something from Hillary about how to stand up to a bully.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The week that followed was great, full of late-night Tweet rants and shocking revelations about Trump’s taxes and his “charitable” foundation. I was no longer afraid to look at FiveThirtyEight or at the news headlines, but perhaps my giddiness came too soon. Yesterday, after I gave my students grades on their first formal essay, Ryan approached me.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why’d you give me a C-?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I gathered my papers, trying not to flinch as he stood over me. “It’s all in my note. Your thesis wasn’t supported and your arguments were weak.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You mean you don’t agree with my argument,” he retorted, waving his cell phone in my face. “I’ve been recording you.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What are you talking about?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ryan leered at me. “I have proof that you’re biased. You gave me a bad grade because you hate Trump which means that you also hate me. I have the evidence on my cell phone, and unless you change my grade right now to an A, I’m going to the Dean.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stood as tall as I could and looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m not changing your grade.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He just smiled and waved his cell phone again. “Good. Because I think the Dean will want to see this.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then he strode off and my stomach sank. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I told myself not to worry, this is community college, not high school, and I’ve done nothing wrong. But last night, as I watched Kaine and Pence duke it out, Pence evading and pirouetting past accusations about Trump with ease, I had to admit that I was worried.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When delivery is more important than the truth, it’s anyone’s game.</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-f220212f-948a-8ddd-fa3a-1b2512750e61"><br /></span>Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-68153532304909791692016-09-25T15:53:00.003-07:002016-09-25T15:53:55.175-07:00Savior Complex<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mC1F9lOCEfEc7vJNYCACVLvvx1gNTOjleX7KceEuxFNCRqAqQ683Jxu5kZsPD-xo8NgnGwPCCBs5Z9-V18AlIQURlmUQ0v77RQyKXi-Yw04TzzCE3h_behmcDoY4iaJOjdTDX1I5LnA/s1600/ANGEL+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mC1F9lOCEfEc7vJNYCACVLvvx1gNTOjleX7KceEuxFNCRqAqQ683Jxu5kZsPD-xo8NgnGwPCCBs5Z9-V18AlIQURlmUQ0v77RQyKXi-Yw04TzzCE3h_behmcDoY4iaJOjdTDX1I5LnA/s320/ANGEL+13.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Four years ago, when I worried that Romney would defeat
Obama, I didn’t volunteer to work at the phone banks or to canvas
neighborhoods, because after all, I was living in Washington State and it was
sure to go blue. This year I’m not worried; it’s more like a deep-seated terror
at the idea that our democracy might be destroyed by an egomaniac who appeals
to people’s fear, ignorance, and the most sinister parts of their psyches. I
have to work through near-paralysis every time I fully consider the very
real possibility that our nation’s darkest hour may soon be upon us. And I’m
living in <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state>
now, so I can’t get away with saying that there’s nothing I can do. I have to
at least try to make a difference, even if I neglect other areas of my life in
the process.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is this right?” Monty sat in our bed and he pointed to his
tablet, our family Google calendar displayed on its screen. “You’re
volunteering three evenings next week?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. I want to do as much as I can before you’re back in
D.C. Monday is obviously out, with the debate and all, so that leaves Tuesday,
Wednesday and Thursday.” I was putting away laundry, folding pants and hanging
up my work blouses, talking loud so he could hear me, my head buried in my closet.
“That’s not a problem, is it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…” He cleared his throat and I stepped out for a moment,
glancing at the muted TV. Commercials were running but Lawrence O’Donnell would
be back on soon. “Lucy, are you still mad at me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mad? No. I mean, yes, he'd shut me out for a week while he was out of town for work, but as soon as he'd gotten home he told me that he'd gotten his AIDS-ridden ex-girlfriend a job and they'd be working together now. I guess Monty and both have a bit of a savior complex. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let my eyes stray from the television screen and settle on
my husband, his dark hair flecked with gray, stubble covering his cheeks and
chin, wide eyes blinking with confusion. “No,” I said. “I’m not mad.
Volunteering for Hillary has nothing to do with you; you know how committed I
am to getting her elected.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re panicking,” Monty stated this without judgment; it
was merely an observation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hard not to panic. I find myself obsessing over how
both the media and the public can just assume that any allegation against
Clinton is true until proven otherwise, while any allegation against Trump is
simply ignored, because he always manages to slide through the mud without
having any of it stick to him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course I am. With the debate on Monday, the stakes have
never been higher. How must it feel to be her, to know that she MUST deliver,
that millions of us are relying on her to take down Trump?” I reached for more
laundry, folding and putting things away like it was second nature. “But then I
think about all the stuff I tell my students, about responsible citizens in a
democracy, and I know I have to get out there and practice what I preach.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, okay…” He looked off toward our bathroom like there
was something to see. Dismay was etched into his profile. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sighed, picked up my laundry basket, and moved over toward
the dresser so I could put away my underwear. “What’s the big deal?” I spoke
with my back toward him. “You’re gone all the time. I can’t spend a few nights
volunteering? I’ll be back by 9:00.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s not a big deal, Luce. I guess I just thought that
you’d say something to me before planning to be out on my birthday.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dropped the last of my laundry into my top dresser drawer
and shut it, feeling my heart thud in the process. “Oh,” I said simply, and
then I turned around. “I can’t believe I forgot. Wednesday is the 28<sup>th</sup>.
I’m sorry, Monty.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get someone to
watch the kids and go out on Saturday night. We can celebrate then.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, sure.” I moved toward the bed and sat down next to
him. “Of course, but Abby and Noah will want to make you a cake, watch you blow
out the candles and open presents.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded. “What about what you want?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s your birthday,” I replied. “What do <i>you</i> want?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want alone time with you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’d had a rough week, the relationship equivalent to
getting pneumonia and calling the other side deplorable. I let my finger trace
the line of his jaw, starting at his ear and ending at his chin. “I want that
too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He gave me a tentative smile. “So you can cancel for
Wednesday? Our democracy won’t be destroyed if you skip a night?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scooted in close, letting my head nuzzle the space his
chin and shoulder. “Hopefully not.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stroked my hair. “Maybe you should go. If Hillary loses
and the Donald gains the nuclear access codes and brings about the apocalypse,
I don’t want me and my birthday to be blamed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I closed my eyes and imagined election night - Rachel Maddow, visibly shaken, stating that Trump had won <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state> by just a few dozen votes and that put
him over the top. I shrugged off the thought and opened my eyes again. Lawrence
O’Donnell was back on. “Don’t be silly,” I said, reaching for the remote. “I’ll
blame CNN and all the voters in <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state> and <st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state> long before I
blame you.” I sat up and kissed his cheek. “I love you. I’m not missing your
birthday.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then we turned the volume back on, cuddled and watched
Lawrence O’Donnell, and even though the news wasn’t great, I felt less panicked
than I had all day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
If anyone deserves to have a savior complex right now, it's probably Hillary. But I bet that even she would agree: sometimes you have to save your own little corner of the world before you can worry about the rest of it.</div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-82673925230096514722016-09-18T08:24:00.001-07:002016-09-18T08:24:25.025-07:00Breaking News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJqq1QfpMd9BytkNLSQLTCHx5lbSgjWyyi8lTD9lGiX_FiTODjOTtznHFZW_FE67AaAN0n912mT1krauzdanMcgbjohCxY8CZpa9tIK-r712zYvqf6jzsH255wvV4bbslH8zUK2Ospt8/s1600/breaking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJqq1QfpMd9BytkNLSQLTCHx5lbSgjWyyi8lTD9lGiX_FiTODjOTtznHFZW_FE67AaAN0n912mT1krauzdanMcgbjohCxY8CZpa9tIK-r712zYvqf6jzsH255wvV4bbslH8zUK2Ospt8/s320/breaking.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel the way CNN should feel. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CNN has a love/hate relationship with the Republican nominee
and they’re the worst when it comes to falling prey to his antics. Maybe it’s
because they have a twenty-four news cycle to cover, plus they attempt to be
“neutral” while lapping up the high ratings they get just from mentioning his
name. But if Trump actually wins, in my mind, CNN will have a lot of explaining
to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just this week, they ignored a major story from Newsweek
about Trump’s shady international business deals, instead covering the
suspenseful results of his latest doctor’s appointment, a manufactured farce.
But Friday was worse, when the network got tricked into giving him free
coverage of veterans endorsing the new Trump hotel, all so he could spend less
than a minute to say “Hillary
Clinton and her campaign of 2008 started the birther controversy. I finished
it. I finished it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know what I mean.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think I’m being taken in,” I said to Robin, who had come
for dinner on Tuesday night, one day before Monty was due home, one day before he’d
finally reveal the details of dinner with his ex-girlfriend, Evelyn. “I’m
terrible at calling him on his crap. I should have insisted that he tell me
everything over the phone, but instead I’ve been distracted all week, wondering
what the heck he has to tell me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin rubbed her belly, which was starting to protrude ever
so slightly as she moved into her second trimester. “Okay, maybe I just have
babies on my mind, but you don’t think he found out that he got her pregnant
all those years ago and she just never told him until now, do you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank God I’d sent Abby and Noah outside to play in the
backyard after they’d finished their chicken nuggets. Of course the possibility
had occurred to me, but I certainly didn’t want to explain it to my children. “I
don’t know,” I said glumly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin reached over and squeezed my arm. “Forget what I said.
I’m sure it's something simple. She probably just wants one of his kidneys, or maybe she's actually an alien and wants to take him back to her mother-ship.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I surrendered half a laugh. "Something simple like that, huh?" She shrugged. “Let’s talk about something else,” I told her. “How’s
business lately?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin started telling me about her latest dress order from a
C-list celebrity, and I tried my best to listen actively and ask questions. But
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking ahead and wondering what talking points
the next day would bring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By some miracle, I was able to free up my schedule so I
could pick Monty up at the airport on Wednesday afternoon. My car was pulled up
to the curb at baggage claim and as soon as he climbed in I pounced, desperate
for the interview I’d been promised. “Okay, we can talk in person now. Tell me about
Evelyn.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To his credit, he didn’t sigh belligerently or make some
sarcastic comment, like “nice to see you too.”
Instead he leaned his head back against the car seat and stared forward,
not meeting my eyes, which admittedly, needed to be on the road. “She’s a
single mom - ” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cut him off. “How old is her kid? Is it yours?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.” He took a deep breath and tapped his fingers against
his knee. “Her son is only three, not twelve, like he’d have to be if was mine.
The father is someone she met in <st1:place w:st="on">South Sudan</st1:place>,
but he’s dead now, because it turns out he was HIV positive when they met and
later he came down with AIDS.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh.” I stopped at a light and switched on the turn signal,
trying to form a reply. <i>That’s too bad </i>would
sound like a terrible understatement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s more,” Monty said. I glanced over at him. His eyelids
were drooping and so were his shoulders, making him look worn out and deflated.
“Her kid is fine, he doesn’t have the virus, but a couple of years ago Evelyn
tested positive, and recently she was diagnosed with AIDS herself. So she moved
back to the U.S so to get better health care, but that’s really hard to do
without a job.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She doesn’t have a job?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Actually, she does now.” He swallowed hard and finally
looked at me. We were in traffic, inching forward at a snail’s pace. His
ominous tone made me wish to press on the gas pedal, to speed toward some unknown
destination. “She begged me to pull some strings so she could work in my department
at the Gates Foundation.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And you did?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. I mean, she’s more than qualified, and I didn’t know
how I could say no.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I white knuckled the steering wheel while I bit my
tongue. If I pointed out that he owed
her nothing I’d be the “deplorable” one, speaking ill of a single mother with
AIDS. But Evelyn would never have to answer for all her misdeeds; she’d earned
a free pass at a terrible cost. “You’ll be co-workers now?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through my peripheral vision I saw him nod. “I knew you’d be
upset. That’s why I had to wait to tell you about this in person, so you could
see my face and believe that it’s all going to be fine.” Monty placed his hand
on my knee, surprising me with the coolness of his touch, its chill seeping
through my cotton khaki pants.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not upset,” I said. “I… I don’t know what I am.” Just like CNN, I didn’t know how to insist
that he back up his blanket statement of fineness, or do anything but be
stunned at getting caught off guard. I was one step behind the breaking news, one step behind having the news break me.</div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-73845416689886118662016-09-10T13:27:00.000-07:002016-09-10T13:27:07.368-07:00But Civil is Boring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWtB8qlC8CsJQCCgKKYnF9wgoRX2zoehXO1142Qzt2dNC9P0hpubdHxpajwfbkYSaX0xD5GC3w97y0FGKw-H9cOlkIKvUkCvQ15VTplnfnSlW3EthyphenhyphenAsbio3p5a_mzlLqAHoQmdjoihY/s1600/trump+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWtB8qlC8CsJQCCgKKYnF9wgoRX2zoehXO1142Qzt2dNC9P0hpubdHxpajwfbkYSaX0xD5GC3w97y0FGKw-H9cOlkIKvUkCvQ15VTplnfnSlW3EthyphenhyphenAsbio3p5a_mzlLqAHoQmdjoihY/s1600/trump+hat.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So how did the dinner go?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was nearly 11PM, well after my bedtime. I had to be up
early the next morning to drop Noah and Abby off for their first days of Kindergarten
and second grade, then I would put on my community college-instructor hat and
begin a new semester of teaching political science. I’d hoped to be in bed by
10:00, but Monty had flown to D.C that morning for work, where he was having
dinner with long-lost ex-girlfriend, Evelyn. She’d called last week out of the
blue, saying she had something important to talk to him about. Monty had
promised to call me as soon as the dinner was over, but by 10:45 my phone still
had not buzzed. Finally, I gave in and called him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The dinner is still going,” Monty said, his voice distant
and smothered. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Still?” I said. “Are you eating a seven-course Italian meal
or something?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His laugh came out in a jumpy, quiet, burst. “No, we just
have a lot to talk about.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I clutched my phone, which had grown slick in my palm, and
took a slow, measured breath, trying not to sound panicked and crazy. “She’s
sitting across from you right now, isn’t she?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. Look, can I call you tomorrow? I know you need a
good-night’s sleep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I did need to sleep, but how would doing so even be
possible? As soon as I closed my eyes, I’d be haunted by images of Monty and Evelyn,
sipping wine in a candle-lit restaurant, traipsing down memory lane while they
shared dessert, their fingers grazing each other as they passed the plate of
tiramisu back and forth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Lucy? You still there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah,” I answered, but it came out in a sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’ll talk tomorrow?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Love you,” he told me, as if saying it by rote.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t want to say it back, not when I doubted it would
even register. “Goodnight, Monty.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He called the next morning to wish Noah good luck on his
first day of Kindergarten. We were driving to school, Noah in his car seat,
pressing my phone to his ear and telling Monty, “No, I’m not newvous.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let me talk to Daddy!” Abby insisted, and she reached
across from her booster seat and pried the phone from Noah’s little fingers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He called to talk to me!” Noah yelled, instantly bursting
into tears. “Mommy! Abby stole the phone!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My head was foggy from a restless night of tossing and turning,
and now it was pounding. I pulled over, unbuckled my seat belt, and leaned over
the driver’s seat. “Abby! Give me the phone!” But before she could, I snatched
it from her. Then she started to cry too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great,” I said into the phone. “Two crying children.
Perfect way to start the school year.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry,” he answered. “Put me on speaker and I’ll try to
calm them both down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In a minute,” I snipped. “How late did you go last night?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know… it was…” he sighed. “I don’t know. I have a
lot to tell you, but not over the phone, okay? And certainly not right now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you saying I have to wait until after you get back to
hear about your dinner?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Luce!” His exasperation was more out of shock I think, then
anger. “Let me calm down the kids, okay? We can deal with the rest later.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Abby and Noah were both wailing and school was starting
soon. I had no choice. “Fine. I’m putting you on speaker.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I held up the phone with one hand and steered with the other,
while Monty managed to say some magic words to get our children to stop crying.
I didn’t say goodbye when we pulled into the school parking lot. I just clicked
the end button, shuffled my kids inside, tried not to let myself cry as I left
Noah in his classroom, and forced my head on straight so I could go teach my
classes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re obviously going to have a lot to talk about this
term,” I later told my students, who had gathered for their first session of <i>American Government and Politics</i>. “As
Iowa is a swing-state, I’m assuming you all represent a variety of political
beliefs, ranging from left to right, and one goal is to keep the conversation
civil.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But civil is boring,” said a guy wearing a <i>Make America Great Again</i> baseball cap.
He’d chosen to sit in the middle seat in the front row.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That may be true,” I responded, leaning against my podium,
wishing I’d worn a thicker heal. I felt small. “But lots of people share that attitude,
and it has gotten us where we are now, with made-up controversies dominating
the news cycle and reality TV stars posing as potential presidents.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baseball cap guy threw back his shoulders, puffing out his
chest. “You just insulted my candidate. How is that civil? And I thought instructors
were supposed to be neutral.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He kind of had a point, but my inability to remain neutral
was my Achilles heel, especially when it came to teaching politics. And as the
week went on, I wouldn’t improve, growing more and more anxious as Monty refused
to fill me about his dinner with Evelyn. It left me with the sense that, like
Trump and Putin, if Evelyn was going to say great things about Monty, he’d say
great things about her too. Things I defiantly didn’t want to hear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I promise to explain everything as soon as I get home,”
Monty had told me during another phone conversation later that week. But he
wasn’t getting home until Wednesday. Meanwhile we tried to stay civil and I
caught myself wishing that civil was actually boring.<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-23344037746159863322016-09-05T07:20:00.001-07:002016-09-05T07:20:53.974-07:00 Fact-Checking and Foreboding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobVtDflpAKPvpJ-YFr22JCoChJDuqW97uHECTW1NeprtQ4ZjuQ2X9v57oeCmgaWWfdEqR-uJyGQ0wBSRBePe3vN4RW1UgX8DaJBwWYyua5DXBmqononTVMd96O0LSUvhAzbcigtTUQEQ/s1600/LEFT+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobVtDflpAKPvpJ-YFr22JCoChJDuqW97uHECTW1NeprtQ4ZjuQ2X9v57oeCmgaWWfdEqR-uJyGQ0wBSRBePe3vN4RW1UgX8DaJBwWYyua5DXBmqononTVMd96O0LSUvhAzbcigtTUQEQ/s320/LEFT+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ll never guess who called me today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was not in the mood to guess. I’d just finished a
volunteer shift at the phone banks, calling on behalf of the Hillary Clinton
campaign to make sure Democratic leaning voter’s registration was up to date. People hung up on me multiple times but that was far
more pleasant than the “I don’t trust that lying bitch” tirades that so many people
felt necessary to release.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Actually,” I’d tell them, “the bipartisan group Politifact
has done lots of fact-checking and they’ve determined that Hillary Clinton rarely
lies. But Donald Trump’s record with the truth is terrible. He lies more than
any recent candidate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not voting for him either! This year’s election makes
me sick!” Then there’d be a click and I was left shaking my head in wonder that
somehow, Clinton’s negatives almost matched those of a man who has built his
campaign on hate, just like he built up his career by cheating people. Yet all
it took was one or two well-staged photo-ops with the president of Mexico or at
an African American church in Detroit, and the press let Trump win the news
cycle. Meanwhile, if I had to hear about Clinton’s emails ONE MORE TIME I might
just move to Canada.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I was home, stretched out in bed, after a long day during
the last week of summer for Abby, Noah and me. Next week I’d resume teaching,
Abby would start second grade and Noah would start Kindergarten. “Just tell me,”
I said to Monty, who had been working out in our basement when I got home. A
couple of moments ago I heard him bounding up the stairs, and now he stood in
front of me, his t-shirt clinging to his chest and sweat beading his forehead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You look tired,” he said. “Rough night?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nodded my head without raising it. “She’s slipping in the
polls and her negatives are actually going up. I don’t get it; how can Trump even
still be standing after all the crap he’s said and done?”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “People are
idiots.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“People are sexist idiots. Why can’t anyone talk about how
much sexism still plays into presidential politics?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know.” Monty seemed nervous as he breathed in and
out and looked away, toward the window. The shade was drawn, shutting out the
fading light of evening in the suburbs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat up, sensing a foreboding. “So who called you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the time he turned his head back toward me he’d composed
his face with an easy smile and unblinking eyes. I guessed he was trying to
look relaxed and confident but he communicated the exact opposite. “Evelyn,” he
said, his voice half an octave higher than normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could feel something collapse inside my chest, a sickening
sensation worse than the bristly heat that had repeatedly flared up while I
worked the phone banks. “You’re in touch with her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He swallowed like it hurt. “Not for like, twelve years.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not since she left you to die in the Congo?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Evelyn had been Monty’s girlfriend over a decade ago. The
two of them were both altruistic lawyers who had given legal aide to rape
victims in the Congo, until Monty had caught malaria and Evelyn had abandoned
him, running off with his doctor, no less. As far as I knew, the last time they’d
spoken was when she’d ended their several-year relationship by walking out while he was feverish, delusional and too weak to lift a glass of water. It was sort
of a huge deal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She didn’t exactly leave me to die,” he corrected. “I was
pretty much on the mend by the time she took off.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, well then, bygones. What did she want? How did she even
find you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She looked me up on Facebook and saw how often I’m in D.C. She works there too now and she wants to have
dinner.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes darted down so I couldn’t stare into them. I couldn’t
garner the truth behind his casual facade. “Are you going to say yes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, unless you really don’t want me to.” Finally, he met
my gaze. “Would you have a problem with it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I guess not,” I lied, not even sure why I let these words
fly from my lips. “But why would you want to eat dinner with her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty took a careful breath, forming his response over the
span of a few seconds. “I don’t <i>want </i>to.
But she said she needs to talk to me about something, and that if we happened
to run into each other it would be really awkward, so we should meet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh.” I rubbed my forehead, trying to massage away the
tension that pressed between my eyes. “What does she want to talk to you about?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stood and moved toward the bathroom, probably to shower. “She
didn’t say. But you’re okay with it, Luce? It would just be a one-time thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stomach turned
over. His need to justify and reassure me that it would only be a "one time thing" was by far the most disturbing part
of this conversation. “Just promise you’ll call as soon as the dinner is over
and you’ll tell me everything.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now his smile seemed genuine. “I promise,” he said. And I
believed him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So this morning Monty flew to D.C. for the workweek. He’ll
be back on Friday evening, but he’ll miss dropping Noah off for his first day
of Kindergarten. “Promise you’ll take lots of photos,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course. Do you want to call on Tuesday morning? Talk to
him before I take him to school?”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes watered and he gave me a sad smile. “Sure.
Sounds good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’d be talking on the phone twice in less than twelve hours.
Monty had arranged his dinner with Evelyn for tonight, saying he just wanted to “get
it over with.” I’d be counting down the hours until he could give me the recap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that isn’t all I’ll be doing. Today I’m driving for over
an hour to see Hillary at an event, with both kids in tow. We’ll stand and listen
to her Labor Day speech, proud that she chose our state as a venue. “She’s
going to be the first girl president,” I’ll say to Abby. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
And as a new season begins, I expect we'll be reminded, probably multiple times, that we're stronger together.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-9059845888773868982016-08-02T11:51:00.004-07:002016-08-02T11:51:49.894-07:00Onesies and Wikileaks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnVPb0YDDPjWPsQFTzgs5uhkqI7Nzb2PZ9DQdTCu5CKLejP4x1DO0WrUFdb8bRfYg8dfRYQ6AD82c1O9_2HDipJIjuqCbTHKExVCOz6R-nPjsmG0_XxoMcLs0Rjl7p-xi8_Dz4JZOu30/s1600/polka-dot-onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnVPb0YDDPjWPsQFTzgs5uhkqI7Nzb2PZ9DQdTCu5CKLejP4x1DO0WrUFdb8bRfYg8dfRYQ6AD82c1O9_2HDipJIjuqCbTHKExVCOz6R-nPjsmG0_XxoMcLs0Rjl7p-xi8_Dz4JZOu30/s320/polka-dot-onesie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a difference between a leak and a hack and it all
comes down to intent. I personally don’t see how Julian Assange can misrepresent
the DNC’s emails as a leak of information, not when it’s clear that Putin, or
some Putin-like-guy, broke into the DNC’s system to retrieve the damning
material that rocked the first day of the Democratic National Convention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, my breach was <i>not</i>
malevolent by nature. Yes, Robin confided in me about her fairly new pregnancy,
and yes, I promised not to tell. But a couple of days after she swore me to
silence, Monty lost his cell phone and one of the places he looked was between
the cushions of our basement couch. He didn’t find his cell phone down there,
but he did pull out an adorable polka-dot onesie that both Abby and Noah had
worn as infants, and had been stashed away years ago into a storage bag of
baby clothes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty found the onesie and then he found me, upstairs in the
bedroom, where I was petting our cat, Captain, and (unfortunately) talking to
him as if he was my furry feline baby (which he is.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who’s my good boy?” I used a voice reserved for infants and
pets as I buried my face into his soft, expansive tummy, and Captain gently swiped
at my hair without using his claws. But when Captain heard Monty approach he
startled, straightened himself, and sat in a more dignified position. “Did you
find your phone?” I asked Monty, my back to him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” Monty came and sat beside me and Captain, placing the
onesie down on the bed and right in front of me. “But I did find this. What was it doing
out?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grabbed the onesie, as if hiding it could relieve me from
having to explain. I looked up from the polka-dots to see Monty’s eyes which,
to my horror, gazed at me with pity. “Lucy,” he said with gentle patience, “I don’t
understand. I thought you donated all the old baby clothes to Goodwill before
we moved from Seattle.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, I did donate most of them, but I kept a bag of sentimental
stuff, in case Noah or Abby ever wanted it for their children.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He cocked his head and gave me half a smile. “Okay, hopefully it will be at least two decades before we have to worry about that…” he took
the onesie from me and held it up like it was exhibit A, “…still, what was this
doing out?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I glanced around the room and scratched my forehead. “What
difference does it make? I can look at an old onesie if I want to!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, of course - ”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I mean, really Monty, I don’t appreciate the third degree!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry!” His offhand tone suggested that he wasn’t
actually seeking forgiveness. “I just need to know that we’re clear. We’re not
having any more kids.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No kidding.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty’s face relaxed. He set down the onesie and used his
hand to cover mine. “But some part of you must want another baby, or you wouldn’t
have gotten that onesie out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My laughter in response did nothing to convince him otherwise.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He squeezed my fingers. “Luce, it’s okay to admit how you
feel. I mean, I know this sort of thing can be… difficult for a woman your age.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly I identified with Hillary. She’s always walking that
fine line between cheering and yelling, between shrillness and conviction. Truth
is, there are certain unavoidable perceptions that society forces upon women and
growing older may change what those perceptions are, but it doesn’t make them
any better. Yet while society might choose
to see me as a desperately aging cat-woman, I refused to let my own husband see
that too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I yanked my hand away and fought the urge to give him a firm
shove in the chest. “Give me a break! Robin is pregnant, okay? I got the baby
clothes out for her and I accidentally left this onesie out!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Captain chose that moment to rise from his sitting position,
arch his back and stretch. Then he forced himself onto Monty’s lap. Monty’s jaw
dropped before it rose into a smile. “Really?” he said as he absently stroked
Captain’s fur. “That’s great.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Humph.” I got up to go brush my teeth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s your problem?” Monty called after me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m glad your cell phone is lost,” I said over my shoulder,
“because her pregnancy is a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I knew Monty would eventually find his phone and I also knew it was pointless to make him promise not to spill. Words tend to fly from his lips before he even realizes that he shouldn't be saying them. At least he doesn't inflate himself into an information anarchist; he's not like Julian Assange, but in this situation, the difference between a hack and leak was irrelevant. They both resulted in trouble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
*****<o:p></o:p><br />
On August 4th and 5th you can start at the beginning of Lucy's story, by downloading<i> November Surprise</i> for FREE off of Amazon!<br />
Twenty years ... Six Presidential Elections... One Consuming Love Affair!<br />
Click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/November-Surprise-Lucy-Bricker-Novel-ebook/dp/B008TWYW0U">here</a> to view the book on Amazon, but please double check that the book is free before purchasing. It will be FREE for a limited time, starting August 4th!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_KoqTR78AXM1GJzn8RGxokUbi-xWUz8YdkGngbemOeIwZjQq8UdvLNm8SnEE-h2YjCriyi8L4U9vjQgmsVj6yHPSPTZQRjKH5yZiqnGx9j2BJckN9xe_6TnPOa0SDZXLVid0VORMALg/s1600/book_cover_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_KoqTR78AXM1GJzn8RGxokUbi-xWUz8YdkGngbemOeIwZjQq8UdvLNm8SnEE-h2YjCriyi8L4U9vjQgmsVj6yHPSPTZQRjKH5yZiqnGx9j2BJckN9xe_6TnPOa0SDZXLVid0VORMALg/s320/book_cover_1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-34708451913879331722016-07-22T18:15:00.000-07:002016-07-23T06:14:54.432-07:00Morning Sickness in America<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MxWb8-QIi4GzC8vTndEu9gHOEakwlyAmH-2hCDu9Mcm7iR7IwL97RGiDUT_cQLgTIgZRrtrFfJwBDIie1G_YWk3tRqlR_aIiYsox_APkFzxtv2nFVsRJvZtB2brj7fbq4j6a9X1rv-I/s1600/_DSC5382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MxWb8-QIi4GzC8vTndEu9gHOEakwlyAmH-2hCDu9Mcm7iR7IwL97RGiDUT_cQLgTIgZRrtrFfJwBDIie1G_YWk3tRqlR_aIiYsox_APkFzxtv2nFVsRJvZtB2brj7fbq4j6a9X1rv-I/s320/_DSC5382.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All week we spent our evenings away from the heat, sitting
in the cool of our basement while watching the Republican convention. Monty and
I delighted at the Trump campaign’s inept reaction to Melania’s plagiarized
speech and actually, sort -of -liked Ted Cruz after his non-endorsement. But then came Thursday night’s speech, with TRUMP
broadcast in huge letters over the larger-than-life, official nominee for demagogue
of the United States of America. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt nauseous with fear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lots of people <i>liked</i>
his speech. They didn’t see any problem with seventy-four minutes of lies, fear
and empty promises. Vladimir Putin praised Trump, probably because Trump gave
the sort of speech that Putin often makes himself. And David Duke liked Trump’s
speech so much, he’s been inspired to run for Senate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because after all, if Trump could win as president, then
anything is possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I was contemplating this, trying not to panic,
when Monty’s cousin Robin showed up at our door. She often stops by on her way
to work at her studio, and we’ll drink a cup of coffee and share some family
gossip. But today she looked sort of green.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Would you like some coffee?” I
pointed toward the fresh pot I had brewing in the kitchen. Robin took one look,
put her hand over her mouth, rushed to the bathroom, and promptly threw up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waited until her retching sounds were replaced with the flush
of the toilet, and then I wandered over to our first floor bathroom. In her
haste, Robin had left the door open.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can you I get you anything, Robin?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had already risen from her crouching position and had closed
the lid of the toilet. Now she sat on top of it, taking deep, calming breaths. “My
purse?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to the hallway where she’d dropped her purse, which
was actually more like a tote bag, and brought it to her. Robin took her bag
from me, stood, fished through it and found a travel tooth brush and some
trial-sized tooth paste. I watched as she brushed her teeth. When she was done,
she put that stuff back in her purse, fished out a sleeve of saltine crackers
and a water bottle, and timidly nibbled and sipped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re pregnant?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her laugh sounded miserable. “How’d you guess?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But that’s wonderful!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn’t smile in response. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s not wonderful?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin sighed. “To be honest, I’m completely terrified.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I put a guiding hand against her back. “Come on,” I said, “let’s
go down to the basement. It’s cooler down there, and there will be no smells
from the kitchen to bother you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We descended the stairs and sat on the over-stuffed couch
that was opposite our big-screen TV.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am actually excited,” she offered, “and it was planned. But
the more I think about the fact that in a few months, I’ll be accountable for
the life of an infant, the more scared I become.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ll be fine!” I gave her arm a squeeze. “You’re the
bravest, strongest person I know. Compared to everything else you’ve done with
your life, motherhood is nothing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was true. After all, Robin had starred in two reality TV shows,
she’d faced down ghosts and cyber-stalkers, she’d survived jury duty and she’d
lost the first love of her life. But she’d come out of it all with barely a
scratch, and if she could do all that, surely she could excel as a mother,
especially now that she was happily married, financially secure, and successfully
self-employed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know.” Robin took a sip of mineral water and crammed
another saltine into her mouth, chewing slowly as she closed her eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How far along are you?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Only a few weeks. We want to wait a little while, until it’s
safe to announce, so you can’t tell anyone yet, okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nobody is supposed to know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She tilted her head from side to side. “I mean, even if you
hadn’t guessed I probably would have told you, but only so you’d understand why
I’m constantly queasy and crabby.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed. “I would’ve just assumed that you’re queasy and
crabby for the same reason that I am…” I paused for effect. “…because Donald
Trump might get the access codes for our nuclear arsenals.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t even joke about that.” Robin opened her eyes and
stared into mine. “And I mean it, Lucy. Don’t tell Monty. Don’t tell Jack. If
they mentioned anything to Ian or to my dad, there’d be hurt feelings because I
didn’t tell them first.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I promise I won’t tell.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Satisfied, Robin closed her eyes again and leaned her head
against our couch cushion. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, relax. I know it’s
hard, feeling lousy all the time, but it will get better. And you’re going to
be a great mom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How do you know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because your capacity for love is huge.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She gave me a weak smile. “Nick said the same thing, more or
less.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is he excited?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. But he’s anxious about setting up a nursery and childproofing
the house and making sure everything is perfect, like we don’t have nearly
eight months to do all that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Isn’t Nick the sort of guy who likes to focus on concrete
details?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She nodded. “It makes him feel like he’s in control.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I leaned my back against a cushion and raised my feet from
the floor, tucking them under me, feeling the scratchy upholstery against my
bare legs. “I wish I had something like that, to make me feel in control.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know, right?! But I’m too busy puking all the time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, I know what will make you feel better. Wait right
here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wandered into the storage area of our basement and lugged
out a bag of Abby and Noah’s old baby clothes. We went through it, holding up each
garment and imagining it on her new baby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin seemed better by the time she left and I felt better
too. I’d been distracted for an hour or so, able to forget about the months ahead,
ones I knew would be filled with polling data, Nate Silver’s prognostications, and
pundits talking as if Donald Trump’s candidacy was more than a sick joke gone
completely wrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I realized that the roughly 100 days until the election will
be like an endless pregnancy with all the typical discomfort, inconvenience,
anxiety and pain, but and minus the joyful anticipation of motherhood. Sure, if
Hillary wins I’ll be happy, but what if she doesn’t? Donald Trump wants
everyone to think he’s the next Ronald Reagan, but this is no morning in
America. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After his scary speech last night, he’s given us morning
sickness in America instead.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
****<br />
Hello, Readers! Thanks for visiting November Surprises Blog! Now that the campaign season is in full swing you can expect posts to be much more frequent, but if you just can't wait for more, I've got even more good news.<br />
<i>Promises, Promises</i> - a thrilling new novella that features Robin, is FREE on Amazon. To download it, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Promises-Robin-Bricker-Prequel-ebook/dp/B01FIJL2YU">here.</a><br />
There are also several other novels and stories that feature Lucy and/or Robin, click <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Laurel-Osterkamp/e/B004XR4OLC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1">here</a> to visit my Amazon author page.<br />
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-32854698314641379892016-01-27T03:50:00.000-08:002016-01-27T03:50:05.630-08:00November Surprise is Free Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5DHF3CbQWZ8XskfuKAFpWLym0OHSOl3E1t04k4ZAJZgng2_isZAID_jmQgbnW06zliUQwi1zfCeboNslWvSKURn-9mFpvaV3I4ayaCexDKcFqNwjf19VDWDs06E9cHFu0mEVsTf336I/s1600/book_cover_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5DHF3CbQWZ8XskfuKAFpWLym0OHSOl3E1t04k4ZAJZgng2_isZAID_jmQgbnW06zliUQwi1zfCeboNslWvSKURn-9mFpvaV3I4ayaCexDKcFqNwjf19VDWDs06E9cHFu0mEVsTf336I/s320/book_cover_1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
It's less than a week before the Iowa Caucuses, and things just get crazier and crazier in the run-up to primary season. Take a trip down the memory lane of presidential politics, and discover how Lucy and Monty's love story began - this is definitely my most romantic novel. Download it for free by clicking <a href="http://tinyurl.com/zh82b3q">here.</a>Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-65989817258659615742016-01-23T14:41:00.001-08:002016-07-23T13:31:49.869-07:00The "C" Words: Conflict, Confrontation, and Caucus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1DkBk6W9XZjcJoVdQf7jPCgxtRFRVuMfRAwPf9l65rCxTk1yO-D84l94WkzlQJghHVF6L_N6mEwSZ8MSr4Y4c-pSU1Xg-EXQIhicK4IgPAi8F8SI05awyNgxfTnHZqjgTrPLFaX-ebo/s1600/bigstock-Map-Of-The-United-States-Iowa-34277087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1DkBk6W9XZjcJoVdQf7jPCgxtRFRVuMfRAwPf9l65rCxTk1yO-D84l94WkzlQJghHVF6L_N6mEwSZ8MSr4Y4c-pSU1Xg-EXQIhicK4IgPAi8F8SI05awyNgxfTnHZqjgTrPLFaX-ebo/s320/bigstock-Map-Of-The-United-States-Iowa-34277087.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty soon it will all be over. Come February 1st, Iowans will
finally get to caucus, and after endless months of speculation, we’ll choose
our candidates. Will it be Sanders or Clinton? Trump, Cruz, or somebody else?
Who would have thought we wouldn’t know the answers to these questions, let
alone that we’d be asking them in the first place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The way the media tells it, the race is incredibly tight on
both sides and anything could happen. So I tuned in for the Democratic debate
last Sunday, to see how it all went down. I thought Clinton was self-possessed
and focused, while Sanders yelled so much he became hoarse, always cutting
Hillary off and acting like a bully. But on Monday the columnists disagreed
with me; they said that Bernie had commanded the stage and forced Clinton to
play defense. One piece I read even said that <i>she</i> was yelling too much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you kidding me?” I yelled this to Monty, Monday evening
at dinner. “If Hillary had acted like Bernie last night, the headlines would be
that she’s strident and...” I searched for an appropriate term, since Abby and
Noah were right there. “…and they’d use other words, like irrational or
emotional, that are only ever used when criticizing women.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty tilted one side of his mouth, and I thought I detected
the slightest of eye rolls. “I don’t think this is about gender. Sanders just
had some really good points.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please! Of course it’s about gender. But nobody wants to
admit it, so they come up with stupid reasons to criticize her, like her ties
to big business or her emails, but if she was a man nobody would care about
that stuff.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I disagree.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dad,” Abby chimed in, “we’re playing Barbies after dinner,
right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know, Sweetheart. I have to pack.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you promised we’d play before you left for your trip, and
you’re leaving tomorrow. It HAS to be tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I like that our daughter isn’t afraid to assert herself. “She’s
right,” I said. “You should play with her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He smirked. “You could play with her instead.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” Abby insisted. “I want you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nodded. “We played together all day. She’s sick of me.” It
was Martin Luther King Day, and the kids and I had hung out in the living room
all afternoon, playing with toys and avoiding the frigid cold that we would
have been with confronted with, had we gone out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay,” Monty relented. “But I get Eye Doctor Barbie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I get Eye Doctor Barbie,” replied Abby. “You can have
Gymnastic Coach Barbie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning Monty left for D.C. and I returned to work
after Martin Luther King Day. I listened to the radio on my way in, and the
news was dominated with speculation about the Iowa caucus and the New Hampshire
primary. What if Hillary lost both Iowa AND New Hampshire? Would Sanders gain
enough momentum to score the nomination? And who would he be up against? What
would a race between Sanders and Cruz be like?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The very question sent shivers down my spine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first class started at 10:30, but Steve, the instructor
who uses the classroom before me, ran late again, so that my students and I
were waiting out the in hall. This had happened many times before, but I’d
never said anything. To do so would require me to confront Steve in front of
all my students. They’d probably think I was overreacting, that I was strident,
maybe even bitchy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I leaned against the wall, cold from the outside air that assaulted
the hallway. My arms ached from holding my books and my laptop; I was frustrated
that I couldn’t set up my notes and my Power Point presentation, and I became
enraged at losing more class time while Steve got extra time with his students.
Why was his class so much more important than mine, so that he got more and I
got less?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decided that enough was enough. Hillary Clinton wouldn’t
put up with this. Heck, my own daughter wouldn’t put up with this. If Abby has
the strength to say how things are going to be, I could certainly find that strength
too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, Steve let his class out and I rushed to the front
of the room, to confront Steve before he could slip out. Steve smiled when he
saw me. “Oh, hi Lucy. Did you enjoy the long weekend?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I resolved not to return his smile or to answer his friendly
question. “Steve,” I said, trying to sound calm but serious, “we have a
problem. You’re constantly running your class late, and that’s cutting into my
class’s time. This needs to stop.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He twisted his face like I’d just done something offensive. “Nice
to see you too.” He started to walk past me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey!” I was loud enough to startle Steve into turning
around, but I also commanded unwanted attention from my students. “My request
is simple. Just end your class on time, and we’ll be good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve’s eye roll was overt. “Sometimes I can’t fit
everything into forty-five minutes. I’m not making you any promises.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stomach was clenched and I could feel my pulse race.
Conflict always did this to me. “Fine. Then I’ll have to complain to the dean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shrugged, and I wanted to throttle his nonchalance. “You
do that, Lucy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> ****</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What a jerk,” Monty said that night, when I relayed the
conversation to him on the phone. “Can I beat him up for you?” he joked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed. “Are you suggesting that I can’t handle this on
my own?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty didn’t miss a beat. “Of course not. I’m not nearly that
stupid.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lay back, resting my head against the pillow on my side of
the bed. “I hear there’s a blizzard coming to the East Coast. You might not be
able to fly back on Friday.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe I’ll be delayed past the 1<sup>st</sup>. Then I’d
miss the caucus.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You say that like it would be a good thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, then we wouldn’t be caucusing for separate candidates.
We’d get to skip all the conflict.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t respond, but Monty could hear my disapproval,
nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Or,” he continued, “Maybe the storm won’t be as bad as they’re
forecasting.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, maybe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then we talked about the kids and Monty told me about his
day. I didn’t say what I really thought - <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
That lately, all the dire forecasts seemed to be coming
true.<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-72138011425631886842015-11-28T16:19:00.000-08:002015-11-28T16:19:35.609-08:00Freedom, Ben Carson and Giving Thanks<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiZ05TZtlDYRxthZqVkeFlF-yDDfftm8Rf3NEaxjrMB-g9Y7Mod6en_wUaMGiOSqKTCcPRNOJuIObLpBraIHXKQWTzSDsKM-XNkoPvOq-pG_RzyjPUx0WXLUO7Tgioao-agHSe3aV-Qw/s1600/family+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiZ05TZtlDYRxthZqVkeFlF-yDDfftm8Rf3NEaxjrMB-g9Y7Mod6en_wUaMGiOSqKTCcPRNOJuIObLpBraIHXKQWTzSDsKM-XNkoPvOq-pG_RzyjPUx0WXLUO7Tgioao-agHSe3aV-Qw/s320/family+dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
On Thanksgiving the family sat around our table, toasted our
collective health and happiness, and took turns saying what we were thankful
for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m thankful that I can read,” said our six-year old, Abby.
She just started <i>Junie B Jones, </i>her
first chapter book, and she never rarely misses an opportunity to show off a little.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m thankful for the moon,” said her younger brother, Noah.
He’s recently developed an obsessive interest in outer-space.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Good one,” said Natalie, my mother-in-law. “I’m thankful
that none of our freedoms have been taken away, and that we can all sit here today
and enjoy this lovely meal together with friends and family.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty and I exchanged a look, a silent agreement to ignore
the part about our freedoms “being taken away,” and to simply be gracious. But later, after dinner was over and people
were watching television, a Ben Carson ad came on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/lhUAZGP-pac/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lhUAZGP-pac?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have to say,” Natalie said, after <st1:city w:st="on">Carson</st1:city>’s ad had played. “There’s something
very likable about him. I think he makes sense.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom, no.” Monty’s voice had that overly-patient edge to it,
like a dog-owner reprimanding his frisky puppy. So while I totally agreed with
Monty philosophically, I couldn’t blame Natalie for her testy response.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean, ‘no’? I’m not incompetent. I can pick my
own candidate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jack, Monty’s brother, busied himself by starting a tickle
war with all the kids. I began straightening up. But Monty, who is never
afraid of conflict, turned toward his mother and stared her down. “Ben Carson
may seem rational, but he’s not. He’s compared Obamacare to slavery, and gun
control to Nazi Germany. He thinks Muslims shouldn’t be allowed to be
president, and that we ought to have separate, transgender bathrooms.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since Natalie is actually the one who taught Monty to
embrace conflict, she scoffed and spoke over the frantic giggles of the
children. “That’s ridiculous.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know!” Monty grinned, obviously happy that his mother
agreed with him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Women already have to stand in line far too long to use the
toilet. If we’re going to build more bathrooms, we should just double the amount for
females. Creating separate ones for these transgenders is a waste of
resources.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” I interjected. “I mean… the
part about more public restrooms for women.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty shot me a squinty, exasperated look. After years of
marriage, I knew exactly what it meant. Now was the time I was supposed to
speak up and support him. I should convince his mother that she should
absolutely not support Ben Carson.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I went through this three years ago, when Natalie stayed
with us during the 2012 election and Monty was working half a world away.
During that time, she and I argued about Mitt Romney, and you know what it got
me? A massive headache and mild digestive trouble.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you,” Natalie said to me, as if I’d just endorsed her
own candidacy in the <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state>
caucus. She turned back to her son. “You can’t take a few quotes out of context
and let that define the man.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And you can’t take a 30 second campaign ad about ‘thinking
outside the box’ and decide that he knows what he’s talking about.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not! But the caucus is coming up soon, and so far, none
of the candidates have impressed me. I might just pick the least offensive
one.”</div>
<div 560="" allowfullscreen="" class="<iframe width=" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lhUAZGP-pac">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This leads me to what I’m thankful for. Of course there’s a
long list: my family, my health, the ability to learn, the opportunity to
teach, sunsets, Oreo cookies and lemon zinger tea while watching <i>Scandal</i>, and the fact that in a little
over two months, the Iowa caucus will be over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lot of people envy <st1:place w:st="on">Iowa</st1:place>
for our unfair advantage in picking presidential candidates. Well, don’t. Even though I teach a class called <i>20th Century American Politics,</i> I still get tired from all the competing voices. And then
there’s the prospect of guilt. What if we choose the wrong guy? The whole
country could blame us for setting that bandwagon in motion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for me, the democratic side of things seems pretty much
sewn up <a href="http://novembersurprises.blogspot.com/2015/10/bernie-sanders-and-angry-sex.html">(despite Monty's Bernie Sanders bumper sticker)</a> But the republicans are still up in the air, with a lot of people undecided.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Natalie is one of those people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty remains convinced that he can get her to vote Democrat,
but when Natalie was his age she voted for Reagan. He was her first republican,
and since then, she’s declared herself an independent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who wants pie?” I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone but Monty and Natalie clambered upstairs, to pick
between caramel apple and pumpkin, and by the time we returned to the TV room,
their argument was over. Soon it was dark outside, people went home, and we all
fell into a food coma.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day we did our Black Friday shopping, ate turkey
sandwiches for lunch, and found ourselves speechless at the news reports of yet
another <st1:state w:st="on">Colorado</st1:state>
shooting, this one at a Planned Parenthood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And mom thinks her freedom hasn’t been taken away,” Monty
said later, when the kids weren’t in ear shot. “I think we need to redefine
what freedom is, since we live in a country where shootings have become the new
normal.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah,” I said. “But if we can't do that, maybe we just need to rethink what we're thankful for.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-22198153571749216462015-10-10T12:34:00.002-07:002015-10-10T12:34:29.797-07:00Bernie Sanders and Angry Sex<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXRxAuBA6xkMKYOd-EkhV8Xt-iNk7l9a9X0fK8_bZXq0pHK4o0Kwc0bXIOXQOMsCgyVRqB0IV5GAmesDuWztyfOT41_Hl1aZbifDShLHcc9NcU5AGuDm4OamD-Zsn-ocndE4BRgRy7Lo/s1600/bigstock-Sex-Key-On-Computer-Keyboard-5035561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXRxAuBA6xkMKYOd-EkhV8Xt-iNk7l9a9X0fK8_bZXq0pHK4o0Kwc0bXIOXQOMsCgyVRqB0IV5GAmesDuWztyfOT41_Hl1aZbifDShLHcc9NcU5AGuDm4OamD-Zsn-ocndE4BRgRy7Lo/s320/bigstock-Sex-Key-On-Computer-Keyboard-5035561.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How well do you know the person you’re married to?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week, if someone had me this question, I would have
said that I know Monty well. Sure, we have our ups and downs, but for the most
part I can predict him. I can trust him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I forgot how subversive he can be. I’d forgotten that
his passionate idealism, which is the very quality that made me fall in love,
can manifest as a stubborn, petulant insistence to take the road less
traveled. Even if that road is leading toward a dead end.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I came home the
other day and saw it. A sky-blue rectangle with large white block letters, <i>Bernie, 2015, </i>was plastered against the
rear bumper of our Subaru.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the middle of the day. After a morning of teaching I
had decided to pop home before heading over to my parent’s house. I spend every
Thursday afternoon with my dad, who never fully recovered from his stroke, so
my mom can run errands or just take a break. But when I saw the Bernie Sanders
bumper sticker on our family vehicle I could think of nothing else. I rushed
inside to find Monty standing at our kitchen counter, making a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich, which had to be for him because Noah and Abby were at
school.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He turned when he heard me come in, and a smile lit up his
face. “Hey,” he said warmly. “You decided to stop home for lunch? Want me to
make you a sandwich?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty works from home a lot of the time. He’s a very social
person and I know he craves interaction, so I felt a twinge of regret, bursting
his bubble, meeting his enthusiasm with irritation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I was upset.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Why </i>is there a
Bernie Sanders bumper sticker on our car?” My voice was hard and my arms were
crossed resolutely over my chest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wrinkled his forehead and then turned his back to me, ostensibly
to finish making his sandwich. “I got that the other day. They sent it to me
for donating money to his campaign.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Monty!” I stepped over so I could invade his personal space.
He finished spreading the jelly and pressed the two pieces of bread together. “How
could you do that, without talking about it to me first?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I need your permission to put a bumper sticker on my car?”
He rolled his eyes, put his sandwich on a plate, and busied himself with putting
the jelly and bread back in the refrigerator, the peanut butter in the cabinet,
and the dirty knife in the sink.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s <i>our</i> car! I
drive it too. And you knew very well that I wouldn’t be okay with this!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s just a bumper sticker, Luce!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, it’s not!” I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “You
know I support Hillary, and you know I’m worried about her chances. So it’s not
‘just a bumper sticker’ – it’s a passive aggressive attempt to piss me off!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sighed and clenched his jaw simultaneously; I hate it
when he does that. “This isn’t about you. I happen to support Sanders. Okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, not okay! You liked Hillary in ’08, back when she was
the underdog against Obama. And my God, you voted for Nader in 2000. You just
want to be subversive!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So what if I do? It’s not like society is so great that we
can’t use a little bit of subversion!” He closed the refrigerator door with his
foot, and turned toward me, shoulders squared. “Besides, Sanders stands for
what I actually believe in!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, grow up, Monty! You know he has NO chance of getting
elected! Supporting him is like handing Rubio, Bush, or God forbid, Trump, the
presidency on a silver platter!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty shook his head ruefully. “Do you even have any ideals
anymore, Lucy? Or is it just all about winning? You tell me to grow up? Well
that’s too bad, because you’ve gotten OLD!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’d say something so
mean!” I ran one hand through my hair and the other my stomach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stammered. “I didn’t mean old as in unattractive. I meant
old, as in too conservative…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Never mind!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spun on my heel but he jumped forward and blocked my path
out of the kitchen. “You’re not leaving until we resolve this!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You don’t get to decide that!” I pushed against his chest,
but he was unyielding. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know I think you’re hot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t care about that. I want the Sanders sticker off our
car.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How about I buy an even bigger Hillary bumper sticker and
put it on other car?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shook my head. “No. We put it next to the Sanders one, so
they’re side by side.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine.” He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a
sultry rasp. “But then we’re doing the same thing on both cars.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I exhaled loudly. “Fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was very aware of the rise and fall of my chest, and how
if I moved forward a fraction of an inch, my chest would be pressed against
his. And then, because arguing can get us both riled up, and because I do
actually care about whether or not Monty thinks I’m hot, but mostly because we
were alone and awake, I let Monty kiss me. I knew what was coming when his lips
parted, when he tilted down his dark head, when he reached out both arms to
hold me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not step away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead I met his embrace with enthusiasm, though I was
still angry. Soon we were tugging off each other’s clothes and taking out our
aggression in the most fun, if not the most healthy, sort of way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we were done we laid together on the kitchen floor,
sharing the peanut butter sandwich Monty had made earlier.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m still idealistic,” I said. “I care about way more than
winning.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know.” Monty kissed me softly on the mouth and I could
taste his peanut butter breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I wasn’t so sure myself. It’s easy to make claims. It’s
not always easy to believe them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
How well do I know my husband? About as well as I know
myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-81297139897782342122015-08-29T06:06:00.001-07:002015-08-29T06:06:50.711-07:00Five Reasons to Fear Camping and Donald Trump<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfxEDlb_Lo8_1PH509EusWU85VX9L5XXa7dLrsnDhtM-tpVD8QcLR-eeLJWrlRQF963FvDe8cA_-qDrU42fDG-UnCttkHpuFbJPgT9MK6e2yp3Gsn_fhr69WMOjOGzW3hSW0p2JG-sdU/s1600/file0002025916722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfxEDlb_Lo8_1PH509EusWU85VX9L5XXa7dLrsnDhtM-tpVD8QcLR-eeLJWrlRQF963FvDe8cA_-qDrU42fDG-UnCttkHpuFbJPgT9MK6e2yp3Gsn_fhr69WMOjOGzW3hSW0p2JG-sdU/s320/file0002025916722.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a Thursday evening. We were driving home from eating
out, and we couldn’t find a radio station that didn’t have talk about the
presidential campaign. In <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state>
we are bombarded with it early, and even a political junkie like me can feel
overloaded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty switched the radio off. “Hey,” he said casually. “We
should take the kids camping.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shuddered. “Why?” I demanded, as if he’d just suggested
that we sell our kidneys on the black market. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He raised one eyebrow and glanced my way. “Because it would
be fun! Because we could get away and have some family time. I thought you
loved camping.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to. But middle age has made me cynical. Or maybe it’s
the 2016 presidential race that’s done it. Or maybe it’s all Donald Trump’s
fault. Because though we did “get away” over a few days at a nearby state park,
I couldn’t help but make comparisons between camping and The Donald.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1. No Flush Toilets/
Nothing to Lose<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first it wasn’t so bad. The “waste” had been removed shortly
before we got there, and the potties were filled with clean-smelling chemicals.
But after days of use by dozens of campers, well… stench happens. You can hold
your nose, you can use hand sanitizer, but pit toilets are still kind of scary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, we use them because we don’t have a choice. Is
there anyone out there who wouldn’t rather flush their waste away? <st1:place w:st="on">Flushing</st1:place> and camping can be mutually exclusive, and
meanwhile, we can’t hold it in indefinitely</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But in the campground of life, Donald Trump has his own
private potty. It no doubt smells wonderful because it’s been flown in and
freshly cleaned every hour. Trump has options so he doesn’t <i>need</i> pit toilets just like he doesn’t <i>need</i> the presidency. This means he can poop
all over any issue, whether it’s immigration or Megyn Kelly, and he still comes
out smelling clean. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>2. S’more
Expectations<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow children always know about s’mores, and if you’re
camping, they’re going to expect roasted marshmallows between two graham
crackers with a bar of chocolate thrown in. This happens at night, naturally, when the potential
damage from their inevitable sugar rush is at its highest, and when you won’t
really notice the dirt-coated marshmallow that is stuck to your child’s face,
hands, and clothing, until morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I have to admit, s’mores are yummy. That’s why they’ve
endured. The tastiness factor outweighs the sticky mess that they cause. Just
like Donald Trump.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well no, not exactly. All summer, pundits have projected
that Trump will burn out, like a marshmallow shoved into the fire too quickly,
erupting into flames and falling into the ashes in a goopy, charred glob. That
obviously hasn’t happened, but it’s not because Trump stays away from the
sticky, messy issues. He’ll say whatever he wants, and that’s too delicious for
many voters to ignore.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>3. Big Tent Politics</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>If it’s hot, it’s roasting inside your
tent. If it’s cold outside, somehow the air inside your tent is even colder.
There’s never enough room for everyone to sleep comfortably, and if it happens
to rain, forget about it. I don’t care how waterproof your tent claims to be,
you’re going to get wet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there’s the security issue. Tents don’t have locks but
they do have zipable doors. You’d better hope that there are no axe-wielding
crazies running the campground. Because let’s face it, if you’re sleeping in a
tent, you’re a little bit crazy too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But people love crazy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And here’s the thing: Republicans have been struggling for
years with how to make their party the party of “big tent politics”. In other
words, they want everyone to feel welcome even though their stance on the
issues only serves rich, white men. Donald Trump has found a way to fix
that. With Trump, issues are irrelevant
because his crazy factor is so entertaining, just like the horror movies you
know will give you nightmares.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trump is the equivalent of the axe-wielding maniac you
imagine as you’re trying to fall asleep underneath that canvas ceiling, but he’s
actually forming the perfect, killer soundbite. He’s an expert at adapting complex
issues into five-second slogans that will make sense to the masses, even
though, if you really stop to think about it, they sound crazy. Just like, if
you really stop to think about it, sleeping in a tent is crazy too.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>4. Bugs<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody wants a mosquito bite, especially since they carry
the threat of Lyme disease. This is why, when you hear a mosquito buzzing
around, you swat it away, you spray on more insect repellent, and you
definitely pay attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, ants and spiders, while annoying and occasionally
dangerous, are much less illusive and easier to ignore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The comparison here is pretty obvious. Donald Trump is the
mosquito. We keep thinking he’ll go away, but it’s been a wet summer and he’s
still around. Jeb Bush, Scott Walker, Rand Paul and all the others are the ants
and spiders. Their bites may ultimately carry more venom, but they’re also
boring, predictable, and easily forgettable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is, until one of them bites you. But that hasn’t
happened yet.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>5. Just Redeeming
Enough<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite everything, I actually enjoyed our camping trip. We
gazed at the stars and told stories instead of watching TV; we swam in a lake
and hiked in the woods. Somehow food always tastes better when cooked over a
campfire, and most importantly, I could forget about the rest of the world and
enjoy quality time with my family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Would I do it again? Maybe, if no other vacation options are
available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of options, while there’s an abundance of
Republican candidates, none of them are exotic destinations. Would you rather
vote for Ted Cruz or Donald Trump? Would you rather visit your in-laws in <st1:place w:st="on">Cedar Rapids</st1:place>, or go
camping?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to say that camping sounds like more fun.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
My latest novel, <i><b>The Standout</b></i>, is coming soon!<br />
<b>Read the description & excerpt, and nominate it on Kindle Scout</b> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/r.html?C=3KRKL8BRA5K9I&K=A1YTQX8YWR66NJ&R=3GFA5CM7CFTJ1&T=C&U=https%3A%2F%2Fkindlescout.amazon.com%2Fp%2F3FKYTY50MUW2M%3Fref_%3Dpe_886810_126055510&A=LALBXAIHSMVKWMF35RFWUGYMWO4A&H=IGTBA5BA3EWTLARRAL1WEZ3RBFOA&ref_=pe_886810_126055510">by clicking here.</a><br />
It's quick and easy, and you'll get a <b>free copy</b> if Amazon chooses my book for publication. (Either way, it's going to be published, but I'll get a lot more PR and reach more readers through Kindle Scout, so <b>I really appreciate your votes!</b>)<br />
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Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-89754291617525686322015-05-09T12:48:00.000-07:002015-05-09T15:22:49.483-07:00Carly Fiorina and Choice Feminism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipK5zXLpXoWeXc1L1d46LT9H7NdYF3L__iH3Xjmo_2neqlYmkx2-lCORaif2nbTGQ0JRlUbLyL105Zj1yPmNZN6hhlYLc8A_zE9ZE5m34s-PfTqIQoGpLjP0pmhCSKSEUDGD5M-u9pTOk/s1600/womens-day_1100011261-1013int.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipK5zXLpXoWeXc1L1d46LT9H7NdYF3L__iH3Xjmo_2neqlYmkx2-lCORaif2nbTGQ0JRlUbLyL105Zj1yPmNZN6hhlYLc8A_zE9ZE5m34s-PfTqIQoGpLjP0pmhCSKSEUDGD5M-u9pTOk/s320/womens-day_1100011261-1013int.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So last month I went to Cedar Rapids for the Iowa Women’s
Leadership conference, where the key note speaker was Carly Fiorina. Like many
politicians, Fiorina has been spending a lot of time in Iowa lately, and even
though at that point she hadn’t yet officially announced her presidential bid,
she wasn’t going to waste a speaking opportunity in this coveted state.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I didn’t go to the conference because of her. I went
because my cousin-in-law Robin, who is a two time reality TV star and small
business owner, was also scheduled to be speaking about personal journeys,
which was the conference’s theme. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have to help me,” Robin had demanded, when was first
asked to speak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you talking about?” I replied. “You’re the superstar.
I’m sure you’re a much better speaker than I am.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nope. All I do is let cameras follow me around. I don’t
plan what I’m going to say and I don’t have to say it front a group of people
who are waiting for some deep, life changing message to come out of my mouth.
That’s your territory.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even though I doubt that my community college students expect
life changing messages from my lectures (and they’re disappointed if they are),
I still agreed to help her and I also signed up to attend the conference so I
could be there to cheer her on. It was fun. We drove down together and we went
around to the various speakers, where we also got to know some of the other
women who attended.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One woman, named Rachel, cuts hair at a national chain store
but she dreams of moving up the ladder and managing her own salon. “I got no
maternity leave when I had my kids, and they won’t give me a set schedule, so
childcare is hard to arrange, and they pay me basically minimum wage. As a
single mother that’s really hard.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Rachel was excited to hear Carly Fiorina’s key note
address, where she talked about how she went from secretary to the first female executive of a Fortune 500 company. I’ve heard lots of “choice feminists” support
Carly Fiorina, and the idea that feminism has changed with the times. After
all, everybody is free to choose their own path, and having a choice is always empowering.
It’s not the system that needs to be changed;
it’s how we work within it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Anyone who wants to harness the full power of human
potential, of both men and women, needs to focus on building a meritocracy,” Fiorina
said in her speech. “…a true meritocracy where people are recognized, paid and
promoted, not on how long they’ve been there, but what they produced – women will
rise to the top – not because women are better than men, but because they have
half the human potential.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is how she explains away our need to establish rules
for equal pay. If we just focus solely on performance, there will be no need
for employee protection. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But here’s how I see it: In the eighties, some feminists took offense
when men would open the door for them or pull out their chair. Women worried
about the implication, that they were incapable of opening the door on their
own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now, politicians are equating that idea with the idea
that some women, like Rachel, actually need real help. We’re not turning Rachel
into a victim by giving her equal pay, or maternity leave, or the opportunity to
advance in her career, and the insult isn’t the offer of help, it’s our refusal
to see that because we still work in a patriarchal system, some women need it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, I wasn’t the louder applauder at Fiorina’s speech.
The same can’t be said at Robin’s speech, though. She was so nervous before she
went on; she kept biting her lip and rubbing her hands against her dress, which
was light blue, sleeveless with a gathered skirt, and painted with a pastel map
of the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The dress is cheesy, isn’t it?” Robin glared at her reflection
back stage, and she looked panicky and pale.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not at all. It represents what you do and who you are.” I
placed calming hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Just go out there and be
yourself. You’ll be great.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I left her so I could take my place in the audience.
Soon Robin came out and stood at her podium, and while she started out shaky,
her confidence only grew and by the end she had commanded the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am not shy about admitting to my mistakes,” she said. “I’ve
made a lot of them. But when you mess up on national television, the world
responds in one of two ways. They either love you or hate you for it. I’ve
experienced both. And now, it is my goal to let my missteps empower me, to love
myself for all my flaws and foibles. Life is difficult enough anyway, why not
forgive ourselves? It could be the first step toward forgiving each other, and
then maybe, we can give and receive the help that everyone, at some point, needs.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
****<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Attention, Fans!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The Next Breath</i> is
in the running for a RONE award from Ind’tale Magazine, but I need readers to
vote for it. Click <a href="http://www.indtale.com/">here</a> you’ll need to
subscribe to vote, but that’s free to do, and you can opt out of receiving any
emails. I’m under Chick Lit/ Women's Fiction in week four for voting, so hurry, because week four ends tomorrow!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
THANK YOU!<o:p></o:p></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-32014244374078833232015-03-21T07:28:00.001-07:002015-03-21T07:28:19.964-07:00Push-up Monopoly and The Five Stages of Donald Trump<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BRkFmeLI_Z8LhNuDoPqKf6XF0bbWHlJifpDZUXhnqJi7o_Dz8EgK6rUdo0FiI8mocaILA8Ee7V7X_5f0GYtD1XOyasRFnO7i2kF2dOWoU6aQEyvnv5ejNOeBC8AL0t6sGymT4hDspbY/s1600/Monopoly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BRkFmeLI_Z8LhNuDoPqKf6XF0bbWHlJifpDZUXhnqJi7o_Dz8EgK6rUdo0FiI8mocaILA8Ee7V7X_5f0GYtD1XOyasRFnO7i2kF2dOWoU6aQEyvnv5ejNOeBC8AL0t6sGymT4hDspbY/s1600/Monopoly.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grew up without any siblings or cousins, the sole child in
an adult world. Now that I’m married, I’m surrounded by adults who act like
children. I suppose it’s no different for most families. You get around the
people you grew up with, and you never grew up at all. I see it all the time at
Monty’s family get-togethers, which usually include some weird competition
involving foosball, water polo, food tasting, or some other sort of tug-of-war, which often ends in middle-aged man injuries.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The most intense rivalry is between Monty and his cousin,
Ted. They’re both the older siblings, both went to top-tier universities, and both
are set on proving their superiority. They also attended the same high school, but
Ted was a year younger and Monty was always ahead. So I think it’s fair to say
that Ted is the one who ignites this cousinly competition, but Monty rarely
turns the other cheek. It’s just not his nature.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For example, last week was Spring Break and Ted and his
family were in town. We had everyone over for a big family meal and afterwards
people decided to play Monopoly. Ted loves real estate as much as Donald Trump
loves real estate, so it was a point of honor for him to win. When Robin, Ted’s
younger sister, landed on Tennessee Avenue (the last orange property that Ted needed
for a Monopoly) Ted convinced her to trade it for two railroads and one of the
light blues, of which Robin had the other two.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t do it, Robin!” Monty cried. “You’re handing him the
game.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But I’ll have my own Monopoly,” she answered as she made
the trade. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re just mad because my properties are better than
yours,” Ted said to Monty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty rolled his eyes. “Greens are way better than oranges.
Everybody knows that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re such an amateur,” Ted laughed. “The oranges have the
highest odds of being landed upon. That makes them best.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But the green have the highest rate of return,” Monty
responded. “I would think you’d understand that, as an expert investor.” Even I
could hear the air quotes in his voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They only have the highest rate of return after you put
hotels on them, and you’ll go bankrupt if you try.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon it became the battle of green versus orange, as
everyone else either dropped out or just barely hung in. The kids fell
asleep in front of a movie and the game had been going on for so long, when Monty
and Ted reached a stalemate. “I think we need to take this to the next level,”
said Ted. “From now on, whenever I land on the greens or whenever you land on
the oranges, the other one will have to do twenty-five pushups. And if we can’t
manage, we’ll owe an additional $1,000 rent.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s insane.” Monty took a swig of his beer in an effort
to be nonchalant. “You said yourself that oranges are landed on the most.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine,” Ted answered. “I’ll do thirty pushups but you’ll
only do twenty-five.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the adults were still gathered around the table, waiting
for Monty’s response. Only I knew about the pinched nerve in his back, and how
it had gotten so bad that he’d had to sleep in the reclining chair one night
this week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said stupidly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was all it took for Monty to accept the challenge.
Heaven forbid he admits to weakness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re on,” he said to Ted. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He and Ted went around the board three times each; Ted never
landed on Pacific, North Carolina, or Pennsylvania, but Monty landed on St.
James Place once and on Tennessee twice. He attempted the push-ups, laughing
through the strain, but on the 68<sup>th</sup> one his back spasmed and he
collapsed with a yelp.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Curled up into a fetal-shaped ball and moaning, Monty
conceded the game. You would think Ted would have acted reticent, but I could
see his shiny and triumphant smile, even though technically Ted’s mouth curled down.
But Monty was no better. He knew the risks of push-up Monopoly, yet he still
played. That made it feel hard to bad for him, even when he spent the night on
the Lazy Boy, with an ice pack pressed against him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What had made him act so stupidly, and why are he and Ted
both incapable of rationality any time they’re together? My theory is that they’re
both going through <i>The
Five Stages of Donald Trump, </i>which is just a little thing that many middle
aged men (and women) experience.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Stage #1 – Casinos</b>:
You’re no longer young, and the need fot something showy (like a new career, trophy wife, or sports car) sets
in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Stage #2 – Bankruptcy</b>: This can be of the financial, emotional, or spiritual kind. Basically, you’ve established yourself, but after
the tremendous highs, come tremendous lows. It’s character building.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Stage #3 – Reality TV</b>: Now you thrust yourself into a public format, forcing the world to notice you, gaining fame but losing
respect. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Stage #4 – Accusations
and Denial</b>: You feel like people doubt you. You need to prove how right you
are and how wrong everyone else is, especially if they’re more powerful than
you. So you say whatever comes to mind, possibly even going on YouTube or
Facebook to make pronouncements that fall short of expectations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Stage #5 – Run for
President</b>: It’s the only action left to take, because you still believe in
yourself, you know you are the best, and it’s time for the world to understand
that YOU are the winner.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Obviously I am speaking metaphorically, and the specifics for <i>The Five Stages of Donald Trump</i> will vary from individual to individual. But whether it’s push-up Monopoly or presidential politics,
the theme is universal. There’s no gain without pain and no growth without
regression. It’s what keeps you a child in an adult world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-19808251057814236602015-02-16T07:54:00.000-08:002015-02-16T07:54:13.586-08:00Plastics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrQPs4nnDon2MgbRgltLfwF45cPjCbX7QLYoN7fz9O2-QqGjSY7_3QdNdXs61FFAHDR9SYofs5eZG0cca7RVxfyfa6bT6ABsR6sa2S_ATCIGv13AncDHO4PeUmTQQGp9K7krpWxj-5LM/s1600/bsdlue-121013-bkst-1641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrQPs4nnDon2MgbRgltLfwF45cPjCbX7QLYoN7fz9O2-QqGjSY7_3QdNdXs61FFAHDR9SYofs5eZG0cca7RVxfyfa6bT6ABsR6sa2S_ATCIGv13AncDHO4PeUmTQQGp9K7krpWxj-5LM/s1600/bsdlue-121013-bkst-1641.jpg" height="266" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Around six years ago Abby was a couple months old and I was still trying to
acclimate myself to motherhood. I had heard the horror stories: you’ll never
sleep again, your sex life will die, you’ll lose your sense of self, you’ll
always keep that extra ten pounds, and your nipples will harden and crack like
dirt during a drought. I was also given
wonderful promises: you’ll finally feel complete, you’ll understand your true
purpose in life, and the love you’ll feel will surpass anything and everything
you’ve ever felt before or will feel again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every mother I met had a story to tell or an opinion to
share and I was shocked when I’d look in the mirror and still see my own
reflection staring back. Motherhood was not a total transformation, not for me.
I still liked reading about 20<sup>th</sup> century politics, I still cared
about showering and combing my hair, and when Monty sneezed I was usually
cognizant enough to say “Bless you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was still me, more or less.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nobody ever talks about how hard motherhood is,” my
neighbor, Eileen told me. She always had her youngest son, Atticus, propped up
against her hip, and he’d tug on the strap of her tank top whenever he felt
like a sip of breast milk, as if he was the customer and she the self-service
buffet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Actually, pretty much all I hear is about how hard it is,”
I replied. “I mean, of course it’s challenging, but I guess I was expecting the
first few months to be worse.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eileen nodded her head while Atticus suckled. He was about
to turn three, so he was huge, five or six times the size of Abby, who I held
against my own chest. She was swaddled in a blanket and had just nursed, but I
could hear her whimpering. Whether she was still hungry or needed to be burped,
I was not sure. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, that’s great. And the love you feel for your baby
makes it all worth it. But you’re not at the really hard stuff, not yet. Like,
have you decided whether or not you’re getting her vaccinated?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were in Eileen’s backyard, where they had a chicken coup
so they could harvest the eggs. There was also a hand-built playhouse and I’d
heard that Eileen’s husband had made it from oak. Eileen’s daughter sat in that
playhouse, coloring on construction paper with crayons made from recycled
candles. Crayola and coloring books, especially Disney coloring books, were not
allowed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…” I stuttered as Abby began to fuss more loudly, so I
put her abdomen against my shoulder and began to pat, trying to get a burp out
of her. “Why wouldn’t I get her vaccinated?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because there are other options,” Eileen said, her voice
rather soft. “And <i>that’s</i> the hard
part. You have to funnel out all the sound and the noise and figure out what’s
right for you and your family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Atticus finished drinking his mother’s milk and pushed
himself away. Eileen put him down, wiped her dripping nipple with the hem of
her shirt, and covered herself. But when she looked up she saw that Atticus had
found a toy lying on the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Atti, give that to Mama.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No!” Atticus stamped his foot, looking like a defiant
little rocker, with his long, blond locks and black hemp t-shirt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Babe, that toy was supposed to be thrown away. Please give
it to me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No! I want it!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eileen’s mouth set into a grimace and she leaped towards her
boy. He tried to squirm away but she wrapped herself around him and pried the
toy from his grubby fingers. Atticus howled, bereft, like someone who’s just
lost his soul. “But I want it,” he moaned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She held out the toy to me. “Here, would you like it? I
thought I’d gotten rid of all our plastic toys, but I guess I missed this one.”
She waved it, trying to get me to take it. “If you don’t mind chemicals, you
should take it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a turtle with a blue head and legs and a green shell.
It had big, black eyes and a friendly smile, but the remarkable thing was the
tiny baby turtle that rose from its back, identical to its mama except it was
faceless, entirely green, and completely reliant on its mother for everything.
There was no separating the mother from the baby; I couldn’t even decipher
where one began and the other one ended.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Atticus pounded his fists on the ground, and then turned his
dirty, tear-streaked face towards me. “But I want it.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-25844356870032298762015-01-02T02:00:00.000-08:002015-01-02T02:00:01.242-08:00Top 2014 News and New Year's Resolutions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLUn4yJJ7Xl9a8ZLCPOyOa-FDdumddCnMG_3gOdg9567-S0PLtxgevqr__W3nDzhO4mBO7dA0G3Gs9NvqqNckYnODaGF0TYvhRDJx_i5qd4ROSfNlJfdVMQqPjoXxNNIPmodrX5a0DKs/s1600/gsappp-zegar-3c-120213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLUn4yJJ7Xl9a8ZLCPOyOa-FDdumddCnMG_3gOdg9567-S0PLtxgevqr__W3nDzhO4mBO7dA0G3Gs9NvqqNckYnODaGF0TYvhRDJx_i5qd4ROSfNlJfdVMQqPjoXxNNIPmodrX5a0DKs/s1600/gsappp-zegar-3c-120213.jpg" height="253" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So 2014 is over and mostly I feel astonished that time goes by
so quickly. Sometimes I want to press the pause button, and savor life while my
children are young, while I know health and happiness. But there’s no such
thing as a pause button for real life, and I’ve come to learn that adulthood is
mostly is about savoring the best moments and getting through the rest.
Meanwhile, there’s always room for improvement, always forward steps that can
be made, so that the moments to savor will outnumber the rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, a lot of it is out my control, but I like to believe
that everyone makes an impact no matter how small, and before I write my New
Year’s resolutions, I always look back and take stock. 2014 was just like any
other year, I suppose, in that our mistakes were numerous and there’s still a
lot to learn:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">The
conflict in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ukraine</st1:country-region>
caused thousands of unnecessary deaths, displaced millions, and now things
between <st1:country-region w:st="on">Russia</st1:country-region> and the <st1:country-region w:st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> are
as strained as a long-distance relationship. </li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">The Malaysia
Airlines flight 370 disappearance was tragic and I can’t imagine what the
passenger’s families are still going through, but CNN went crazy with
their 24-hour news coverage, and all the conspiracy theorists have emerged
from the dark basements in which they live. </li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">Speaking
of dark, the rise of <st1:place w:st="on">ISIS</st1:place> is terrifying,
but what’s even scarier is that we can’t resolve our own issues here at
home. The heartbreaking deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner, and the
violent protests that followed, makes me wonder if this county has forgotten
progress. </li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">Certainly,
we ought to have the power of knowledge in this digital age, but the
spread of misinformation during the Ebola outbreak was like a deadly virus
itself.</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">Oh
yeah, the Republicans took over the Senate. I would have seen red if I
hadn’t totally seen it coming.</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">At
least Obama is now free to do what he wants, whether it’s an executive
order about immigration or laughing at Congress as they sue him over
healthcare. </li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">Still,
all this makes me wish for simpler times, like say, the 1980s, when Bill
Cosby was the world’s best dad, life could be laughed at, and problems
could be solved in 24 minutes while wearing a fabulous sweater.</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What have I learned? What do I resolve for next year? Read
on!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1. I will be brave.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There isn’t much sniper fire here in <st1:city w:st="on">West Des Moines</st1:city>; okay, actually there is none
that I know of. I’m lucky that I don’t need to hide behind a barricade every
time protesters and security forces clash, and my little conflicts are silly in
comparison. Still, if I encounter a student in need, if I am backed into a
corner of incompatible opinions, if I need to stand up for someone who can’t
stand up for themselves, I’ll do it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>2. I won’t rush to
judgment.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, backing away can look like charging forward, and
raising your hands in resignation may be misinterpreted as an act of war. I’m
not immune to jumping to quick conclusions so I resolve to listen to the people
in my life and turn down the reactive voices in my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>3. I’ll try not to
panic.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world is a scary place. Planes fall into the ocean and
deadly viruses claim innocent children. While brave medical workers remain
unruffled in the face of danger and sacrifice, others are blinded by fear. Maybe
a hero is a person maintains their vision in the face of adversity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>4.When I lose, I’ll
still act like I’ve won.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean, I won’t be obnoxious about it. But come on, enough
already. There’s only so much reaching across the aisle you can do. Sometimes
you have to surrender the fight but that doesn’t mean you have to surrender
yourself. I’m looking forward to the next two years. A lame duck can be a
powerful duck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>5. I’ll speak out when
I have something important to say.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A woman shouldn’t have to wait to say what’s difficult until
there’s a dozen other women ready to
back her up. We shouldn’t cower to the rich and influential, but we do. In my little world the rich and powerful include work
superiors and bossy neighbors, but I resolve to remember that my voice can be just
as loud as anyone else’s.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On this New Year’s Day, I braid my daughter’s hair, read a
story to my son, eat crab dip with my family while watching football on our big
screen TV, and lay my head against my husband’s shoulder as we pause, however
briefly, to savor the moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only thing left is to my keep my resolutions, and to
wish you and yours peace, power, and perspective for 2015.</div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-73925068373568693272014-11-28T14:16:00.000-08:002014-11-29T15:27:54.731-08:00Surprises, Executive Orders, and Captain the Cat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGNEzHCuT9o3CmkAOPvIIEz2Bg34IxVjyMMA8HXm0fwhTHfcxNFRhCBDVcRB_m3JjwXwc_TQvf8wX_RkoxjQjZqkpWoSoC26oiypadCnFAPZ4qQIrBA3r81MVrdgsJX4x6C8UcITs34c/s1600/PB080052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGNEzHCuT9o3CmkAOPvIIEz2Bg34IxVjyMMA8HXm0fwhTHfcxNFRhCBDVcRB_m3JjwXwc_TQvf8wX_RkoxjQjZqkpWoSoC26oiypadCnFAPZ4qQIrBA3r81MVrdgsJX4x6C8UcITs34c/s1600/PB080052.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This fall I got into a routine. After a busy day of
parenting, work, and running errands, I would put the kids to bed and
afterwards, I’d stare blankly at the television while trying to muster enough energy
to get ready for bed. Monty had been in D.C. for several weeks, working with
The World Health Organization on Ebola policy, and though we had nightly phone
conversations, I became used to solitude.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t all bad. I was good at changing the channel if
something was unpleasant, like just about any of the news coverage during the
midterm elections. One night I was listening with half an ear as the
pontificators wondered if Chris Christie or Rand Paul would make the better
nominee to go against Hillary, when I heard a foreign sound. It was a meow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walked over to the sliding glass door that’s off the
kitchen and opens onto our deck, and sure enough there was a cat, clearly
annoyed at our unjust world. I slid the door open, slipped outside before he
could come in, and crouched down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, kitty cat,” I said, scratching it behind his ears.
“Are you lost? Are you hungry?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cat immediately plopped down and rolled over, exposing
his furry white belly. I rubbed it and his meows gave way to purring. So I
petted him for a couple of minutes, checked to see if he had a collar (he
didn’t) and told him to go home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know where he went, but he did go away. Yet, the
next two nights he showed up again. On the night of his third visit I was
talking to Monty on the phone, listening to his crazy Ebola news, when the
meowing began.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cut Monty off mid-sentence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh!” I proclaimed. “My cat is here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty sputtered. “You have a cat? Since when?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s not exactly mine, but he’s been showing up lately,
just to say good evening.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is that all?” Monty
laughed. “He’s not asking to be let in? He’s not asking for food?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sure he’d like that,” I answered, “but so far he’s been
satisfied with belly rubs. And I’ve looked at lost cat message boards, and I’ve
asked the neighbors about him, but so far, I haven’t found anything. I think
he’s a stray.” By this time I was
outside, kneeling beside the cat, bracing myself against the chilly November
evening while scratching behind the cat’s ears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Lucy, we’re not adopting a cat.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I never said we were, Monty. But is it a crime to enjoy seeing
him? He’s very affectionate, and he shows up every night, asking for nothing
but my company.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you trying to make me feel bad?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sighed, although it was a jokey sort of sigh. “Not
everything is about you, you know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Right, okay. Just promise me you won’t let the cat in.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promised, but I since I hadn’t promised anything about not
putting food out, I opened a can of tuna and placed it on our deck floor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it was like we were having an illicit affair, that cat
and I. I told Monty as little as possible about Captain (with his distinguished
grey and white fur and his soulful green eyes, he looked like a Captain), and
somehow, Captain always only showed up after the children went to sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the night of Obama’s immigration speech, I was wrapped in
a blanket, sitting on the couch, happy that Obama was finally taking a stand,
but also worried about Captain. It was raining, and icy pellets were hitting against
the windows. Would Captain have a warm, dry place to sleep tonight? Would he
show up to see me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obama was defending his executive order: <i><span style="color: #333333;">The actions I’m
taken are not only lawful, they’re the kinds of actions taken by every single
Republican president and every single Democratic president for the past half
century</span></i><span style="color: #333333;">. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Distracted, I got up to check if Captain was outside. Maybe
I just hadn’t heard his meowing. Right as I stepped up to our glass door,
Captain leapt in front of it, and in a moment of pure synchronicity, I didn’t
think, I just opened the door and let Captain in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An hour later, Captain and I were snuggled together on the
couch, when I realized that Monty hadn’t yet called. Then another synchronized
moment occurred, because right as I was reaching for my cell phone to call him,
I heard the front door open.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello?” I yelled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Footsteps came bounding up, through the kitchen and into our
living room. “Lucy?” My husband’s voice rang out, and then he was standing in
front of me. I shot up before he could spot Captain, and rushed into Monty’s
arms. “What are you doing here?” I asked, squeezing him and speaking into his
neck. “You said the earliest you’d be back is next week.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Change of plans. I was able to get that
one report done, and so, surprise!” Monty crooked his neck down, and hoisted me
up higher. “Are you happy to see me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course!” I could feel the blood rushing to my face.
Monty kissed me and I enthusiastically returned the kiss, but my mind was
racing. Maybe I could tell Monty to go upstairs, that I’d be up in just a
second, and then I’d quickly put Captain outside. But it was still raining.
Could I really do that to poor Captain? Doesn’t he, like everyone, deserve a
home?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What the hell?” Monty broke away from me and looked down.
Apparently, Captain had hopped off the couch, strolled over, and began rubbing
against Monty’s leg. It took only a second for the truth to sink in. Monty
looked back at me, eyebrows arched and mouth twisted in indignation. “I thought
you weren’t going to let him in. You <i>promised.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shrugged. “Things happen. Life happens.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh huh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s a sweet cat, Monty, and he needs a home. Just like you
were dying to come home, Captain wants to be home too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You named him Captain?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I reached up and brushed a damp lock of Monty’s dark, wavy
hair from his forehead. “I’m really glad you’re back,” I murmured, my voice
low.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t try and distract me,” he said. “You can’t just let a
cat in because he wants to be here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course I can.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You don’t have that authority, Lucy. That’s not how this
happens.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shrugged and smiled, willing him to smile back. “Lighten
up. It’s just for right now, okay? I’m making an executive order."<br />
<br />
"You don't get to make executive orders."<br />
<br />
"I do, and I did, because you haven't been around to vote. Captain is here now, and we can’t put
him out in the rain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Captain continued to rub against Monty’s legs, and I rubbed
against Monty too, and pretty soon he melted. “Fine,” he mumbled, returning my
kisses, “Captain can stay, but just for one night.” He exhaled heavily while
looking at the cat. “I want to go peek in on the kids.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s go.” I tugged his arm, and we went upstairs, leaving
Captain to himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he was a good house guest, if you call someone who pees
on the furniture a good house guest. But who can blame the guy? It’s not like
he had a litter box. It didn’t matter though, because in the morning we found
Captain snuggled up in bed with Abby, and I knew Captain was no longer a guest.
He’d become a citizen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mommy!” Abby cried. “Daddy’s home. And he brought me a
cat!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Captain stayed, Monty got credit for what he was
originally against, and we were all reminded that even as fear, doubt, and
anger continue to pull the world apart, there are still reasons to come
together. This year at Thanksgiving, when we went around the table and stated
what we were most thankful for, Abby beamed, saying she was thankful for her
new cat, Captain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Across the table I caught just the slightest of eye rolls
from Monty, but it was soon replaced by a smile. And later, when he fed Captain
little bits of left-over turkey, Monty let Captain lick his greasy fingers.
Captain purred and licked, and Monty smiled, and I silently gave my thanks for having
a home, and love, to share.<br />
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Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-39495844358973866542014-10-19T13:53:00.000-07:002014-10-19T13:53:25.307-07:00Ebola, Zombies, and Midterm Elections<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5d05SPcOMmp-0lb2K4hAJcqxL4OWdX0Ko4I6IRzUzNXCDqJQ04qiFjvUB1cBI64vlcFBD5bKkm_lFh2nuSTtQm0qehPeM1iMXMaPvQN-lY8HVaFIXvEeV5x0iiysW3B4D-_8ByMrOAI/s1600/skull6-01-111413-2347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5d05SPcOMmp-0lb2K4hAJcqxL4OWdX0Ko4I6IRzUzNXCDqJQ04qiFjvUB1cBI64vlcFBD5bKkm_lFh2nuSTtQm0qehPeM1iMXMaPvQN-lY8HVaFIXvEeV5x0iiysW3B4D-_8ByMrOAI/s1600/skull6-01-111413-2347.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like a lot of other cities, the East Village of Des Moines
hosted a zombie walk and pub crawl this fall, where the walking dead can roam
around, drink beer, party, and scare each other. My cousin’s Robin’s clothing
store is in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">East</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Village</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and she convinced
me to dress up and help out, since she was counting on increased store traffic
and sales. “It will be fun,” she assured me. “I’ll make you look all
zombie-like, and afterwards we can grab a beer.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was just a few days after the CDC had confirmed that Eric
Duncan had the first case of Ebola here in the <st1:place w:st="on">U.S.</st1:place> But people weren’t panicking;
he seemed to be doing okay and the message was simple. The <st1:country-region w:st="on">United States of America</st1:country-region>
has the resources to handle Ebola. We’re not like <st1:place w:st="on">West
Africa</st1:place>, and we don’t need to worry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Robin and I had a good time, enjoying the creepy
festivities and chatting with people who roamed into her store. The only thing
I was worried about was that customers would get their zombie makeup all over
Robin’s beautifully constructed clothes. I was in the middle of arranging a
rack of dresses when I heard a voice behind me. “Lucy? It’s you, isn’t it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned, and became nearly hypnotized, dumb with the
realization that the person who had said my name was my high school nemesis
Reggie, a guy who used to bully me relentlessly. A hunting accident post
graduation had put him in a wheel chair, plus he was in zombie makeup and he
had aged twenty-years. But I recognized those cold, hard eyes and the
diabolical scrape of his voice, as if no time had passed since when he would
terrorize me on a daily basis.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello, Reggie,” I said, keeping my voice even.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reggie laughed, causing his eyes, which were outlined in
blood-red, to squint. “Are you working in a clothing store now? Wow. Whatever
happened to the class brainiac’s big aspirations? I thought you were a college
professor in <st1:city w:st="on">Seattle</st1:city>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t ask how he knew that, because I didn’t want to
know. “We moved back to <st1:city w:st="on">Des Moines</st1:city>
last year, after my dad had a stroke. This is my cousin’s store, and I’m just
helping out for the day.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reggie nodded. “Yeah, and aren’t you married to Monty
Bricker?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nodded. It didn’t surprise me that he knew that. Everybody
in high school knew Monty, and he and Reggie’s moms were friends. But my pulse
was racing and I felt all flushed. Much as I hated to admit it, I was in panic
mode, capable only of hostility or idiocy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have a lot to do, Reggie. So unless you need something, I
should get back to work.” I turned towards the clothes, away from him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait,” he said. “Midterm elections. How about the
Republican’s chances? Not only is Ernst
going to beat Braley, but the Republicans are totally going to take over the
Senate. You must <i>hate</i> that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reggie and I always used to spar in our Civics class, taking
opposite views. Our senior year was when Dukakis lost to George H.W. Bush, and
I can still feel the burn from Reggie’s glee. So although I shouldn’t have
taken the bait, I did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ernst and Braley are tied,” I retorted. “And there is still
time for Democrats to pull ahead in the other Senate races.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reggie chuckled. “Maybe there <i>was</i> still time. But not now. Obama blew it when he didn’t close
travel to and from <st1:place w:st="on">West Africa</st1:place>, and the
Republicans are going to play on everyone’s panic. It’s done.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t think so.” I sighed, looking around the store,
trying to locate Robin. She was busy, in the process of making a big sale to
some college girls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh come on, Lucy. You know I’m right. Why do you think
events like this are so popular?” Reggie gestured around, at all the zombie
stuff. “There is no better allegory for modern times than the zombie
apocalypse, because we’ve all become zombies ourselves, surrendering our
individuality to government surveillance and our autonomy to social programs
and ridiculous spending. So now there’s a virus that will actually make people
bleed from the eyes, and it’s come here to the <st1:place w:st="on">U.S.</st1:place>! People are not only going to
believe that Obama didn’t do enough to prevent it, but that on some level he
wants us to suffer. He <i>wants</i> us to
all be zombies.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mouth dropped open. “That’s insane.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But I’m right. And the republicans are going to capitalize
on all our fears, and they’re going to win.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was something tribal about the moment that passed
between us, like I could feast on that huge ego of his and spit it out all over
the floor, and I’d never be hungry again. “Reggie,” I murmured, suddenly aware
of how dry my throat was. “I don’t know why you’re talking to me like we’re
friends. We’re not. And even if all your predictions come true, you’re still a narcissist,
and I’d like you leave right now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reggie raised his eyebrows in amusement, as if I’d just told
a mildly funny joke. “I was looking for a present for my wife.” He held up his
hands in mock surrender. “Sorry to ruin your day, or whatever. I’ll get out of
your hair.” He laughed and wheeled himself out of the store, and hopefully out
of my life for good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now, weeks later, his predictions still ring in my ears.
Especially since Monty told me he’d be D.C. indefinitely, full time. He was packing his bags one afternoon when I
came home. “They’re putting me on an emergency committee, to work with the
World Health Organization, writing briefs and policy about Ebola. This is the
worst health crisis in decades, and we need to be on top of it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You won’t actually be travelling over there, will you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shook his head. “I promise I won’t set foot in <st1:place w:st="on">West Africa</st1:place>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But he left for D.C. a couple of weeks ago, and is now
working around the clock. At night when we talk, he rants about the news
coverage, that they’re causing a panic, and that people still don’t understand
that Ebola is not airborne. “But we can’t turn our backs on <st1:country-region w:st="on">Liberia</st1:country-region> and
surrounding regions if we want to find a solution,” he said. “A travel ban will
just make it worse. West Africans will fly to other places first, and then come
here, so we won’t be able to monitor them, and then people really could die. I
don’t understand how Republicans can be advocating for it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s politically motivated,” I answered, thinking about
what Reggie said. “They’re playing on people’s fear.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When did everyone become so ruthless?” Monty answered back.
“I can remember a time when everything wasn’t always about politics, when the
value of human life was actually put first.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “Any idea when you’ll be able to
come home?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. I really miss you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, me too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suppose I’ll be watching the midterm election coverage
alone in a couple of weeks, if I can even bring myself to watch it at all. The
republicans have a 65% chance of taking the Senate, Mitch McConnell and Pat
Roberts are probably going to win after all, and here in <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state>, Ernst has pulled ahead. What’s worse
is that Reggie was totally right. People are freaking out about Ebola, but at
least there isn’t a real zombie apocalypse on our hands. However, that doesn’t
mean that I’m not afraid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2374948453324058934.post-77456096931944808382014-09-20T06:09:00.000-07:002014-09-20T06:09:32.254-07:00Kindergarten, Narcissists, and the Harkin Steak Fry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs59lMZL9vMCF_9bKu-RlotsFNxgvX2CpVYBmJuIMPLrQT1D-oQRLHO0e6oADBSHFYjpo4IkPkNfLAWCJJKmnHryJTocIwj1QgQBzCo6rGLGoJv8auYT1Wbbdj_OmtHGdo1NjyHv6yFc/s1600/13-1113tm-vector2-3721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs59lMZL9vMCF_9bKu-RlotsFNxgvX2CpVYBmJuIMPLrQT1D-oQRLHO0e6oADBSHFYjpo4IkPkNfLAWCJJKmnHryJTocIwj1QgQBzCo6rGLGoJv8auYT1Wbbdj_OmtHGdo1NjyHv6yFc/s1600/13-1113tm-vector2-3721.jpg" height="320" width="276" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two weeks ago Monty and I dropped off Abby for her first day
of kindergarten. She clung to my hand as we walked towards the classroom, her pink
cotton dress getting mussed by the too-big, empty backpack that rested against
her shoulders. When we arrived at Miss Mandy’s classroom, a young, bright-eyed,
ponytailed woman greeted us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello!” Miss Mandy cried. “What’s your name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Abby,” my daughter replied, her voice confident and clear.
Then she peered past Miss Mandy, making a beeline into the room and towards one
of the activity tables. Abby quickly went to work, putting together a block
puzzle, while Monty and I introduced ourselves to Miss Mandy and put Abby’s
backpack in her cubby. Then we stood off to the side, idly watching and
realizing that we weren’t necessary, that it was time to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty approached Abby first. “Bye, sweetheart,” he said,
“have a good day!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My voice caught in my throat as I chimed in. “We’re so proud
of you!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“See you later!” She
said, not looking at either of us. Abby could barely be bothered to wave
goodbye. She was already chatting up the other kids at her table, telling them
her life story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we walked out I felt ridiculous for crying, but I’ll
admit, my tears were leaking a little. I wasn’t the only one who was
sentimental. “It seems like just yesterday she was a baby,” Monty mused, “and
now here she is, ready to take over the world.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I wouldn’t say that yet.
She’s still our baby.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty squeezed my shoulder and kissed my cheek before he
veered off towards his car. (We drove separately so I could leave for work.)
“She’ll always be our baby, but mark my words: she’s taking over the world. Our
Abby could be president one day.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seemed like a strange thing to say, so I just told him to
have a good day, and I drove to the community college where I teach. It was the
first week of classes and that day I taught History of American Politics. So it’s
a question I’m used to pondering: what makes a president?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty’s statement nagged at me all week, and that Saturday,
as we gnawed on overdone meat at the last Harkin Steak Fry, I realized why. “Do
you think Abby’s a narcissist?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty roughly swallowed his bite of steak before answering. “What?
No, I mean, she is, but all five-year-olds are. Why do you ask?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You said she could be president.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monty squinted against the sun, leaned back in his metal
folding chair, and peered off at all the “Ready” signs the Clintonites had
decorated the area with. “I meant that as a good thing,” he replied. “Don’t
turn it into a criticism.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But all presidents have to be narcissists. Otherwise, they
wouldn’t believe they’re up for the job. Do you really think Abby sees herself
that way?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He laughed and widened his eyes. “She’s five!” Then Monty looked
around at all the people who were waiting for Hillary to make her appearance. “Be
careful, Luce. People might overhear and think you’re making a dig at their
candidate. You don’t want to start a riot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sighed. “Do you think she’ll announce her candidacy
tonight?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who? Hillary or Abby?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I answered him with
an eye-roll and Monty leaned in, speaking in a loud whisper. “Do you think she’s
narcissistic enough to be president?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know. She’s not Bill, and that’s always been her
problem.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He smiled, thought lines creasing his forehead. We’ve been
married long enough that he can answer most of my questions without me needing
to ask them. “I only said that thing about Abby being president one day because
it’s fun, imaging your kids growing up and surpassing you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I suppose,” I responded. “But it’s also fun to enjoy the
moment, while they’re still young.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I agree.” And his fingers brushed the bare skin of my arm. “So
let’s enjoy the moment, right now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My fingers found his, they locked together, and somehow we found
a quiet, peaceful moment in the midst of a massive crowd. That day, Hillary
did not announce her presidency, but pundits still saw her speech as the
beginning of her campaign, perhaps even the beginning of an era. But the crowd
wasn’t so analytical. As they sat beneath the Midwestern sky, listening to <st1:city w:st="on">Clinton</st1:city>, there was a hope
and enthusiasm that’s missing from our society most of the time now, at least
when it comes to politics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what makes a president? Is it narcissism, or is it just
being the right person at the right time, with the ability to get elected? Because
this week, Ken Burn’s <st1:place w:st="on">Roosevelt</st1:place> documentary stressed
strongly that nowadays, FDR would not be elected. Not a chance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean come on: Imagine if we had a great leader, except he’s
in a wheelchair, oh, and he’s admitted to having affairs, and now he has a
secretary that’s almost like his wife. But speaking of his wife, his real one
is outspoken, liberal, and she has a special female friend who will be living in the
White House with them. Do you think reporters would stay away from that? Do you
think photographers would agree not to take pictures of him getting lifted out
of his car? And if, by some miracle, he did get elected, would Congress pass the
New Deal? Would conspiracy theorists <i>not</i>
circulate a rumor that the polio had affected his brain?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No wonder hope and enthusiasm are absent from politics
lately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the nice thing about hope and enthusiasm is that they’re
renewable. I was reminded of this when I tucked Abby into bed the other night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sweet dreams,” I said. “Get a good night’s sleep. You have
another big day tomorrow.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mommy,” Abby said, giving me a hug. “Do you think that
tomorrow I’ll learn how to read?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cocked my head. “What do you mean? You already know how to
read.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Only some words!” She cried. “I want to read all the words!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You will,” I told her, and I stroked her curly hair. “Don’t
worry. You have a lot of time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She shook her solemnly. “But there’s so much I want to know,
Mommy. There’s so much I want to get done.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
****</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
News Flash!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The Next Breath</i>, the latest Robin Bricker novel, is now available on Amazon. Click <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Next-Breath-Laurel-Osterkamp-ebook/dp/B00NIDCJSC/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1411217939&sr=8-5&keywords=laurel+osterkamp">here</a> to download your copy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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Laurel Osterkamphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02480068478927892873noreply@blogger.com0