a little red hen

Obama Begins, January 2009: Reflections from a Singular Week

Much as I loved the inauguration, it was odd to be viewing it from the west coast rather than east.  This sense of distance from Washington, gave me some insight to something I'd noticed as we've visited Portland over the past ten years.  Events that are powerful for us in New York, often do not have equal impact on people out here.Except for 9/11/01.  We came here the month after and often were asked, "How was it?  Do you feel anxious living there?"  All the intensity around security seems to have been directed toward the anxiety of those living outside New York City.  We had a better idea that we are no longer safe.  We have to live with it, go on with our lives.  Forget taking shoes off at the airport.

Tuesday, January 20, I could forget the things that do frighten me-- the dedication of the far right to shift all I valued.  We had pushed them aside for the moment, enjoyed our power to elevate to the Presidency an intelligent, humane man. And not-white--remarkable for aging people like me who had sat-in at segregated lunch counters in the late 1940s, been a summer school student at the University of Kentucky in 1954 during its first moments of integration.

At the last minute my grandson's elementary school gathered kids into the auditorium to watch the inauguration in the auditorium on a small TV with rabbit ears borrowed from a first-grader's family.  On the other coast, the momentous event would be less improvisaional.

Barack and Michelle Obamas sang the national athem.

What must they have been thinking?  We heard the thoughts of Reverend Joseph Lowry, my own connection to last century's civil rights struggle.

Charming to have it all end with "old school dancing."  Even as I know how very difficult the years ahead will be.  Like them, I want some simple pleasures.  Theirs was this glorious day with its two million on-site participants.  For me, it was feeling more hopeful for my famiy.

By the end of the week, I was ready for the two women pictured at the beginning of this post.  Melissa Harris-Lacewell, historian at Princeton and Patricia Williams, Columbia Law School and columnist for The Nation appeared on Bill Moyers' Journal.  The link leads to the transcript which I urge you to read.

The two have much to say about many sides of this historic event.  Their exchange on why it is  important to see  Obama as our first black president, not bi-racial, needs to be required reading around the nation.  They point to his selection of Michele as partner--a smart, tall, educated black woman--is significant to Obama's claim to his own racial/cultural identity.

A similar impatience with  "bi-racial" was blogged about by Betty Reid Soskin on the same day.  She had just returned to California from the inauguration. (By the way, Betty is an older Elderblogger than I'd recently written--87 years.) A valuable by-product of Obama's campaign has been the chance to hear thinking from more educated black women and men than before he ran.  Who knows what new learning is ahead?   

Invitation forwarded from NYC...which button wiil I wear?

Like everyone else, my expectations are high for President Barack Obama.  Far from the East Coast where I'm usually  closer to Federal action, I feel a bit disoriented.  My Elderblogging friend, Betty Reid Soskin, has flown from California with her special invitation for January 20, 2009.

As I watch from Oregon, I'll think of her, an 83 year old African American (still working as a Park Ranger) who has known discrimination on both coasts and perservered through many life changes.  Her next post at CB Breaux Speaks will be wonderful to read.   My own hopes are expressed in the many categories  listed at the end of this post.

 Sunday's Oregonian featured a long article  on Portland as the whitest city in the United States.  It's a long and sorry story that goes back to its beginnings in the middle of the 19th century.  Young Oregonians and new residents are asking more questions--a hopeful sign.

ZIP CAR: environmental idea almost as good as composting

 Heard about them, seen them lately around New York, now Ron and I had a reason to rent a zipcar in Portland.  We only paid $66.00 for the entire day--insurance, gas and 180 miles a day were all free.

We began by signing up on line for approval.  When we knew we needed a car, we went online again and arranged to pick it up at one of two locations near where we're staying.

The most challenging moment:  where to place the membership card to gain access.   After that it was easy, used the gas card located in driver's visor.  

 A sunny day in Portland ends with leaving the car where we'd picked it up.

My son-in-law tells us that PDX has saved a great deal of money by having zipcars used by city employees on a per-need basis rather than a fleet of city-owned cars.  And it was a hybrid vehicle. 

As alternatives to car rental, zipcars are gaining populariity in many U.S. cities.   I do wish some one would come up with as compelling an idea for kitchen composting, my own favorite environmental idea that requires no registration--only red wiggler worms and a  box.

"Portland: a musical," 19 songs + many third graders

This was quite different.  Zach, six year old grandson, wanted us to go to his school tonight for a performance by Sunnyside Environmental School's third graders.  He's very pumped about being a participant  in something similar two years from now.   The idea is that all third graders in Multnomah County have parts in the same production at individual schools all over the county. 

The auditorium was packed.  We got seats in the last row of the balcony.  Turned out to be good place to take pictures without getting in any parent's way.  Gerrie Condon, who may be  grandmother to one of the performers, had already blogged and posted about it a couple of hours before I found her in  a Google search.  (And she makes lovely art quilts.)

Franklin D. Roosevelt was played by a student in a wheelchair. Great staging to represent the eruption of Mt. St. Helens in 1980.  We were impressed that there was no whitewashing the internment of Japanese citizens during WWII, an event more personal than on the East coast because it was about one's neighbors in Portland.  The show moved faster than I'd expected.   Only 90 minutes to travel  from 1804 (Lewis and Clark) to 1996 (most recent flood) with a bit of narration and 19 songs. 

The person behind this as composer and director--man at the piano-- is Ralph C. Nelson also director of the Bach Cantata Choir--all this in retirement.  At the end, a charming note--all parent volunteers were called to the stage to be thanked and be handed a pencil with a paper rose attached.

What I hoped to say on "Zoe, Weatherwise" post earlier today...

Days here can begin with rain and cold... end milder, with blue sky and moon.  It has to be a downpour for Zoe to use an umbrella.

Ron and I are  getting into a  more Northwest attitude, often only putting up a jacket hood, "Oh, it's just drizzling."

Finally finished the doll I started knitting for her last year.  Think I loosened up on this one.  Used sock yarn I had around for everything except the body.  Hair nicely funky, added green earrings.  Overcame fear of embroidering faces.  Zoe's happy with it. 

Zoe, Weatherwise, and the World

Contrast between my satisfying personal life here in Portland and the political raging around me have made blogging more of a challenge.  Sometimes I'd like to shed my feminist sweater, shut out all but what is very close to me.  

A typical day last Thursday.  Views from inside the car as we watch Zach cross the street with his mother to first grade.  Heavy rain here while nearby Washington state had major floods.  On to Gymnastics for three-year olds with Zoe, next a branch of Powell's Books to sit on low chairs with other adults and children. 

Stunning PDX Women & 2009 Immodest Proposal

Ever since I encountered these two stylish women at the Division Street New Seasons, over-the- top organic grocery chain here, I've been thinking. About how it felt so right to read a comment at Blogging in Paris about her looking good.  Also had similar responses to my recent snow-shoveling photo. We could do this more for one another.  You probably do it in real time but on your Elderbog--and mine?

 

This requires posting photos of ones own self to the public (Gasp).Why not?  It's a genuine loss to my own family history that there are no photos of me in college--except the yearbook.  None while I was single in New York City in the 1950s/60s.Did I have to marry to have a presence on photo paper?  Following my changing hair and clothes choices over the last 40 years is a story in itself--long hair, Afro sort of.  But I can only try to describe how/why I got a buzz cut in 1954--because a woman had one on the cover of LIFE magazine and I was restless in summer school.

And the very short dress, above my knees--pale green cotton, buttoned down the front.  I was waiting for a friend on the corner of Third Avenue in the 60s on a summer morning.  Guy drove by and shouted something about my hemline being too short.  Was it 1961?  This male freedom to comment on everything about females gave spedup the emerging women's movement and it's "whatever" attitude about clothes--among other things.  It occurs that I may be working to fill the spaces of the past with photos of myself from the present.

Rhea of Boomer Chronicles, an early-to-declare Elderblogger, what does she look like... or the resident seer at The Crone Speaks?  Only suggesting.  We could start a wave of elder validation for our aging selves. 

One more view of Jean (left above) in her carefully chosen, thrift store outfit. Woman on right (whose name I did not get)  was recognized as major yoga person in Portland by my daughter on seeing the picture.  Her loosely cut  pants were what first caught my attention.  From Amsterdam a few years back, she thought.  As we ended, her question,  "Don't you want to take my picture too?"  Absolutely!

Both women are perfect candidates for the blog  Advanced Style.  

Let me know about your latest photo of yourself, the one that pleases you, whatever your outfit.