The Caffeine Entry

Imagine if you will, a short, pleasingly plump, female hamster with adorable curly twists, running non-stop on a wheel for two weeks straight. Imagine that said hamster, having jumped off the treadmill for a brief respite, is now doing a happy dance and singing "Hallelujah."

Let me be clear about something; I am very lucky to have a job that I find exciting, never boring, and intellectually stimulating; however, that doesn't mean that on occasion I don't want to scream poor, poor pitiful me as I slog through 50-plus hour work weeks when the state legislature is in session. North Carolina has a biennial legislature, so the current session is the 2007-2009 session. Every other year is a short session to make needed adjustments to the two-year budget passed in the previous year. This year is the short session which means that it did not begin until May and that the session will most likely end at the end of June or July.

Consequently, all of the legislators have been in a bill filing frenzy and I, and my colleagues, have been running on that little hamster wheel trying to write and publish, on a daily basis, an analysis of each and every bill that is filed. My typical work day has been 11 hours with one exceptionally long day coming in at 12.5 hours.

Okay, enough whining, I have a journal entry to write. The only problem is that so much has happened in the past few weeks that I can't settle down on what topic that I want to address. Of course part of my inability to focus on a topic is that I'm buzzed on caffeine. (My sister reads all of my journal entries so this message is to her: it was an accident!)

I'm supposed to avoid caffeine because I have a wacky heart arrhythmia known as atrial fibrillation. My A-fib is classified as chronic which means that although medication helps, my heart does not stay in a regular sinus rhythm. My cardiologist recommends that I stay away from caffeine, as it is a stimulant. I am pretty diligent about doing so, although I cheat two or three times a year and have a piece of chocolate but I don't drink caffeinated beverages at all.

Last week, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some decaf coffee beans. Today I had a craving for iced coffee. As I was pouring the beans out of the dark brown bag into my little coffee grinder, I had this nagging feeling that I was missing something but I couldn't figure out what it was. I filled my very large insulated mug halfway with the coffee (made very strong to avoid dilution of the coffee flavor when I added the ice), added non-dairy creamer and two packs of equal, then added ice.

The first really large cup was so good that I had a second. Then I started feeling weird, little flutters in my chest, slight nausea and some mild dizziness. I decided that I was dehydrated and drank more iced coffee. Finally my brain caught up with that nagging feeling that I had when I was making the coffee.

"Sheria, what color bag does the decaf coffee that you always purchase come in?"

(I often have discussions with myself, doesn't everyone?)

Self, "Green."

Other self, "And what color is the bag that you used to make your coffee today?"

Self, "Brown. Oops!"

So here I sit, having had two and one-half large mugs of iced and highly caffeinated coffee. I promise you that I am not in danger of dying but I will be up until the wee hours of the morning. I'm dosing myself with plain old water in the hope of somehow defusing the caffeine high that I'm currently on, but I'm still buzzing like a bee on steroids.

Consequently, I can't seem to settle on one thing to write about--there's Hillary and Barack, Princess Beatrice and the British tabloids, the emails that I keep getting about French porn, or the advice on bathroom etiquette that my sister sent me earlier this week.

I just paused to read an email from a friend and was inspired by his comparison of Hillary Clinton to Evita Peron to create my own little vision of Hillary channeling Evita Peron. Of course, as I'm high on caffeine and doing the hamster dance, what began as a simple parody of "Don't Cry for Me Argentina," turned into a little video project. The lyrics are pasted below the video. You'll haveto wait until another day for the French porn and the bathroom etiquette tips.

Hillary's Song

Don't cry for me, my America

I'll never, ever leave you 

All through Bill's wild days, and my mad existence 

I've kept my promise 

To go the distance

 

P.S. Yes, Rhonda, I poured the rest of that coffee down the drain and I'm taking the rest of the bag to work Monday and donating it to my office mates.

 

If you can't view the video here, the YouTube link is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DcJzYS_84w

Tags: Hillary Clinton, Evita Peron, caffeine, atrial fibrillation, hamster dance

Roses

I've had a good Sunday. I talked to my mother this morning and caught up with her week.

My mother grows beautiful roses in her own yard and she is a volunteer with the Wilson Rose Garden Society. She has her own section of the rose garden to tend to and she takes her duties quite seriously. She had been to the city's rose garden early this morning to dead-head her section of the rose garden in preparation for the upcoming rose garden show. To encourage constant blooming, you have to cut off the spent roses. The act of removing the spent blooms is called dead-heading. 

My mother has always been the gardener in our family; my father is not allowed to participate in the gardening activities, although he doesn't know this. Every now and then, seemingly unaware that my mother has expressly forbidden him to "mess" with her gardens (flower and vegetable), my dad will attempt to plant something new, move an existing plant to another spot, water something, or sin of all sins, fertilize something.

I can always tell when he has engaged in these activities because when I visit my parents. my mother meets me at the door leading into the garage. After we hug, it begins.

"Step over here for a minute before we go inside and take a look at this flower bed."

I dutifully follow her to the flower bed on the right corner of the front lawn, under the oak tree. (By the way, generally my dad isn't home. He likes to take long walks or ride his bike on a daily basis and doesn't usually come back to the house until after 5:00 pm and even later on summer days.)

"What does that look like to you?"

Both of my parents are fond of trick questions. The trick is to get you to say something that one of them can use to confirm that the other is wrong, has said something wrong, or has done something wrong.

I think carefully, and then venture the safest response possible, "I don't know."

It is always better to appear totally stupid and incapable of thought than to give either one of them ammunition to use in their ongoing game of, "I'm right and you're wrong!"

"It's a weed. I told your daddy that it was a weed but he thinks it's a flower and that it's going to bloom. Anybody could see that it's a weed. That man doesn't know a thing about growing anything!"

My mother grew up on a farm and she considers herself an expert on growing all things because of this. My dad grew up in a small town and therefore, according to my mother, knows nothing about growing anything.

"Walk around the house with me and let me show you what he's done to my verbena. He claims that he didn't put any fertilizer on it but I know that he did and it has scorched that plant and I don't know if I can nurse it back to health."

"Mama, can we check out the verbena later, I've been on the road driving and I have to pee."

My mother is actually a very good gardener, but she exaggerates my father's alleged ineptitude. However, he is content to mostly stay out of her gardening affairs and only slips up on occasion. My sister and her husband, Bob, are both avid gardeners and while I'm not in their league, I have a pleasant flower bed out front and roses in the back.

In addition to talking by phone with my mother, I also visited my sister for a few hours this afternoon. Her allergies are giving her a hard time, so I went over to keep her company. We discussed a great book that she had loaned me to read, which I finished last night, called The Pact , by Jodi Picoult. I highly recommend it; I couldn't put it down. We also watched some really tacky Lifetime movie which we both enjoyed a great deal. Since returning home, I've tried to catch up on reading other journals today. The state legislature is back in session and I have been consumed with work for the past few weeks and gotten behind in my journal reading.

As I checked out journals today, I was struck by the consistent theme in several journals of dealing with the loss of a loved one--Robin and Mary have both lost their fathers this year and Rebecca writes of losing her grandmother. Thanks to Bea for reminding me that Guido has also suffered the very recent loss of his mother. I know that there are others who have suffered losses this year and my sympathies go out to each of you. The book that I just read was also about death and loss. 

I realize how fortunate I am to still have both of my parents, for all of their continual nonsense and I know that there will come a time when I long for the opportunity to be put in the middle of one of their "choosing sides" debates. All of my grandparents have long passed and I took a few moments to look at the photographs that I have of them in my library. I was particularly close to my paternal grandmother, Viola, and a photograph of her sits on the desk in my home office.

She became seriously ill right after I began law school in 1994. We expected her to die quickly, especially after the doctors had to amputate her legs due to complications from circulatory problems. She was a tall woman, 5' 10", and the sight of her small frame after they took her legs broke my heart. Fortunately, she was in the last stages of Alzheimer's and I don't believe that she was ever aware of the double amputation. She held on for nearly three years, until I graduated from law school and took the bar exam. She died before I received my bar results but I have no doubt that she heard the joyful shouting that I did at the mailbox on the day that I received the notice that I had passed the bar. I think it was her last gift to me, letting me finish the journey that I started before I had to fully deal with her loss.

I used to visit her grave on occasion when I went to visit my parents in my hometown. I finally stopped  going to the cemetery because one day I realized that she was not there, underneath the mounded earth. She was with me, always with me. I realized that I carried her in my heart and all the graveyard held was dust. Sometimes, when I close my eyes and listen carefully, I can almost hear her call my name.

The video is by Brooks and Dunn. The song is called Believe. I find the song moving on a spiritual level and I also think that Ronnie Dunn is so hot when he sings, and he moves me too. What? I'm a middle-aged woman; I need my fantasy life! Lyrics are posted below the video.

Old man Wrigley lived in that white house
Down the street where i grew up
Momma used to send me over with things
We struck a friendship up
I spent a few long summers out on his old porch swing

Says he was in the war when in the navy
Lost his wife, lost his baby
Broke down and asked him one time
How ya keep from going crazy
He said I'll see my wife and son in just a little while
I asked him what he meant
He looked at me and smiled, said

[Chorus]
I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see
Oh i believe

Few years later i was off at college
Talkin' to mom on the phone one night
Getting all caught up on the gossip
The ins and outs of the small town life
She said oh by the way son, old man Wrigley's died.

Later on that night, i laid there thinkin' back
Thought 'bout a couple long-lost summers
I didn't know whether to cry or laugh
If there was ever anybody deserved a ticket to the other side
It'd be that sweet old man who looked me in the eye, said

[Chorus]
I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see

I can't quote the book
The chapter or the verse
You can't tell me it all ends
In a slow ride in a hearse
You know I'm more and more convinced
The longer that i live
Yeah, this can't be
No, this can't be
No, this can't be all there is

[Chorus]
When I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see
I believe
Oh, I
I believe

Few years later i was off at college
Talkin' to mom on the phone one night
Getting all caught up on the gossip
The ins and outs of the small town life
She said oh by the way son, old man Wrigley's died.

Later on that night, i laid there thinkin' back
Thought 'bout a couple long-lost summers
I didn't know whether to cry or laugh
If there was ever anybody desevred a ticket to the other side
It'd be that sweet old man who looked me in the eye, said

[Chorus]
I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see

I can't quote the book
The chapter or the verse
You can't tell me it all ends
In a slow ride in a hearse
You know I'm more and more convinced
The longer that i live
Yeah, this can't be
No, this can't be
No, this can't be all there is

[Chorus]
When I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what i can see
I believe
Oh, I
I believe

Tags: mothers, fathers, roses, death, loss, Brooks and Dunn, grandparents

What's In A Name?

My friend, BT, began sending emails to a small group of us, who are addicted to the presidential nomination race, several weeks ago. Everyone now emails everyone with personal observations, news story links, and primary humor.

I received this email from AT, another member of the group today:

you know, I've changed my mind about Barack.  I now no longer support him for president because I am very concerned that the people of West Virginia will be uncomfortable:  Click to read the LA Times news article.

Naturally, I went to the LA Times story to check out what dire words could be responsible for such a change of heart. To my horror, the story was exactly as AT stated and I immediately began to share his concern about the people of West Virginia.

 

According to the news story,

Obama may have emerged from his double-digit victory over Hillary Rodham Clinton in North Carolina and his razor-thin loss in Indiana on Tuesday with a virtual lock on the Democratic nomination. But, his performance did little to reassure political leaders here [West Virginia] concerned by his sagging numbers among once-loyal white Democrats, who have steadily abandoned their party over the last several presidential elections.

I was particularly taken by the concern expressed by lawyer Clyde M. See Jr., a former Democratic speaker of the West Virginia House of Delegates and two-time gubernatorial candidate. He considers Senator Obama to be a "fine speaker," but worries that, "There's a lot of bigotry in the country, not just West Virginia."

 

I've never been to West Virginia but I have known a few people from various parts of West Virginia. I even had a romantic relationship with a man from West Virginia. Of course, he dumped me and I've been sort of ticked off about it ever since but I don't hold the entire state of West Virginia responsible. (Steve W. if you're reading this, I am so over you.)

 

I began to wonder if perhaps the LA Times reporter was getting a bit over excited about race relations in West Virginia. Over the years, there have been multiple occasions when people have shared their sympathy over my unfortunate status of being black and southern. They always seem a bit surprised when I reassure them that I love living in the south. Most of these people are well-meaning non-southerners who assume that no black person in her right mind would willingly choose to live in the south. There are days when I feel as if I may be a brick shy of a load, but mostly I'm in my right mind.

 

Then my mind began to wander as I tried to figure out if West Virginia was really a part of the south. Originally a part of Virginia, West Virginia bears the distinction of being the only state created by seceding from a confederate state. West Virginia was admitted to the Union as a separate entity from Virginia on June 20, 1863. People that I know from West Virginia don't always agree as to whether it's a part of the south. However, as most of those people have more of a drawl than I do, I'm calling them southerners whether they like it or not.

 

As I was pursuing this line of thought, I realized that I had not finished reading the LA Times article. and I set about doing so. As I continued to read, I realized that the reporter had chosen to focus on a particular W. Va.area, Hardy County, with a population that is 97% white. (Per the 2000 census, the state of W. Va. is 96% white.)

 

According to the LA Times, Hardy County is "as conflicted as any rural and working-class Democratic bastion as it struggles to adjust to the likely prospect of the party nominating its first African American presidential candidate."

 

I couldn't help but wonder if the white people that I know, some of whom I count as close personal friends, knew that they were conflicted about voting for Barack Obama. I should point out that all the white people that I know didn't vote for Obama, but neither did all the black people that I know. However, a lot of white people in North Carolina voted for Obama in the primary, enough to give him nearly a 15 point lead over Senator Clinton. Maybe they didn't know that they were conflicted.

 

I was starting to get really confused and worried about the conflicted folks in West Virginia, and I began to think that perhaps I should follow AT's lead and stop supporting Senator Obama.

 

As I wrestled with my unsettled feelings, I continued to read the news story that had gotten me so worked up regarding my conflicted neighbors in West Virginia, and I came across the comments made by a Mr. Vetter, 64, a farmer and lifelong Democrat who regrets voting for Bush in 2000.

 

"I've got 50-some guns, and I wasn't crazy about Obama's talk about small towns," said Sam Vetter,... "Besides," he added, "Obama just doesn't sound right for an American president."

 

As Vetter's words sunk in, I had what Oprah calls an "A-ha moment," a moment of life changing insight that provides you with the solution to what troubles your mind. I didn't have to stop supporting Barack Hussein Obama, all I had to do was persuade him to change his name! Vetter said it, "Obama just doesn't sound right for an American president!" That's why the people of W. Va. are so conflicted, Obama's name is just all wrong for an American president.

 

I immediately began to think of some possibilities and I think that I've hit on one. I need to write the current owner and ask if he minds if Senator Obama borrows his name.  It's a solid name, an American name. After all, the holder of this name has had a long political career. As soon as I get all the legal obstacles cleared, I'm going to have a long talk with Senator Obama to persuade him that he needs to change his name to Newt Gingrich.

 

Tags: West Virginia, Barack Obama, Gingrich, democratic campaign, 2008 elections, politics, North Carolina

It's Been A Long Time Coming

I respect that everyone does not support Senator Obama for president but that doesn't detract from the the high that I'm on. There is no long entry today and I have no big comments to make. I've just had this song in my head all day, so of course I went to YouTube and found it. The singer is Sam Cooke; the song is A Change Is Gonna Come. It's a bit mournful but yet so optimistic. It's the optimism that I love.

A dear friend sent me the lyrics in an email this morning and I'm posting them here for my friends who can't hear the music except in their hearts; you know who you are.

I was born by the river in a little tent

And just like the river, I've been running ever since  

It's been a long time coming  

But I know a change is gonna come    

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die  

I don't know what's up there beyond the sky  

It's been a long time coming  

But I know a change is gonna come   

I go to the movie, and I go downtown  

Somebody keep telling me "Don't hang around"  

It's been a long time coming  

But I know a change is gonna come   

Then I go to my brother and I say, "Brother, help me please"  

But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees    

There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long  

But now I think I'm able to carry on  

It's been a long time coming  

But I know a change is gonna come.

Tags: Sam Cooke, Barack Obama, A Change Is Gonna Come

Me and Obama

My home state, North Carolina, has its primary on Tuesday, May 6.  Like other states, NC has early voting and for the first time this year, folks that weren't registered to vote, could register and vote at the same time.

I considered taking advantage of early voting to save the lines that I hope will be wrapped around the polls on Tuesday. I changed my mind because I realized that I wanted the excitement of going to my polling place and casting my vote on Tuesday.

By now, you know that my vote will be for Barack Obama. Regardless of what some of the media reports, I will not cast my vote for Obama because he's black. Certainly I am pleased that a person of color is a serious contender for the highest office in this country. Quite frankly, I didn't have a lot of hope of such an event occurring during my lifetime.

My use of "person of color" in referencing Senator Obama is very deliberate. He is no more black than he is white. I say this not to disparage Obama's accomplishments thus far, but to acknowledge the truth and the inherent irony in that truth. For all practical purposes, Obama's experiences in this country have been those of a black man, because in the United States, we continue to make much ado about race. In particular, we cling to concepts of race, developed during slavery and further defined during Jim Crow, that result in a child produced of a white parent and a black parent always being identified as black.  A good friend of mine once said that he found it disturbing that it took two white people to make a white person, but only one black person to make a black person.

I find it curious that it rarely occurs to most people to question this system of classification. It makes no logical sense and it has little basis in science. I once left a comment on a blog stating that race is primarily a social construct. The blogger sent me an email asking me what I meant.

I wasn't offended but I was surprised. The blogger was a person with a great many credentials, a writer about public education issues on a national scale. I was surprised that he was unfamiliar with a widely expressed view of the scientific community that race is not a biological or scientifically based system of classification, but a system of social classification similar to class. (Note, there has not been a total dismissal in science of the concept of race. Groups of people share cultural and physical characteristics. Many scientists attribute these differences to geographical locations and human migration patterns. It's a fascinating area of study.)

The big difference, is that to varying extents, class is mutable; it can be changed. Race is an immutable characteristic. Senator Obama can't decide to identify himself as white, although that classification is just as accurate as black. (Immutable based on societal norms.)

The rigidity of the classification has expanded and the black community has adopted the standards for race imposed by the dominant white culture as our own. When golfer Tiger Woods tried to define his identity in terms of all of his lines of heritage, including those of his Asian mother, many African-Americans condemned what they perceived to be a denial of his black heritage. I think that Mr. Woods was simply trying to say that he was the sum of all of his ethnic and cultural heritages.

The U.S. census now permits people to identify themselves as multi-racial. I'm not certain that this is a major improvement. It still accepts the basic premise that race actually means something, that there are differences among people based on race. The problem with race as the litmus standard for classifying people is that most of us rely on external characteristics such as skin color to make racial classifications. Human beings are much more complex. There are physiological characteristics linked to different areas of geographic origin. However, science has determined that although there are shared characteristics among large groups with a shared ancestry, these characteristics aren't absolute, nor are they shared only within the specific group.

The straightforward biological fact of human variation is that there are no traits that are inherently, inevitably associated with one another....Indeed, despite the obvious physical differences between people from different areas, the vast majority of human genetic variation occurs within populations, not between them, with only some 6 percent accounted for by race...

So when I cast my vote on Tuesday, it won't be because Senator Obama and I share a significant amount of melanin in our skin. I will vote for him because he gives me hope that this country can do better by its uninsured, those living in poverty, the homeless, the unemployed, its disabled veterans, and all of those in need. It's because I think that his domestic agenda offers a solid list of plans to address all of these issues. It's because I think that his foreign policy will help this country regain its place as a power for right not might. It's because I don't think that the measure of a man or woman's patriotism lies in placing his or her hand over her heart but in a commitment to working to make this country hold to its ideals of a government for the people, and by the people. 

The icing on the cake is the sweet irony that Barack Obama is the physical manifestation of the joining together of black and white in a nation that has been far too long divided.

I found the video on YouTube.  It features images from Obama's campaign backed by the Pointer Sisters singing "Yes We Can, Can." It's a definite dance around the room beat!

Tags: Barack Obama, presidential primary, North Carolina, race, Pointer Sisters