ChgoRed, Girl Editor

T is for Turkey; That's Good Enough for Me

The e-mails go back and forth.

Topic: Somethin' about thanksgiving

ChgoRed: Since you're the man of the house and all, you should probably carve the turkey. :)

RevSpork: Uh huh.

ChgoRed: Should I take that as a no?

RevSpork: No, take that as a "Uh...sure, I guess."

In other words, Thanksgiving is at our house this year. And as you can see, The Boyfriend and I have slightly differing senses of, um, "holiday involvement." Imagine Martha Stewart and Oscar the Grouch trying to put together a dinner party. (OK, maybe not quite that bad. Close, though. I never thought I'd have to justify preferring cloth napkins to paper.  The Boyfriend never in his life thought he'd have to have that discussion.) 

But we're putting in a big effort, because this is our first Thanksgiving in the same house, and because we'll have an audience.  Why go through all the stress if there's no one around to witness the inevitable mashed potato fight, right?  (Naturally, The Boy already made it clear he'd find that much preferable to an actual dinner.)

Seriously, though, we will be hosting the lovely Elmegil, Gremlin44, and their little sprout, Kevin (no blog yet). He's young enough that the lower-to-the-floor areas will need some babyproofing. Because we are lax, awful, non-parental types, this basically comes down to, "What are we OK with him pulling out and getting dirty?" Everything else will be put up high, or, most likely, thrown into a closet. Whatever keeps the stuff out of his hands.  (Whaddya know--we do sound like parents.)

Plus, because the holidays are all about family, my mom will be there.

Those who don't know my mom think that's a simple sentence. Those of you who do are murmuring sadly and sending me sympathetic e-mails lamenting the fact that I don't drink.

Let me say this right now: I love my mother. She can be very sweet and kind. She's been through some awful crap in the last few years, and I am glad she's finally come to see me even though she hates Chicago.

That being said, my mother is the most high-maintenance person I know. She's not nasty about it; she just wants things a certain way. Example: When I asked her what kind of coffee she wanted, she listed 8 different flavors of a very specific brand, then went into detail about how she takes her coffee (part half-and-half, part International Delight, and yes, she listed the acceptable flavors of that, too). She also suggested that I buy "just half a pound" of Specific Brand Coffee, and that on Friday we could go to the grocery store together, "So that I can get a kind I like."

She also asked how many bathrooms we had (1, which she finds amazing); fussed about the number of stairs she'd have to climb to get into our apartment (8, rather than the none she'd assumed); and asked what kind of water we drink, because she only drinks a specific brand at home. She was going to bring her own coffee filters and Sweet 'n Low, because since I didn't have any in the house, she assumed I couldn't get them here. Or something.

As you might have guessed, my mom doesn't travel much—which is probably good, because she is a notorious overpacker. Example: When my sister got married in 2001, my mom spent 3 days in town for the wedding. It took her two hours to unpack.

As you might have also guessed, The Boyfriend views this whole experience with some apprehension. He already thinks his girlfriend is loopy (although mercifully low-maintenance), and here comes a whole new kind of crazy. When he found out he'd have a day off while she was here, he nearly became the first person in the history of retail who actually wanted to work on the day after Thanksgiving.

For her part, my mother is thrilled to be coming. She has been dying to meet The Boyfriend (who just loves the mom-based scrutiny), and this is her chance to ask us, again and again, "So when are you getting married? When are you having babies?" in person. Because the current (and clearly inferior) arrangement limits her to doing it only once a week, over the phone.

Two weeks to go.  Plenty of time to reconsider that "no drinking" thing.  The Boyfriend, on the other hand, is quietly but impatiently quizzing his recently ill friends about donating their leftover Vicodin. 

Wish us luck.

The True October Surprise Showed Up November 2

Nov. 2. The party was fun, except for the part where my team lost. Cab ride home was all about the shock and awe, all right. Later that night, crying in bed thinking about it all, while in the next room The Boyfriend tried to calm down my sister over the phone. Because he is a gentleman, he never mentioned that she was swearing a blue streak the whole time.

Nov. 3. More shock and awe. Dull, numbing realization that this wasn't some bad dream. Sharp, not-numbing realization when news of Kerry's concession made me smack the desk so hard that my hand hurt. Reading, reading, re-reading Web sites. Careful avoidance of images of Smilin' George, because...just, no. Commiseration. Reflection. Rumination. Decided that if I was going to do anything, I should start small and work from there. Ultimate decision: To throw a party, of sorts. Or maybe it's more like a wake.

Nov. 4. Stopped reading "Murder Machine" and picked up my old copy of "250 Ways to make America Better." Page 196: "Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we do not experience it."--Max Frisch.

Damn it, he's right. Of all the thoughts I've been turning over since this election, a big one has been, "Where the hell did those voters come from? How could I have been so blindsided? I thought I was so informed."

We are informed...but, the question becomes, by who? If you're like me, you probably have a list of blogs and Web sites that match your political affiliations. They're the ones you turn to most when you need information. They're the ones you visited most often during the campaign, and where you went yesterday after you got over your shell-shock.

No, I'm not saying that's bad. Community is good. I am pro-community.

Insularity, though, has its downside. If we're all reading the same sites, and linking to the same sites, and using that sense of community to make us feel like everyone thinks the way we do, we set ourselves up for a rude awakening.

Mental count: How many blogs and Web sites do you visit in a day? How many have a political bent? Now...how many of them are conservative? I can't tell you my answers to 1 and 2, because I would embarrass myself. Assume it's more than 15. The last one is easy: Andrew Sullivan. And that's it. It's not exactly a balanced diet.

If we want to understand why They voted for the monkey-faced president with the transmitter in his back, we have to do some work. We need to read their Web sites, visit their blogs, and actually pay attention to what drives their votes.

Yes, I know. You know all about conservatives and don't want a thing to do with them. In fact, you'd only be truly happy to see them to be locked in their Wal-Marts and pushed off the edge of the world. Understandable. There's a lot of grief and fear out there. And we've just gotten a big lesson in what happens when people react (at least partly) out of fear.

No, I'm not saying that you should seek out the most rabid right-wing nutjob site you can find and visit it every day. I'm saying do some research and challenge yourself to find three conservative blogs or Web sites (level of conservatism depends on your own tolerance), and visit them regularly. You don't even have to post; lurk if it makes you feel better. But go educate yourself about what the other side is saying. (And, if you can recommend any conservative blogs, please list them in the Comments section.)

Our country is so divided. An escalating war or new attack will only make the gap wider. We can't understand each other unless we start communicating. We can't be effective unless we understand where the other side is coming from.

Now, about that party. The Rev and I are holding it this weekend. We can't figure out if it's supposed to be a party, a wake, a salon, or a rap session. Basically, it's a chance for people to come together, talk, vent, and share some ideas about what to do next. Plus, there will be snacks. As Emma Goldman said, "If I can't eat chips and dip, I don't want to be part of your revolution." Something like that.

Butterflies II

According to The Boyfriend, I was nervous even in my sleep last night. All tossy-turny and fidgety. Which would explain why I woke up this morning feeling both worn out and jumpy as a wet cat.

Still, voted. In by about 6:20, out about 20 minutes later. Not bad at all considering the many-hour waits some people are enduring today. And, because he is a saint, The Boy came with me rather than sleeping in and voting later. Our First Presidential Election—Hallmark could make a commemorative ornament.

Naturally, even voting and an early-morning walk with The Boyfriend couldn't do much for my nerves. Still as anxious as I was this morning, maybe more.

For now though I'm trying to stay calm, and to remember all the good things about today.

--The voter turnout has me so heartened—not because I think it means Kerry will win, but because I always feel better when I see everyone take elections seriously. It makes me feel better about the whole country. Maybe we're not as jaded as we think.

--I did get in a really nice walk with The Boy, through quiet morning neighborhoods where all the sidewalks were covered in wet leaves.

--Get to go to a great party tonight.

--No matter who wins, it's still my country, too.

Wendy Rocks, as Usual

Great post over at Poundy today. Go read.

And just for the record, I did punch extra hard.

Why I Vote

Two words: Suffragette great-grandmother.

No, she wasn't Lucy Stone or Alice Paul. My entire knowledge of her involvement is tied up in the sentence, “I marched to give women the vote," as she once told my mother. But that line means everything to me, especially when I remember the unspoken subtext--she herself did not have the vote. The simple act of trying to cast a ballot could have gotten her arrested or worse.

And before you think that line sounds trite or easy, mull it over for a minute. Think about all the politically aware women you know--all the ones who follow the elections, who pay attention to the issues, who can and will defend an argument into the ground. There were women just like that a hundred years ago. The difference was that all their well-polished arguments and hours of education meant nothing against gender. It trumped everything, settled all debates, rendered those smart women seemingly voiceless.

Seemingly.

They might be denied their votes, but they would not be denied their voices. They marched, held demonstrations, fought back in ways that were both ladylike and socially unacceptable. They risked abuse, derision, arrest, violence and shame. They suffered because they believed in the equality of their opinions.

Whether or not my own great-grandma suffered such things, I’ll never know. Surely she read the papers; she must have known what could happen. But more important, to her, was making sure that women got the vote. All women, for always.

That means me, too.

Butterflies?

Got 'em.

Got more of them than I did this morning. Every time I think about tomorrow--not the outcome, just the having to get through the waiting tomorrow--I get that quivery, fluttery nervous feeling all over again. The "Am I gonna puke? No, wait, guess not..." feeling.

Polls don't make me feel better; I've seen so many I think I've become immune. News doesn't make me feel better--it just washes over me now. No effect at all. The only thing that will make any difference is hearing the results.

And yeah--don't even start with the "It could be weeks" stuff. I know. Believe me, I know.

Anyone else wondering how they're going to get any work done tomorrow?