Ron's New Sneakers

The day finally arrived at our house. My poor long-suffering husband finally got his foot out of the walking boot. Yay! He has had foot trouble since August and has been on crutches or in a walking boot for five months. So you see this is cause for big celebration. It’s bubbly foot powder and sole food at our house tonight.

Ron came home from work today in a spanking new pair of bright white sneakers. It’s great to see him in two shoes again. I stared at the shoes in wonder before asking, “Is it my imagination or are those sneakers large?” Ron’s usual shoe size is about 12 or 13 depending on the style. But these babies he had on his feet looked BIG. Turns out they’re size 14. His feet are still swollen, so he went up a size. He told me I can boast to my women friends that my husband wears a size 14 shoe. (Wink, wink.)

I’m not so sure I want to bring attention to my husband’s shoe size. A 14 shoe is a bit over the top. Sort of like wearing a lampshade for a hat, don’t you think? It’s OK, I’m just glad he’s ambulatory again. I’m grateful for small favors.

Hey, while I have your attention, I just want to mention that I did an interview about my book on a blogtalk book review website called Reader Views to celebrate the first anniversary of the book’s publication. You can tune in to the interview by clicking on this link: http://www.readerviews.com/index.html

King Day

Today is King Day. One of my favorite holidays. When my children were young, I used to make them sit down and watch the movie Boycott on King Day. I wanted them to know what the Montgomery Bus Boycott was all about. There are not very many Black folks in our little rural town, which made me have an even stronger commitment to providing my children with a home-schooled education in Black history and culture. These days, many educators in the public schools do a good job of teaching Black history. But there is always more to learn.

I remember with amusement a story told to me by my son’s first-grade teacher. On King Day she sat the children in a circle and asked them if any of them knew anything about the Civil War. It was a group of children about 45% Mexican American, about 15% Native American (Pomo), the rest Anglo/Euro, and my Black Jewish son. He was the only one who raised his hand to answer the question. “Yes, Sudi, what do you know about the Civil War?” the teacher asked. “The Black guys won,” Sudi told her.

I think on his day this year, Dr. King would be very pleased to see that an African American candidate for the Democratic nomination for President is a serious front-runner in the race. A liberal friend and Kucinich supporter asked me the other day if I’m voting for Barack because he’s Black. I replied truthfully, “Yes, AND because he’d be a terrific President.”

When Jesse Jackson was running for President, there was a joke going around. It went like this. Jesse and the Pope are in a boat. The Pope’s hat blows off. Jesse gets out of the boat, walks across the water, retrieves the hat, and walks back across the water. He returns the hat to the Pope. The next day the newspaper headlines read “Jesse can’t swim.”

Barack Obama can swim. I’m hoping the Black guys win this one too.

Mother Knows Best

Don’t you love the way no one listens to the mom? And the mom is always right.

The mom says “Don’t eat dinner in your brand new white sweater. It’s spaghetti, in greasy tomato sauce. That’s hard to wash out.”“Mom, I can keep my dinner on my plate, how hard is that? I’m not going to miss my mouth with my food.” Six bottles of Stain-Out and twenty-minutes of crying later.

In the morning, the mom says “Take a jacket. You might not need it but if you have it then for sure you won’t get cold.” So he turns up in the evening in a Patriots jacket. “Whose jacket is that and what is it doing in my house?”“It’s Eli’s and I got cold. His dad gave it to me. He said I could keep it.”“NO you can’t keep it and I don’t care if you have frostbite so bad that your fingers are falling off. No child of mine is ever, do you hear me ever, bringing a Patriots jacket into this house.”

The mom says to the dad, “Don’t leave your glasses lying around. Put them away so you can find them.” So why am I and the children tearing the house apart looking for Dad’s glasses? Or wallet. Or car keys. Or insulin (which he accuses the cat of batting to the floor and sheepishly discovers in his computer bag).

No one listens when the mom says to put air in that tire, work harder and get a B in geometry now so you can relax senior year, don’t wash that new red sweatshirt with your underwear, don’t quit piano lessons, take your swimsuit just in case, bring your skateboard inside before it starts raining, that bass speaker you want to order via email will not fit in your trunk, take orange juice with you in case you have low blood sugar or we’ll be paying an ambulance $700 to cart you to the emergency room, don’t give your friends the keys to your car (especially if they don’t have a license), if you eat that much ice cream without taking a lactose digestant you will regret it, write thank-you notes to show people they are appreciated, and do not attempt to blow-dry the cat.

It's tough being right all the time.

Meet Me in the Basement

I wonder if there is anyone out there reading my blog or if I’m still just talking to myself. My children scoff at me. “Mom, no one reads your blog. They don’t know you exist.” Ungrateful progeny. At least a couple people read my blog, counting my husband. But I figure I have to start somewhere. If I build it, they will come, right? If you are reading, please tell someone else about it.

In Barack Obama’s book The Audacity of Hope, he describes his first forays into politics. When he began his campaign for the senate, he went all over the state to meet people. No one knew who he was. They couldn’t pronounce his name. He met with anyone who turned up. Sometimes no one turned up at an event to meet him. He tells about one place he visited where a truck driver and his wife came to the basement of some church where he had scheduled an event. They were the only ones to turn up. He sat down with them and talked for a couple of hours and he says he learned a lot about what regular working folks want from government, what their needs are, and what they think about things. That was many years ago. This year Obama won the Iowa caucus. In the beginning, the basement. Next year perhaps the White House. (Or will they call it the Black House if he wins? Someone must have made that joke already. I can’t possibly be the first.)

So here I am, sitting in the basement, talking to whomever turns up. While we’re down here, did anyone bring chocolate?

Football Notes

I love the Raiders, and I will say it loud, but I think we need to start seeing other people. The Raiders are my home team, my number one. But we have been co-dependent these past few years. I am burning out on enabling them. I can’t help them until they decide to help themselves. Maybe Lane and JaMarcus will pull them out of this depression. Who knows?

I love the NFL. But it’s breaking my heart. Apart from the fact that the season is almost over, which means that I’m about to be a football widow, the Patriots have taken all the fun out of the game. Alright, alright, not ALL the fun. And OK, I’ll admit that I’m pleased to see Randy Moss, our former Raider, have a chance to finally shine on a team that can throw a football. Did I say that out loud? My bad. I meant to keep that thought a secret. Belichek needs to launder that sweatshirt with the frayed out sleeves and Brady could use a few other facial expressions in his repertoire. I’m sick of the commentators gushing and talking out their boy-crushes on Brady on national T.V. There are a few other players in the NFL. I wonder if those commentators could go through an entire game by any two teams without once mentioning the name Brady (or how many push-ups he did every day in the sixth grade—because I don’t care).

While the Raiders are figuring out how to catch a football, I’ve been cheering for other teams. Yesterday was a difficult day for me. I’m a big fan of both the Colts and the Chargers. I guess I should have taken a tranquilizer or perhaps anti-psychotic medication before sitting down to the T.V. I spent several hours arguing with myself: go Manning, no go Rivers, no go Reggie Wayne, no go L.T., no, yes, no, yippee, eek! I almost socked myself in the eye over it. But at the beginning of the season, I said that I would like to see the Chargers win the Super Bowl this year. It’s OK for me to say that since the Colts were my pick last year and they won. Now the Chargers have a shot at it. It would be sweet to see those Patriots knocked down in the Championships. Charge on Chargers! If you win, you’re my Valentine.