Archive for September, 2016

Spring Love

Bright cool sun, lemon yellow like meringue pie.

Full of promise and energy

I remember love and desire

setting off alone, together.

Nature, breeze in the trees

birds singing.

Talking, talking, then kissing,


Innocent, more childlike than adult.

I thought I knew so much

but I didn’t.

Before my heart was broken

before I learned how cruel a lover can be.

Before I knew how far I could stray from my central being.

Brashness and courage.

I remember you.

You smelled like Old Spice and sweat.

Musk and smoke.

Your beard a little rough.

Your hair soft and curly as I ran my fingers through it.

I know now that we were never meant to be.

We wouldn’t have made it.

But on that spring day, bright with promise

ripe with pleasure

fully present

I loved you

and I still believe

you loved me.

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I still remember the day in high school chemistry class when one of my female classmates, Rose Hubbard, declared she wanted to be the first woman president. It was 1978 or 79. I had no doubt we would have a female president and I figured there was a decent chance it could be Rose. Looking back, I can’t believe it’s taken nearly 40 years for one of the two major parties to nominate a female candidate for president.

Growing up I believed I could be anything I wanted to be. My mom was a full partner in my dad’s family’s business, women’s lib and NOW were big, and I took a class called Herstory. I worshipped Gloria Steinem, Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Golda Meir.  It was just after the hippie era and our high school was new and somewhat experimental. When I started high school we had classrooms with walls that moved to make them bigger or smaller and bean bag chairs instead of desks. Our campus was open, we could leave at lunch and during an open period.  It seemed anything was possible I just had to dream it.

By the time my brother graduated, six years after I started high school, it was just like any other high school-stationery walls, wooden desks and closed campus.

My life moved forward: college, career in the family business, marriage, divorce, remarriage, step- children. I registered to vote as a Democrat to find that my parents were Republicans. My first husband held more influence in my life than I should have allowed. When he said he wouldn’t tolerate me being a democrat, I at least had enough rebellion left in me to switch to non-party affiliated. Therapy and my second marriage healed me and I became truer to the person I was at 18, but I’m still an independent.

I am following this election year with interest. Finally, a woman is running for her party’s nomination and she stands a chance of actually being elected.  She isn’t a vice presidential candidate or a nominee from a party that doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of actually being elected. (Please, let me say here that I admire all of the women that have ever run or held a political office of any kind.  It takes a lot of guts to stand proudly before the nation and let them tear you apart, knowing that if you cry you’re viewed as weak or if you are aggressive you’re labelled a bitch.  Their courage kept the goal of a female president in sight.) When Hilary’s nomination seemed certain, I told my husband I wanted to watch the Democratic National Convention. As it was, I was only able to catch bits of it. We were leaving for vacation the night Hilary accepted the nomination. So as we drove to the airport, I watched a recording of her acceptance speech on my phone.  As I watched, tears streamed down my face and I could not explain to my husband why I was in tears nor why I cheered and raised my fist in the air as I watched the graphics on the screen of the montage of past presidents and the shattering of glass.

As I tried to explain my emotion, I was reminded, as I had been for several months, of John Denver’s song about the Challenger disaster-“They Were Flying for Me.”  John Denver wanted to be on that space flight. Christie McAuliffe trained and flew with the astronauts as a representative of the people. She was a teacher and she was supposed to return and teach us all about her experiences. She died, along with all of the crew, before she got that chance and Denver wrote from his heart:

“She was flying for me, she was flying for everyone.

She was trying to see a brighter day for everyone.”


” And I prayed I would find an answer there, or maybe I would find a song, giving a voice to all of the hearts that cannot be heard.

And for all of the ones who live in fear and all of those who stand apart…”

I know Hilary is running for me. For me and every woman in America. For every woman who’s heard someone tell them they couldn’t do something because they were a woman. Because finally, there is a presidential nominee that looks and acts like me, complete with breasts, estrogen, and yes, a vagina.

It shouldn’t make a difference.  It shouldn’t matter so much. When the US citizenry elected Barack Obama, I thought “Thank goodness we’ve finally elected a black man.  Now we can elect a woman.”  Now I have a much better understanding of that election night emotion and celebration.  And Hilary isn’t even elected, yet. There’s a chance she won’t be elected. I believe she’s very qualified for the job but not everyone agrees.  There are those who think she’s a liar.  Republicans don’t want to see 4 more years of Democratic leadership and some people don’t want to see another dynasty. Am I going to vote for her because she’s a woman?  Yes, yes I am.  And I don’t care if you think that’s silly or dumb because it’s not any worse than voting for Trump because he’s a man.





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