leftovers from yesterday....we're all having them, aren't we???

"freedom from want"

we all recognize this as one of the "four freedoms" series painted by norman rockwell for life magazine back in the day.

back in the day "freedom from want" meant having the basic needs of life.

a set of "sunday clothes" in the closet, and food on the table on a predictable basis.

during the depression clothes hooks were empty and so were pantries.

people stood in line for a tin cup of watery soup and considered themselves lucky if the soup didn't run out before they made it to the front of the line.

we've all heard the stories of how dire it was in those dark years.

i was thinking today about what that phrase "freedom from want" should mean in the materialistic world of today.

we are so ambitious, avaricious, and acquisitive for "stuff"-----not milk and bread and meat to keep us going from one day to the next---no, no, we want designer food, mcmansions, desirable cars, and closets of clothes to cover our outsides to feel better about what we are on the inside.

wouldn't it be great to have real freedom from "want"?

we would be so much more at peace with ourselves and our lives.

so much more able to go after what we need.

not what we want.

we all know at least one "chips and soda" person, don't we? a quick swing down the junk aisle at the grocery, breeze thru the express checkout and they're set for the pot luck! calculated incompetence, i'm thinkin.......

recently i was asked why i blog in lower case letters. (by an anonymous reader)

hmm...had to think about that for a bit.

it's easier to type without having to use the shift key every sentence and proper name. i am not plagued by arthritis, thank god, but it is easier to skip the caps.

i am not the burnin' keyboarder that all my kids are so by saving time when i blog i am using time wisely. ;-)

who made up this rule and why do i have to follow it?

if you care that much why not i.d. yourself when you asked the question?

R U A COWARD?

how's that for capitalization?

gotta go. have a butterball to roast.

november 11

wheeling and dealing

am in the process of negotiating the purchase of a small travel trailer to set up out at the river.

nothing grand, 20 feet long or so, with simple features. so if all goes well there will be a cozy shelter (the outhouse doesn't count)under the big oak on south park dr. next summer.

i long to spend overnites out there, out of the 'big city' and out of touch. which is why i'm happy that it's a cell phone dead zone. maybe that's what we should name the place: "dieck's dead zone". no. doesn't sound right. sounds like a bar. or a funeral home.

since we bought the land we've been trying on different names, with the intention of eventually putting up a sign at the road. nothing's quite clicked yet but we'll know the right one when it comes along. maybe this: "oleo acres: the low-priced spread". no. people nowadays don't even know what oleo is...wouldn't get it.

a thought provoking essay

Peggy Wallace Kennedy is the daughter of George C. Wallace and Lurleen Wallace, who both were governors of Alabama. She lives in Montgomery, Alabama, with her husband, Mark Kennedy, a retired state Supreme Court justice. They have two sons, Leigh, a decorated veteran of the Iraq war, and Burns, a college sophomore.


MONTGOMERY, Alabama (CNN) -- I heard a car door slam behind me and turned to see an elderly but spry woman heading my way.

The night before, a gang of vandals had swept through the cemetery desecrating graves, crushing headstones and stealing funereal objects.

My parents' graves, situated on a wind-swept hill overlooking the cemetery, had not been spared. A large marble urn that stood between two granite columns had been pried loose and spirited away, leaving faded silk flowers strewn on the ground.

I was holding a bouquet of them in my arms when the woman walked up and gave me a crushing hug. "Honey," she said, "you don't know me, but when I saw you standing up here on this hill, I knew that you must be one of the girls and I couldn't help myself but to drive up here and let you know how much me and my whole family loved both of your parents. They were real special people."

I thanked her for her kind words as we stood side by side gazing down at the graves of Govs. George Wallace and Lurleen Wallace.

After a few moments, the woman leaned into me and spoke almost in a conspiratorial whisper. "I never thought I would live to see the day when a black would be running for president. I know your daddy must be rolling over in his grave."

Not having the heart or the energy to respond, I gave her bony arm a slight squeeze, turned and walked away. As I put the remnants of the graveyard spray in the trunk of my car, I assumed that she had not bothered to notice the Barack Obama sticker on my bumper.

When I was a young voter and had little interest in politics, my father would mark my ballot for me. As I thought about the woman in the cemetery, I mused that if he were alive and I had made the same request for this election, there would be a substantial chance, though not a certainty, that he would put an "X" by Obama's name.

Perhaps it would be the last chapter in his search for inner peace that became so important to him after becoming a victim of hatred and violence himself when he was shot and gravely injured in a Laurel, Maryland, shopping center parking lot. Perhaps it would be a way of reconciling in his own mind that what he once stood for did not prevent freedom of opportunity and self-advancement from coming full circle; his final absolution.

George Wallace and other Southern governors of his ilk stood defiantly in the 1950s and '60s in support of racial segregation, a culture of repression, violence and denial of basic human rights.

Their actions and the stark images of their consequences that spread across the world galvanized the nation and gave rise to a cry for an end to the American apartheid. The firestorms that were lit in Birmingham, Oxford, Memphis, Tuscaloosa, Montgomery, Little Rock and Selma were a call to arms to which the people responded.

And now a new call to arms has sounded as Americans face another assault on freedom. For if the stand in the schoolhouse door was a defining moment for George Wallace, then surely the aftermath of Katrina and the invasion of Iraq will be the same for George W. Bush.

The trampling of individual freedoms and his blatant contempt for the rights of the average American may not have been as obvious as an ax-handle-wielding governor, but Bush's insidiousness and piety have made him much more dangerous.

Healing must come, hope will be our lodestar, humility will reshape the American conscience, and honesty in both word and deed will refresh and invigorate America, and having Barack Obama to lead will give us back our power to heal.

My father lived long enough to come to an understanding of the injustices borne by his deeds and the legacy of suffering that they left behind. History will teach future generations that he was a man who used his political power to promote a philosophy of exclusion.

As his daughter, who witnessed his suffering in the twilight of his years and who witnessed his deeds and heard his words, I am one who believes that the man who, on March 7, 1965, listened to the reports of brutality as they streamed into the Governor's Mansion from Selma, Alabama, was not the same man who, in March of 1995, was welcomed with open arms as he was rolled through a sea of African-American men, women and children who gathered with him to welcome another generation of marchers, retracing in honor and remembrance the historic steps from Selma to Montgomery.

Four years ago, the young Illinois senator who spoke at the Democratic National Convention mesmerized me. I hoped even then that he would one day be my president.

Today, Barack Obama is hope for a better tomorrow for all Americans. He stands on the shoulders of all those people who have incessantly prayed for a day when "justice will run down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream" (Amos 5:24).

Perhaps one day, my two sons and I will have the opportunity to meet Barack Obama in person to express our gratitude to him for bringing our family full circle.

And today, the day after the election, I am going to ride to the cemetery so that if asked, I can vouch for the fact that the world is still spinning but my father lies at peace.

The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Peggy Wallace Kennedy.

a promise kept

note: started this entry on november 5, dilly-dallied and published on november 9.
what can i say? the title of my blog kinda covers it..... : )



i've traveled south on hwy 41 thousands of times.


and every time i've passed a certain spot, a cemetery on a hill alongside the highway, i've told myself, "i am going to stop there sometime, sit on the steps built into the hillside, sip a cup of coffee in the company of the dead and watch the living go about their north or southbound business. but not today, because i am in a hurry to get to ___________(fill in the blank)."


yesterday november 5th i was at a meeting in green bay and tuned in to npr for some company on the drive north to home.


i listened to post-election interviews with common people, people like me, some of them moved to tears, speaking with trembling voices about newly reborn feelings of hope for our country.



suddenly the massive historical significance of the election, in my lifetime, of an african american to the highest office in our land came over me in the form of a huge emotional wave. and i knew it was finally the day to pull off the hamster wheel of the highway and sit on those steps.



so i did. the stone steps were old and crumbling. i sat there thinking about all those whose final climb up those steps took the help of 6 strong men. what would they think of the history being made today?

the boughs of an ancient oak spread out above and behind me, leaves dried out but still holding on, the wind making them rustle with dry papery voices--i imagined the sound to be post-election commentary from the cemetery constituency all around me. and that made me laugh out loud. imagine! something so remarkable that even the dead are excited about it!

crimson glories

this was taken in september. i love it.

my babies

molly and brodie. sept. 2008

it was a good year for morning glories

just a little reminder for tomorrow..............

i will hit the polls on my way to work. how about you???