Dear Dick,

As you may remember, when last I wrote – I told you I would keep you informed of my sacrifices.  This is, of course, in the spirit of your exhortation to me to make such sacrifices as an American.  As a teaching moment, on Halloween, I gave the working class kids in this area one (I repeat one) piece of candy, and not the 2 or 3 I sometimes bountifully passed out in past years.  After all, these are mostly working class kids and in the future they will be the ones called to the sacrificial altar again and again.  You will agree that Halloween is a good time to begin the lessons of austerity. I couldn’t bring myself to buy the cheapest candy but as you know, some of us must ease ourselves into the spirit of austerity.  Next year I will do better.

To that end, duly noted that most of the candy is made in America.  Surely we can do something about that.  Frankly, I am surprised.  Why have these jobs not been outsourced?  And I don’t mean Belgian chocolate for instance.  LOL.  What is this  –Kenilworth?  (I presume the children of Kenilworth, Illinois are exempt from the call for sacrifices as their parents’ median income is $237,7l7.  It was $200,000 in 2000 – so they are doing something right unlike my own suburb.)

Yes, they were disappointed.  Their little faces lit up when I opened the door soon darkened.  They will learn, of course.  

Also, accept my condolences for your recent loss.  As the leading Democrat here, you must feel quite down.  I did not vote for a Democratic Senator because look here, I take your call to sacrifice seriously.  How could I not vote for the Green candidate who spent $5,000 in campaigning.  His name is Lealan Jones.  It is shorter than the Democratic candidate which is appropos.  And he knows how to scale down.  Unfortunately, the 3 or 4% he garnered seemed to be a factor in the Democrat’s loss.  Ah well, austerity has consequences!  LOL.

As a Chicago winter is approaching, there will be many occasions for sacrifices.  The heat will be turned as low as possible without harming my critters.  I can wear several layers of clothing and go to bed early.  Better for me actually – I won’t watch TV – I’ll read – am currently reading Thorstein Veblen’s The Theory of the Leisure Class. You don’t want too many of your constitutents to read this book btw (LOL).  However, you must consider that long, cold winters are just the right setting for this kind of reading.  I love that he is Norwegian – I am Norwegian and have been to Norway.  They know how to live thru cold weather there for sure.  Though I think the state coddles them.  (LOL)

You may also remember that I asked you to list your and your family’s sacrifices on your webpage.  Where is it?  I haven’t seen it.  I saw the many requests for donations and your sterling list of accomplishments but not the sacrificial list.  Please consider informing your constituents of your own efforts here.

I like to watch Dylan Rattigan for a few minutes every day – especially the first ten minutes or so.  Then he has to go and have someone like Christa Freeland on, the editor of The Financial Times, who is the incarnation of every Sodality of Mary President at my Catholic Girls high school in the 50’s – except her religion is money.  The Sodality President was the bestest ever girl, the crowning achievement of her class, never a hair out of place and smart too – a real talker –  and God how the nuns loved her.  

Recently, he had Dr. Deepak Chopra on.  Granted I tuned in a little late in the segment – but the good doctor told him (and us by extension) that our problem is we always have to be right.  After all, he says, you aren’t always right.  But mostly Dylan is right when he talks about the “banksters.”      

Wait a minute – you mean the reason we here are generally in an agitated state about our country is because we wrongly think we are right.  We are therefore unreasonable in our beliefs because there are other opinions out there and maybe those are the right opinions.  The Afghan War, for instance – our problem is that we think it is a horror imposed on another country and which is partially responsible for our continuing slide into the third world category.  As well, those Afghans don’t appreciate our good intentions and hate us – even the corrupt leadership hates us.  But there we are spending enormous amounts of money and killing them and our own.  What fools we are!  Be happy – look at the other guy’s point of view – maybe that other guy is right.  Besides, I’ve heard about “siege” lately in that war.  So that should solve everything – as it did in Iraq.

Dr. Chopra delivers these dicta in sonorous, heavy tones with a serious, soulful look into the camera – the concerned physician – with a slight smile – signaling he is passing out gems for our bling consumption of the news and telling us what’s best for our mental and physical health.  Concerned for all of us out here who are angry and scared and noisy and rude.  You are not always right, nor do you have to be.  It is too much of a burden.

Have you ever noticed that dancers who twirl across the floor – on point especially – do not get dizzy.  Why is that?  Well, you pick a spot on the wall you are twirling toward and your head turns first always with eyes on that spot – then your body follows.  You won’t get dizzy – it works!  It’s called spotting.  And it’s what all of us have to do when we venture into the labrynth of what passes for news from our well-paid, good looking, mostly calm media.  Well, wouldn’t you be calm out there if you made a good salary and had a really good smile and never, I repeat never – a sliver of doubt about the good sense and smarts you are passing along to the zombies in front of the screen.  And they needn’t worry about work ’cause there are about 25 who flit across the screen constantly – there will always be work for a smooth purveyor of the latest propaganda.  

Plangent:  adjective; from the Latin plangere (to strike).

Having a loud, reverberating sound; having an expressive and esp. plaintive quality;

Plangently: adverb

mournful, resonant, sorrowful, rueful, dolorous, lugubrious, tearful, careworn, grief-stricken, plunged in grief:

As in:

Dear Vice President Biden,

Really sir!  Do you actually consider us whining out here.  You must really get out of DC more – outside of an occasional visit drumming up votes – we exhort you to do so.

We are sad.  The times, they are ahurtin.  We do not believe anyone in DC is aware of how we are suffering and confused and frankly angry.  And many of us are homeless and hungry.  And the wars!  Don’t get me started.

You might say we are plangently expressing our dismay – not really whining.  These plangent concerns are real.  They are not the concerns of a tired child as you and your cohorts imply.  

By the way, the bankers took my ball so that comment is illusory and perhaps delusive.

Very truly yours,

Xanthe

You may want to try your hand at the word.  Just put it in a political context.  Surely, there is much to be mournful about.  

We had one of our “summer parties” – usually it’s a one or two blocks of neighbors who are invited to an evening party outside.  Lots of kids – and a big screen with plenty of entertainment for them.  Last night it was a pixar film.  It was cool, so the kids were cuddled up in blankets on the grass watching the screen – many of them were laying on blankets as well as watching, and sitting next to their parents also wrapped up.  This neighborhood has large, rolling yards so parties can easily accommodate plenty of families.

We all bring food and drink – and there is always more than enough food. It is truly a groaning table.  Plenty of good cooks around here.  It was a great party as usual.  There are usually 4 or 5 in this neighborhood thru summer, early fall.

Here’s the thing:  no one talked politics.  I wandered around to the tables and sat in the grass with the kids and some parents.  And did not hear one word about politics.  I missed last summer but in 2008 a truck driver told me he had continuing dreams about bush.  Mostly he was hanging around in his truck and the driver was trying to figure out what he was doing there.  Sometimes he woke him up and asked him if he wanted a beer.  Really silly stuff but the guy was going nuts.  No one liked bush or Republican policies at these parties and there was always plenty of grumbling – and though it took awhile, the grumbling finally got around to the constant wars.

But last night – nada.  Nothing.  Talk of school, families, money tightening – but no word about Obama and others.  We are a Democratic suburb, though I have to admit I’m more to the left than most.  So it was surprising since there is so much going on that will be affecting us.  Moreover, even the teas weren’t mentioned.  And since finding out that a deal was about to be cut between Clinton and Newt – well – there it is.  Probably plenty going on behind our backs and it ain’t good.  Wars, torture, constant propaganda from the teas (as they are called) – though we know who’s pulling their strings.  The puppet masters may well lose control.  They can leave the country easily so what does it matter to them.  

Have you ever noticed among your friends, acquaintances that it is the crazy ones that have the energy. And, of course, they always know they are right.  What is it like never to have second thoughts, to mull over what may be the right move?  People I know like that do not have high blood pressure like wussy Xanthe.  That seems to be going on now on a macro scale.

I think my neighbors are turning inward and trying to figure out how to survive with a government that is not much interested in them, except when voting time comes around.  Since there seems to be no anger, only a kind of lassitude – it may be a lull while most of us are trying to figure out what to do.  Maybe there is nothing to do.  Maybe we have to turn away in order to survive and keep sane.

For my part, I have to stop blogging for awhile – Truly, I’m getting physically ill.  I want to write an entertainment diary and then leave off for a bit.  What’s the point?  I have to stay healthy – no one out there really seems to care about Medicare for instance.  And my son is now unemployed – so I am terrified about him getting sick.  

I am in a lousy, foggy funk.  I want to survive but can I do it alone.  Does it matter what I want.  Or do the tyrants win out as usual. We have no leader(s) – think about it – we really have no leaders in Washington at any rate.  It has occured to me lately that the only reason we had some “good times” is because the elites needed us and we had leaders who were in the past emphathetic to working class Americans  – but now with outsourcing and the media giving a free hand to the crazies with no discernable politicians in Washington that understand our needs –  it may be time to let go.  They are living in their own world – cosseted and blind.

Lull before the storm or we’re only being sensible by taking care of ourselves and each other in small groups?  I dunno – all I know is we are tired.  

What books aren’t you reading?  I am not reading several books.  

War in a Time of Peace (Bush, Clinton and the Generals) by David Halberstam

I know this is a decent book, as it is written by Halberstam.  As well, perhaps there is a glimmer of our upcoming wars when this book was written which would be interesting as it is Halberstam’s take.  

I bought this book at my resale shop for one dollar.  For awhile it sat on my nighttable, then moved to the side of the bed with other stellar intentions, then finally to the chair near the bedroom where it occasionally gives me twinges of guilt.

Lenin’s Tomb (The Last Days of the Soviet Empire) by David Remnick

Actually, I read this book sometime ago.  It is a great book. However, either my mind is not as sharp or I have become lazy – I can’t get through it, though there are some passages/chapters I peruse occasionally.

It is now on the side of the bed.

Reader’s Digest Complete Do-it-yourself Manual for Home Repair

This book was a gift from prior male companion some time ago.  Please if I wanted to read it, I wouldn’t have been dating a carpenter who was also a master electrician.  Did he think that now he wouldn’t have to do any work around here.  He didn’t and as I said, “prior.”  It’s in the basement next to the washer and miscellaneous sad tools   in case I ever use them.  The real toolchest is in the garage should one of my friends ever feel the need to tighten a screw or something.  So far, they haven’t.  

The Energy of Money (A Spirituial Guide to Financial and Personal Fulfillment) by Maria Nemeth, Ph.D.

I gave up on personal fulfillment when I was 10 and didn’t get a dollhouse for Christmas.  (Yeah, I’m shallow.)  This book will prolly go to the resale store.  I can’t bring myself to throw books away.   It’s under the chair.  

TuneSmith (Inside the Art of Songwriting) by Jimmy Webb.  Someone told me this is a great book about music.  Wichita Lineman is supposed to be a marvel of songwriting and I agree.  But for some reason, I can’t get into it.  It is on the nightstand so maybe it has a chance.

The Iliad by Homer (Robert Fagles)

Another book I’ve read partially in the past.  Powerful – everything you need to know about the world and writing about the world.  I’ve studied it in several university courses but never read it completely through in a few sittings that weren’t years apart.  I want to, of course.  But it is harrrrd.  It is on the side of the bed – but I am determined before my dotage.

Friends have mentioned it glorifies war.  No.  It does not.  It gives hard, sharp images of battles, yes. Men die in agony in battle not in glory here.  But why would anyone want to go to war after reading those passages unless they were the Achilles type.  Since high school I’ve been in love with Hector.  And I always will be – even with this passage:

All this weighs on my mind too, dear woman.

But I would die of shame to face the men of Troy

and the Trojan women trailing their long robes

if I would shrink from battle now, a coward.

Yeah, he’s a guy.  Though perhaps he fixed something around the house before he went into battle.

Unfortunately, I tuned into Morning Joe this am and heard from everyone on the “panel” exactly what I thought I’d hear after the TeaParty shake-up.

Pat was supressing great excitement.  You could tell it was hard for him not to burst.  Joe mentioned as casually as if asking what the weather would be that now SS was up for cuts.  Harold Ford looked glum; you could tell he was looking for an exit so he could make a further right turn.  Mika wasn’t there but another blonde took her place – hair a little longer.  Mark Helperin – oh, I can’t watch the guy after Greenwald skewered him awhile back.  But he’s on the bandwagon too:  The Republican Party is over – the Dems will win the Senate.  

I’m not in the employ of any MSM outlet; I am somewhat financially challenged; My teeth are good – but not in the category of the women of the MSM; I hate the “wars” we are fighting and what those wars have done to ME people; I live the life out here – not in there.  Hence, I am a “leftie”.

Do I have any insight as to electoral politics?  Do they?  Moving on… These tea party people were given a voice by monied interests – I get that, and that is another diary – but I also get that the Republican Party allowed them a voice unlike the Democratic Party allowing us to the microphone – much less giving us a voice.

I know the reaction of the Democratic Party – even in the midst of all these mouths celebrating a Democratic movement now that the “crazies” have been elected.

They – will – move – to – the – right.

Did you hear me?  They.will.move.to.the.right.

Oh, we’re in for some good times, ladies and gents.  And I wouldn’t be so sure of some of the tea people not getting in office.

But what do I know?  I’m part of the Democratic Party this admin has chosen to ignore.  Ewwww go away – we’ll call you when election day comes.

This is not good – certainly not for us and more importantly, not for the country.

Thoughts?          

At 3am on any given morning when I am awake – and that is often – I turn to my robotic friend – the remote.  My animals and I trundle downstairs and turn on a function of my cable service that allows me to review and play evening fare that I may have missed.  The dogs and cats would rather be in bed – mine and theirs – but they feel an obligation to remain with me at this hour.  This is the hour most people pass, did you know that?   They are uncomfortable for me being up and about at that hour – as well they should be – and try to be of comfort by their presence.  Mostly, they offer that soft comfort.

One winter morning on the Sundance Channel, I watched a documentary about fashion – featuring Yves St. Laurent.  Yves was ill at that time; noticeable and painful to watch.  The camera followed him through his last fashion show.  With him, next to him, in front of him, behind him, holding gently on to his hand if he looked unsteady, offering him tea and food (which he often refused) – was his “assistant,” one of those Parisian women who are probably in their sixties and look ageless.  She was thin and always looked well put together; it wasn’t solely her clothing, but her carriage and small items that set off her persona – a scarf, a piece of jewelry.  I’ve seen this so many times in Europe, in Rome on the trains.  In Padua, in the food shops.  In Norway and Sweden – in their winter best.

She had been with him for more than 30 years, and this was apparent in the way they spoke to each other – in that shorthand workers develop – the looks and gestures that say paragraphs.  And they were workers together, no?  Working in the world of fashion for 30 years – fast paced, catty, delightful, full of art and awe, and let’s face it – a business.  Look, she knew fashion.  She walked into the workroom and spoke with the women at the sewing machines knowingly and often stopped and pointed out a seam here, a stitch there.  They like her – you could tell.  They respected her – you could tell.  They were older women and there was little tell they worked in fashion.  (You may smile at this – but she and they were full of a concentrated grace and proud of their part in Yves fashion life.)  She walked into the hat room, spoke briefly, changed a bit here and there – she herself sat down with a young man who was sewing a lace trifle at the neck of a model and showed him how to work it.  He was grateful, not huffy.  She checked the stills, the dresses, the photographic lights and then reported to Yves – who sat during most of the documentary – they conferred.  He made some suggestions.  She went out to the workrooms and executed them.  Look, she was a star period.  And we know he was and remains a star.  I doubt this woman or any of the other workers made huge salaries, but their pride was apparent, their calm and knowledge shone through.

As the show neared, the pace quickened; the younger people started running – it was exciting.  The models were tired, the make-up people were frazzled, the stylists were drama queens, but she remained a calm force in the rooms – as did those women in the back sewing.  They fed off each other’s confidence.

Maestro, she’d say, with a reverence I’d not seen except occasionally at a high mass in Latin at the Cathedral here – here, have some tea.  You look tired Maestro.  She’d whisper “maestro”  “we can do this tomorow.”  Yves waived her away gently.  He was tired.  This was his last fashion show.

The show was a success – the clothes were beautiful, stunning, signature.  Yves summoned up enough strength to be with people for a short time after the show.  The woman remained backstage thruout the show making small changes, holding models’ hands, offering confidence to each and everyone backstage.

When Yves came backstage, each and every person involed in the show clapped and clapped.  As the camera panned their faces – you could see they all felt a part of this art show – they all made a contribution.  You didn’t have to read a book about Yves, or hear from several people being interviewed beforehand what kind of a man he was – it was there on those faces, some crying faces- most relieved.  They’d done it again.  Yves and they had done it again.    

This morning on my way home from the Italian deli, I stopped in at a corner shop that sells cigarettes, milk, candy – that sort of thing.  Normally, I walk in get what I need and smile at whomever is around.  It’s a place where working class guys hang out and truth to tell, sometimes in the morning you can smell the liquor on their breaths.  But mostly, they stop for awhile to talk to each other and get back in their delivery trucks or construction trucks and move on.

I bought a 99cents bag of potato chips – it’s a real treat.  Salt is not good for me but occasionally I’ll eat a few chips and throw the rest to the birds.  I put a dollar on the counter and the female clerk (certainly not working toward any award for politness) said “That’s a dollar and nine cents, lady.”  (Okay, for one wild moment I forgot I lived in Cook County, Illlnois.) and I said:  “Oh right, got to pay for their Cook County pensions.”  Now there is nothing wrong with government pensions but there are such a slew of stories of how many Cook County employees abuse the system – it’s newspaper worthy at least once a week.  

And what followed was a chorus worthy of spectators at a wrestling match.  Three men in the back started yelling about their years of working and how they expect SS payments.  The woman clerk told me she tore up her voting card, mailed it to the WH and told the President to stick it up (well you know).  Another man grabbed my arm and told me he sure as hell was entitled and spelled the word for me “e.n.t.i.t.l.e.d.” after working since 1970.  The others in the back continued to yell about the Democrats – and some guys standing on the corner came inside and began a riff about government workers.  Now this is a Democratic suburb – a working class suburb, though it is showing signs of moving up and I’m sure the slimy developers will be here soon.  

I talked briefly to the guy who was hanging on to my arm.  He had sketchy information and I shared what I knew.  He was afraid Republicans would win elections because of the SS scare and they’d be worse than what we have now.  And boy did I learn some new words and/or phrases from the guys in the back as to the political class we have now.

All told, there were about 15 guys in there when I left yelling about the system and their SS.  

Okay – here’s what I want to know.  Where the hell is the Democratic Committee of my suburb and the Democratic Party of Cook County talking to its base about what is going on.  Giving them the proper information (if they even get it themselves) – making some sort of “plan.”  A sensible plan to get these people to take the right kind of action – instead of their endless golf outings, cocktail parties and general ennui.  Don’t they get it.  These people need to be educated.  I’ve sent a lot of material to the newspaper here in the hopes that a reporter I was dealing with on another matter would write a column about how it is going to affect our people here – elderly and boomers – and well, everyone.

Most of our elderly couples and women especially own their own homes outright and are making a serious effort to remain there ’til the end.  We are talking about a suburb known for its beautiful old brick bungalows.  That phrase: “They don’t build them like this anymore” – that phrase belongs in our suburb.  I have considered myself would that be considered an “asset” if they do means testing.  And from our Democratic Party here:  crickets.  (Caveat:  our City does do a good job with its older population on many matters but apparently education is not necessary to their way of thinking.)        

This morning when I turned on my computer – these headlines greeted me from my Yahoo opening page:

AP: Obama Claims GOP Trying to Destroy Social Security.

In that story AP states that a bipartisan committee was set up by the President to make social security more secure.  It does not name the bipartisans, nor give us any background on them.  I can tell you my own friends are pretty clueless, and I’m guessing many of yours are.

In another headline earlier this week:

Obama: GOP wants to Privatize Social Security.

Why is he setting us up?  Any ideas.  Because Paul Krugman, Dean Baker, Jamie Galbreath and others are hitting back?  Because Paul Ryan is getting some press, even though he is soundly trounced by Paul Krugman.  Washington Post gives him plenty of space.  Because he is hearing from the Congress that people are becoming aware of what’s going on – even the “lesser” people – even the F****n retards (and what is worse than an elderly f***n retard) – even the “bleeding heart liberals” that Durbin admonished:  Everyone has to make sacrifices.  I have faxed Durbin’s office for a list of his sacrifices.  How about him and other senators paying for all of their healthcare – just a gesture to the taxpayers, many of whom have no healthcare.  I plan to go to one of his meetings with a list of my own sacrifices.  No. 1 on that list is that I lost almost half of my portfolio because people like him weren’t doing their job.

Or is it because he wants to seem tough and embattled.  And, when he does some sleight of hand, some backroom card dealing – and the program comes out weaker than it is now – we’ll have understood – well he did try but “we just don’t have the votes.”  Since we now know that Gingrich and Clinton were working behind the scenes – can we doubt that we’re in for some unpleasant surprise.

Any ideas.  I’m flummoxed but I know this:  it’s not in the working class’ interest.  Repeat, it is not in our interests and if it were a matter of less importance I might enjoy the Obanamic theatrics.  I can assure I. will.not.

Your thoughts!  

I was sitting on my front steps the other evening talking to one of my favorite neighbors, a Democrat, and happened to mention that I couldn’t believe the congress put SS and by default, medicare, at risk in a supplemental funding bill for that damn war in Afghanistan.  “What have we done, become, I am so damn angry at our country now.”  Okay, I meant leadership which seems to be about 10 steps behind the polls.  She narrowed her school marm eyes and started backing away (uh, uh) so in a placatory (and let’s face it, stupid move) I began talking about Obama’s penchant for charter schools instead of properly funded public schools and how I didn’t trust Obama.  She turned and moved quickly away from the offending neighbor.

When living in Chicago, I often picked up my anti-war, anti-bombing of Iraqi children signs and walked down the street to the bus stop for the next rally.  On the way to the bus stop, a large family of adults who always seemed to be home sat on their steps and glared at me muttering various and sundries which I couldn’t always make out – but words sometimes floated – “commie”, “bitch”, “terrorist lover.” Festooned on their porch and really any place where possible, were American flags.  And they each wore pins, red, white and blue t-shirts, and a scowl for the unworthy traitor passing by.  Ironically, I had a flag on my porch after 9/11 for about two weeks in honor of the victims and my uncles who had served (some died) in WW II, and my lefty friends disapproved.  When my godchild visited from Italy where she lived now, she was confused at the proliferation of flags and other symbols.  What was the purpose?  I understood we needed to do something – a symbolic need, a communal need.  My flag disappeared after a bit.  Hmmm -who would do such a thing?  BTW, at the beginning of our rallies, many bystanders hurled plenty of names at our somewhat small groups, which swelled and outnumbered them as the days passed.