Don't Gel Too Soon

July 25, 2008: BARACK OBAMA and BERLIN: WHAT WE SHOULD and CAN BE

 First I got this email from a young friend:  "LOVED IT - Just brilliant and I am happy to vote again."  Then I watched The Speech again early this morning on C-SPAN and marveled at the reaction of 200,000 Berliners in a city that has been, in recent years, a tough room for American leaders.  We've spenta lot of time in Berlin, so I know the city; in my parents' lifetime it was the capital of the most racist country in the world but now it's urbane, cerebral and pretty sophisticated, with a stunning history and a development we've watched throughout the last ten years that is unparalleled.  War(and communist)-ruined buildings and just plain ugly ones have finally been replaced by gleaming new market and skyscraper squares, there's fabulous mass transit as well as renewed activity in its two opera houses and many theaters and ballet companies.  OH and enough museums to keep you busy for months.  Just the kind of place to be particularly hostile to a president like George Bush.

So what did Senator Obama bring that made the difference? David Brooks was pretty harsh in the NYTimes:  " Obama has benefited from a week of good images. But substantively, optimism without reality isn’t eloquence. It’s just Disney."  To be fair, I guess it can sound that way.  The reality, to me though, is that after eight years of a president of whom we could not be proud and whose policies, war, rhetoric and attitude shoved our allies far from our side, a bit of warmth and solidarity is a legitimate introduction.  Beyond that, the most profound thing about the speech, in my view, wasn't Obama but the response to him.  Sure, Europe is liberal and politically correct (except, often, about their own immigrants, unfortunately) and a black candidate (even half) for president in the US is attractive, but it's more than that.  It looked, at least to me, like Europeans have been longing for a United States they can believe in again; that perhaps part of the reason Europeans have been so angry at us is that beneath the rubble of the Bush years, we still represent a promise and ideal that Europe has been furious that we've abandoned. 

Of course, I could be projecting my own heartbreak over Abu Ghraib and the Patriot Act and all the other profanities done in our name; at the horrific lack of inspired leadership both at home and abroad just after 9/11, at the war (How could it happen again - after Vietnam; the same lessons never learned, the same hubris?), at the craven attitude toward energy and life at the bottom end of our economic ladder - at all of it.  But I don't think so.  Rather, it seems that under all the anger Europeans have manifested toward the United States, they, like us, want an American leader they can believe in.  An America they can believe in.  And Barack Obama is about as close to that is you can get without moving to another dimension.

The foundation laid by that inspiration will get us, and our old friends newly re-engaged, through the terrible, tough days ahead.  Without a leadership of hope and belief, natural allies outside our borders will be lost to us, as they so sadly have been these past years.  And as Senator Obama reminded us, we can't afford that.  Not now.

Greece's Pain: It's not Greek to Us - It IS Us!

  See this?  Looks like home, doesn't it?  And sometimes it feels like we are the only country struggling with these issues of immigration.  But guess what.  This poster isn't from Arizona, or Florida, it's part of a sign on a wall on Ermou Street in downtown Athens.

It's not the only one, either.  The country is under terrible economic pressure and it's fraying things. 

According to our very sweet taxi driver,  despite the rumors of wild spending on services, Greece does not provide for the homeless or the poor - at least not enough.  And the people coming into Greece want jobs and "a better life" but "they aren't taking any food from me!"   He's with the marcher s- but there are plenty on the other side too.  We know it's true in France and Germany -- and that Mohamed is one of the most frequent names for new babies in many European countries.  But as you can see the sympathy hasn't completely eroded.  

In addition to these posters, there are many stencils, borrowed from Paris, look like the one below, also from a wall in our neighborhood here.

 

 

For more evidence of how bad things are  -- look at this sure coal mine canary: Squeegee men vintage NYC in the 1980's - all over town.

 

I'll keep you posted as we move through the islands - assuming things will be different there.  Would write more but it costs the earth to use the web on this "yacht."
 

TWITTER and JEWISH MOTHERS; Do we laugh or...well....not?

OK so I'm busy and this is just a video but it's so strange - see what you think.

Something Truly Remarkable

Between work and Passover I have been completely delinquent about posting but you need to see this.  Really. You need to. It's less than three minutes and you'll be really glad. 

Written, directed by : Patrick Jean Director of Photography : Matias Boucardp

Women Bloggers Are NOT Cute Little Girls: Tell the New York Times

  What is it about women who blog that scares s o many people - even other women -- even the New York Times?  Once again this time, they've decided to offer an "analysis" or a "portrait" or an I don't know what about bloggers who are women and moms.  And when they do, they write with a condescending, bemused attitude that is what I remember from the early days of the women's movement, when men would joke about our desire to open our own doors, earn our own livings, make our own decisions.  It was kind of cute to want to be able to get credit cards without a husband's permission, to cover a story without having to go up in the balcony, to keep our names when we got married.   Feminism was just so adorable.

Now, we're free on so many levels, and one manifestation of that freedom is the vibrant world we've created online.  Sisterhoods that cross race and politics and religion and age as we share ideas and pain, joy and pride, birth and loss and every other story that is part of living a life.   There have been a couple of wonderful responses to this irritating TIMES piece (and it's not the first...)  One of my own favorites, Mom-101, whose admirers are legion, wrote 

"...once you get past the first half of the article, there's actually some solid information in there....But I wish [all] that had been to focus of an article about my favorite blogging community that just made the front page of my favorite section of my favorite Sunday paper.  I wish it had opened with the yearning of bloggers for the community to return to good writing, and the evidence that in the end, that's mostly what pays off....  

Of course, there are more.  My friend Danielle Wiley, known to many of her friends as Foodmomiac but also an executive at Edelman PR, has also weighed in.

I invite you to read the full piece and form your own opinions, but sentences like “bringing together participants for some real-time girly bonding” might very well stop you in your tracks. As I write this, my husband (and fellow Edelman executive Michael Wiley) is at SXSW. Would Mendelsohn classify that experience as macho bonding? Or would she write that he is attending a conference for the purposes of education and networking? Why do people, including Ms. Mendlesohn, continue to refer to networking among women as girly bonding? I seriously doubt the participants at Bloggy Boot Camp were wearing jammies and braiding each other’s hair. However, from the tenor of the piece, it was pretty easy to jump to that conclusion.

Here's the bottom line:  I'm old enough to be the mother of both of these women and many of their peers yet they have welcomed me as a sister - a blogger and a friend.  They've honored the sappy posts I've written about my sons and my marriage and they've shared ideas and advice in comments, in twitter and even in real life.  They and their compatriots are talented, skillful compassionate, ornery pioneers who have built what I think of as the new quilting bee, the new Red Tent where they share the wisdom and mysteries that are women's lives.  And they do much more - just go check out the list in Liz's post.  Not for one moment are they silly or unaware or careless or trivial.  And to gain a few points with silly headlines and denigrating phrases isn't bad taste, it's also bad journalism.  Go see for yourself.

 

 

 

 

 

RePost - Don't Gel's Best of 2009: Pete, Bruce, Beyonce and Obama: the Changing of the Guard

There they are: two of the cultural icons of my political life.  Pete Seeger, close to 90, peer and colleague of Woody Guthrie, creator of We Shall Overcome and Turn Turn Turn, of Abiyoyo and Sam the Whaler, leader of The Almanac Singers and the Weavers.  If there was a civil rights rally or a labor rally or an anti-war rally, he was there. 

Beside him, Bruce Springsteen, a modern troubadour whose songs speak for many Americans whose opinions are never sought, whose voices are seldom heard.

As they stood together at the Lincoln Memorial in celebration of the Inauguration of Barack Obama, they represented, to me, all that I had believed and tried to help bring into being.  To many, though, they were "the ultimate in subtly old-left populism."  Speaking about the concert early Sunday before it began, I kept talking about Bruce.  A younger friend gently suggested that he was probably not the day's headliner.  That would be Beyonce Knowles, she said.  I'm sure she's right. 

As one who was present the last time "the torch was passed to a new generation;" as a strongly defined Baby Boomer, it's painful to hear anchormen celebrate the fact that "there will never be another Baby Boom President."  It' s not that I mind the fact of that; it's just painful that it seems to be something to celebrate.  So many of us have tried so to be productive agents of change, have spent our lives working either full or part of the time to see that our country offers more to the least powerful, demands quality education, justice and maybe, even peace.  So to hear Joe Scarborough revel in the fact that "16 horrible years of baby boomer presidents is over" really hurts.  All my adult life we've been tarred by the brush of the least attractive of us while the work of the rest of us went unnoticed.  For most campaigns, as I've written before, we were the secret weapon of the right.

So as exciting as all this is, especially for one who has supported Obama for so long, it's also bittersweet because I feel the shadow of the disdain in which so many of us are held.  I really don't know how to respond.  If I were to try, it might be by offering some of the words to Si Kahn's They All Sang Bread and Roses.  It's better with the music, but it does the job.

They All Sang "Bread and Roses (Si Kahn, 1989, 1991)

The more I study history,

The more I seem to find

That in every generation

There are times just like that time

When folks like you and me who thought

That they were all alone

Within this honored movement

Found a home.

 

And 'though each generation fears

That it will be the last,

Our presence here is witness

To the power of the past.

And just as we have drawn our strength

From those who now are gone,

Younger hands will take our work

And carry on.

Repost - Best of Don't Gel 2009: Loving London

That old rascal Samuel Johnson told us that when we were tired of London, we'd be tired of life.  I know it's summer when any city is inviting but this week is cool and bright and breezy and London is full of British school groups and kids from everywhere else too, and we have an apartment right in the middle of Covent Garden (well NOT the market, God forbid, just the neighborhood) and our older son and his new wife are only 40 minutes away and we have friends here, too.  So how could we be tired?

What you see here is the view from Waterloo Bridge (and yes that's St. Paul's Cathedral in the background.)  This morning I went out and walked all along the Embankment, over where the trees are, then crossed a bridge just out of view on the right and returned via South Bank, London's wonderful (relatively) new arts and museum area.  My entire walk was around three miles and I'm realizing that it's much easier to do the walking when there are new things to look at, not just the old neighborhood or, as lovely as it is, Rock Creek Park. 

The wonder of a great city is that it's always changing, that even the most trivial journey is full of surprises.  On my way home tonight I came across a group of teenagers - one of dozens of g The wonder of a great city is that it's always changing, that even the most trivial journey is full of surprises.  On my way home tonight I came across a group of teenagers - one of dozens of groups we've been seeing ever since we got here.  The reason they're all sitting on the sidewalk is that they're exchanging addresses and spelling them out - different nationalities, different spelling.  Kind of an EU photo.

Of course there's lots else going on here.  Huge waves of immigration, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, what looks to me to be an appalling amount of youthful alcohol consumption and unemployment all take their toll.  There's something about the place despite those issues though.  The day after the 2005 subway bombing that killed 52 people, Londoners got back on the train and went to work.  They did that all during the Blitz as much of the rest of the world watched them face down Hitler almost alone.

Cities are supposed to change.  That's what makes them exciting.  Even so, London has seen more than its share: waves of immigration that have transformed it, an early history of wars and fires and plagues, contemporary royal scandals and of course the "troubles" between Belfast and the rest of Ireland and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.   After all, who would have believed before it arrived to help celebrate the Millennium, that there would be a ferris wheel right in the center of town?  They call it the London Eye to make it sound fancy but it's still a ferris wheel, here in same town that has a real live queen living in a real live palace?  It's pretty amazing.

I'm thinking that while we're here I can try to get past some of what I've written here and learn a bit of what it's like to truly live here.  It's got to be different from wandering around with no need to be on time or face the traffic or crowded mass transit and infinite numbers of tourists and, incidentally, deal with what appears to be an enormous amount of alcohol consumption - especially by men.  I'm hoping to keep you posted as I make my way.  I hope you'll come along.

RePost: Best of Don't Gel 2009 - The End of the Berlin Wall: Twenty Years Ago

This is the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin. The first time I saw it, in 1974, there was a wall built right through it. 

Here's a photo of it then, from the Hotel Adlon website.  The hotel stood, from 1907 to 1945, when it was decimated by a fire, just to the left of the Gate.  It was the stopping place for world leaders and socialites and was rebuilt shortly after the Wall fell. 

Because Berlin has such a dramatic history, it was always exciting to be there -- maybe more so while the wall remained.

 I remember especially coming through Checkpoint Charlie (that's it on the left) on a dark fall day (Americans were allowed to visit for the day after going through this scary border station and having cars and packages searched) and, as we approached the Gate, seeing an old man standing, looking over into the West.  In his hands, clasped behind his back, was a rosary.  Not so popular in communist East Berlin.  I recall thinking immediately "Oh.  His daughter is getting married in the West today and he can't go, and he's standing there, thinking about her, praying for her."  Berlin in those times lent itself to imagining such things.  The drama was palpable.

The first time we went to Berlin after the wall fell, I remember, it was pouring.   Oblivious to the weather, we walked back and forth beneath the lovely arches in the now-open gate, kind of giddy at what it meant to the people of Berlin and all those who care about freedom and, I guess, redemption.  For despite what happened in Berlin during the war (and we've studied it extensively and spoken both with survivors and those involved in the rebuilding of the Jewish community) the Wall caused immeasurable suffering and was a diabolical slash through the heart of the city and every one of its people.

I've written about Berlin before: from its playgrounds to its grim Communist years.  We go there often.  It seems to pull us back, its intellectual energy and re-emerging Jewish community irresistible. Once, when we'd taken our kids there while the Wall remained, one son, around 5, bought a stuffed wool pig and told everyone he "got it out of jail."    

Here's one last photo - of two buildings: one redone and the other still old and rickety, in the very cool neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which is in the old "East Berlin" and now, last I heard, had the highest childbirth rate in Germany and was home to artists, writers, musicians and fashionably cool people who don't have to work.  What you see stands for it all:  the struggle to renew, still only partly complete.

Art Imitates Life and Dr. Horrible's Nemesis Is an Author!

I'm not sure who's on first, which chicken chased which egg or even how to tell you about this.  See this book cover?  It's a real book - and Entertainment Weekly says it isn't even bad.  But the author - well, the author isn't real!!!  He's a character on an ABC TV program called - guess what --- Castle! 

Played by Dr. Horrible's own Biggest Enemy Captain Hammer -- aka Nathan Fillion - he's a debonair, wealthy mystery writer with an actress mother and a typically New-York-wise daughter with whom he has a refreshingly healthy relationship  (Mom too, actually.) 

So there's nothing wrong with the show; it's slight, sweet and kind of funny although it could certainly be better written.  In fact, from the reviews I've read, it might be better if Richard Castle (who remember, doesn't exist - really) wrote the scripts as well as his books. 

Yes books because apparently this is the first of many.  And you can get it on Kindle and Castle even has a brief (equally fictitious) bio on Amazon "Richard Castle is the author of numerous bestsellers, including the critically acclaimed Derrick Storm series. His first novel, In a Hail of Bullets, published while he was still in college, received the Nom DePlume Society's prestigious Tom Straw Award for Mystery Literature. Castle currently lives in Manhattan with his daughter and mother, both of whom infuse his life with humor and inspiration."

Got that?  Fillion/Captain Hammer (this guy) also plays a fictitious writer on a lightweight TV show and somebody - whose name isn't anyplace and as far as I can determine hasn't played anyone (other than a ghostwriter) has written a novel in his name.

This isn't a scandal or a crime - it's just so damned funny.  Fillion seems like a fine fellow and Castle is certainly likable enough.  But it's hard to get books published these days - especially fiction. 

So all you struggling writers out there -- now you know how to sell your novel.  Make it into a TV show and your literary career is assured.

As my mom used to say, "Only in America!"

New Years and Long Marriages: How Have We Done It?

It's very hard to be married.  This is no headline.  But the Sunday New York Times on December 13th carried a piece by David Sarasohn; a meditation on marriage, moving from the first lines:  "I have been married forever.  Well, not since the Big Bang but since the Nixon administration — 35 years — a stretch long enough to startle new acquaintances or make talk-show audiences applaud" to the last.

As you may deduce from the hair, we too married during the Nixon years, and we too are still together. We were married on September 12, 1971 and have survived more than 38 years of complicated marriage about which I've written before.  So why now?

Well, first of all because my husband asked me to write it.   Just to see what came out, I think.  How did we do it?  How are we still doing it?  Oh - and why have we bothered?  We've seen friends split over much less than what we've faced, so what was different?

Here's Mr. Sarasohn's theory:

I am somewhat better with words than my wife is; she is infinitely better with people. In different ways, we translate each other to the rest of the world, and admire each other’s contrasting language skills. Being married to someone you respect for being somehow better than you keeps affection alive. That this impressive person chooses you year after year makes you more pleased with yourself, fueling the kind of mutual self-esteem that can get you through decades.

Not bad.  I know we've been all over the world and I would never have had the nerve with out him; he is the one who was probably an airplane in a previous life.  And that we met an extraordinary number of wonderful people because of the work he chose to do.  And that he pushed me to write my book and never expected me to be anything but a working mom.  And among psychoanalysts in Manhattan in the 70s and 80s that was pretty amazing.  OH and he shoved and pushed and pulled me to spend money on myself once in a while, which was very hard for a girl from a Depression-scarred background.  I know he's got his own list for me as well.

Of course we've faced plenty of though stuff too.  His chronic illness is a rotten burden and one that has colored much of our time together.  And we've had professional and financial crises, and moved from Washington to Palo Alto to New York to another apartment in New York to Los Angeles to another house in Los Angeles to Washington and another house in Washington.  We've had some challenges as parents and as partners, other health issues including open-heart surgery, loss of our parents and very tough moments even now.  But leaving - that was never an option.  We have many young friends who wonder at the fact that we are still together and it's one of the few times I feel a distance from them. I'm so aware that it's something you know more than you say, despite the beauty and wisdom of the Sarasohn piece and despite my efforts here.   

Once my dad told me that he was sure we'd never be divorced; we were both too stubborn.  I guess that's true too, but it takes more than that.  We are never ever bored with each other.  We share basic values that we've been able to pass on to our kids even though we may have differed on the details.  We trust each other.  We have fun - and now, day-by-day, we share a history.

A collected set of joint memories is not a small thing.  I always say it's like quitting smoking - every day you accumulate increases the value of the commitment.  Just this morning, listening to the blizzard weather predictions, I recalled an orange outfit we had bought our toddler in Paris more than thirty years ago.  " Remember the orange snowsuit we bought Josh in au Printemps?" I asked him.  He smiled in fond recollection and said "Yeah, but it was Galeries Lafayette."  There are a lifetime of those moments. 

 That was, by the way, the same trip where Josh stared up at the Winged Victory of Samothrace towering at the top of the main staircase in the Louvre and said "pigeon."   

I'm telling you these small memories for a reason.  The big things are cool too - watching a son get married, fancy parties with high-profile people, trips around the country and around the world.  But within and surrounding the gigantic are those moments that make a marriage, tiny and still; a quiet loving word from a son, or the sharing of a meal he has prepared, the deck of a beach house while the sun goes down, wonder at a great performance or a great meal shared.  For the two of us, 38 years of those trump the aggravation and the stressful moments.

Frighteningly, I'm about to turn the age I always thought a subject for humor - after all, there is even a song. 

When I get older, losing my hair,

Many years from now.

Will you still be sending me a valentine

Birthday greetings bottle of wine?

 

If I'd been out till quarter to three

Would you lock the door?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

When I'm sixty-four.

We knew each other when this song was still part of FM rotation – when we counted our ages in fewer than half those years.  Between then and now, more has happened than I can describe – both in the “outside world” and in our home.  And I know the answer to the question.  Yes - from me and from him.  When we're sixty-four and, God willng, long after that.