Wednesday, July 26, 2017

FLOTUS at WFCO

Michelle Obama looked slim and rested at the Pepsi Center last night where over 9000 men and women, mostly women, gathered to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the Women's Foundation of Colorado.

Here is some insider info.  Mrs. Obama had just finished spending some time at a "boot camp" in California where she hiked ten miles a day, ate a purely vegan diet, and ended up losing an aggregate of 12 inches off various body parts.  Franny filled us in on that little scoop over cocktails and truffled french fries at The Four Seasons before we walked over to the Pepsi Center to meet Mario and his wife (Laura?  Lori?).  Even though I am not completely sure of her name, Mario's partner is a middle school English teacher in Dougco.  We hit it off immediately.

It was interesting being one of the relatively few males at the gathering.  I was able to experience first hand the frustration women must feel when  there aren't enough restrooms to go around.  Since the event was ostensibly about empowering women, the organizers (Franny led the Obama team) designated most of the men's rooms in the place for women.  The long lines that persisted for ladies was probably attributable to their unwillingness to use the plethora of urinals in the erstwhile men's rooms.  As far as I could determine, there was only one men's room left on the third tier.  When I finally located the place, I was pleased to discover that, since men are able to use a variety of porcelain receptacles for their needs, there were no lines.  See, even in that female dominated situation, men still seem to have the upper hand.  I did keep looking over my shoulder just in case a group of hard core feminists tried to invade that solitary bastion of male dominance.

I couldn't help but think what some of my FoxNews Republican friends would have to say about the whole night, especially some of Obama's comments.  The whole evening was an ode to the accomplishments of women.  The entertainers were all women.  Except for a local DJ and Mayor Hancock, all the speakers were women.  The hallways circling the floor were filled with women taking selfies, women ordering beers, women laughing and slapping each other on backs.  They acted as if they didn't need menfolk at all.  My FoxNews friends would undoubtedly notch it all off to reverse sexism, just like Black Lives Matter was about reverse racism.

When the first lady spoke, she even had the temerity to suggest that women were tougher than men.  That men were unevolved.  That if a man (like her husband) ever found himself bleeding from wherever, he would sit down and not move until the bleeding stopped.  I thought she overstated her case there.  I remember I smashed my middle finger a few weeks ago while installing Ellie Leinaweaver's deck.  Did I stop?  No way.  I wrapped a bandage (several) around the gushing wound and soldiered on.  So there!  I bleed.  I'm a bleeder.

Obama mentioned the numbers of women who gave up on their power, presumably by voting for Trump, or not voting at all.  I know a number of women who voted for Boss Tweet.  Those same women probably didn't show up at the Pepsi Center because they resent being tied to "Women's Issues."  They voted for Trump because they thought he would shake up the system, reinvigorate businesses, and reassert American power.  They voted as Americans, not women.  Of course, that position seems less impressive when you take into consideration that Trump has done none of those things.

However, I understand their point about women's issues, but for different reasons.  Birth control, free pre-school and kindergarten, sexual abuse, sexual predators, universal pre- and post-natal care, all those things and more are typically designated "women's issues" and I take exception to that.  Those are issues that should concern everyone.

Ted Cruz, for example, is going to vote against Republican Obamacare replacements that mandate maternity care because "why should a man have to pay for some woman's maternity bill?"  Does that position rankle only women,  or does it fly in the face of what all decent human beings ought to believe?

When Donald Trump brags about his ability to grab pussy, is that a woman's issue, or is it everyone's?

I don't think we should have women's issues, or men's issues, or children's issues, or senior' issues.  These are American issues.  Michelle Obama certainly understands that.  So does her husband.  I hope all of us gathered at the Pepsi Center last night will come to understand that as well.


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Big Mac Lessons

There is a moment in "My Dinner With Andre" when Andre Gregory invites Wallace Shawn to think about that moment of forgetting that is so integral to the act of sex.  After the sex, however, "the world comes rushing back in quite quickly."  You're there in bed next to your lover and you're on your back looking up at the ceiling, wondering if it is time to repaint.

Spending two weeks at Jenny Lake Lodge is kind of like that.  Like being up on Carol King's roof, "all my cares just drift off into space."  The pleasures of Jenny are so huge, the sensory bombardment so immediate that nothing else matters.  When I get up in the morning, shower, and walk over to the lodge to get Katherine her morning tea, the only thing I care about is the blazing fire place and the morning sun turning the cathedral group pink.  There is a stack of New York Times by the door when I walk in, but I never look at them.  If I did, I might see a headline that might bring me crushingly back to the world and I just can't allow that to happen.  Instead, I sit by the fire and read a book.

Katherine comes over right before they start serving breakfast and she fills me in on the latest Facebook scuttlebutt and any news from the kids.  I listen and I care about all that, but all I really  think about is that day's impending hike or kayak excursion.

The waitstaff filters in during those morning hours and always offer warm greetings.  Jim, the head waiter and twenty year member of the Jenny crew always stops by to say good morning and check up on what we're gonna do on any particular day.  On the last day of our stay, Jim makes his special bloody mary recipe for us so we can have our traditional final day ritual.  Most of the staff make it a point to give us hugs and assure us they will see us the next year.  More often than not, they do.  Thanks to Rachel and Connor and Jim and Maria and Jane and Luke and so many more, we are made to feel like the most beloved folks in the world for fourteen days and nights.  Many of my friends and family wonder why we keep going back there (We could be taking cruises all over the place for what Jenny costs us.).  We have to go back each year.  It keeps us sane.

Today it has been one week since we left Jenny and arrived home and just like Andre suggested in that first paragraph, the world has rushed in.  There was the traffic jam on I-25 on our way back into town.  Then there was the (always) dreaded moment when I look toward our neighborhood for the first time in two weeks convinced that I will spot a pillar of smoke over the spot where our house used to stand.  I'm pleased to report that the place looked just like it looked when we left.

After we pull into the driveway, I always go into the house to check for any disasters that I'm sure must have happened while we were away.  Pleased that the air conditioner still seems to be working, I run into the kitchen to see if the water comes out of the tap.  Check.  Then I do the same in our bathroom upstairs.  Check.  Next, I run down to the laundry room to make sure that the pipes haven't burst and flooded our newly carpeted lower level with water.  Check.

After a half an hour or so of unpacking (basically throwing everything in the dirty clothes), I go outside to see how decimated our yard has been by the string of 100 degree days in Denver while we were cooling off in the Tetons.  I am alway relieved to note that Rene, our next door neighbor, has done a better job watering and mowing than we would have done had we stayed home.

At the end of this last trip, Kathie, who by virtue of her ability to actually hear on the telephone, started making calls to all the various contractors who have to come and fix our kitchen walls and replace our hard wood floors and replace the skylight window that leaked and ruined everything a few months ago.

While she was doing that, I ran out to Virgilios for pizza and salad.  This, our first dinner back, would represent a rather startling departure from the five course meals we eat every night at Jenny.  You know how folks on vacation always say they are looking forward to getting some ordinary food after all the rich stuff they've been eating on vacation?  They look forward to a beef combination at some Mexican joint, or some pizza at their local Italian joint.  Well, people who say that are crazy.  The pizza was a poor substitute for the meals at Jenny.

We went to bed that night after watching some television for the first time in a fortnight.  That was kind of nice, but the next morning we woke up and the bed was a mess and there were towels hanging from the shower and even though we waited patiently most of the morning, Maria never showed up to change our sheets and get us a new set of towels.  Oh the drudgery!

Of course, part of the world rushing back in is us seeing our kids and grandkids again.  They all came over for a family dinner on Saturday.  Katherine made her wonderful fried chicken and I have to admit it tasted better than anything I had at Jenny (Well maybe).  And we all gathered around the table and had a great time laughing, catching up, marveling at our grandchildren.  But then my oldest child said something that brought me quickly out of my reverie.

Before I explain, I have to say that one of the greatest joys about being a parent of our three children is that when I tell people what my kids do, most folks are kind of amazed and invariably ask what we did to raise such impressive children.  I always shrug my shoulders and suggest that they were pretty much planted on me.  Of course, I'm really thinking about all those Andy Griffith moments when Kathie and I had long heart felt talks with our kids that of course set them all on the right path.  The point is that I feel rather smug about my parenting.  It is the only thing in my life, other than my choice of wife and partner, that I feel smug about.

Chris talked about such a moment at our family dinner.  Somehow we were talking about how his kids, Brooklyn in particular, are irritatingly picky eaters, even at McDonalds.  That reminded Chris of the day when I told him that he could order two Big Macs instead of his usual one.  It was obviously a red letter day for him because the memory had to be at least forty years old and I think his eyes were getting a little misty.

"You can't be serious," I said right before I leaned over to Sammi, Chris' oldest girl, and whispered in her ear, "You're dad is full of it."  She laughed and nodded her agreement.

"No, Dad.  It really happened and I remember Nate was really mad that he couldn't have two."

"Wait a minute.  You're telling me that we had a father-son moment where I said you could have two Big Macs?  It was kind of a rite of passage?  Tell me, did I shake your hand and start crying a little?"

The whole thing was kind of depressing.  There must have been some other big moments, some other pieces of sage advice I gave while Chris was growing up.  I'm sure I remember some.

"Always do your best."

"Care more about others than you care about yourself."

"Avoid the clap."

All of those were important lessons, but no, he remembered the one about Big Macs!

The world has rushed back; I'm officially home.