The Countdown Concludes; I'm Retired!

I've left the office for the last time (leaving behind, it suddenly occurs to me, a set of earbuds that were plugged into my computer). Went immediately to have a massage, followed by a manicure, picked up some food and came home. I swept the sidewalk, had some phone conversations, and am watching the news much like any other weeknight.

Don't know when I'll start to really feel retired. Maybe not until the first workday of 2011 when I wake up at 7:30 am, roll over, and go back to sleep.

Counting the Weeks, Days, and Hours

Two weeks, eight days, or 56 hours to go. I've started clearing out my office of stuff to go home and have started passing on books, papers, and files to the editor who is taking over my publications.

Yesterday I paged through my archives of "Best of the West," the office newsletter, which I had kept going back to about 1985. I mostly looked at the pictures of so many people I used to know who had been laid off or had gone on to better things, and the few who had retired and/or died, and the very few who were still with the company. Each of them I gave an issue with their picture in it.

Now I'm starting to say to myself, "The next to last Monday I'll be buying milk on the way in to work." Only two more times I have to fill out that dreadful online timesheet.

I've already written on the paper calendar I use to keep track of my billable hours - the 23d is a half-holiday, the 24th is a full holiday, and as of the 27th, I'm retired!!!!!!

It's Official! I'm Retiring!

Finally, finally, all the pieces seem to have come together: Several years after the death of my co-tenant-in-common, I reached a deal with his estate and got a loan to buy the rest of the building, got moved downstairs, renovated the upstairs to a fare-thee-well, and have finally leased it. For months, I have been promising myself and warning my co-workers that I'd set my retirement date as soon as I signed a lease on the upstairs flat, and I'm a woman of my word.

I have officially informed my boss that my last day will be December 24 and have applied to have one of my pensions and my retiree health benefits start as of January 1 (1/1/11 - quite an auspicious date).

I've already started to fill in some of the blank places on my social calendar. I've acquired a leading role in a one-act musical comedy that is to be staged next March. I just bought a series of 20 yoga classes for $1 apiece, and signed up for a meditation retreat in two weeks. And, of course, I've got plenty of community organizing work to keep me out of mischief.

Look out, world-outside-of-work, here I come!

Community Forum on State Government

After months of planning and research, Congregation Sha'ar Zahav, SFOP, the Progressive Jewish Alliance, and PICO California finally held our public forum on the morass that is California's state government. Authors Peter Shrag and Mark Paul set out the various reasons why we can no longer govern ourselves: too small a legislature for the size of our population, supermajority requirements for passing budgets and raising taxes, limitations on reassessing corporate property for taxation, term limits, etc. Since the meeting was scheduled opposite the opening night of the World Series, and our own San Francisco Giants were playing, the turnout could have been dismal. However, concerned folks from Congregation Sha'ar Zahav, other SFOP congregations, and a few PICO affiliates around Northern California contributed to our total attendance of 101.

I felt moved to wax lyrical in our debrief afterwards. When asked to state how we were feeling, I said: "hopeful. It feels like we've lit the fuse on an explosion for good."

Then later I said: "I have been seeing the budget mess as a group of social justice activists scrambling for crumbs from a shrinking pie, when what we really need to do is get into the kitchen and stock it with fresh ingredients, new cooks, and good recipes, and turn out many luscious, big pies. But looking at the mess that is our governmental system, deadlocked because ballot initiatives amending the state constitution have tied legislators' hands yet voters blame them for being unable to act, I'm beginning to see it more as a huge Gordian knot, and we're starting to find some loose ends that we can use to untangle it, step by step."

In particular, IMHO, Californians should vote next week, yes on Prop. 25 and no on Prop. 26. The vote on 25 would start to peel away the supermajority requirements that are keeping the legislature from adopting a budget in a timely fashion, and the vote on 26 would refrain from instituting a supermajority requirement on other government functions.

Blinds and Library Ladder are In

Finally I have privacy in my back hall, and a much darker bedroom. And the library ladder is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

I've sorted my books into fiction and non-fiction. Within non-fiction, so far I've separated Judaica from all other stuff. Pretty soon I plan to subdivide fiction into at least two categories, and subdivide non-Judaica. The goals of the process are to be able to lay my hands on any book that I want in a few seconds, and to be able to browse similar books for other good reads.

Now that I have only a single box of stuff not put away (and a fairly good idea of what to do with it), I'm ready to put a toe in the waters of hospitality. I've invited a recorder-playing buddy over for duets. And I'm starting to think about throwing a house-warming/retirement party.

The top flat is all renovated and on the market; showings have already started, and I expect some applications within the next week or so. So it should be rented no later than the end of this month, and I should be retired no later than the end of next month. Yowza!

Progress at Home and the High Holy Days

So, the recliner has arrived and my bookcases have been extended to the ceiling, and most of my pictures are on the walls, and most of the boxes are unpacked and gone. My library ladder has been delivered and is being installed today, and my new blinds are on their way. Every few days I get an idea about how my belongings could be more beautifully or more conveniently arranged, and I'm getting more and more comfortable in my new home.

On the other hand, the stress of buying the rest of the building, acquiring a huge new mortgage, and relocating downstairs has finally expressed itself in the form of a cold that is going into its 11th day, including two or three days of fever. In order to avoid spreading it around, I missed all the Rosh Hashanah services at shul, including the one I was scheduled to co-lead. I'm planning to attend Kol Nidrei tonight and as much of the services tomorrow as I can consistent with trying to get well.

All this distraction has kept me from doing prety much any spiritual preparation for the new year, I'm sad to say. And that's a particular shame this year because I'm so close to retiring and will need to restructure my days without the framework of work. I will need all the spiritual perspective and clarity of mind I can summon to equip my days with accomplishments and healthy pleasures, be a good and fair landlady, and manage my expenditures. I'll want to find interesting and valuable volunteer opportunities, and build on my CSZ and SFOP work, plus get back into artistic and literary endeavors.

Anyway, maybe I'll reread my Shabbat Shuvah sermon and plan to use time during and between the Yom Kippur services for reflections.

May we all be sealed in the Book of Life for a peaceful, healthy, and productive 5771.

My New Didge

And now I have my own polyvinyl resin digeridoo (complete with a carrying case and instructional video) to play on while waiting for the rest of my home to come together. It's nearly as tall as I am, and nearly indestructible, which I really like - I felt very intimidated by the agave didge I was renting from the teacher. I kept waiting for some horrible accident to happen while it was in my possession.

My new instrument is black, with blue and white aboriginal art that I find appealing. Sure hope it sounds good.

My Library's Coming!

For many, many years, I have had a dream of a home library - wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases with a library ladder on a rail so I could reach the books on the upper shelves. Ever since I decided to move downstairs, I've been planning how to accomplish this.

Bids to build the library from scratch made my jaw drop, and so did bids from carpenters who would take my existing set of teak veneer bookcases and build more shelves up to the ceiling. Finally, I asked my friend Jack to come up with a version I could both afford and live with, possibly involving IKEA products. He came and measured, and studied the Billy bookcase units on the IKEA website, and came up with a plan that will use two Billy bookcases, plus extension shelves, alongside my bookcases. We went to IKEA and picked up the cases, for a song. And then we went to the ladder store, and got a bid on a library ladder that cost half what I was quoted by one of the first carpenters. Adding the very reasonable sum he estimates for his labor on the project, I'm going to wind up with a wall of books and a real library ladder for a nice price.

And once the bookshelves are joined by the pricy zero gravity recliner that I've bought - instead of a visually attractive but uncomfortable window seat that was my first idea - I'm going to have a wonderful place to read, and nap, and read, and nap ...

Back at Work

The actual moving came off without incident, except that Comcast jumped the gun and cut off my service at 4028 a day early. And I was quite correct - my first looks at the empty flat were very sad indeed, and trying to navigate in the new flat between walls of boxes and without curtains on most of the windows was really awful.

That said, I've made - with the help of Jan and my organizer - great progress over the weekend: the heat is now working, I have privacy in my bedroom and bathroom, and about half of the boxes are unpacked and taken away. The kitchen is completely unpacked, the living room and bedroom are mostly unpacked, much of what I need in the bathroom is unpacked, and I've made a start on unpacking my books and the other contents of my library/study/music room. The least unpleasant bit of unpacking was while I was listening to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," my favorite radio program, on my ipod. I wish it had new episodes daily instead of weekly.

By way of addressing the massive stress of dislocation, I pampered myself on Saturday with a pedicure and foot massage. On Sunday, Jan and I took a digeridoo-playing class. I gotta say that being part of a group of adults sitting in a circle and practicing making raspberries (Bronx cheers) was really funny. Each dig is tuned to a particular note, and I astounded the teacher by finding much lower notes in the instrument that I'm renting for two weeks. I've done some raspberries in various recorder workshops for relaxation of the mouth; that may have given me a slight head start on dig technique.

Getting back to my familiar office is a bit of a relief and a bit disorienting. It may take my wits some time to recover; yesterday I left my purse in a restaurant.

Packed and Poised

So here I am, surrounded by the 70 carton boxes that contain most of my worldly possessions, but I made sure I'd still be able to sit on my couch and watch TV tonight, take a bubble bath, and sleep in my own bed.

Tomorrow, thankfully, I do not have to go in for jury service. So I can sleep in, direct the movers, and start unpacking.

Stay tuned.

Now Comes the Move

My pre-move organization is now complete; packing is scheduled for the day after tomorrow, and the move for the day after that. Then I have the weekend to unpack enough to get by with.

I've informed the post office, my bank, the phone and cable companies, and my housekeeper of the move, and will have many other address changes to achieve. The worst part, I expect, will be looking at my old place once it is all in boxes and then when it is empty. And next worst will probably be looking at my new place all in boxes and then finding all my stuff, finding homes for it, and getting used to conducting my life in the new spaces.

I'll try to focus on the improvements - no stairs to climb, a quiet bedroom in the back of the house, and the ability to retire once the place is fullly rented.

That being said, "My mind's distracted and diffused," and I'm seriously decision-impaired. Normal enough, I suppose. And it should eventually pass.

Excelsior!

End of Decluttering in Sight

So my pack strap broke last week, motivating me to clean it out with the help of my organizer and move what was left into a temporary pack while I got it repaired. I'm back in the old pack now, but it's nearly five pounds lighter - which is good for both its structural integrity and my own.

That helped get me in the frame of mind to tackle the books, and we went through about half of my library. I was able to part with nearly half of the books I looked at - now all the shelves that I've done are a single layer thick, no longer double-shelved. I was on quite the roll, and we quit only because we ran out of boxes to put the discards into.

So we figure on three more sessions, the rest of the books, my music, and the kitchen. Then I move downstairs at the end of next month - having finally been approved for a new loan and struck a deal with Jim's estate. Then I spiffy up my old place and get it rented out, and then I retire. Hot darn!

Long Time No Write

So, I haven't written a new post for a few weeks, since I've been so busy posting the old writings that I've been turning up in my decluttering efforts. Which, incidentally, are getting down to brass tacks - books and music. Considering each of the 2000 or so books that I own to determine which ones I'm willing to part with is something I've been putting off as long as possible. It would be simpler to go by categories, e.g., Christian books out, Jewish books in. But there are some Christian books that I couldn't part with, and some Jewish books that I'll never get around to reading. And how could I part with all my science fiction, or children's literature, or ...?

My books are the friends, talismans, security blankets, and source of stability about which I've written so often; how can I bear to part with a single one of them? I must try to console myself with the thought that others will be able to share their benefits if I let them go out into the world. But it's hard.

Yet Another Old Writing

Probably also from the mid-1980's:

I cannot cry unless I expressly give myself permission. When I feel a lump in my throat, I must choose whether or not to cry. Sometimes I give myself permission to cry, and sometimes I don't. Usually the times I deny myself tears are reasonable postponements. If I'm singing at the funeral of a relative, for example, I can't cry and sing at the same time, so the tears get postponed.

But often there's no real reason why I shouldn't cry, and yet the tears hover unshed in my throat until I give them permission to come, and sometimes they don't even come then. It seems to me that my difficulty in crying has to do with my father. He and I argued a lot when I was in my early teens. I would get so angry and frustrated at his stubborn wrong-headedness that I would begin to cry. Then he would tell me to stop crying, saying that I was using tears as a way to manipulate him.

So I learned to control my tears. Not in the way he meant, to turn them on at will, but to be able to withhold them until the coast was clear and I could cry in private. To this day I cannot cry until after I have decided that it is safe for my tears to come out, and maybe not even then.

More Mothertongue Writings

You name it, I've been it. My Catholic mother had me baptized as an infant. Then I lived with my Jewish grandparents and went to Sunday School at a Reform synagogue. Then I lived with my atheist father. In college, I was converted to Christianity by Campus Crusade for Christ. Later I studied and worshipped with Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship. Meanwhile, I had joined a Presbyterian church because I loved the music that a professor of mine had recruited me to sing with their choir.
After moving to a new city, I joined a Lutheran church because it was near my home. After a few years, I began going to a Catholic charismatic prayer meeting with some charismatic Lutheran friends. Then I discovered the gay synagogue in town and started going there. The non-sexist liturgy charmed me, as well as the gay and lesbian congregation. So, I stopped going to the Lutheran Church, and joined the synagogue. Then I got involved in a twelve-step program, which has its own form of spirituality. Along the way I also attended a Quaker meeting, spent a weekend at a Moonie camp, and learned Transcendental Meditation.
What do I actually believe? Whatever is working for me right now.
_____________

My Favorite Things

Two-headed dildoes and long peacock feathers,
Butt plugs and fur mitts and shiny black leathers,
Garters and stockings and gold nipple rings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Shiny ben wa balls and edible lotions,
Sturdy vibrator for long-lasting motions,
Honey dust powder and butt beads on strings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the mood strikes,
When my blood burns,
When I'm feeling gay,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I have got to play.
_______________

Used to be, they thought women were sick if we wanted sex. No they think we're sick if we don't.
________________

I've tried non-monogamy, and I've learned my lesson. My problem is not moral, ethical, or religious: I just don't have that much energy.

A Poem from my Santa Monica Years

I can share this with you because I still have, and recently rediscovered, the mimeographed literary magazine in which it was published during my high school years:

Fog, all around me,
sheltering me
from my world that was
torn asunder.
When will the sun shine again?

I can't see
through the fog,
Nor do I want to see
my world that was.
I look forward
to sunshine.

Upon what
will the sun shine?
What will I see
when it rises again?
What?

What new road
lies ahead,
shrouded now
by fog
which will
soon be revealed?

Songs and Poems from the Mothertongue Years

Chorus: Hang in there, baby, hang in.
Hang in there, baby, hang in.
We're like that kitten hanging by her chin;
Gravity's against us, but we don't give in.
Hang in there, kitten, hang in.

Verse 1: We're up against the system,
pollution and the bomb,
anxiety, depression,
and the list goes on.
Hang in there, sister, hang in.

Verse 2: It's hard as women
trying to survive,
but we have hope and courage
while we're still alive.
Hang in there, women, hang in.
____________________________

The Process of Consensus Blues

Verse 1: I hate to go to meetings.
Usually they're boring.
Got to work together, though, to get things done.

Chorus: Don't you fret yourself none.
It's sure to take forever.
That's the process of consensus blues.

Verse 2: Women use consensus,
not Robert's Rules of Order,
But sometimes it seems as if they're both the same.

Verse 3: We've got eleven women,
crowded in the front room.
Lots of big decisions are a'comin' down.

Verse 4: Two of us are for it;
two of us against it;
all the other women don't give a damn.

Verse 5: If we block consensus,
will we still be welcome?
Wish we didn't have to, but we feel we must.

Verse 6: All of us are tired;
all of us are cranky;
come on, let's decide so we can go on home.
_________________________

Greenham Geese (tune of Dona, Dona)

1 On the commons, Greenham Commons,
lives a flock of unruly geese
trained to honk and flight,
guarding day and night,
so that war isn't stopped by peace.

Chorus: How the geese are laughing.
They laugh with all their might.
Laugh and laugh the whole day through
and half the summer's night.
Dona, dona nobis pacem.
Grant us peace, we pray.
We are here to save the planet.
Greenham camp is here to stay.

2. Geese are easily trained for warfare:
honk alarm, then attack the foe.
Women, drawing near, cut the fence, and hear,
with them, silent, the geese did go.

3. When the roll is called and no geese are found,
major-generals are red of face.
All their well-trained geese, AWOL, and learning peace,
have adopted new friends and place.
_________________________

Books

Books are almost as good as friends,
at warming my heart, at making me cry,
at bringing a laugh, or a tear, or a sigh.

They take me away from this world that I know,
make me feel like a child and then help me to grow.

I revel in fiction and marvel at fact,
learn points to debate with, examples of tact.

Humor is good when I'm sick, weak, or blue.
For escape, science fiction will usually do.

Feminist writings may spur me to glory,
but my favorite of all is a women's love story.
__________________-

Flowering Fruit Trees

Love is flower-like, they say, and
friendship's like a tree
that shelters one from sun and storm
beneath its canopy.

I will not choose between the two;
I want them both, I say;
a lover's arms to hold me close
and friends with whom to play.

The trick, it seems, to having both
is found in friendship's bower,
where love will come one day, I hope,
when two dear friend-trees flower.

The Mothertongue Era, the 80's

When I joined a gay synagogue and left the Lutheran church, I came out as a lesbian and got involved in feminist pursuits. My main avocation was writing and performing with Mothertongue Readers Theater. I worked on anthology scripts concerning identity, survival, sexuality, and peace. And now I present some of my pieces:

My name is Dana. I've always thought it meant Dane, a native of Denmark, which I'm not. But I since gathered that I was named after a close male friend of my father's, possibly a lover of his.
I always liked my name. I didn't have to share it with a lot of other people. In fact, I never met another Dana until I was in junior high school, one boy and one girl, and still we were few and between.
People often tell me I have a pretty name, which is not the term I would have chosen, but I appreciate the sentiment.
There are more of us Danas now, so I'm less unique. On the other hand, fewer people misspell the name these days.
Yes, I like my name; I think Dana is a neat, spare name, simple and without a lot of connotations. I think of it as straightforward and androgynous, two characteristics I like to think I share with it.
_______________

I needed to have a Hebrew name by Yom Kippur this year, so I could be called by that name to chant blessings for a Torah reading. I had known for at least a year that I would eventually have to choose a Hebrew name, but I hadn't chosen one. Making choices is not my strong suit.
I liked one name, Shira, because it means "song," and I'm a singer; but to me it belonged to someone else, a teacher of Israeli folkdance. This gave me mixed feelings. I admire Shira, and wouldn't want to take a name associated with a person I didn't respect, but I also didn't want to take a name that already belonged to someone else. That feels like cheating, like being a copycat.
I had even worse problems with Devora, Hebrew for Deborah, the first woman judge of Israel, because, although it is an honorable name and shares some letters with my own name, the Hebrew and English versions of the name already belong to my therapist and my boss, respectively.
So I called the rabbi for help, and he provided a book of English names and their nearest Hebrew equivalents, by sound and by meaning. It turns out that Dana, or Danah, is a perfectly valid Hebrew name, meaning "to judge." Since I'm a member of the State Bar and have a somewhat critical personality, the name seemed appropriate. Moreover, it's simply derived from my own name and doesn't belong to anyone I know, so that it's as rare a Hebrew name as my English name used to be and I don't have to take a whole lot of responsibility for selecting it. I hate making choices.
___________________

Somehow I always knew I would have to earn my own living. When my brother and I were babies, our parents got divorced and sent us to live with our grandparents. When I was 9, Grandma died, and two years later Dad took us from Grandpa, to live with him. When I was 15, Dad died, and we went to live with our mother. It seemed to me that the only person I could count on to be there was me.
Grandpa had told me that I would be taken care of when I grew up. Maybe he meant that my husband would take care of me. Well, I don't know how I managed to grow up without any interest in marriage, but I did. I couldn't decide whether to be a comedian or a psychiatrist, but housewife, I knew, was not for me.
While I was in college, I discovered that I was a lesbian, and that marriage really was out of the question. I enjoyed studying music in college, but it finally became clear to me that I could not earn a living as a musician. So I went to law school, even though I had never met a lawyer, because I thought that as a lawyer I could earn a secure, professional living. After I learned something about the practice of law, I took my law degree and went into legal research and writing instead. I worked for a research service, then for a court, and now in legal publishing, writing, editing, and managing publications.
I love seeing my name in print. I love figuring out complicated problems of legal analysis. I love working on a word processor. Sometimes there's deadline pressure; sometimes the material is boring, or gruesome, or not on the shelves. Sometimes, though I look around my office, which has my name on the door, African Violets on my handsome wooden desk, and a view of the Bay out my window, and marvel at my good luck, but I also know that I do good work and earn my salary. And in my spare time, I sing, compose, and conduct a choir. My father, also a professional, also a musician, and also gay, would have been proud of me.
_____________________

I often call myself Singer when I make restaurant reservations. It's easier than Vinicoff to get across to someone on the phone, especially to someone whose English is poor. And, anyway, I am a singer, so I'm entitled.
_________________________


Two different women look at me from the mirror. The one I see most often has a round face, a pasty complexion, and acne. Her expression is blank; she is plain. The other woman looks much better. She has cheekbones and a chin line. Her skin is clear and she looks wise and confident. She is attractive and I enjoy looking at her.
How can the women be so different? How can they both be me? If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is the difference in my head rather than my face? Is it that how I feel about myself affects how I look? Or maybe a bit of both? Maybe I just look better at some times than others.
I don't know. But it would be nice if that attractive woman were the only one living in my mirror.
__________________________


I stand at the open refrigerator. I am hungry, but I know that food will not satisfy my hunger. All right. If I'm not hungry for food, then for what?
For people, I think. For friends, for a lover. I feel so paralyzed. But it's not that I can't reach out to people. I call women for dates, friends for lunch. Sometimes they call me. But it doesn't seem to be enough. Some friends say that they really enjoy being with me and value my friendship. I wish I could believe them. I see their comments as nourishment, but I just can't seem to absorb it.
So, I stand at the open refrigerator.
_______________________

I hate crying unlabeled tears. Crying itself doesn't bother me; it makes me feel better to cry. But I don't like crying if I don't know what I'm crying about. In part, it's because I want to be able to do something about the situation that's making me cry. If it's a problem, I want to solve it. If it's a joy, I want to savor it. If I'm simply tired or sick, at least I can understand what's happening and know that I'll get over it. But it's frustrating to cry without apparent reason. It makes me feel stupid or emotionally immature.
Well, it keeps on happening, and the intelligent, mature response would be to simply cry until I don't have to cry anymore. At the very least, it'll be good for my digestion.
_________________

One day I came home to my mother in tears. I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't explain why I was crying. She filled the bath tub with hot water and told me to get in. "You can't cry if you're in a hot bath," she said. "I don't know why, but it works for me."
I got in. It worked for me, too. Why does it work? Maybe it's just relaxation caused by the heat. Maybe it's a symbolic return to the womb. I don't know and I don't care. A hot bath is good for what ails you.
______________

Did you know that it's illegal in California for a woman to appear in public barebreasted? Men may take off their shirts any old time they want to, but a woman becomes a criminal if she does it. How is it, I wonder, that bare breasts are considered so threatening to the body politic as to constitute a crime?
Is it that poor, innocent, weak-willed men will lose control of themselves and rush like starving beasts to grab and bury their faces in the unveiled and beckoning bounty? Is it that young children will see the ordinary, human sight that lies beneath their mother's shirt? I think it's the possibility that allowing women to control when to reveal our bodies would give us the revolutionary notion that our bodies belong to us rather than to men, and that would bring the patriarchy crashing in pieces to the ground.
_______________

Woman 1: The world is in such trouble. Sometimes I just lose hope. Why bother working and planning when tomorrow may never come?
Woman 2: I know. Sometimes there's nothing I can do but pray.
Woman 3: Sometimes I have to just get out of the city and watch the sun rise.
Woman 4: It helps me to use my body. I do tai chi.
Woman 5: I run.
Woman 2: I need to be with a group of people, like my synagogue.
Woman 3: My coven.
Woman 4: Mothertongue.
Woman 5: The point is, do whatever works to make you relaxed and strong, but do it. There's work to be done, and we need to get on with it.
____________

Ah (with mild embarrassment). There's an explanation for that. It has been scientifically proven that humans need to be touched and held as much as we need sunlight or fresh air. If a baby isn't held enough, it can get sick or even die. That's why babies who have to stay in incubators are put on sheepskins, because the animal fur provides some substitute for human touching. Scientists believe that most people suffer to some degree from touch deprivation.
And that's why there's a teddy bear sitting on my desk.
_________________________

Poems from the 70's, my Christian years

Music starts chills to running
up and down my spine.
I'll love it always.
_________________

The cross of Your Spirit,
the burden is great.
It led You to wilderness thirst.
Its leading is painful,
for wisdom comes late;
we stumble and hurt ourselves first.

The cross led to Easter;
the desert, a spring.
The wilderness bursts forth in flower.
Your peace dwells among us;
Your joy makes us sing;
Your righteousness fills us with power.
______________________


In the pause between thoughts, between breaths, You come.
Your word, although quiet, is clear.
You call me to laughter, to giving and love,
to living a life without fear.

You have told me the past cannot hold me back.
You say I can change and be new.
Your love gives me courage to trust You and try.
I know that Your promise is true.
______________________


Forgiving yourself ain't easy, but it's something you must do.
It's no fun to be in battle where the enemy is you.
There's nothing unforgiveable, no flaw you can't amend.
Be sure you keep on trying, you'll get better in the end.

Think how it is you love your friends, you wish them all the best.
You overlook the faults they have because you love the rest.
You need to love yourself that way; accept your faults, don't fret.
Rejoice that you're still growing; life ain't finished with you yet.
______________________________________

Praise for the magic that makes the world bright.
Praise for the artist renewing our sight.
Praise for the music that lifts up my soul.
Praise to the One who has made my life whole.

Love is the gift that God taught us to give.
Love is the only secure way to live.
Love Him whose mercy has set us all free.
Love is the reason She made you and me.

Hope, for the darkness can last but a night.
Hope, for our faith brings us into the light.
Hope, for the One who puts sadness to flight.
Hope in the Spirit whose plans turn out right.
______________________________

Meditation in the Tub

A soap bubble forms on the shampoo bottle. Iridescent red and blue flames chase each other in circles around its surface--a galaxy spinning in curved space. The flames live only for a few seconds and then the bubble bursts.

The most profound and magical beauty is often fleeting and easy to miss. If I had missed the beauty of that bubble, it would not have nourished me, nor would it have touched the eye of any living creature with its momentary existence. Why then the creation of such wonders? Surely God appreciates their beauty, but can that be enough? Isn't our first reaction--or perhaps second, after marveling ourselves--to want to share what has come to our attention? Perhaps God is like that too.

A Thoughtful Girl

I wrote this in 1971, can't remember what for, based on a girl whose sister was my best friend in Berkeley, where I lived until 1968:

There once was a girl who was kind, gentle, and thoughtful, very thoughtful.

She thought about her family. Her parents had long ago been divorced. She saw her father, who lived across the country, once or twice a year. He was an unimpressive, undistinguished, quiet individual. She lived with her mother, an active, energetic, involved lady who laughed too much, and her sister, younger than she by two years, also active, energetic, and involved.

She thought about school: irrelevant, boring, and bothersome for the most part, it provided her little satisfaction, pleasure, or promise for the future.

She thought about her friends. It was funny, how she could see the hang-ups that most of them had. But she thought that they were extraneous, had no bearing on her relationships with the people.

She thought about the state of the world. During her lifetime she had seen only worsening, uncertainty, change. When she looked ahead she saw no security, no improvement, and no hope.

One day she took a great number of pills. She was whisked off to the hospital by her worried yet efficient mother, pumped out, and listened to, for possibly the first time in her life. The listening was done by a psychiatrist, who, it was thought, would cure her of her sickness.

She was installed in a clinic, diagnosed as depressive, given electro-shock treatments, chemo-therapy, private therapy, group and family therapy, and days or half-days out for "good" behavior. Her sister and mother were asked to clean out their own psyches of any hang-ups which might be amplifying the girl's own problems.

She seemed to improve. While in the clinic, she completed high school work and received her diploma. She was allowed more and more freedom. She grew interested in colleges. She finally moved out of the clinic and into an apartment and a job.

She was still thoughtful. She thought of her experiences, her present life, and her prospects for the future. She then closed herself inside an abandoned refrigerator and died of suffocation.

It doesn't pay to examine things too closely, for nothing is perfect.

A School Assignment

Here's an "A" paper I wrote in 1968, for a Composition class:

My friends and fellow Santa Monicans, I am inexpressibly happy to be back today in the city of my childhood: this beautiful city with its beautiful beaches and beautiful people, so many of you who were once my neighbors. I am a graduate of deal old Samohi (I remember a certain Composition teacher ...), and this background has certainly helped me in travelling that long, hard road to our nation's capitol, the end of which I have so nearly reached, and which, with your help, I shall reach at last!

But I have not come here to talk about me. You already know much about me. I came to tell you about our great society and about how, if elected your Chief Executive, I shall maintain and improve on its greatness.

We live in the age of efficiency. Computers can do in minutes work that it would take men years to accomplish. And what keeps the computers going, I ask you? Numbers! They are programmed with numbers, they process numbers, they read out numbers. From paint-by-number to war strategy, computers and numbers, numbers and computers. Your prescription is numbered, your bank account is numbered, you are numbered, I am numbered. 432-567-8022 is speaking to you today.

This is efficiency. A Social Security number is unique; whereas there might be a million John Smiths. Your number can't be confused with anyone else's. Only with a number can you be an individual. In my administration, your Social Security number, remember its uniqueness, will be used for everything. This will simplify matters, giving you only one important number to remember. It will be your phone number, your address, your prescription, and your bank account number. It will identify you to the census computers, the Health, Education, and Welfare Department computers, the Defense Department computers, and the computer dating agency. It will be your automobile, dog, marriage, and hunting or fishing license number. All your identification will bear this number. The whole world will know you by your Social Security number, and you will be truly socially secure.

And, perhaps, with use, number will acquire personality. Here is an introduction of the future. "375-92-3788, this is 247-86-3519 (Isn't that a noble-sounding number?)" A reverent hush follows.

So! If I am elected, I will do my best to institute and maintain a uninumerical system with the Social Security number used, as identification to people, organizations, and computers, with all the efficiency and simplicity such a system will bring. Elect me your president and our nation will be socially secure.

Thank you.

Very Old Writings of Mine

In my decluttering efforts, I recently ran across a stash of my writings dating back more than 40 years, back to when I was in the 9th grade. I'll publish the least embarrassing of these writings in my next several posts.

The oldest piece was published by the Berkeley Unified School District in September, 1967, in a pamphlet entitled "Berkeley's Creative Children."

I Don't Understand You

Can a person understand another?

It seems impossible.

Look at the barriers.

Every single word

has a different connotation

to people.

Some words have more than

one connotation to

a person.

And then,

there are things there

aren't words for.

There must be more than

two degrees of

friendly emotions.

What is between

liking

and

loving?

Understanding.

Then I took up the same topic in my high school valedictory address, which I delivered at Santa Monica High School in 1970:

THE POSSIBILITY OF COMMUNICATION

Is communication possible? As a representative of the class of 1970, I can tell you that at times I've had my doubts. Nevertheless, the problem of communication is more acute than it seems. Webster defines communication as "giving and receiving information by talk, gestures, writing, etc." This information may be split into two groups, of which the first is language. The second group is sense impressions, that is, sights and sounds that are not language - tastes, touches, and smells.

The giving and receiving of sense impressions is accomplished through three avenues - sense organs, nerves, and the brain, which together could be called the sensory apparatus. Many barriers exist which can alter or halt the flow of information. Chief among these obstacles are the sense organs themselves. They vary among people in sensitivity and accuracy. Were there a faint smell in the air, Dr. Drake might smell apple, Mr. Leach, grape, and Mr. Richards, nothing but smog.

That same situation might also have been brought about by differences in nerves, for from the various sense organs nerves extend to transmit the messages to the brain. Once an impression has reached the brain, it may be interpreted differently, both by different people and by the same person at different times.

The snowballing effect is staggering. Imagine the accumulated errors of a lifetime. Each impression, with its own inaccuracy, is filed in the brain to use in interpreting other sensations. An appalling thought is how incorrect second-, third-, or fourth-hand information is, let alone history, which has traveled the centuries.

Let us consider language. The flaws in human sensory apparatus are many, but its inaccuracy is nothing to the mess that languages are. In the field of science, German is more exact than English. For the best available accuracy, however, an artificial language must be used. Symbolic logic was formulated to help minimize the illogic of natural languages, but people are not about to speak to each other in a language whose only verb is "to imply.

The main problem with natural languages is that few people can understand precisely what other people are saying. Dictionary definitions, which would really help communication if everyone used them, are only listings of the most popular of the meanings which are currently in use. Even if the people who spoke a certain language were to agree on meanings, the connotations of the words would still be in doubt . A given word will frequently have varying associations to different people, or to the same person with a change in time. Remember when 'pot' meant 'cooking utensil' and 'grass' was something one mowed?

Is communication possible? I believe it is. Improved sensory apparatus will help. Modern medicine has discovered a full catalogue of remedies designed to combat disorders of the sense organs, nerves, and brain. In the field of language, dictionary writers are ever working to tell people what they really mean when they speak or write. Widespread education is giving the populace more information about its languages. Scientists are even tuning in their mechanical ears to listen to sounds made by the stars.

As long as people inhabit this earth, we must try to improve our means of communication. My classmates will no doubt recall that the bloodiest encounter of the War of 1812, the Battle of New Orleans, was fought after the treaty had been signed. The news of peace simply couldn't travel fast enough to prevent that tragedy. The technical side of communication has advanced immeasurably since then; but please think for a moment of what would happen if, in the midst of an international crisis, the hot line were to break down.

Technical means of communication are not good enough. Someday, perhaps with the advent of telepathy, true communication will at last take place.

Fitting In (from 2005)

Here's an essay that I wrote five years ago for an online writing class, on fitting in:

When I’m alone, I’m in bad company. That’s a piece of twelve-step wisdom that my mother imparted to me. It fit in well with my nagging sense of unworthiness. Now, that sense is not fact based; I have talents and skills and some admirable or lovable traits, and my efforts are appreciated at work and by my friends. Nevertheless, I have a sense of being marginal, unimportant, and unworthy of attention or love. This may have developed, at least in part, because both my grandmother and my father died when I was living with them and I didn't live with my mother until the other relatives were dead.

I'm afraid of revealing too much of myself to others, lest they see enough of me to realize how unworthy I am. On top of which, I tend to believe that I need to be perfect or I don't deserve to exist. This "all or nothing" approach leaves me feeling bad much of the time. Only occasionally do I think to tell myself that I'm good enough, even though imperfect.

Perhaps because of this sense of unworthiness, I imagine that I don't exist for others when I am not in their presence. So I am always astonished when someone reveals that they have been thinking of me in my absence, as when a relative or friend calls me up to see how I'm doing. It also startles me that other people sometimes take action based on what I say or do.

At school I had experiences that both strengthened and eased my sense of unworthiness. I skipped into the second grade in the middle of the first grade, so I was moved ahead of my age mates. Then I was probably too smart and too much of a smart aleck to be really liked. And I got chosen nearly last for athletic games, because I wasn’t any good at sports.

I started to fit in with the brainy kids after I discovered that a friend of mine got straight A’s and realized that I could do that too with a little extra effort. I did very well in school. I was second in my high school class, the valedictory speaker, a National Merit Scholar, a Governor’s Scholar, holder of the National Council of Teachers of English Award and the Degree of Distinction in the National Forensics League. Even Annapolis wanted me as a student, and they weren’t admitting females then. No question about it; I was smart and talented. I did fit in with the straight A, Knowledge Bowl crowd.

But I still had that nagging sense of unworthiness. One day at work I learned a bit about how it played out and what I could do about it. I was in a fairly bad mood that day. I couldn’t have told you what flavor of bad; my emotions were something of a mystery to me. One of my friends came by to invite me to join a group that was going out to lunch. Being in that bad mood, I turned them down. However, after the friend left me, I started feeling even worse and this time knew what parts of the feelings were - forlorn, rejected, worthless. Then I experienced two revelations. First, they hadn’t rejected me, I had rejected them. And second, I didn’t have to stick with my choice. So I ran after them, said that I’d changed my mind, and started feeling much better.

Reading and Me

In cleaning out my living room today, I found a piece I must have written many years ago. It's undated, and has no indication of its context. Maybe I wrote it in some writing class. I have a faint recollection that it may have been in response to hearing about a book entitled "Ruined by Reading" which was published in 1996. Anyway, here it is:

Ruined by Reading? Au contraire!

Three times while I was growing up, my brother and I were taken from one family in one place and sent to live with other people in a different city. It was not easy getting used to new places and new caretakers, and books were my constant and trustworthy companions: Nancy Drew mysteries, Robert Heinlein science fiction, and Andre Norton fantasy. The bookmobile was my treasure trove. Books could be counted on to take me out of whatever boring, scary, or strange place I was in and put me into another place: a place where children belonged to loving and stable families, and mysteries were solved and quests were successful, and evil people were either converted to good or defeated. Books were my friends; they made me feel safe and strong.

Later I came to enjoy reading Elizabeth Goudge and C.S. Lewis, and Peg Bracken and May Sarton. I raided my father's library and read everything from The Tin Drum and James Bond thrillers to Transactional Analysis in Psychotherapy. My mother's library included Mary Stewart, Agatha Christie, and Ngaio Marsh. These books fed my spiritual aspirations and gave me household hints, the satisfaction of having completed a difficult book (regardless of how little I may have gleaned from it), and many hours of entertainment and comfort.

Not just books, but several forms of communication have always been important to me. I was singing solos and in choirs, and leading worship services before I was ten. I competed in public speaking in high school and studied languages and music in college, but went to law school when I became serious about earning a living. Nevertheless, I was performing in reader's theater, singing, and leading worship during law school and beyond, while finding my way into legal publishing - first as a writer and now as an editor.

I can make sense out of the most obscure and abstruse statutes and judicial opinions; I can analyze what they're trying to say and write it out in a comprehensible and well-organized way; and I can take the output of lawyers whose forte is practicing law, not writing about it, and put it into sentences and paragraphs that are much more reader friendly.

When I get home from work, I'm still interested in reading, but not in working very hard at it. Escapist fiction is what I like best: science fiction and murder mysteries, especially those written by and about women. I also read spiritual, psychological, historical, and other non-fiction. Books are my talismans; I do not leave the house without at least one book. If you could see the overflowing bookcases and stacks of books in my home, you would not doubt that books are my friends.

We Win One, and I Need a Break

Every time I type this, it disappears. This is the third time, and then I give up.

I'm about to leave for Green Gulch Zen Center for a few days of meditation for Jewish social justice activists, and I really need the break.

Saturday morning, before I was out of my pjs, came a call from the director of the San Francisco Organizing Project asking if I wanted to be interviewed on TV as a supporter of the federal health care legislation. I expressed willingness, and the reporter called me and showed up almost immediately with her cameraman, and away we went. Time elapsed between the first phone call and the end of the interview - one hour. It went well enough, I thought, and I set my DVR to record it at 5 pm, which is when the reporter said that it would air.

Then I went off to Emeryville to meet Jan and see Alice in Wonderland in Imax and 3D, followed by dinner with new acquaintances. Only one sentence of mine made it into the television piece, but they spelled my name correctly. The main thrust of the piece was that voters in Pleasanton were mostly unhappy that their Representative to Congress had just decided to vote for the health reform bill. The piece continued:

But those backing the bill say McNerney is not alone. They will support the congressman even if many of his constituents do not. "I hope the people will come to realize how courageous and valuable a vote that was, and will rally behind him and will support his re-election," said Dana Vinicoff with the San Francisco Organizing Project.

Sunday, Jan and I got my car washed and bought piles of staples at Costco, had lunch, watched some of the health care debate on CSPAN, then went to synagogue for me to conduct the evening service and us to attend a benefit for Rawandan women in the form of a discussion between authors Ayelet Waldman and Michael Chabon. These authors, it turns out, had been married at this synagogue when it lived on Danvers Street. They were enlightening, intelligent, and very funny, but the best line of the evening was when their designated Congress-watcher broke in to announce "It Passed!" We all applauded and cheered, and the evening nearly broke up then and there.

New Year's Sermon

BTW, here it is:

This week’s portion is Vay’chi, the last reading from the book of Genesis. It wraps up the stories of the patriarchs and matriarchs.

The portion’s name comes from its first words, which state that Jacob lived in the land of Egypt for 17 years before he died. The narration covers Jacob’s preparations for death and burial away from Egypt, and his blessing of Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh. After imparting his deathbed blessings to all of his sons, Jacob dies and is buried in Canaan. Joseph and his brothers return to Egypt, where Joseph also dies.

If we were reading this portion from the Torah, we would all rise at the end and say “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazeik.” “Be strong, be strong, and let us be strengthened.” According to Rabbi Donin, this is “a cry of encouragement to continue with the reading of the next Book, and to return to this one again in due course.” The custom may have come from a Talmudic saying that people need to be strengthened in four ways: Torah, good deeds, prayer, and occupation.

We have also just wrapped up the year 2009, and the secular new year is as much a time for reflection and self-improvement as are the High Holy Days. Aren’t we Jews lucky? We get two chances to make New Years’ resolutions. [At this point, I read an article by a rabbi about a Jewish approach to New Year's resolutions:

Whatever one thinks about New Year's, New Year's celebrations, or the practice of making New Year's resolutions, they are all beautiful customs when done well and there is Biblical and Jewish wisdom which can help us make good on those important resolutions as we progress through the new year. Here are six tips to help you do so:

First, trust the power of your words. The words we say really can change our realties, and simply declaring that we hope to do things differently this coming year, can make a real difference in our lives. That insight is as old as Genesis itself. Recall the powerful story of things being brought into reality by declaring them e.g. "let there be light, and there was light".

Second, be modest in your aspirations. You don't have to fix everything at once, so pick one attainable goal and really pursue it. The Talmud teaches that when we grasp for too much, we end up with nothing at all. But, if we pick a goal to which we can really hold on, we need never let it go.

Third, just do it. Whether it's getting to the gym, eating healthier, spending less money, or any of the other popular resolutions, just start doing it and let your emotions about what you are doing catch up with your practice. In Hebrew, we call that na'aseh v'nishma, first we do and then we hear. It really works.

Fourth, don't go it alone. No different from communal worship or major building projects, when it comes to personal growth, there are heights which we can only attain with the support of other like-minded friends. Find a supportive community which will encourage you to keep going even when you want to give up on your resolutions.

Fifth, distinguish the practice from the desired result. Eating healthier and losing weight are two different things. While both may be desirable, you only have complete control over the first. Whether you lose weight or not, eating healthier is valuable in its own right (lishma in rabbinic language) and the same can be said for going to the gym and "looking better". Focus on the value of the practice, and whatever happens you will feel better and be better.

Sixth, give yourself time off for good behavior. Except for chemical addictions, taking an occasional break from our new practices can actually help us stay committed to them over time. Think of it as a Sabbath. But like Sabbath, if you find that your time off exceeds 1/7th of your time, you need to get back to your resolution, pronto!]

Then I continued: Let’s consider how the events described in this portion may guide us. Jacob senses that his death approaches, and he settles his affairs. Many of us would do well to follow his example, although our concerns probably differ. Jacob’s first concern is that Joseph buries him in the family burial cave. He then adopts Joseph’s first two sons as his direct descendants, to settle any questions of inheritance. Finally, he reassures his family that God will bring them back from Egypt to the land of their ancestors. This reassurance was needed, since the promise was that Abraham’s family would prosper in the promised land. But here they are in Egypt, far away.

After Jacob’s burial, the brothers come to Joseph in remorse and fear, to beg him to forgive them for selling him into slavery and telling Jacob that he was dead. And he forgives and reassures them, telling them that God intended him to be in Egypt, to save people from the famine. He also promises that he will provide for them and their families.

My question is, why didn’t the family head right back to Canaan when the seven years of famine ended? Jacob would still have been alive, since he lived 17 years in Egypt. I’m thinking that they were too comfortable. Since Joseph was the Pharaoh’s right hand man, the family had it made in the shade. Having been put in fear of their lives by the famine, they decided to stay in Egypt, where the living was easy.

Their choosing to remain in Egypt after the famine ended may have shown a loss of courage or some other failure of character that would help explain why God left them in Egypt for so long, to make staying there so uncomfortable that they’d be willing to pull up stakes, risk new challenges, and fight their way into the promised land.

May we begin January 2010 with the freedom to leave our own Egypts as we strengthen ourselves with the saying “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazeik”

Massachusetts Election Undermines our D.C. Efforts

Four of us from the San Francisco Organizing Project joined with 150 other PICO network leaders and staff in D.C. on the 12th and 13th. We held an Affordability Summit in a House of Representatives committee room, at which we swapped stories with a dozen members of the House and gave each one a big cardboard key, to symbolize that affordability is the key to effective health care reform.

We then split up into state caucuses and met with senators, representatives, or their staff to tell our stories and give them their own keys. The Democratic leaders of the House and Senate were holding marathon meetings with the President to hammer out differences between the health reform bills passed by the Senate and the House. After we got back to San Francisco, it appeared that they had reached a compromise on one of the most contentious issues, how to pay for expanded health coverage.

But then, last Tuesday, a special election for the Senate seat formerly held by Ted Kennedy resulted in a Republican victory - which lost Democrats the filibuster-proof 60-vote majority we had so painstakingly cobbled together in the Senate. The political ramifications of the vote have had congressional Democrats all in a dither, and the future of health reform seemed cloudy indeed.

However, the need for comprehensive health reform remains as pressing as ever. Although some voters seem opposed because they fear it would add to the federal deficit, in fact both bills contain strong cost-cutting measures that would rein in the ballooning costs of health care, and shrink the deficit. Some people are opposed to the legislation, even though they are in favor of many of its components: e.g., expanding Medicaid, barring insurers from denying coverage based on pre-existing conditions, closing the Medicare donut hole. This is because there has been a lot of deceptive advertising and outright lying about what the legislation contains. And, although the economy hasn't toppled off the cliff it was teetering on a year ago, the jobs lost in the recession aren't coming back in any hurry. So people are afraid and angry that the economic situation isn't all better. But the majority of personal bankruptcies result from medical bills, and the majority of those debtors have health insurance - for all the good it does them. All these bankruptcies aren't helping the economy any.

The only way forward is a way that doesn't require 60 votes in the Senate, because we don't have them anymore. And the only way to do that is by the House adopting the bill already passed by the Senate and adopting as much of the compromises reached by the leadership and the President that can be adopted using the budget reconciliation process, which requires only 51 votes in the Senate.

The main problem I'm hearing about is the House progressives who won't vote for legislation that does not include a public option in the insurance exchanges. However, the public option is only one way to ensure competition and keep insurance premiums reasonable. The compromise also seems to include a national insurance exchange, which should have enough clout to accomplish much the same result.

We've been working on expanding healthcare (this time around) for a full year, and have passed very similar legislation in both houses of Congress. We have come too far to give up now. Please folks, I'm ashamed to be a citizen of the only industrialized nation that does not have universal health care. Let's get our act together and make it happen.

The Too-Friendly Feline

Jan and I were walking to a Pleasanton restaurant in the winter evening darkness, when a dark tortoiseshell cat came up to us on the sidewalk. She came directly to me, and let me scratch her head, and bumped my ankles, and was really friendly. Jan thought she was her own tortoiseshell, Ava, and we picked her up to take her back home. We traded off carrying her, and she was just fine with me carrying her. This made me suspect she was not Ava, who doesn't know me that well. We put her under a streetlight and stared at what we could see of her coat, and just couldn't decide whether she was Ava or not.

Wouldn't you know it, when we got to Jan's home, her cats were nowhere to be found, but this cat - who we were starting to believe was not Ava, started growling, presumably at the smell of the resident cats. I couldn't stop laughing at how hard it was to tell one cat from another in the dark, and at the futile effort we had made to restore someone else's pet to her home. I named her Zsa Zsa (Eva Gabor's sister) while Jan flushed her cats, Ava and Chester, from under the house. Now having conclusive proof that we had carried off somebody else's pet, we tried to return her to where we found her - but she disappeared. We assume she found her way home.

Whoever owns that lovely and well-cared-for feline may be in danger of losing her, if she's that happy to go off with total strangers.

In the Air

Here's a little something I wrote on the plane:

So, I'm flying to D.C. with Jordan to rally and lobby for affordability in health care reform. Todd got us both aisle seats, and my row is otherwise empty.

The on-flight entertainment included a film I have been wanting to see, G-Force, which I enjoyed immensely. Although there purports to be free wifi, my itouch can't seem to connect to it. But there is a plug for recharging if it runs low on juice.

There's also a classical music channel with a variety of composers, and a menu for food service.

I've been remarkably calm about the trip, compared to the way I was before Mexico, and perhaps also Reno. Slept well last night, no headache, digestion doing OK. Eyes burning a bit, though. Time to lube up and close them for a bit.

D.C. or Bust

So I'm about to take my first cross-country flight since before 9/11. And I've only flown short trips a very few times since then. I'm a little bit anxious, and planning to take a good supply of tranquilizers with me.

But it's in a very good cause. I'm going with a group from the PICO community organizing network to lobby our legislators to pass health care reform with strong provisions for affordability. I've made several similar trips to the state capitol in Sacramento, so, aside from the weather, this shouldn't be that different.

Stay tuned.