I figured since I am going into Nanowrimo mode tomorrow, it would be prudent to finally do my research on Barack Obama...thus completing my thumbnail review of Democratic Presidential Candidates.  I was prodded to this decision by the very wry comment of Bill Burton, Obama's spokesperson, about the discovery that Obama and Dick Cheney are distant cousins: "Every family has a black sheep."  Indeed.

So, Obama.

He was born in 1961, which makes him 46.  (It also makes him younger than me...I'm trying not to hold that against him!)  Still, youth and experience do factor into electability.  It's less his age than his lack of experience that is a bit disconcerting.  Obama's work experience includes a stint as a community organizer in Chicago's South Side neighborhoods, working to alleviate the effects of poverty.  (Points for idealism here.)

According to his website, this work convinced Obama that truly effective change would occur only if policies and laws were changed, so he went to Harvard Law, becoming the first African American president of the Harvard Law Review.  Obama went on to practice law as a civil rights attorney and to teach law.  From there, he became an Illinois State Senator, graduating to the U.S. Senate in 2004.  In the Senate, he's on four committees including Veteran's Affairs and Foreign Relations.

Like John Edwards, Barack Obama has a comprehensive vision for the direction he would like to take the United States.  The main difference between their strategies lies in their individual focus.  Edwards is concerned with rebuilding America's strength in a more traditional, inward sense.  Obama's view is more global; focused on the interconnectedness of America's leadership and its impact on the rest of the world.  It's worth reading his speech about America's leadership which clearly illustrates his appeal as a different, exciting Presidential Candidate. 

My favorite quote from the speech is, "This President may occupy the White House, but for the last six years the position of leader of the free world has remained open."

In terms of issues, Obama:

--Spoke out against the Iraq war in 2002 while still a member of the Illinois State Senate.

--States his position as not being opposed to war but to "dumb wars"

--Advocates a well-equipped military able to attract and retain "the best and brightest" through demonstrated commitment to veterans

--Proposes health care for all Americans

--Advocates fighting rural poverty with investment in alternative energy sources and urban poverty with business incubators

--Has a no-nonsense approach to immigration including holding employers accountable, allowing illegal immigrants to apply for citizenship after paying a fine and going to the "end of the line"

There is a sense from the campaign's website that Obama does not have, or does not wish to disclose, a plan for how to pay for strengthening the military, alleviating poverty and providing health care.  A significant omission, in my view.

Other than that oversight and his limited experience, my two issues with Obama are 1) his recent tone-deaf inclusion of "ex-gay" Donnie McClurkin as a featured singer in one of his events (Obama has been an advocate for gay rights excepting, as do all major candidates, gay marriage); and 2) his one-line comment that he believes it's okay for a country to "unilaterally" go to war, if necessary.

On the plus side, he has the broadest vision of any Democratic candidate and, as a result, brings an exciting breath of fresh air to the race.  He is also charismatic and articulate in a way that few Presidential Candidates have been in recent years (especially, sadly, Dems).

Summing up, I still prefer Edwards over Obama as President, mainly due to his broader leadership experience.  But I would love an Edwards/Obama ticket.  Polls seem to indicate, however, that a Clinton/Obama or Clinton/Edwards ticket is more likely.  Ah, well.  I can only cast my one vote and then let the chips fall where they may.

I am back (safe and exhausted) from our whirlwind trip to NYC.  Dan had to detour to northern California for a business trip, so he's going to be even more exhausted than I when he returns tonight.  Poor guy had seven hours in the airport (JFK) as flight after flight was delayed.  He finally got into his hotel at 2:30 a.m.   Yikes.

We enjoyed our trip a lot.  After a long day getting into the Big Apple, we checked into the Times Square W hotel.  It was a rainy evening, so we decided to eat at the hotel's restaurant, Blue Fin, since Kevin and Steven were out for the evening.  (They saw Eartha Kitt at the Carlyle and said she was incredible.)  The server at Blue Fin was very sweet.  We chatted a bit and he gave us a complimentary glass of champagne since it was our first time at the restaurant.  We tumbled into the low bed, watched a horrible movie and fell asleep quickly.

The next day, we walked over to 5th Avenue with Steve and Kevin.  It was still rainy, so the crowds were a bit subdued, but we enjoyed shopping and I picked up a gorgeous new handbag at Saks.  We enjoyed lunch at a wonderful steak house then walked briskly to the Hilton Theater to see Young Frankenstein.  We got to the theater just ahead of a downpour, counting ourselves lucky.

The crowd in the theater was highly energized, ready to be entertained and many seemed familiar with the movie upon which the musical is based.  I was surprised to see so many young children in the audience, given the movie's raunchy sense of humor...but I'm not a parent so what do I know?

Overall, I'd give the show a B-.  The sets were versatile, sometimes breathtaking and technically advanced in the use of video.  (I could tell it had been a while since I'd been to Broadway.)  The music; however, was not memorable despite some excellent musical performances among the cast (Sutton Foster as Inga and Megan Mullally as Elizabeth had the best vocal performances).  As I said to the guys, it's not a good sign when the only song you're humming while leaving the theater is "Puttin' on the Ritz," rather than any new numbers from the musical.  Most of the numbers original to this show were, unfortunately, overly long and quite a few were one-joke long in terms of material.

The book was also a problem.  Sketchy, in a word.  So much so that there was very little by way of character development.  Performances were energetic for the most part and I particularly enjoyed the aforementioned Foster, Andrea Martin as Frau Blucher (actually the best number in the musical was "He Vas My Boyfriend" performed by Martin spot on), and Christopher Fitzgerald as Igor.  Shuler Hensley brought some skills to the tap sequence and made for a good Monster.  Unfortunately, we didn't see Roger Bart in the title role and Matthew LaBanca was not up to the Frederick Frankenstein role vocally.

Others in my party made points of their own about where the show went astray (average rating was a "C") and all of us were disappointed in Mullally's portrayal of Elizabeth. 

Fortunately, we had an excellent experience at Nobu which more than made up for mediocre theater.  Amazing food, great service, excellent company and a nice ambience.

The next day we hooked up with Dan's and my godson, Chad.  We enjoyed our time with him.  Dan had to leave on Sunday afternoon, so I got the best of the visit (along with Steve and Kevin), seeing Chad in his environment (the City, the apartment) and meeting his wonderful friends.  He is a constant joy to our hearts.

So now it's down to cases with prep for Nanowrimo, Hawaii, Thanksgiving looming!  I do love New York, as I said before.  But it's good to be home.

We're off for a quick trip to NYC to see Young Frankenstein on Broadway.  We're meeting Dan's brother, Steve, and Steve's partner, Kevin, for a whirlwhind of culture.

I know it's cliche, but I really do love NY.  My first trip there was in the late 70's with a high school drama group and my Mom.  Dad was scheduled to go and couldn't get away, so I was a last minute substitute.  We stayed in a forgettable hotel.  We ate a cheese cake the like of which I have searched for ever since.  I was kept awake all night by the traffic noise. 

And then there was the theater.  We saw Sweeney Todd, Evita (Patty Lupone and Mandy Patinkin were incredible), Die Fledermaus (or was it The Student Prince?, and I absolutely fell in love with the City.

I've been back a number of times since, mostly with Mom, but also with Dan.  We celebrated Dotty's 70th birthday with an incredible meal (arranged by Steven and Kevin) atop the Rockefeller Center just off the Rainbow Room.  (Thanks, guys...it was a life-time highlight!)

I'm looking forward, also, to seeing my godson, Chad Riter.  Chad is an aspiring dancer--attending auditions by day and waiting tables by night...taking industry jobs when they present themselves, dance and voice as frequently as possible.  He's paying his dues and living his dream.  A constant source of inspiration for me.

I'll be back on the blog when I return!  In the meantime, imagine me in the City lights, with beloved family and my favorite man in the whole world.  What's not to love?

The sun is an eerie, distant visitor this morning.  After I dropped Dan off at the airport for his trip, I drove toward the sunrise on my way home.  The sun was the size and shape of a harvest moon, only in shades of fuschia, with drifts of smoke cowling it in visible layers.  The dust and ash cover was so thick I could look at the sun directly.

I've stayed in the house 90% of the past two days, not even venturing to the gym because my chest was so tight after Monday's hour in the smoke.  I literally cannot imagine what it's like for the men and women on the fire line, breathing in smoke, ash, chemicals day after day.  I am so grateful to those who risk themselves to protect our lives, homes and businesses.

Thank you.

I also found the letter from Rev. Hughes at Malibu Presbyterian Church to be inspirational.  I've been checking out the website so we can donate to their rebuilding efforts.  Malibu Pres was an important way stop in my spiritual journey.  It was at Malibu Pres that I began to integrate the born-again fervor of my youth with critical thinking, love-based faith, and to understand that God didn't want to punish me but love me.  I am forever in debt to Rev. Dave and Nancy Worth for their investment in a college kid from up the hill. 

Thank you.

In the hiatus brought on by the smoke, I've been taking advantage of my hermetically sealed, hermit-like existence to complete paperwork, put together files, fill nail holes (today I'll paint) and generally clean up.  Amazing what some concentrated time will do for you.

I'm going to carry that principle over into the Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) exercise.  I've got a tentative plan put together for culling writing time out of my day.  Here's what it looks like so far:

Activity                    Time Saved

Television                   2 hours/evening
Blogging                     1 hour/day (mostly research)
E-chats                       1 hour/week
Video Games               1 hour/day

With 4 hours saved each day (and by focusing them on writing) I should be able to hit my goal of 1667 words per day.  I'm actually aiming for that as a minimum and for 2300 per day as a maximum.  If I hit the max, then I will be able to take a day off here or there (Thanksgiving for example) and not get too far behind the gun.

Also, I'm headed to Hawaii for a Girls' Work Week with Lynne and Shari (we really do work!) 11/5 through 11/11...so I figure I'll get at most an hour in there each day...so I'll need the extra time to catch up.

So that's the plan for Nanowrimo.  I'm looking forward to the challenge.  In some ways, November will be a continuation of this time as a hermit.  I'll be staying mostly in the house, typing away, getting up to stretch and do little tasks, then returning to the computer.  

I'm also planning on paring most other activities to a minimum.  Emails will receive short shrift.  Cooking will likely be salads, roasts and take out.  Phone calls will roll to the answering machine.  Laundry may pile up a bit.

I will, however, be making time for two important things: 

1.  Hitting the gym.  I'll need it to work out the kinks!

2.  Golf on Thursdays with my friend Renee'.  Similar justification as above, but along with the necessary component of being outdoors.

Hey, I can't be a hermit all my life!
 

Today's sunrise in Laguna Niguel.  "It's only smoke and ashes, baby."

The winds have shifted, leaving a thick blanket of smoke over Laguna Niguel.  Even up on our hill, ash drifts down lazily as more fires burn today than burned yesterday. 

There is a constant stream of phone calls and emails.  "Are you safe?"  "How's your family?"  Nice to hear the concern in the voice of a friend.  It's a small comfort, a blessing, a balm for frayed nerves.

Frayed because there is a constant barrage of news--images of burned houses, terrified animals, refugees.  None of it expected or imagined by these folks a week ago and now, whole lives are suddenly set on an unfamiliar path.

Frayed also because any survivor knows the pain that limns every image, the personal behind the sound bite. 

And speaking of sound bites, Bush is supposed to be in Socal today, to "check on" Federal Assistance levels.  The administration claims to have learned valuable lessons from Katrina.  I hope that the lessons are deeper than how to manage his image.  I picture some staffer is brushing off his chambray shirt and saying, "Remember nobody's doing a heckuva job.  You are concerned.  You are involved in managing this crisis."

Instead, I wish someone was asking him to reconsider his visit.  We've got enough going on here without a Presidential visit.  I understand it's a tough call...a flyover doesn't seem like enough and staying in Washington seems political suicide.  Still.

So I'll be lying low today, staying inside as the news is recommending, avoiding the accumulation of ash in my lungs and the accumulation of media frenzy in my brain.

Trying to focus on getting through the stack of papers on my desk in preparation for Nanowrimo.  Waiting for the skies to clear.

I had no idea as I was blithely blogging about our upcoming golf outing at Torrey Pines that San Diego was already on fire.  Dan and I wandered down the road at around 4 pm, listening to the end of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.  So we were surprised by the cloud of smoke and ash as we hit Oceanside. 

As the smoke grew more dense, we turned on the radio and got the scoop on the Witch fire.  The bellman were wearing kilts (as per tradition) and painters' masks...sort of an odd combination.  We checked into the beautiful lodge and Dan got settled while I called Dad and Sally to check on family.

The inital report was that everyone was fine, even the family in Ramona.  Watching the news, I discovered that my beloved Malibu Presbyterian Church, where I spent many a Sunday in college, had burned.  Sad for that loss but so grateful that family was safe, Dan and I headed out.  We enjoyed a festive cocktail party and dinner at the Evans Garage, hosted by ca, the company putting on the golf tournament and round table.

At the dinner, I got an update.  Ramona was being evacuated.  My sister, Pamela, and her cats were heading to Dad and Sally's house.  My nephew, with my brother, Dennis, was fine.  His wife and babies were headed to his grandmother's house for refuge.  All was good.  I counted my blessings, grateful that everyone was safe.

We passed a fretful night, our second on a hotel bed in three days.  The air was smoky and dry...and I was extremely grateful for having packed my inhaler. 

Our tee-time was 6:45 am, so we rose early to stretch, hit a few balls, eat a muffin and down some coffee.  As we walked to the practice tee, it was still dark.  The sun rose gradually in the smoke-filled air and Dan and I joked about what the reported had said just as we left our room, "If at all possible, stay inside today."

Riding back to the shotgun gathering of carts, I remembered that Grandpa Stube, Buddy, had arrived at Torrey Pines in the dark on many a morning, securing his place for a walk-on 9-holes, along with his golfing pals.  It was a wonderful moment of connection and grace.

One of our foursome didn't make it to the course, he'd been evacuated the night before.  So Dan, our host Bryan, and I started out on the 7th hole (after replacing our dead cart) with 5's all around.  The 8th hole was a wicked par three with a huge wind coming at us (nothing like playing in a Santa Ana).  Dan got closest to the green but Bryan and I were well short.  I hit a brave chip shot up onto the green and our caddie, Gary Fuschetto, gave me a perfect read.  I dropped the putt for a par.  The next hole, a long par 5, proved more challenging for me and I was in with an 8.  We had just teed off on the 10th hole when a course official rode up and gave us the news that the course was closing.

After checking in with the folks (everyone was still fine and homes appeared to be in the clear other than Dennis's firewood burning...and no, he doesn't keep it stacked on the side of his house...he's a firefighter), we decided to head up to Orange County before traffic out of San Diego got any worse.

The drive was amazing.  We went up the 1 as far as Oceanside, traveling through smoke so dense it seemed like an eerie, orange twilight.  We stopped for breakfast at a cafe in Oceanside and were home after about two hours of travel.

As we drove up to our house, the winds were howling.  Smoke from the Irvine fires was blowing south into our area.  We rounded the corner and saw that our crape myrtle in the front yard had not survived the winds.  It sheared off at ground level, along with its supportive stake.  Other than that tiny loss, and a good deal of ash in the house since we left the upstairs windows open, we are intact.  Neither thing seems to be of any importance at all.

Meanwhile, friends up north in Santa Clarita all reported in safe, healthy and at home.  My heart aches for folks who were not as fortunate and I am numbering blessings with a full heart this morning  as smoke drifts in banks out to the ocean, North and South of the blue sky above our little hill.

I managed to get into prison to see our friend without warnings of any kind about my clothing!  I think I have my new prison outfit.  (Okay, so it won't be as fetching as Lara Croft's but then again, this is real life.)  It was a gorgeous day, high clouds, cool breeze.  Visiting was crowded but no one got kicked out.  Our friend looks good--healthy, focused on the things that get him through day to day; reading, jogging, controlling his diet in an uncontrollable environment, work, responding to letters, looking forward to visits.

We had a nice moment with one of the guards as we left.  He's seen us coming in to visit for the past 3 years and has gotten to know us by sight.  He asked if we had a good visit.  We said yes.  Then I added (because I always have to add something), "It's just always so hard to leave."  His face immediatly shut down and went back to guard mode.  I suppose it either got too personal/real for him, or invoked sympathy and as a guard, he just can't go there.  He's been one of the nice ones (to us anyway).  When we're done with this whole sorry mess (21 more months, LORD willing), I plan on sending a thank you note to him and a few others.

The trip was brutal both ways, but we were able to make it home to our own house last night and it's always good to sleep in your own bed.  I come back from these visits hyperaware of all that we have within easy reach (and often take for granted) and all that he does without.  Then I gradually slip back into life until the next visit, where my senses get abraded all over again.

Enough of that for today, eh?

I was excited to read that my friend, Todd Truffin, will be rooting me on for nonwrimo.  I was telling Dan about the project during our trip and it occured to me that earlier this fall I was telling my sister-in-law, Cindy, that I was looking for things to eliminate between now and the end of the year.  Then I went and piled on this commitment.  Ah well!  We'll see how it goes.

One last tidbit in this scattered post--Tomorrow Dan and I will be playing Torrey Pines South Course.  I'm excited and moved to be playing the course my Grandpa Stube played every weekday.  I'm intimidated to be playing a course that the pros find challenging (and that sandiegogolf.com recommends skipping if one's index is over 18).  Let's hope for good placement of the women's tees.

I am getting myself into the proper mental state for the game.  It helps to remember that:

1.  No one else cares how I golf tomorrow (with the possible exception of Dan, whose main hope is just that I have a good time and don't bug him).

2.  I'm not going to be in the top tier of the finishers, so it doesn't matter if I have a blow-up hole (which I likely will) or three (which I hope I won't).

3.  I'm there to enjoy and feel some connection to the Grand-father who died when I was 11.  I never knew Buddy (that was his nickname) very well.  I hope somewhere he's watching...and that he'll forgive me for the last conversation we had.  He was scolding me for being rebellious and I am sure my response was, well...rebellious.  Sorry, Buddy.

4.  Success in this case will be playing the course.  How's that for setting reasonable expectations?  I'll be counting my blessings every step of the way.

We're headed out for a quick visit to our friend in prison.  I've got the prison clothes all laid out...we'll see if I've got it down to a science this time.  I'm hoping for cool, sunny weather and safe, easy travel.  Not too much to ask, is it?

I saw in today's news that Deborah Kerr died.  She has been a familiar face in our house as we frequently view An Affair to Remember (one of Dan's favorites).  I love the first half of the film, but remember Kerr more fondly for her role as Anna in The King and I.  Farewell to a talented lady.  I hope she's dancing and singing in the afterlife, even now.

On a completely different topic, I signed up today for National Novel Writing Month.  It's in November, along with a week's trip to Hawaii and Thanksgiving, but I thought I'd give it a try anyway.  The premise is that writers commit to producing 50,000 words during the month of November.

The idea behind the exercise is that the time limit and the large requirement force writing over editing and motivate folks to sit down before the blank screen and just write. 

50,000 words breaks down into 1,667 words per day.  My work-in-progress, Apple Pie, has 142 pages and 38,751 words.  Using that as a baseline, we're talking 6 pages per day.  Eeek!  I'm starting to get cold feet already.

The rules are that the novel has to be started from scratch.  I've got a couple of ideas percolating about that I can get started on...or I can junk their rules and use this as a timeline/word count to plow ahead on Apple Pie.  The problem with that is that A.P. is historical fiction, requiring lots of tie backs to actual events.  So that argues for working on a novel less tied to research.  I'm mulling.  I'll let you know.

One thing's for sure.  It doesn't bode well for lengthy blogs in November!  (And what I do write will likely be about writing!)  Anyone want to join me in this challenge?

I was amused to read a quote by Catherine Deneuve in today's San Francisco edition of the green website, The Ideal Bite.  Quoth Catherine:  "At a certain point, you have to choose between your face and your ass."  I guess since I've only recently started a skin-care regimen but have been working out for several years, my choice is clear.

The quote tickled me so much that I wrote it down in my little book of collected quotes.  In the process of writing, I realized that there's more to the quote than it originally seemed.  Sure, when one is discussing aging, the quote is a sassy bon mot about facing reality and the tradeoffs of managing Time.

But in light of yesterday's blog about the congressional resolution to officially declare the Armenian Genocide, it takes on a whole different meaning.  The quote pithily captures the dilemma facing our representatives.  Do they save their face (i.e., their reputation for acting with integrity, in accordance with their ideals) or do they save their ass?

Idealists save their face.  Pragmatists save their ass.  There are those infrequent instances where saving one's face and saving one's bacon (tired of the "a" word) coincide--where one is held accountable for acting with integrity.  But recently, especially in politics, these interests seem to be opposites rather than sidekicks.

So that's it for my salient observations for the day.  I'm looking forward to lunching with my Santa Clarita friend, Peggy; to working out (saving my a!); and to office work today.

Speaking of which, I've got a couple of new poems up on the poetry page.  They're works in progress, so read them with a kindly eye.  If you want to check just these new ones out, click on "Storyteller" and "Among Her Collection of Bowls."  I'm experimenting (like Donald Hall in Without) with writing my typical confessional poetry in a stepped-back, third person.

I'm re-reading Without, Hall's account in poetry of his wife's (poet Jane Kenyon) death.  It's heart-wrenching, particular and luminous.  If you're into poetry, check out the link below.  Who knows, maybe someday I'll have a link to one of my books down below the blog?

According to today's LA Times, the House resolution to officially recognize the Armenian Genocide is bleeding supporters at a rapid pace.  As usual, I feel the need for disclaimers before delving into this topic in any depth...the main one being that I am an idealist, followed by the acknowledgement that I am neither a diplomat nor a scholar of the Middle East.

Indeed, I had to refresh myself on the history of the Armenian genocide before forming an opinion on the resolution.  A quick brush up for those who don't want to wade through the link above.

Prior to and especially during the WWI, the Ottoman government (now Turkey) displaced, relocated, systematically starved, and massacred a religious and ethnic minority in its midst--the Christian Armenians.  Death counts vary between a horrifying 500,000 and an unimaginable 1.5 million.  Armenian goods and property were confiscated as they were evicted from their lands and/or killed.

As of this writing, 22 countries and several international organizations have "recognized" these documented facts as "genocide": "The deliberate and systematic extermination of a national, racial, political or cultural group." 

At the time, the government justified its actions by claiming that Armenians were helping the Russian enemy; however, conflicts over religion, lifestyle and relative wealth appear to have been at the core of Ottoman-Muslim resentment of Armenian-Christians in their midst.  The resentment matured into imprisonment of intellectuals, sanctioned expulsion and then devolved into death marches and deportation camps.

Turkey has long resisted recognizing this passage in its history as genocide.  Indeed, there is a law on the books against "insulting Turkishness" that has been used to prosecute Turkish citizens who use the term genocide to describe these events.  As recently as January, Hrant Dink, a newspaper editor who had been charged under this law, was assasinated by a Turkish nationalist who said he'd been angered by Dink's views on Turkish history.  After the killing, the assassin was photographed posing with guards in a heroic stance with the Turkish flag.

Clearly, emotions in Turkey run high over this issue.  Which is precisely the reason Condi Rice and past Secretaries of State joined together to urge congress not to pass this resolution.  Passage would, according to them, antagonize Turkey and "harm American troops in the field." 

Turkey is a key ally in Iraq, granting the U.S. basing rights and allowing easier access to Iraq for our troops.  The government has been relatively stable, although (in a related development today), Turkey has authorized its military to cross into Iraq in pursuit of Kurdish separatists.  According to Turkey, the separatists are responsible for 30,000 deaths since 1984, using terrorist tactics to establish a separate state for Kurds.

So why push for recognition?  According to Simon Beugekian in The Armenian Weekly recognition will pressure Turkey to admit its past, leading to "healing" and "normalization of relations" between Turkey and Armenia.  But, he admits, recognition is a means to an end rather than an end in itself.  The future goals are reparations and return of contested, confiscated Armenian land.  All the more reason for Turkey to be touchy about the subject.

As pointed out by Condi Rice and her cohorts, the timing on this resolution is not good.  It injects a potential rupture into an already unstable situation, likely alienating an ally and complicating our efforts in Iraq.

And after all, it's history, right?  The U.S. officially recognizing the massacres as genocide does not make it fact any more than our lack of recognition denies the fact.

Yet I am still compelled to support the resolution, despite its inconvenient timing and not being 100% in alignment with the secondary goals of recognition.  Why?  Well, it's the quote that titles this blog. 

"Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?"  The person who said this? Adolf Hitler in 1939 as he outlined his plans to kill Polish citizens. 

Pragmatists will argue that the recognition can come at another, more opportune time.  But the idealist in me is haunted by Hitler's unintended message--when we let convenience dictate truth, we open the door to a bleak future indeed. 

Who speaks today?  I do.