Lacking Composure

Today is a big day.  Huge day.  I cried as Barack Obama took the oath of office (despite what one of my friends has described as President Obama being punk’d by Chief Justice Roberts).  I cheered as “Hail to the Chief” played.  It was an amazing moment.

And yet I seemed to have developed adult-amnesia through much of it.  I giggled at Aretha Franklin’s ginormous bow.  I got a kick out of one camera shot that made it appear the George H.W. Bush was nodding off.  I was a like little kid in church throughout a good part of the Inauguration.

Even nows, hours later, I seem unable to muster the appropriate awe the moments inspires.  Instead, CNN tells me that President and Mrs. Obama have gone into the White House to freshen up and commentators question whether or not the first family will visit the Oval Office, and I couldn’t help but think of what I would do the first time in the residence: jump on the beds.  Totally.  I would do it.  Today is probably the most relaxed President Obama will be for the next 4 (hopefully 8, actually) years – why not jump on the beds in one of the most famous bedrooms in the world?

I at least hope his daughters get some bed-jumpin’ in.

Also, I can’t help but wonder how long it will take spell check to stop telling me Obama is spelled incorrectly? Can somebody update that please?  Thank you.

And this, people, is one of the many, many, many reasons that I will never be President.

But I am so, so, so glad he is.

An Election Marriage Metaphor

I don’t know what to say about last night’s election.  In part, I have too much to say to say much of anything.  I am overwhelmed with emotion and am elatedly hopeful about the future of our country, a feeling I haven’t had in my adult life (I was 18 during the 2000 election).

But I also know how the other side feels.  They are disheartened and uncertain.  They felt certain of their convictions and are discouraged to find that 53% of their country disagrees with them.  I get it.  And I get it because I’ve been there for the last 8 years.

I cried all night on election night 2004.  Admittedly, I was slightly over-emotional.  I think my youthful zeal ran amuck.  I also felt personally defeated that I had been unable to convince my then-fiancé to vote with me; the loss of that one vote was crushing to me.  I worried about the future of our country and about the future of my relationship with this man whose political beliefs seemed so far from mine.

But get this: both the country and my relationship with my now-husband made it through.  Yes, the country is worse for the wear, but The Hubs and I are all the better for working through and understanding our differences.  I married a fiscal conservative, and I’m okay with that.  And you know what: he voted with me last night. What a difference four years makes, right?

My point is this: difference is good. I’m almost (but not quite) glad that the Democrats didn’t get their 60 seats in the Senate because our country was built on a foundation of checks and balances where it’s not only important but a requirement to hear from and work with those who disagree with us.  Hubs and I have come to a political understanding because we worked to understand why we each feel the way we do and we accept our differences of opinions.

So by remembering the crying, frustrated girl I was 4 years ago, I have hope that our country can mend the immense political divide that has been created in the past 8 years.  Yes, your guy may have lost, and I am truly sorry for you and understand the need for a mourning period.  But I also truly believe that the guy who won is invested in working through our differences and getting out country to a place where we can respect and even be grateful for each other’s differences and not feel the need to move to another country because of them.

And, if nothing else, that is quite a victory.

Vote!

I did.

Blog Interrupted: Rockin’ the Vote

I planned to tell you today about my (almost) perfect weekend, about  pumpkin carving and football watching and sugar cookie making.  But I can’t.  Instead, let me say this:

Democracy is awesome.

Taking advantage of Florida’s early voting opportunities, I voted at the courthouse today.  My fellow voters and I waited in line for 45 minutes – and it was the perfect day for such a wait: bright sunshine, crisp fall breeze, perfect.  There were campaign volunteers lining Monroe Street holding posters and waving to passersby (don’t you love the word passersby? sounds very erudite – the opposite of folksy). Polling workers were on hand, with big, gentle smiles, to answer any and all questions.  And not one time from the moment I stepped in line until 3/4 of an hour later when I entered the courthouse did I hear a single person complain about the wait; rather, many of us bragged about the wait, elated that so many people were showing up to vote eight days before the election.

Once inside, more waiting ensued, but the line shuffling was regularly interrupted by a poll worker’s call of “First time voter!“  Everyone in the courthouse – and I mean everyone - cheered and clapped as the new voter hurried to his or her privacy booth.

My poll worked greeted me energetically, clearly loving the opportunity to serve such a role.  She handed me my ballot and sincerely wished me luck.

After a few minutes of verification (I’ve never wanted to ensure my correct vote more), I scanned my ballot and headed to the door. Before leaving I was offered the customary “I Voted” sticker, but after mentioning that I work at FSU and would like to wear my sticker on Nov. 4, the friendly volunteer snuck me 4 extras (one’s for you, Jenny).

[You might not know this about me, but I love the "I Voted" sticker. Last year I transferred it from outfit to outfit from the day I early voted until the official election day.]

As I left the courthouse, I smiled and called the hubs to brag about my civil accomplishment and pressed my sticker to my shirt (why yes I did wear a red shirt today in anticipation of needing to match my sticker).  Feeling very proud of myself and my country I walked to my car, praying I hadn’t gotten a ticket since my meter had run out while I was in line.

Dilemma

For the past few days I have been wanting to decorate for fall.  I think I’m having nesting-sympathies due to the eighteen gazilion women I know who are currently pregnant. But I don’t want just any ol’ decorations; I certainly don’t want to just do the same things I did last year.  My cute little pumpkin candle isn’t enough.  Not even Turkey Tom can quench this desire.  And the seasonally-appropriate wheat stalks I picked up at Publix for $1 the other day have not been helping as they lay on my dining room table, mocking my attempt to decorate.

Unfortunately this desire coincides with a shocking bout of school-related productivity. Since returning from Mt. Dora, I have gotten way more accomplished than even my over-ambitious to-do list anticipated.  I’m getting whiplash from turning around so frequently to check things off my list.  And this is fantastic.  Hooray!  I’m getting things done.

Except…the nagging desire to decorate and even to shop for decorations keeps tugging at the back of my brain.  Read more William Dean Howells?  Sure; I’m already on such a role.  Except, I could go pumpkin shopping.  Or I could find somewhere to put the wheat stalks.  But no.  Must plan spring syallbi.  Must finish making my class’ midterm exam.  Must.  Must.  But want.  What’s a girl to do?

So I compromised…with myself.  I would read two chapters of Howells and then spend the equivalent amount of time playing with fall fun-ness.  Two chapters, then pick out the appropriate candle.  Two chapters, then place the vase.  Now not only am I well into the midst of Howells (jealous, right?), but my apartment is basking in the glory of all that is fall (or would be fall, if I lived somewhere that actually experienced fall).

Now, if you happen to be experiencing dilemmas of your own, particularly of the political variety, I offer this PSA:

And I mean it, too.

Making My Own Fall Break

One of the most annoying things about FSU is that they don’t provide any kind of fall break.  Now, I’m not picky.  I don’t need a week or anything extravagant like that.  But can I please have one measly day off in the middle of the semester?  I mean, sheesh, I only teach twice a week but right about now I just need one stinkin’ day when my brain thinks I should be teaching that I get to not go to class.  It’s more of a psychological holiday than anything.  But no.  I have to struggle through until November until we randomly get Veteran’s Day off and then the two required days for Thanksgiving.  Thanks for your generosity FSU…

To remedy the problem during this semester when I need a small break more than any time before, I am making my own fall break.  Tomorrow Dave and I head to Mt. Dora, Florida to spend the weekend with Dave’s grandfather.  Dave and Papa will spend their time cycling with hundreds of other cycling-fanatics.  I will go antique shopping, get a head start on my Christmas list, and, mostly, try to get lots of reading done.  But even though I’ll be working most of the time I’m down there, just being able to leave Tallahassee and relax in a nice hotel and eat lovely food someone else prepares for me will do a lot of good for me psychologically.

Of course, that could all be ruined if Potter decides to eat his pet sitter.  Wish us luck on that front.  I think he’ll do fine; I think Dave is terrified.  Luckily our pet sitter is a tough New Yorker, so I think we’ll be okay.

Either way, I am leaving this apartment for the next three days and this fall break, official or otherwise, could not come at a better time.

:::

On an unrelated not, my amazing friend Katie gave birth to her beautiful little girl, Maddy, yesterday afternoon.  While telling Dave how happy I am for the newly-expanded Williams family, it suddenly occurred to me that, if Barack Obama wins this election, Maddy will grow up never questioning whether or not an African American will ever be President of the United States.  Cool, huh?  Hopefully the next generation will be able to have the same experience with a woman in charge.