Three Blind Mice

(If you click on the Title, you will see an interesting Video of the Three Blind Mice as Safety Mice from 1945)

Last weekend I decided to treat myself to lunch out. I went to Winning Coffee Shop, near Central on Harvard here in Albuquerque. I frequent this place for the simple reason it reminds me of Berkeley coffee houses in the 1960's. The food is decent, sometimes even quite excellent, the prices are friendly and so is the company. And, it ain't Starbucks, there's nothing franchise about it.

As I was sitting and reading three middle aged men congregated at an adjacent table. Since I was a girl, when my sister and I used to practice this nefarious habit at fancy restaurants accompanying our parents, I have been an inveterate eavesdropper. These gents dismounted bicycles, garbed in spandex. They sat, removed headgear and foot gear, and took a breather in the shade of the umbrella near me. They got cold drinks. I was all ears.

I was especially attentive when they began talking finance. Just that very morning had been researching how to get a loan to cover putting solar production on my roof--a difficult accomplishment when living on disability. Course, it's equally difficult to imagine how I am going to power my life into the future without some sort of adjustment.

One of them talked about getting a good deal on a loan -- a rather sizable amount of money at 4% on just his signature. Then they all compared internet and cell phone services, at their multiple homes. All in all, I gathered they were "successful", fairly current, and just hip enough to be riding bikes instead of going to fat. I wondered just how smart they were?

As they got up to leave, putting on my mildest demeanor, I asked them a question. "I have been sitting here dying to ask you one question, if I may." They nodded consent. "It's rather obvious that you gentlemen have a comfortable economic life, unlike some of us, like myself, who live on stringent budgets and fixed incomes. In light of that, I was wondering, what do you see as the single most significant task that the next administration can undertake to improve the economy?"

Two of them checked out their fancy bike shoes, obviously a little flummoxed and chagrined. The third raised his hand, like in school, and said "Lower taxes?"

"Wow!" I replied. "That's really disappointing...and here I've been hoping that the 'smart money' would be on rapid energy conversion. I see that as essential to getting America back into production, to creating jobs, to saving the earth."

When I explained that I had spent the morning looking into the cost of putting solar panels on my roof, the one who had responded said, "I'd be careful with that, word is out that those systems may not last as long as they claim. It's more expensive than it seems."

"My niece and her husband have had solar panels on their rehabilitated ruin in the south of France for about twenty years now. I haven't heard them complain."

"Well, in Europe they may be doing a better job of manufacturing solar panels than here," he replied. "Europeans demand quality." (There must be something really wrong with us if we don't, I thought.)

"It just seems to me to be the most hopeful way to right our economy, not have to fight dismal and costly wars for petroleum for the rest of our lives, and, as a side benefit, save the earth.."

"That's why we ride bicycles," ventured another, lacing up his shoes for takeoff.

"Have a safe and pleasant day gentlemen!" I demurred. I wonder how they negotiate, being so blind??? I also wonder just how "lowering taxes" would benefit me, or 85% of the folks who patronize Winning for that matter??? I never felt bad about paying taxes when I was earning enough money to have it be a substantial issue. My only concern was how those monies were being spent.

Sheesh! Maybe Albuquerque is not as enlightened as I thought?

Meanwhile, I continue registering voters alongside my buddy, a fifty-eight year old woman of spunk who speaks Spanish and English with equal fluency and seems to know at least half of Albuquerque. She also speaks some Navaho, having grown up in Taos and Shiprock. She has two sons, one who is studying and working at the community college, the other who is in prison. Lives hand to mouth, works with a will and a friendliness that garners her three registrants to my one. Is studying Judaism (though raised Catholic) because she has recently discovered that her mother's family, who immigrated to New Mexico from Spain, were Sephardic Jews. She continues to revive my faith, not only in the value of our work, but in open minded humanity.

She disses tattoes, even though she admires some of them for their beauty, because to her they represent gang culture, and all the damage done. Yet, she engages with people of all stripes so naturally! She works to see changes happen in this land.

If she ruled the world there would be no "ObamaNation," no nervous nellies concerned about terrorists under the bed. Just people, trying to survive, helping others when they could, trying to "do the right thing." I salute her as I sit here at my desk, ruminating.

May she be the Farmer's Wife! Though, knowing her, she'd probably prefer they would just tuck their tails between their legs and get out of the way. Better yet, she'd sell them a solar system.




My eldest sister, who is 75, just completed a Swimming Master's Competition making her the fifth fastest competitor for her age group in the 200 meter swim in the Nation. Bravo! (I sure hope her aerobics will keep my heart pumping for a few more years! She's also my favorite writing consultant.)

Political Reflexes

In the center of my family in DC, 1956

I wouldn't have anyone believe I don't reflect on my own views, I do, sometimes painfully.

There's this "stew" I make several times every winter. Each time it's a slightly different variation on a French Provincial stew. That because it invariably has garlic and onions, tomatoes and red wine. But each time it's a little different from the last, depending on mood and what is at hand. My politics are similar. In essence they have remained the same over the years, though my positions and issue advocacy might vary.

This year, I have decided to go up to Denver and be a part of the audience for Obama's acceptance speech. For me, it's an extravagance, a gift to myself. It's been a long, long time since I have had an iota of hope for our national politics, and I want to celebrate before it dissipates.


The last time I participated in a political convention was during the 1960 convention in Los Angeles. You know, the one that nominated Kennedy. Looking this up on Google I found some interesting notes on conventions and the political process by Eleanor Roosevelt, whom I was honored to meet at that event. The thought still brings chills to my spine.Chapter Forty-two, "The Democratic Convention of 1960" of The Autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt by Eleanor Roosevelt.



My mother was State Women's Chairman of the Democratic Party in California at that time, and I was 12. Within the year my mother died of a botched hysterectomy, when a young surgeon decided to remove her healthy appendix just because he had her open. This convention was formative for me because it was the last time I got to be with my mother when she was acting in her public role.


Her courage,her principles, and her rhetorical skills impressed me at the time, and have stuck with me throughout my life. She was a "knock 'em dead" speaker who honed her skills by listening to radio broadcasts of Amee Semple McPherson (would you believe?).

My mother had been sitting on the committee that selected the California delegates to the convention, and had slyly injected many ardent Stevenson supporters into the California delegation. She admired Stevenson for his eloquence and commitment to grassroots politics and international diplomacy. She felt that it was finally "his time," and that the Democratic party owed him a real shot at the Presidency.

One night during the convention my family was seated at a table in the bar of the Biltmore Hotel, which at the time was the grand old hotel of LA, when Jessie Unruh, then running for Speaker of the House in California and a major player in "old style" politics, dropped by our table to inform my mother that she had "slit her political throat." With an aplomb that I have always cherished my mother replied, "Jessie, I don't think you understand why I am involved in politics."

Ironic, isn't it, for someone to be involved in politics, without compensation, for years, just because they were dedicated to making the world a better place? All through my growing up years, I was abashed and disheartened to learn that most people thought "politics" was a dirty word. I retain this naive prejudice proudly, that politics should be the arena of leadership and change for the better, as do the old ladies I work with in the Raging Grannies. Grassroots politics.

As I wrote in the early nineties:

If my father had not given me
Visions of progress and plenty,
Icing from the cake of his own baking
Made from scratch, created to satisfy the omnivorous
appetite of a child of immigrants for a place to call home:
His vagabond sense of rootedness, in his country,
This earth, its people and his time,

If my mother had not suckled me,
Nor rocked me as she sang
Of love's sweet pain, of endurance,
Of connection, of protection
Of solidarity and wit.
If she had been a quieter woman,
With less juice.
A dry woman with less comfort in her fleshy breast.
A cautious woman?
A worn-out woman?

If they had not given me these
Gifts of significance,
Each new year would not come with
These expectations, this sense of flailing arms against
A fierce and grinding tide.

In my last blog, I wrote about felons working to register voters. Afterwards, I mused on why I feel so strongly about the plight of felons, and about second chances. Once again, my reflexes are part of the very warp of my life.

My "dad," who was actually my stepfather, was a handful. He always had been a species of “wild man,” recklessly passionate and stubborn by turns. He had a lifelong penchant, fueled by alcohol, for throwing himself upon the world with his tender parts exposed. He was also, in his younger years, a bootlegger and a bookmaker.

This man, who found a way to support his family during the depression by taking bets on the ponies, was so much more than a lawbreaker and a drunk. In his youth he jumped trains across the country, and shared a lot of the sentiments of the late U. Utah Philipps. As a boy, he had been a devout Catholic, but with the outbreak of WWI, when the pope could not prevent French and German Catholics from slaughtering each other, he lost respect for the Church, but he always thought of Christ as "Jerusalem Slim," a people's Messiah. He was self educated, read newspapers voraciously, and taught me to read before I even started school by reading news articles out loud, with me on his lap, as his finger traced the printed words.

He was a great Dad, when sober. Running home from school in tears in the fifties, where for some reason I will never fathom, they had just done a presentation on bomb shelters -- shoot, I must have been nine or so, I sought him out first. He was always the most available emotional resource for us as kids. His response to my panic and distress was simple and comforting. "Remember, the Russians have kids too!"

In his forties, he started a new life in the central valley as a farmer. The old timers scratched their heads and doubtless whispered amongst themselves that this "new kid" next door would fail when he ruthlessly chopped the tops off his Valencias (he knew, because he studied the market, that California Valencias would never be a good cash crop again, because Florida was getting into the massive planting of juice oranges), and recreated his Valencias as lemons, via grafting. Within ten years the old timers were begging him to sit on the Boards of the local packing houses, because he understood the market. They were aping his innovations in farming, from drilling lateral water wells, to developing new varietals of avocadoes. They admired him as much for his ability to listen and understand as to produce results as a farmer.

He "would have been" the politician in the family, perhaps, he certainly was obsessed with political thinking. Then again, my mother was damned good at it! But he taught me to look beyond the letter of the law, to consider justice and compassion before self-righteousness.

Between the two of them, they gave me a belief system that informs me to this day. "Don't be afraid" to engage, to think, to learn, to grow. "Live fully and passionately." Be a part of your time!

So, I act, and sing, and remember, and look forward as fearlessly as I can manage. With passion and hope, despite setbacks and aging.

On aging: my great friend Rhi recently was babysitting her Mom in Cleveland, and she sent me this snippet of an email I found too amusing not to share....

The apartments mom is in are Wesleyan Village - which is run by the Methodists. I've been blessed, prayed to, and treated to more choruses than I can count of more songs than I can list extolling the virtues of Jesus. Not counting, of course, public grace at all meals. I've played old-lady bingo, done old-lady exercises and eaten old-lady chow. Yes, I think it IS made by Purina.

I console myself with my own mental pictures of what these places are gonna be like in another 20 years.

Instead of baked chicken, spaghetti and stuffed cabbage on the menu, they'll have to be serving Pad Thai, Sushi, and Veggie Burgers. Instead of "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" and "Red River Valley" we'll all be singing "Cocaine" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds". Bring on Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix and 80's Hair Bands. Instead of helping us put our clip-on earring on just right, some poor aid is gonna be helping us adjust our genital piercings. Blue hair? I don't think so! How about pink, green, or purple! And instead of playing pass the beanbag, we'll be playing pass the bong. Milk and cookies my ass, croissants and wine, or deep-fried candy bars and Budweiser.

Keep on Truckin'!

Not White Enough

A friend and fellow Raging Granny dropped by to visit me at my home recently. It was only the second time she had been to my house and she wasn't 100% sure that she had the correct address. She pulled over, poked her head out the window and asked two teenage girls if Nel lived here, pointing to my house. One of the girls approached her and in a whisper enquired, "She White?"

My friend, smiling, replied, "Duh!"

You see, I live in the most well known historic black neighborhood in Albuquerque. My friend is Afro-American, nay EBONY! And the girls were also.

I repeat this story because one of the articles I was reading this morning talks about Obama and John McCain in these terms:

It would be splendid if the man could simply just be in the same way as presumptive Republican nominee John McCain. (No one's asking if he's too white or not white enough.) But we have not arrived at that mountaintop yet and so, in the meantime, Obama must serve as symbol and trope. He must represent his multiethnic constituency and he must represent.

(Washington Post: "Plunging into Blackness",by Robin Givhan Washington Post Staff Writer Sunday, July 20, 2008) If you don't know the word "trope," look it up...everyone deserves a new word once in awhile!

My very own daughter, while working in Subway in Baltimore, encountered racism in it's most flagrant form. People were confused by the color of her skin: and in Baltimore that's asking for abuse. Some people didn't want her to prepare their sandwiches because she was too white, other's because she was too dark.

Actually, she's half Egyptian, and could be a citizen of most of the world's countries if you were simply to judge by appearances. Now, working at Subway in Albuquerque on the Air Force Base, she has a crew of fellows she calls her "men", who ask for her by name when they order their sandwiches. One of the reasons she likes living here is because people in Albuquerque are less racist than in the "provinces" of Baltimore.

Yup, racism is very much alive in our twisted world -- along with multiple other forms of prejudice. What a great opportunity to fight these undercurrents in the dark belly of the beast this presidential campaign offers!

I have been writing about registering folks to vote, and ACORN in this blog. Yesterday, we received a body blow from the media (another of my favorite whipping boys)."Criminals Signing up Voters" is the title KRQE (Channel 13 here in Albuquerque) assigned to this portion of their news on August 5. (To see the video of this news segment, just click the title.) Our registrars were immediately chastised as we attempted to register voters the following day, and our numbers were down dramatically. This is a pity, since ACORN has registered 60,000 voters here in New Mexico, which is, as I tell people daily, a swing state, where each vote really counts.

One of the issues we encounter every day here in New Mexico is the factionalism that divides poor folks in this country so frequently. Hispanics who don't want blacks to get a "leg up." Now, granted, if I had lived and worked in this country for many years and noted that while blacks who were brought here as slaves were citizens and I wasn't in the club, I would be pissed off myself. Nonetheless poor blacks and Hispanics have more common ground than not, and Acorn is actively encouraging both groups here in New Mexico to participate in the political process.

I may lose my job unless this smear can be effectively countered -- and that's virtually impossible given that people do not have much voice in the media. What follows is my response to this piece of journalism.

Open letter to KRQE, Chief Schultz and anyone else who is concerned about voter registration:


I am outraged by your story about Acorn.

I am a 60 year old disabled individual who has a background clearance from Albuquerque Public Schools, and I resent your implication that I am a baby raper! I also think that you make Acorn sound like a scam organization when this is not the case. Acorn performs many valuable community services, including the most extensive voter registration drive we've seen anywhere this year. 60,000 voters registered in New Mexico is no mean feat. Some two years ago Acorn helped me to prevent a foreclosure on a property I owned in Baltimore. It appears your reporter doesn't know the whole story about this organization.

Chief Schultz also should perhaps investigate the situation more thoroughly before smearing the efforts of this organization. All those FELONS employed by Acorn are referred by their parole officers who are supposed to inform Acorn if applicants present a threat of violence in the community, such as rape or child molestation. Identity theft is a risk in some limited instances, and I suppose it would be in any situation where poor people are actually being allowed to work in the election process, which is why I proudly show my certificate from the Board of Elections when anyone has questions about the security of the information we process. But the risk is exceptionally small...Acorn does not retain employees who don't turn in voter registration cards, and those that are turned in identify the registrar.

If anyone needs to perform additional security checks, it should fall on the Board of Elections, which certifies registrars. They have this capacity, and perform this function as a normal part of eliminating felons from the voter rolls. Acorn is, like many other non-profits, financially strapped, as are most of their employees. A $35 per head security check would likely put a damper on their registration activities.

Acorn sorts out the bad apples rapidly, and they give many an opportunity to participate in the political process who otherwise would not. Poor people don't have the time to volunteer their services to organizations like the League of Women Voters, but some of us, with clean hearts and very positive intentions, are eager to work for systematic change in our world.

One of the most alarming things about our society is that prisons are a growth industry. Unless felons are given a chance to work when they are released, the prison population will simply continue to expand.

Maybe it's just this. Your piece is trying to stop the political action and self-empowerment of poor people, like much of our media, who can't seem to cover many things that people do to try to reach out to the larger population about the problems our society faces with the ever widening gap between the rich (advertisers) and the poor???

I for one, will be watching you! And continuing to work for change.

GrannyNel