When we first met, we toiled together in Industrial Academia. I am not sure how else to describe the regimented setting where we worked last spring scoring No Child Left Behind tests. Hundreds of persons privileged enough to have a bachelor's degree and poor enough, many because of disabilities or other systematic failures (like trying to live on teacher's salaries, or job loss and displacement and ageism combined with a spiralling cost of living) took on this temporary job in order to help make ends meet. I know I was not alone in serving this early 21st century experiment in quantitative measurement of a failing educational system in spite of deep reservations about the value of my work. My daughter, who has a penchant for redefining things in her own words--one wonders where she acquired this talent (grin)--calls Bush's grammar and spelling and creativity (did I mention handwriting?) don't count approach to leveling the educational playing field One Child Left Alone. But enough of this! I'm not 'spozed' to talk about this job according to non-disclosure rules. I'll leave you free to determine what that means for yourselves (applying duct tape).
It was a great place to meet like-minded people of my own age group in Albuquerque, and it wasn't long before I made friends with Ruth. After the job finished, we kept in touch. She was knocking on doors for Obama, I was registering voters for Acorn. As the convention loomed, we began working out a way to get to Denver to hear the acceptance speech. Just because it felt like an event we wanted to witness first hand. What a "wonderful adventure" it was, too!
Since we are both on fixed incomes, the first step was to wrangle a place to stay. I often say the Raging Grannies have my back and this was no exception. We were wonderfully hosted by Granny Natalie of Denver and her family. I signed up early for my ticket to the acceptance speech, but Ruth left for Denver without one. Fortunately, not everyone who signed up in advance claimed their tickets in Denver and we were able to get a pass for Ruth from the New Mexico delegation there.
It's difficult to pick and choose the best moments of this trip, there were so many "bests." Among them the fact that Ruth actually joined me. Two days before departure she called to say she regretted that she wouldn't be able to travel with me. Her elder sister was critically ill in Cleveland. Fifteen minutes later she called again, her sister had told her that is was more important that she go to the convention than hover around her sickbed! I was deeply touched by just how significant this candidate was to this family. So on Wednesday morning the 27th we loaded up my faithful "Purple" car and started on our mission. (Actually the car is an opalesque silver, but in the spirit of inspiring her to longevity, I always call it Purple.)
Google driving directions being somewhat obscure we ended up taking a 75 mile detour through beautiful country on the way. Doncha wish they would tell you what town you are in when you come to a critical turnoff??? We went west when we should have gone east. What else is new?
Stopping to get directions at a tiny Chevron station in a tiny town near Alamoso, NM, we spoke with the Hispanic owner manager. Told him our mission. He clarified our route and encouraged us by saying that he had watched both Michelle Obama's and Hillary's speeches and been really impressed. And, yes, I did say a Chevron station.
Ruth and I had both been concerned, in our political activities over the summer, that the Hispanic New Mexicans would help turn the tide against Obama in this swing state. One of the reasons American reform and union organizing has been so challenging over the years is that the bosses have fanned the fires of internecine jealousy amongst the folks at the bottom of the heap of the American economy. Today, with the widening gap between the minority of super rich and the rest of us, the folks at the bottom of the heap form a vast majority if they will only work together for change, and recognize that their common economic challenges make them more alike than racial, linguistic or cultural differences. It's critically important that Hispanic voters don't sit out this election.
We were delayed further by a fall roundup in a mountain pass, where we observed real live cowboys on horseback moving cattle down the middle of the road, coordinating their efforts on cellphones! Truth is stranger than fiction.
In the town of Walsenburg, Co, where we finally reconnected with our route, we met two middle aged women outside a 7-Eleven where we refilled our tank. They were so excited to encounter the two of us on our pilgrimage to Denver that we had a hard time moving on without them! One was quite toothless, in the tradition of a government that does not acknowledge that elders might have teeth if they had adequate medical care. They other was just plain voluble. She said, "Ya know, when people tell me they are worried about Obama and his strange name and his Muslim Grandfather, I tell them this. Well, gee, one of my grandfathers was a Protestant, the other a Catholic, and my great grandmother, well she came from Sicily! Remember that!" Duly recorded.
Gotta love this country.
We worried that we wouldn't make Denver in time to catch the Wednesday evening performance by the Denver Raging Grannies at the Mercury Cafe...a wonderful venue with three large gathering places and great food run by an aging hippy. But, with race driver Ruth taking over the wheel, we got there in ample time.
We even had time to catch a meal before the performance -- I might add that our culinary experience in Denver was altogether fabulous, and refreshing after living in Albuquerque where New Mexican cooking is pretty much the norm. Not that New Mexican cooking is bad, it just gets monotonous sometimes, and the fact that the sidewalks fold up at 8pm just makes the problem worse. As we were awaiting our check a young lady came by our table and offered us an Impeach Mint! That was refreshing indeed!
Code Pink had the room next to the bar. They had a lovely table full of goodies, including pink bikinis bearing the imprint "No peace, no pussy," in honor of Lysistrata.
The mood and energy all around this establishment was festive and vibrant -- as we found Denver during our entire stay. The energy of youth was evident, and it's been a long time since I have felt this. (Democracy -- use it or lose it!)
It was great to meet the Denver Grannies -- though I didn't sing with them. They meet every week to rehearse, memorize their lyrics, and have an organized choreography for many of their songs! I was impressed. Amongst them was a Granny from Tacoma, WA, who, like us, had come for the party. I enjoyed their rendition of "Good-bye, Dubya" (to the tune of Hello Dolly) and will post lyrics to several of their songs under Granny Links in the near future.
Here in Albuquerque we seldom memorize lyrics, but we are developing some real punch now that we are participating in several campaign appearances. One day I hope to add a video of our performance of my current favorite number -- Yes, we do not use torture!" to the old tune "yes, we have no bananas." This one is written by one of our grannies who comes from a military family, who as a child met General Westmoreland as a guest in her family home. Not surprising that someone who was imbued with a deep sense of "honor" would find the practices of our current regime embarrassing.
On Thursday we began our long trek to the stadium at about 10:30 in the morning. Once again, fate smiled on us when we parked Purple in a corner parking lot across from the Hotel housing the New Mexico delegation. A woman appeared at my side as I was locking up the car and handed me an all day parking pass. "I bought this and won't be using all of it," she explained.
Finding our way into the room where the passes were being distributed I encountered several folks I had met earlier in Albuquerque at the town meeting to send up planks to the convention. Right away, as I got my pass, we were told that there were likely to be enough passes for all New Mexicans who wanted them to be released at 2pm. Yay for Ruth!!
We spent a couple of hours waiting for her pass by cruising the "mall", getting buttons and bumper stickers and other gear. New Mexico has been pretty "dry", only two "lawn" signs have been stuck in the gravel in my neighborhood, which as I mentioned before is the historic black neighborhood of Albuquerque, and there is no lack of support for Obama amongst these folks, just a lack of signage and bumper stickers. For over a month all the signage in the main campaign headquarters in down town Albuquerque has been hand painted. I stopped by several times in search of buttons and bumper tickers to be told that they went out faster than they came in.
I remember times when campaign paraphernalia was free and went begging. Here on the Mall in Denver people were gobbling up buttons at 3/$10, likewise bumper stickers. We looked, and laughed, and bought a few mementos for family and friends. I am particularly proud of a cartoon of W pissing on the nation, my WAR bumper sticker (Want Another Republican?), and the pin I bought for my daughter "Women 'Shoes' Obama," where his portrait is surrounded by an array of shoes.
(My daughter, reflecting her Egyptian heritage in some mysterious way, is a shoe-aholic. This makes me laugh, and I accuse her of being in competition with Ismelda Marcos. It probably remains true to this day that if there is a crowd gathered around a shop window it Egypt it's likely a shoe store...I guess when you must refrain from a public display of body parts, shoes acquire special significance.)
The mall was jammed with people, riding the free shuttles and espousing various causes, but for the most part, other than the Jesus freaks telling us the end of the world was at hand, and several truckloads of police in riot gear that we ran into on three or four occasions, the crowd was simply jubilant and celebratory. By this time I was beginning to feel that if in fact we do manage to elect Obama, the resulting empowerment of youth and grassroots politics might actually really open the floodgates of change in this country. Be still, my heart.
After we got Ruth's pass, and instructions from the delegation for getting to the stadium, which turned out to be erroneous, we went back to the car to put away our purchases and regroup. According to the sheet we were given about security at the stadium, it appeared that canes were to be prohibited as potential weapons at the stadium. Somewhat disgruntled I exchanged my good cane for my "second." "Sounds like that would be illegal in light of the ADA," I grumbled, "but if I am going to have to leave it somewhere, at least it won't be my best cane."
So off we went..first to try to catch buses that were reputed to be going directly to the stadium...this was the instructions we were given by the NM delegation, but it turned out these buses were only for folks with floor passes for the convention.
After several blocks of struggling with crowds we finally were directed to the Mall Shuttles and pointed in the right direction to catch the light rail. Denver seems to be ahead of many Western cities in public transportation, by the way. The light rail was jammin' with the same folks of many colors and ages you all saw if you tuned into the acceptance speech...and we were all excited that we were finally approaching our destination... so we thought:)
Only thing was that the light rail wasn't running the whole route to the stadium. Everyone was dumped off about 2 miles from the final stop for some sort of "security" rationale. We followed the huge crowd, crossing a huge empty parking lot about the length of two football fields where we could see literally thousands of people on foot in the broiling heat, walking down the middle of I-25 (a six lane divided highway that had been shut down for five miles for the occasion). We sat for a breather and I began to cry. "I just don't think I can do this!", I said. I already had sciatica in both throbbing legs from all the standing we had done that day. "So close, and so far away!" And yet, with the enthusiasm of the crowd continuing to press forward in the heat, in my heart I was willing to crawl.
Fortunately, and a critically important lesson for all Americans who are inculcated daily to believe that they must be self reliant, I was not alone in my dilemma.
Next week, I will continue the saga, inside the stadium and returning home. Hopefully by that time I will have received the pics from Ruth and can share those as well.
In the meanwhile, don't let McPOW and Pawkiller get you down!! My (male) roomie made the mistake of trying to tell me that thousands of feminists who had been supporting Hillary would be voting for McCain/Palin. Feminists! Not any I know. "No Way, No How, No McCain!" The woman is an embarrassment to the female gender.
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