Frequent Citations

Part 6 of 7: Freak, But Not Completely Unknown

I have a headache.

It's the same one I've had since I was about 10 or 11.

Yep, that's right, not a day--not a waking moment--without a headache. And while such constant headaches afflict only a small percentage of the population, it turns out they are not entirely unknown. Switch the ages from 23 to 13, and you'll understand why there are stretches of high school I don't really remember, and why I've never gone back to drug therapy. (You can also add that most pain medication seems to make me throw up, migraine medicines most of all. Not a good result when you're already nauseous from the pain.)

Some days are better than others, sometimes I get a migraine on top of it, some days it's not a problem, some days I feel as though everyone's talking at triple speed and only half in English.

It just is, and it could be worse.

Part 5 of 7: A Preacher's Rhetoric Sings

As I told you before, I am a political junkie.

I am also a preacher's daughter. I grew up understanding the power of matching words to rhythm, of building an audience up and taking it away with you, of crafting incandescent images and searing sounds that bring the listener to his knees. That rhetoric is a skill and an art form and has not been seen in our politicians in many decades, although Ronald Reagan sometimes came close (he knew how to deliver lines).

But then it was 2004, at the Democratic National Convention, when some backwater politician still seemingly wet behind the ears got up on stage and showed them how it's done. It's not the flash-bang histrionics of certain public figures who get all fired up themselves but fail to move anyone else but the choir. The power of real rhetoric is harnessed and controlled, a measured force building and ebbing and irresistibly raising the hair on your arms and the tears in your eyes. It becomes a thunder, rolling with righteousness.

The rhythm, the cadence, the lilting delivery that becomes a booming drum roll--those are the hallmarks of true rhetoric. Martin Luther King, Jr. was undoubtedly a master of it. (Now he was a baptist minister I would have voted for in a heartbeat. Not for his experience or agenda, but for his character and courage.) And whether or not you're buying what he's selling, Obama does, on his best nights, show us how it's done.

Others agree:

Part 4 of 7: I Am A Political Junkie

Now that the presidential campaign season has well and truly started, I am in trouble. I spend far more time than I should surfing news and political sites instead of reading for tax. I have the sites for political futures bookmarked.

I just can't stop myself, but I come by it honestly enough. My maternal grandparents were deeply interested in politics and I guess I inherited the bug. Mind you, though, I am obnoxiously independent (and moderate) so I won't discuss my views here. They will stun some of you and shock others, no doubt, you all being the delicate flowers that you are, dear readers. And by delicate flowers, I mean staunch Democrats or deep-dyed Republicans (yes, actually, I am friends with--and even related to--both).

But I will say this: whatever your party affiliation, whoever you support, you should be hoping to see one notable result of Iowa be repeated tomorrow in New Hampshire. Young people voted, and lots of them. Hurrah for the renewal of democracy! And if you don't like the way they voted, stir your stumps and tell them why they should vote differently.

If True were to tell you 7 things about herself, one of them could be that she, too, is a political junkie. But she's much more willing to discuss it in public.

Part 3 of 7: Tradition

On Thanksgiving it seems appropriate to reflect on tradition and the role it plays in my life. Ok, Mum, you can stop humming the song now. And that, folks, is one of many traditions in my life--people in my family sing at the drop of the hat, provoked or inspired by whatever turn the conversation takes.

My mother was not a traditional cook (that's another post entirely) but on holidays we did it right: turkey, ham, or lamb with all the trimmings. Everything from soup to nuts was made from scratch, never a bag of stuffing or can of anything in sight. Whatever I thought about food the rest of the year (again, another post) I knew I would love the holiday meal. Whether it is a result of that part of my childhood, or just due to my ornery and conservative nature, the menu on Thanksgiving is allowed only the most minor of variations. Maybe the potatoes will not be mashed, or the stuffing will have a slightly different list of ingredients (but always, always sage), and the pies vary most years, but the basics of the menu are engraved in stone. If there isn't turkey with stuffing, potatoes, rolls, cranberry sauce, and pies, Thanksgiving Did Not Happen.

I value tradition enormously. Maybe because the best parts of my childhood seemed bound up in it with not just holiday meals but other, daily customs. My mother read aloud after dinner as we sat around the table and my dad sliced up apples and shared a slice or two, and I did that with my family for many years. We have family sayings that are directly traceable to some fairly distant ancestors. We have stories of even more distant ancestors, going back hundreds of years. Every tradition binds us to the people we share it with, today and all those yesterdays.

Sometimes I struggle with TFL over traditions, because he's such an iconoclast he doesn't ever care to do something just because that's how it's done. That's good for me, because I need to be challenged regularly--we all do--or I risk becoming stodgy and boring. (Ok, not really. I mean, I'll always be too snarky to be that stodgy.) Challenging tradition keeps it alive, I think, and meaningful. But sometimes you have to give in and do things the long way just because. Because you realize when you don't, when you try to take a shortcut or get too busy to bother, something is missing, not quite right, just a bit less than what it could be. Maybe it's the stuffing, maybe it's life.

Every tradition has its starting point, of course. LL and I have already discussed future reunions that we'll have. We'll go to Texas sometimes for fun and great TexMex and margaritas. They'll come to the City sometimes for fun and shows and shopping (oh yes, she'll spend more than $200--I'm a BAD influence!). 

Beanie, you love golf and that game is all about tradition. What are 7 things we should know about you?

Part 2 of 7: The Sports Fan

I am extraordinarily close to my mother. We are much alike, to the extent that we can often read each other's mind.

But three of my favorite activities were ones I shared exclusively with my father when I was growing up: fishing, card-playing, and being a sports fan. These activities turn out to have a common thread. They require a happy willingness to take whatever comes along, good and bad, knowing it will never be all one or the other.

My father taught me to sit still and enjoy the water and the breeze as I waited for a tug on the line. He taught me to count cards and analyze opponents' likely strategies when we played Euchre or Pinochle. And by moving the family to Ann Arbor when I was young he turned me into a Michigan fan.

We didn't have a television. I remember listening to games--baseball, basketball, football--on the radio. It's still my preference for baseball and basketball, but I've come to love watching football games on tv (or, better, in person). Dad would get mildly riled up sometimes as we listened, expressing disgust at a particularly bone-headed play or delight at a great score. Occasionally he would haul some of us over to a friend's house to watch a particularly big game. I learned then that it's poor form to root for a team from the state you were born in over the team from your current locale. Or so they told me.

I don't recall him ever expounding at length about sports in general or any philosophy of being a sports fan. But Dad is a bit of a fatalist at heart, and a classic gesture of his is a shrug combined with a short shake of the head and a sad little smile. Meh, that's the way it goes. Sometime you catch a fish, a flush, a winning game--sometimes you don't. Really, it's beside the point.

Yesterday's loss hurt, I'll not lie. To see the Wolverines lose The Game again is heartrending and maddening and yes, I want the coach's head on a platter. Again. But I love the game, the rivalry, the war. I love watching the players excel (when they do) and their grit when the game turns against them. I love knowing that there will be next year, that sooner or later there will be revenge (and a new coach).

I prefer winning to losing. But man, I do love the game.

So there you go, a second thing about me. McPan, I know you're a hockey fan (no better place to watch hockey than Yost, by the way). What are 7 things we should know about you?

Part 1 of 7: The Presentation

Yesterday, flattered to be asked by LL but brain-dead, I tossed off seven facts about myself in the shortest possible amount of time. Upon reconsideration, I've decided to turn it into a seven-part series of reflections. So here goes--part one.

Later today I will be giving a presentation about a project to a group of people. It is a project about which I am ambivalent, a group of people I respect, part of a process which has been painful. All in all, it is not something to which I am looking forward much.

Creating the presentation has been an exercise in balance and diplomacy, mixing frankness with judicious phrasing. I must be honest, and thorough, and non-prejudicial. I will try not to be boring. But I know that some of my listeners won't listen at all, having already made up their minds. Some will listen with only half an ear, already knowing the story. Some will listen with the happy glow of an audience pleased with the story it's hearing--perhaps. Perhaps this story will please no one.

Do I want to sway people? Only to the extent that I want them to think hard, to think reasonably, to set aside their preconceptions and prejudices and act on facts as they are, not as they should be. I want them to trust me enough to listen fully to what I say. But their decision must be their own.

It's going to be an interesting day.

So here is what this says about me, I suppose. I take my work seriously, trying always to do the honorable thing, and don't mind speaking in public even on difficult issues. But I think very, very carefully about how I will say what I must say.

Andrea, what are seven things we should know about you?