on "having the courage of [my] convictions" . . .

Of all the advice that my mother has given me over the years, this is the one I most associate with her, the one that I have truly made my own. I remember thinking as a child, adolescent, teen, young adult that what she really meant was that I should have the courage of her convictions. She probably did . . . But, from the time I first stood up for what I deeply believed (I was five), I have drawn strength from my own.

My father always took time from work to vote on election day. He always voted--with the exception of DDE (Daddy couldn't find it in himself to vote for a divorced man)--Democrat . . . straight party ticket, or at least that is what I've always believed. My mother's example shaped me more. She did not become an American citizen until I was in college--and we still agree on almost nothing political in nature--but I was moved, even as a child, with her voting--absentee ballot and always making sure we saw her example--in the French elections. Charles de Gaulle was her hero . . . as John F. Kennedy would be, ever so briefly, mine.

Which brings me, I guess, to the topic of this commentary--election politics. An unseemly topic for a blog devoted to simple pleasures . . . but I've always managed somehow to salvage a moment of simple pleasure in knowing that I have had, in the privacy of that voting booth, the courage of my convictions. Courage to vote according to my beliefs--not those of, usually, the vocal majority. Courage to vote for the welfare of us all, born and unborn--not just for my own.

Which is why I need to write this today, two days before yet another election . . .

I often choose to define myself through quoting what respected others have said. The quotes below reflect my thinking as I choose--no straight party tickets for me, though my choice of quotes will surely lead to predictable labels for my thinking--the candidates I believe best equipped, in terms of their beliefs and values, to shape the best world possible for us all.

The words are theirs. The bold is mine . . .

Ebenezer: But it was only that you were an honest man of business!
Jacob Marley: BUSINESS? Mankind was my business! Their common welfare was my business!

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

I rarely talk politics. I do talk often and passionately about the beliefs on which my voting decisions are grounded. I rarely talk religion. I do talk often and passionately about the values on which my spiritual life is grounded.

I am rarely judgmental--unless in the presence of those who judge others--but I was deeply offended yesterday. I rarely watch mainstream TV but there was a football game I wanted to see so . . . a predictable clash of basic needs. The trade-off for watching two teams with their hearts in the game work their way through four quarters was to endure the negative political ads that filled every break.

I found myself wondering if not being out there touting my candidates of choice is akin to not having the courage of my convictions . . . if I should do and say more than I do in my quiet private voting booth moment in time. So here it is . . .

My ideal candidate is the unassuming visionary, a man (or woman) of the people.

The final piece of the this year's gubernatorial puzzle fell into place for me at a local festival this summer. The candidates cast themselves for the event as beauty queen (sitting high in a convertible, waving at her fans and surrounded by her entourage of propaganda distributors) and man of the people (walking the parade path alone [he had to have an entourage somewhere but they blended in too well to be noticed], shaking hands). Vincent Sheheen held me in the palm of his hand that day. He has my vote.

The final piece of this year's superintendent of education puzzle fell into place long before the primaries. Holleman's is the vision too many have lost in their quest to quantify academic excellence, in their efforts to equate results with standardized test performance. He also understands that putting public education first is essential to the common welfare of our children. (NOTE: I am, with the exception of my last three years of high school, a product of private schools. As a young adult, I chose--not just for financial reasons though that reality cannot be discounted--to enroll my three children in public schools [two attended state universities in other states] and to further my own education at a state university. I chose to devote my professional life to public education. I chose this path because I believe it is everyone's responsibility, mine included, to ensure that all children have access to a quality education. In today's challenging world, it will take all of us--our combined vision and resources--to make that assurance possible.)

There! I've done it! Gone on public record two days before an election to say, in indelible internet ink, how I will vote in the privacy of Tuesday's polling booth. Is this anything like having the courage of [my] convictions?

One last comment on convictions and courage . . .

I have the conviction that ours is government of the people, by the people, and for the people. I have the courage to accept the choice of the people on Tuesday and to do my best to make a difference in whatever world those leaders shape. And I will find some sense of satisfaction--simple pleasures--in continuing to live my life in just this way . . .

Pristine . . .

I was sim-ply trying to add this im-age as my G-mail signa ture, hon-est! And, as it so often does,
my building frustration morphed itself into creative solution-making attempts and somehow landed here in the shape of yet another blog post . . .

I suppose I should tell the rest of the story--at least the public version--while I'm here . . .

That this photo exists is nothing sort of miraculous, in my opinion.  Years and years and a lifetime ago, when I was without a home (a rented condo, even one with a lake view, is not a home in my opinion), I bought three roses.  These were to be my front-steps-planters garden, faithful greeters of my weary soul after too-long, too-weary days of trying to sort out who I was and how to make my way to someday. . .

The first of these was Peace.  And Peace was the first to succumb to the overabundance of shade and tree roots in her new garden home in the haven I now call home.  I've replaced her . . . maybe three times?  The only Peace rose that has survived me, though, is the lovely cross-stitched blossom my mother gifted me with one Christmas.  A beautifully symbolic gift, given its history and hers and ours . . .So Peace now graces one wall of my dining room, blooming eternally where family comes together in those blessedly peaceful days between Christmas and New Years . . .

The second rose was Brigadoon.  I must admit that the name entranced me, bringing back fond memories of a movie of that name and of the friend I shared it with that long-ago college evening . . .  But I have since come to admire Brigadoon most for her courage to survive, to gift me with a single bloom each spring, each bloom more glorious than the last, as if she knows it will be her last.  For most of her life she has been a single stem, significantly eaten away at its base the last several of those years. Brigadoon bloomed for me this spring . . . as the trees above her were leafing out.

But Pristine, the third of these long-ago roses, did not . . .  And I thought, in the throes of midsummer's challenges, that she had moved on before I could let go of that elusive . . . hope? . . . that her survival represented.  So I let go, drifted, moved on, moved on again, lived as I was meant to live . . . I thought.

One bearably warm late August afternoon, I retreated with mountains of schoolwork to the back porch hammock swing.  Not sure how long I rocked and read before . . . I saw . . . her perennial, her pristinely beautiful gift to me . . .

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