Tuesday, October 07, 2003

Voting, Fasting, and Slowing Down

Thanks, it’s nice to be back.  I’m just killing time till Kel is ready to join me on a short walk to the firehouse directly behind our apartment so we can vote.  I believe in the privacy of the voting booth and the voting decision, but in anticipation of statewide acts of criminal stupidity I will encourage my compatriots and forestall snideness from others by stating unequivocally that I OPPOSE the recall, would prefer Bustamante to any of the other boneheads in the race, and further I intend to vote NO on both our statewide propositions: NO to the mandatory redistribution of state spending on infrastructure (at the necessary expense of other programs like health and welfare that can’t defend themselves very effectively), and NO to the prohibition against gathering racial and ethnic data now used to establish hate crimes including arrests for DWB, as well as to provide emperical evidence of public health issues that would otherwise go undiagnosed such as epidemics of various sorts in specific racial populations.  Got that?  NO, CRUZ, NO, NO. 

I do realize that, if Cruz gets elected, I am going to hear his name quite often and will therefore be even more prone to spoonerize it, as I do now, as “Booze Crustimante.” If I meet him that’ll be the first thing I tell him.  Then we’ll have a big laugh and he’ll name a school after me.  The “Snotty Knowitall Elementary School,” maybe, or the “Self-Important Weenie Junior College.” I’m flushed with pride.

(***)

Just got back from voting.  I really enjoy walking out in the morning to my polling place.  This time was no exception - the dawn was breaking pinkly all over the sky, tinting the marquees and storefronts all along Geary with hopeful hues.  I got to stroll to the poll (the old ‘poll stroll’) with Kel, which was nice after I’d not seen her for most of the past week because of schedules and travel and such.  Our only regret was that we had to go all the way to the fire station, on the opposite side of our city block; half-way to our destination we realized that maybe they could have set up the polls at the nearby Hemp Center, which is even closer and infinitely more interesting.  When faced with the choice between burning and extinguishment, well, my vote is secret but my preferences are overt. 

And yes, the period of reflection and meditation is over for another year.  It was fulfilling, but not easy.  I guess it’s not supposed to be easy but this time was full of the most petty of challenges and obstacles.  The cat regularly disgorging the voluminous contents of her fuzzy belly on our comforter; the computer crashing and disgorging all my email and internet history; the intensity of daily work disgorging reams of paper onto my desk… it was a period of material disgorgement, I guess, and that made it hard for me to concentrate on metaphysical matters. 

And that’s probably just the way it was supposed to be.  I have been working so hard, getting so little sleep and fretting so terribly much over the past 10 days or so… as a woman wise beyond her years said recently, it’s hard to know how much breath your body can hold until you let it all out at once.  For Yom Kippur, I almost missed my pre-fast meal while I was working with a dear friend to scan a few old photos into digital format; he gave me a mason jar of terrific frozen cassolet for my emergency supper but I failed to drink any water with the salty stew and consequently felt like I was going to pass out in the sticky heat of evening services - I ran out into the lobby to suck down water at the cooler and broke the fast before Kol Nidre, which is, for the untutored, damn early to be breaking the fast.  Then I broke a hot sweat and had to run out for more water again, feeling physically and morally weak.  Then after services I realized I’d forgotten where i’d parked the car, and wandered around for 45 minutes before I found it; during that time I guess I’d also found the world’s most viscous and noisesome pile of dog turds, which remain glued to the bottom and sides of my favorite exercise shoes, now slowly drying on the front doorstep.  The next morning I forgot my notebook, wherewith I take notes during the services; at least that was better than leaving my wallet and phone behind as I had the prior evening. 

I got back yesterday in the early evening, having capped off the services by blowing off Yitzkor, the memorial service (and the first I’d ever have attended with anyone special to mourn) in favor of meeting my new cousin Sam, one week old yesterday.  Seeing his new face seemed more relevant than sitting in a church and rehashing old memories.  The choice wasn’t easy and I feel like I missed out on something important, but life is a series of compromises and this one left a good feeling in my heart.  Getting home, I changed out of my whites and Kel and I grabbed a very filling supper at Q, followed by my favorite egg cream at Toy Boat, and then at 6:30 I got into bed.  I was asleep by 6:45 and slept through till 5:30, when I awoke and had a great session of yoga.  Now I feel like I’m clean and clear and ready to start a new round of whatever we have going on.  Like voting - what a great start to a year of limitless potential. 

Actually, now I feel like I could use a nap. 

But instead I’ll toss one tidbit your way, just in case you’re still reading.  This one is a parable from yesterday’s services, in honor of the Giants-A’s world series that isn’t going to happen this year.  A young child was playing in the park with a bat and ball.  He said to himself, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!,” and with that he tossed the ball in the air and swung mightily at it.  The ball dropped, untouched, to the ground - strike one.  He adjusted his cap, hitched his pants, retrieved the ball and repeated, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!,” again tossing the ball neatly into the air and swinging hard at it, but failing to interrupt its path back to the earth’s surface.  Strike two.  With furrowed brow, he picked up the ball and examined it, and examined his bat; he set his feet carefully on the ground and the bat carefully on his shoulder, and with rapt concentration he reiterated, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!,” before gently tossing the ball, swinging the bat, watching the ball fall to the dirt one last time.  Strike three.  He dropped the bat, stretched out his arms, and shouted to the sky, “I’m the greatest pitcher in the world!”

Anything can be taken from us but our right to choose our attitude.  Even if the other Californians choose a governor whom I hold in utter disdain, I can still maintain right-mindfulness.  Sometimes I forget to, but sometimes I don’t.  Here’s to a year when I remember what I’m capable of a little more often than I did last year.