Up All Night

Friday, December 29, 2006

Second-Generation Tribe

I've been home for the holiday and am, as always, amazed at how metro Des Moines, Iowa, has grown and changed since I grew up here. Some of these changes, like shopping centers and multi-lane highways, are to be expected - such things weren't widely required most places in the Plains region of the Midwest when I was a girl. Others are more surprising - population of my hometown of Norwalk (formerly 7 miles south of Des Moines, now not discernibly separate) was 1,300 in the 1970 Census. Today, 11,000 suburbanites enjoy three golf courses, two coffee shops, a nice library, a public swimming pool and skate park, multiple convenience stores and fast food restaurants plus much more. With my rudimentary understanding of how population, business and property ownership affect the tax base, I can safely guess that the kids in my old high school now have separate uniforms for track, basketball and softball. My Norwalk girls basketball team is ranked number one. They were on the front page of my county newspaper (circ. 8,630), along with lots of other high school sports news.

I didn't stay with my parents in Norwalk. There's just too many of us now for their modest two-bedroom split level, so the nine attending members of the Willow/Tomaszek/Garner tribe stayed at a Best Western. Last night was our final evening in town and my parents reserved the breakfast room and trucked in a bunch of food for a swimming party. Family members, friends, their mates and all their children streamed from the buffet to the pool and back, exclaiming over the new babies, new photos and new information incepted since our last meeting. The last of us finally gave up on Totally 80s Trivial Pursuit just before midnight and finished cleaning up before stumbling to bed. It was my boyfriend's first time to meet everyone, and in introducing him to everyone and explaining the sometimes protracted associations, it occurred to me that my tribe in Milwaukee was not an original idea. My sisters and friends made our tribe in response to a desire for the love and support of a big, extended family close by. Last night's gathering was anchored by my parents' friends from forever. Then there were us kids, our own friends and our kids, several of whom are already almost old enough to have their own kids. Some of us only see each other every few years or so. One of my friends has a four year-old I still haven't met. But it doesn't matter; we all know that if that little boy ever needed anything that one of us could provide, it would be given without question. So our tribe in Milwaukee, as it turns out, is an extension, a satellite office if you will, of a core that emanates at least in part from a small Iowa town where, 35 years ago, a group of young parents met (or re-met from childhood) and created the big, extended family they all wanted.

Standing under the hot water in the hotel shower this morning, I thought about our kids. Someday they will go out in the world, and I bet at least one of them will connect with a group of people in close physical proximity to himself and create his own tribe, which will be part of our tribe, which is part of my parents' tribe, and so it will go... and that's pretty cool.

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Thursday, November 23, 2006

6:30 a.m. - A Thanksgiving letter to my mother

Dear Mom,

I'm already up, itching to start the turkey. But everyone here is still asleep and I know that as soon as I start banging pots around the whole house will be up. So for now I am enjoying a quiet cup of coffee in the pre-dawn stillness. I am upstairs in my office, which is my sanctuary, all my lists laying in a pile on the kitchen table. I will look at them later.

In point of fact, I've been making Thanksgiving dinner for 21 years today, if you count the crazy potlucks my friends used to do in college the weekend before the holiday, and I don't really need the lists. They just comfort me. This year there won't be Kraft dinner on the side - my old school pal Ron's annual contribution - or chips and dip guiltily slipped into the mix by Doug, Dave or Pat. By the same token, Wanda's amazing spaetzel from her mother's recipe are probably being boiled up somewhere in Texas as we speak and Halston's apple pie is sitting on a window sill in rural Missouri. No, today's dinner is higher-minded, with sage and mint-stuffed roasted turkey made with herbs from my summer garden, dried and preserved just for today. Lucky's homemade applesauce with cinammon and my cranberries with orange zest and red wine will fill the house with sweet smells, complemented by five homemade desserts from Michelle and 10 pounds each of mashed and sweet potatoes dutifully peeled by Lena and Emma and prepared by Beth. Mehrdad will bring his famous saffron rice with Wisconsin cranberries. He'll make the world's best gravy from my pan drippings. And If Brian and his daughter can make it, they'll bring real homemade southern mac and cheese, possibly the world's best comfort food. There will be other dishes as well, laid out on my buffet for a feast of biblical proportions. We'll all praise each other's cooking as we sip Pinot Grigio. The kids will spill their drinks and ask how much they have to eat before they can have dessert. My two-bedroom bungalow will fill with the sounds and life of 25 or 30 close friends and family members.

I know I'll look around despairingly at least once, sure that the house will never be clean again. I know I'll almost call my son's name when corraling the kids for dinner, forgetting as I always do that he is never with me on this day. The day will pass in a blur, with a second meal at Michael's mother's in the late afternoon and a get-together in the evening for adults at Joy's. I will fall into bed exhausted, probably late.

But right now it is quiet. I am drinking coffee alone. And I wish, more than anything, that you were here.

I love you,
Jon Anne

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Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Pelosi’s secret sauce

I have to concur with Matt Wild - Nancy Pelosi is hot. I, too, found myself, just last night, having fevered dreams of a vague nature that involved Ms. Pelosi's famous smile and those burning brown eyes. Granted, these same dreams were also rife with broader symbolism - my son missing his train to Iowa today, my dog peeing all over the floor as I entertain 25 people for Thanksgiving and Newt Gingrich's hair. Maybe these dreams are the by-product of sleeping on a heating pad. Or maybe they're really tied to broader fears of failure and embarassment.

Pelosi stands in the doorway of history. Not just in the most obvious way, as the first woman to serve as Speaker of the House, but also as an elected official who holds in her hand the power to influence the re-connection of a nation as severely divided as at any time in the memory of its living citizens. Her stated commitment to ethics has already been shaken by what the media is casting as personal loyalty over broad stewardship (as evidenced by her failed bid to install John Murtha as Majority leader and her backing of an impeached and convicted Federal judge for chair of the House Intelligence committee). She is seeing firsthand that her actions will be watched around the world and not just on the Hill, and conservative bloggers and Op-Ed writers are already sharpening their pitchforks for a good old-fashioned character assassination.

But I believe in Nancy Pelosi, because she's got a secret weapon that has yet to be taken into account. I know this weapon not only exists, but will come to play a major role in her ability to herd the cats of the House into the corral. To me, it's as plain as the nose on her Romanesque face, and anyone who thinks they can take her on and win is wasting time and energy better spent falling into line and working for the bipartisanship this country so badly needs. For those of you without my crystal vision, I'll share what some of us already know: Ms. Pelosi is Italian.

When attempting to figure this woman out, it is absolutely imperative that this facet of her makeup not be ignored. I can personally tell just by looking at pictures of her that she possesses the paisano triple-threat in abundance: she's beautiful, matriarchal and used to getting her way. Her primary goal is to be effective, and nobody can bend an exchange to their own purposes like an Italian on a mission. She will listen, flatter, cajole and compromise. She will make her associates feel valued - if that's what works. If that doesn't work, she will threaten, punish and call out her detractors with quiet righteousness. And if, somehow, she still finds herself in a backslide, she will resort to the most powerful weapon in the arsenal of the Italian woman. She will express her disappointment. She will roll her eyes heavenward and then down with a heavy sigh. She will remind her audience of the hopes that not only she, but everyone, had for whatever initiative is under discussion. She will let her hands flutter just a little. It will be terrible to see, and we'll all feel really bad. We'll want her to feel better. In the end, we'll force whoever is causing her pain to give her what she wants.

It's true that there have been instances in history when even this virtually infallible tool of diplomacy has failed to produce the desired results. But Pelosi, I have complete confidence, will remain undaunted. Should her best efforts at better governing through matriarchy fail, there's always the tax evasion and racketeering card to be played upon her enemies. And don't even bother to look for her to be connected to any charges brought. A good Italian woman knows to keep her hands clean and her house in order. When murky deeds are required to forward the greater good, she calls her uncles.


P.S. To any Italians inclined to feign offense at this missive, I say this: Settle down. I am Italian, and if you are too, you know I'm right.

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Sunday, November 12, 2006

Are we the last?

Will my generation be the last to count among themselves at least a few whose ideal weekend afternoon includes sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of warmed up coffee, reading the paper and listening to the game on AM radio? Will the kids who will control the media when we're old save the execution of AM until the last of my generation is dead, if only out of respect for tradition? As the sun from the kitchen window warms my arm and the smells of Sunday breakfast linger in the air, I have but one thought.

Kids, you don't know what you're missing.

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Friday, November 03, 2006

5:33 a.m. Bye-bye, Mr. Bowen

Those (like myself) who don't keep a list of all civilian personnel currently embedded in Iraq might not be familiar with attorney Stuart W. Bowen Jr. A Republican and long-time associate of the current president, Bowen was sent to Iraq in 2004 to open a federal oversight agency, the Office of the Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction. During his tenure, he has exposed shoddy and dangerous construction, fraudelent use of funds and numerous incidents of bribery and conspiracy related to the reconstruction of Iraq. He's even sent some of the worst offenders to jail. Not surprisingly, he has repeatedly investigated three of the biggest U.S. companies with contracts in Iraq - Haliburton, Parsons and Bechtel.

What may be surprising (or not), then, is the language buried deep inside the massive military authorization bill signed two weeks ago by Bush that eliminates Bowen's position on Oct. 1, 2007. From a few yards back, it figures. But many of those who followed the bill closely are more taken aback than the average bear. And that includes Republicans. Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine) is especially shocked. She says she read what she thought was the final conference report (this is where House and Senate versions of a bill are made to line up) and that the provision was not there. Other lawmakers from both sides of the aisle are in agreement. Turns out the language was slipped in at the last minute by "Congressional staff members working for Duncan Hunter, the California Republican who is the chairman of the House Armed Services Committee and who declared on Monday that he plans to run for president in 2008." (NYT, Nov. 3, 2006).

Josh Holly, House Armed Services spokesman and, I'm sure coincidentally, a member of Hunter’s staff, said that "politics played no role and that there had been no direction from the administration or lobbying from the companies whose work in Iraq Mr. Bowen’s office has severely critiqued." Haliburton, Parsons and Bechtel, naturally, aver that they made absolutely no effort to lobby against Bowen or his office. Several lawmakers have come forward to say that they will fight the termination. Let's see what happens next.

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