Tag Archives: Yes we can

>The Fault Line of Public Opinion

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>I saw the metaphor in a novel by Jodi Picoult. She was describing a demonstration, with protesters separated by a neutral zone patrolled by the National Guard. This neutral zone, the space between the opposite sides of the issue, was the fault line of public opinion.

Wisconsin has a fault line now. The push and shove of the fault line lies in our public opinion, our State Senate, our State Assembly, and even our State Supreme Court. The atmosphere is one side against the other, majority rules, and winner takes all no matter what the cost.
The danger in living on a fault line is that an earthquake could occur any time, without warning. We Wisconsinites are good at preparing for blizzards, taking shelter from tornadoes, and mopping up after floods. We’re not used to the earth shaking beneath us, dumping dishes from shelves, breaking windows, and opening cracks in the streets. We’re also not accustomed to our state capitol attracting thousands of middle class demonstrators, a legislature that is obsessively divided along party lines, and a governor who refuses to be photographed from his bad side.
Wisconsin citizens and voters are choosing sides now. With strong leadership, maybe the members of our legislature will relax their posturing and focus again on their real responsibilities: making laws, thoughful laws, that benefit the citizens of our state.
This weekend is a huge one for activists. Expect to see clipboards, lanyards identifying volunteers, busy offices full of volunteers. If you’re a friend or family IRL, call me. I have petitions and I know how to use them. Together, we’ll reclaim our government. Then, and only then, we can reach across the fissure created by the fault line of public opinion.

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The Fabled Fairies of Thanksgiving – Reprise

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What are you doing reading blogs on Thanksgiving Day? Go spend time with friends and family!

But if you must, here’s my classic Thanksgiving post, The Fabled Fairies of Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving Dinner? No problem! I’ll call in the fairies. They’ll do everything.

The laundry fairy washes, dries, and presses the table linens, including the cloth napkins. If she’s feeling generous, the sheets and towels might get folded, too.
The turkey fairy will practice her specialty and make sure the bird is cooked and carved just in time for dinner. White meat and dark, it’ll all be moist and savory and leave just enough leftovers for sandwiches and a turkey noodle soup.
The baker fairy will take care of pies, pumpkin and otherwise. He’s an expert on flaky crust, selected spices, and the perfect portion of whipped cream. Don’t let that Simple Simon guy get in the way; the kitchen’s too small for anyone who begs to taste the wares.
The brownie — the cunning little house elf — will clean the home thoroughly, put the leaf in the big table, and get the extra chairs out of the basement.
I wouldn’t dream of neglecting the wine fairy: the sommelier so tiny she only recommends, never lifts, a bottle. Her taste is impeccable. Now if we could stop her before she over-imbibes and falls asleep on top of the piano…
Did I mention the decorator fairy? She’ll fix the fireplace mantel with something tasteful and seasonal before she makes sure the couch and rocker are properly arranged for the annual holiday gladiator contests known as NFL football.
The ambiance fairy keeps the wood fire crackling in the fireplace, the aromas wafting deliciously through the home, and the family discussions neutral and unpolitical.
The kitchen fairies: really, there must be a whole crew of these talented sprites. One to do the shopping early and avoid the crowds, another to make sure the cranberries are perfect (and local, of course), and a magical maestro with the potato masher. Then we’ll need a feisty fairy, one with attitude — yes, you, Tinkerbell, you can make the coffees.

Mom, you can send the fairies over to my house now that we’re hosting the annual family Thanksgiving dinner. Let them know that I’ll have their room ready and their favorite cookies baked. If they arrive on Sunday there should be enough time to get everything done.

Wait. What do you mean…they’re…not….real?

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>I do recall being political, now and then

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>Saturday we (all three of us) signed recall petitions for Soon-to-be-Former Governor Walker and his Lt. Governor, Rebecca Kleefisch. Is that spelled right? Well, no matter how we spell it, she’s on her way out of office.

Saturday night I found an email in my inbox letting me know that the Barack Obama Made in the USA mug is once again available. Make a donation to the Democrats, get a mug, and enjoy your morning coffee while sticking it to the conspiracy theorists.
Get your limited-edition mug
Go for it, people. Here’s a great gift idea for the progressives in your family. Wrap it up with a pound of Obama Blend coffee, and you’re all set.

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>Political Fodder – Again

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>I attended a school board meeting. I was one of many teachers who crowded into the board room and the hallway, spilling out almost onto the sidewalk. We said little or nothing, just applauded when our representatives spoke. Our presence, however, made our position clear; we are the teachers. We do the work. We want to continue doing good work for the children. Bashing us into the ground isn’t the strategy that will improve education.

Then, at 12:01 A.M., the recall movement officially began. If every teacher recruits ten people to sign a recall petition, we’ll have it done. All the while, this story wove its way through my mind. It’s worth another retell.
Let’s call her Mrs. Lerner, the teacher in this story. Mrs. Lerner passed away, and continued on her peaceful way toward the pearly gates. St. Peter met her with, “Welcome, Mrs. Lerner. Here in Heaven, we all make contributions. What would you like to do?” Mrs. Lerner responded, “I’m a teacher, so I’ll teach.”


Peter called over St. John-Baptiste de la Salle, the patron saint of teachers, and had him escort Mrs. Lerner to her new classroom. When she got there, she was was shocked to see the conditions. 40 desks. 35 textbooks, all outdated. Pencils, pens, and paper were sufficient to supply the class for perhaps one day, no computers existed, and a cracked chalkboard hung on the front wall. A single piece of paper lay on the teacher’s desk, reminding her of hall duty and recess duty.
“Holy crap, St. Johnny-B. What the hell is this?” she exclaimed.

Suddenly, Mrs. Lerner was in an entirely different locale, escorted by a devilishly handsome young man. With a fiendish smile and a flick of his very attractive -um – tail, he brought her to a very different classroom. 15 desks, well-equipped with supplies, books of all reading levels and interests, an interactive whiteboard, a stack of iPads enough for the entire group, and behind each student, supportive parents. On her desk lay a contract offering the opportunity to bargain for decent working conditions as long as she continued to teach.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Why the advantages here, of all places?”
The devilishly handsome escort twitched his – um – tail, smiled his fiendish smile, and slyly reminded the dedicated educator, “Mrs. Lerner, when you asked the governor for this, where did he tell you to go?”

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>Signs of Recovery

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>It might be a good sign that:

  • I’m looked on at work as “the one with a sense of humor.”
  • Being busy feels good.
  • Walking to work is enjoyable, and I miss it when I have to drive.
  • I’m smiling more often – and I notice.
  • I find myself providing moral support for others – but not neglecting my own needs.
“Signs of what?” you might ask. Well, readers, if you’re new to Compost Happens, you might not know that one year ago I was falling into the worst and deepest depression of my life. Looking back is both encouraging and frightening.
I’m frightened by the possibility that this may happen again. It’s not the first depression of my life, but it was by far the worst. I don’t want to experience this level of suffering ever, ever again.
I’m grateful for the good medical care available, even though I’m disappointed in the less-than-optimum treatment options. I feel lucky to have friends and family who gathered and rallied around me, refusing to let me slide any more deeply into the pit of despair. They set up a figurative rope ladder, tied me to it, and held fast.
I’m encouraged by my recovery. In this marathon, I feel like I’ve set up a good pace and I’m keeping to it. Setbacks still happen, but they’re minor in comparison. I’m encouraged by the list above. As the list of Good Signs of Recovery gets longer and longer, I’ll share with you, readers. Those who have suffered similar illness know there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Depression is treatable, and people do recover. I’m living that recovery right now.

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>Autumn. Fall. Apples.

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There’s no Downtown Market this weekend due to the frivolous fall festival that my town insists on naming Octoberfest, even though it always falls on the last Saturday of September. I have plenty of good fresh food at home, though. In fact, I spent some time recently with these:


Apples! Apples! I made three kinds of applesauce. Plain, cinnamon, and red hot (with the candies, not with peppers). It’s going to be a good year for eating locally; all of the apples were from a nearby orchard.

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Reasons to Walk to Work

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10. The streets in the neighborhood are beautiful, especially in autumn.

9. I spend most of my day in a cubicle in a chair; walking lets me stretch.
8. Driving less often reduces my family’s dependence on gas and saves money.
7. Walking home provides thoughtful “decompression” time after a busy day.
6. I enjoy the fresh air.
5. Walking is good exercise.
4. I lower my carbon footprint by leaving the minivan in the garage.
3. Driving less often saves wear and tear on my aging minivan.
2. Parking at my workplace is limited, to say the least.
1. This is the view of my favorite, easy-out, shady parking spot after the recent storm went through downtown.

Yeah, the aging minivan would have been toast. Thank goodness I wasn’t working that day – and thank goodness I don’t drive to work very often.

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>Resiliency, Depression, and 9/11

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I could post a flag. But there are flags all over the Internet, on Twitter and Facebook profiles and more. The blogosphere doesn’t need another flag.
I could post a photo of a candle. One of my strongest memories of 9/11/01 comes from the candlelight vigil a few days later. Our entire neighborhood was lit up, high school kids carried candles with them as they walked around the block, and our neighborhood police officer played Amazing Grace on his bagpipes.
But a candle on a blog wouldn’t evoke the kind of emotion that came that night. I don’t think that’s really what I’m after on this day, ten years after our nation changed forever.
People close to me know that I’m recovering from the worst depression of my life. The key word is recovering. I’m not there yet, but I’m steadily gaining ground. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, as I’ve stated before. I can’t say I’m precisely the person I was before this illness hit so hard. I may never be exactly the same, feel exactly the same way. That’s okay. I might not remember exactly what healthy feels like, but I’ll at least be healthier.
People across the nation recovered from the shock of the 9/11 attacks. I’ve seen the word “rebounded” used in place of recovered, but our recovery as a nation wasn’t quick like a rebound. We didn’t heal immediately. Through the healing process we’ve changed. We’re more vigilant, more aware.
Another form of resiliency came about in a focus on home, on family, and on friends. That trend continues, and I hope it never stops. When it comes to healing of any kind, a strong support network is not just important; it’s essential.
Part of my healing comes in the forms of gardening and cooking and canning. It’s part of being a provider. I may have lost income while I was on sick leave last year, but I can still feed my family. My dollars go farther at the market, and we eat healthier as a result. Healing, emotionally and physically, can come in a cloth bag of fresh produce.



It’s not red, white, and blue, but it’s colorful. And strong. And downright patriotic.

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>The eyes have it

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Paperwork. I felt like I was signing as many documents as I did when we refinanced the mortgage. This time it isn’t the house at stake; it’s my vision. There was so much to browse that they gave me a tote bag to carry it all home! Sneaky advertising for the clinic, I guess; tote bag, sunglasses, and coffee mug.


Why all the paperwork? I’m getting cataracts removed in October. I’m also opting for the most expensive (read: not covered by insurance) replacement lenses. I rationalized it this way:
  • The cost will pay for itself. No more glasses, contacts, or related expenses.
  • I’m considered “young” for this surgery. I have many years ahead in which to enjoy good vision. I did laugh that 50 is considered young; I was the oldest in the waiting room at the OB/GYN, well past my prime baby years.
  • My hearing loss is progressive; it will get worse. I need my vision at its best.
Good enough? I hope so. It’s going to be painful paying for this — much more than the surgery itself. Deep breath, tighten the belt, harvest fresh food from garden….

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>Moving to Milwaukee in a Big Truck

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Due to last minute planning, the rental truck was quite a bit bigger than we needed.
Did I say big? How big was it?

It filled the driveway. We barely had room for La Petite’s Saturn.


Did I say it filled the driveway? Look out for the trees!!


Did I say it Filled the Driveway?
Hold your breath and suck in your stomach while you squeeze past.


Did I mention the truck was Much Bigger Than We Needed? Here is the load. That’s all of it.


Big or small, truck or trailer, they headed out to the highway and got the move done.
Meanwhile, I stayed home and made pickles.

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