Why I Occupy

I’ve been asked a lot of questions about the Occupy movement since it started. Instead of answering those questions over and over, I’m going to put my answers here in the interest of reducing my stress. First, let me say that I am not unemployed. I am a small business owner, mother of four, straight, married, I have health insurance, I pay my taxes, my husband works for a giant corporation and he is a Navy (first Gulf War) veteran. (As was my father and both grandfathers. My brother served in the Air Force, brother in law served in the Army, uncle a Vietnam vet that was shot down in a helicopter, grandmother who worked for the VFW.) I do not need or take public assistance (other than what we all take – roads, schools, Pell Grants, etc.). I do not want your money. I want fairness.

#1: What are you protesting?

Corporate control of the government and income inequality brought about by that control. Now, when I say “inequality” suddenly the army of folks come out waving pitchforks and screaming “COMMUNISM!” But, in truth, we already have communism in this country. The ideal for communism that is sold to the people is actually socialism. “Everyone works and everyone benefits in the same measure.” But, in practice, communism always devolved to the point that China and the Soviet Union did where the masses starve while an elite few reap the rewards. Sound familiar? I want a true free market guided by the American principles of a level playing field for every citizen. Does this look like a level playing field?

Example:
I have health insurance with United Healthcare through my husband’s job. This year we were told that “preventative care” now means that all of my children are only covered to see the doctor once every two years under our plan. I pay them over $500 per month for this service. The “get a job” crowd says, “Change insurance companies!” Yet, after researching every possible option, I see that breaking away from the provided health care at his job would mean paying more money for even less coverage. United Healthcare has a right and a responsibility to their investors to make a profit. However, I believe that corporations should be held accountable for the American resources they exploit to make that profit. 99% of the population of this country is one burst appendix away from bankruptcy. America is just as capable as any other country when it comes to protecting citizens from predatory health scams. We are simply choosing not to do it. I don’t protest United Healthcare’s profits. I protest the fact that they make that profit by taking my money without end, not providing my family with the most basic care, then paying their CEO $102 million in compensation last year. That’s not a free market for consumers, that’s only a free market for the ultra rich.

#2:
“You have no unifying message.”

People go broke for different reasons. If you hang around the “Occupy” crowd long enough, of course you’ll see some dread-locked patchouli-scented granola-crunchy sandal-wearers out there. (Talk to them! They are nice!) You’ll also see a large slice of the crowd over 40. (Talk to them! They are angry!) If you think this movement is entirely comprised of pot smoking hippies that have never held a job, you’re fooling yourself. Last week, I had to pick up my son during the general assembly and an elderly woman (easily pushing 90) called out to me, “Are you leaving?” She walked toward me and I reached out a hand to help her over the curb. She shook my hand and then took that curb all by herself, thank you very much. The opposition wants a single slogan that fits on a sign so they can throw rocks at it. Unfortunately, among the 99%, there are over 300 million unifying messages.

#3:
“I have two jobs, I work hard, I pay my taxes. You people just want totalitarian communism where you don’t have to work. Get a job, hippie.”

You’re why I’m here. That’s right – YOU. You shouldn’t have to have two jobs to survive. You should have the opportunity to do your job well and have a decent standard of living. You shouldn’t be buried in debt because of health care costs. You shouldn’t have to work a 60 hour week to buy groceries. We shouldn’t have so many people to support on welfare. We have a 40 hour week/overtime standard because unions established it by forcing the government to protect workers from predatory work practices. The only reason your kid isn’t picking lint balls from between the moving parts of a deadly loom instead of attending 3rd grade is because your government said that is wrong. Like it or not, we’re a society. You benefit from the basic standards our government has established.

It breaks my heart to see members of my own family and friends that I love and respect who have taken Medicare, Medicaid, GI Bill, public assistance and Pell grants telling everyone to shut up. Someone fought for you and you benefited from that. If you don’t agree, don’t show up at the rallies. Don’t fight. I won’t try to drag you. You benefit from roads, schools, bridges, Social Security and other social programs. Someone stood up and said that disabled veterans should be cared for by the country they swore to protect. Someone stood up and said it was unfair for private businesses to refuse service to a person because of the color of their skin. Someone stood up and said our country benefits from every child having the opportunity at a basic education. These are collective, and by any definition, socialist standards we as a country agreed made us stronger. Cops, firemen and teachers shouldn’t be hung out to dry. Many politicians on both sides benefited politically from calling on the heroes of 9/11. Now we are telling our first responders their services are no longer needed.

#4
“This movement was started by an anti-Semite communist Canadian that eats babies for brunch because brunch is gay.”

Many of the Occupy movement’s supporters do not know, nor do we care, who came up with the idea. (Please call me ignorant now.) Henry Ford invented the assembly line and snuggled with Hitler. There are not swastikas on our signs any more than there is one on your Ford. If that guy was trying to make us all hate Jews, I think this thing might have gotten away from him a bit. Besides, I think anyone on the extreme right better watch where they are throwing stones when it comes to bigotry. (But I see what you did there.)

#5
“My tax money is going to welfare queens who are useless and sit in their homes collecting a check. That’s why we’re broke.”

In real government spending dollars, a vast majority of your money went to wars we did not budget for. “Entitlement” spending is a mere fraction (and a small fraction at that) of the total government budget. If we completely eliminated all entitlement programs – I mean everything – social security, food stamps, welfare, all of it – it would not balance the budget or change the deficit. The last time we had a balanced budget (A SURPLUS) was under President Clinton. The difference? More working Americans paying taxes and a higher tax rate for the super-rich combined with no war. Why are working Americans not paying taxes now? They have lost their jobs and are too poor to qualify to pay. Lucky them. If you think it’s fun to be a “welfare queen” try living on a welfare check and food stamps for awhile. 1 in 7 people currently rely on food stamps in this country. That is not something to be proud of. Are 1 in 7 people deciding it’s easier and more fun to be poor because they are so lazy? It feels really good to say that, I’m sure. But – it’s wrong and deep inside we know it. Yes, welfare fraud exists. However, 22% of the children in this country live under the poverty line. That means for a family of four, an income of less than $22,113 in 2010.  (Source: National Poverty Center – U of Mich.) Try living on that for a few weeks then come back and tell me how awesome it is to be on the public teat.

#6
What can we do to solve this?

We have seen what deregulation does to our country. That’s the big answer for many people – just free the markets to adjust themselves. Completely deregulated banks gave us the derivative crisis. Deregulated corporations gave us Enron, MCI/Worldcom and numerous other corporate outrages. Shedding regulations that don’t make sense is something that I, and the President, support. The Blue Law-like regulations that say you can’t put a donkey in a bathtub or whatever should go away to help businesses trade freely. However, banks should not be able to charge exorbitant fees then consumers be penalized in their credit or consumer ratings for switching banks. (I learned that just yesterday.) When a consumer goes to a doctor’s office, they should be told how much it is going to cost according to their health plan BEFORE they are given service. Companies should not be able to take out a life insurance policy on you without your knowledge. Limiting the extent to which a corporation can exploit their workers and customers protects our people, our country and our economy.

If you read this far, I hope you’ll hear me out on the single most important thing I think we can do to solve this crisis. We need to guarantee every American child the opportunity for a college education. A century ago, we decided that universal education was good for this country. At that time, a grade school education was enough. Today it is not. If we want to innovate, research, invent and produce goods, we must educate our population. The structure is already there. There are public universities and private universities. Just as in grammar school, citizens who can afford it could send their children to more expensive schools, but we could offer that basic level of education. It is the single best thing we could do as a cost vs. benefit measure. You did not work for your public education. You did not pay for it. Someone believed that educating you would benefit our country, so THEY paid for it.

#7
“Protesting is un-American. Sit down and shut up, whiner.”

The status quo is not working. It’s not working for you, me or anyone else but the uppermost tiers of our society. Corporations that use America’s people and resources to make money should be responsible and accountable to America. Currently, they have control of the government through sheer force of having more money than the citizens. We are being used. YOU are being used. You may be okay with that. You may think that it’s just too hard to even try to change the exploitation that is happening to us. I grew up in an America where we tried to be the best. Now, we aren’t even ashamed that our people are starving. We’re being indoctrinated to believe that every person who is out of work deserves it. 24 million people didn’t wake up one day three years ago and say, “I think I’d like to lose my house, my job and my livelihood because food stamps are colorful.” I believe we can do better. I believe in America and I believe that when we raise the lowest foundations of this country, everyone else rises with the tide.

I don’t want your money. I want a fighting chance at making some of my own. I am the 99%, and so are you. Good luck out there.

Go Green: Icebergs Half Off!

You can buy books, visit websites, read magazines, listen to podcasts and probably receive hemp smoke signals about “going green.” I didn’t realize how green my life was until I saw a list of suggestions in one of the urban farming magazines I get in the mail. I didn’t realize I’d been doing it right all along, just by being of modest means.

By the way, I am not poor. Poor is avoiding the rape squads as you sneak miles out of the refugee camp to get water in a cracked bucket while trying not to pass out from hunger. To the rest of the world, an American living in a trailer on food stamps with basic cable is in the 1% of the richest humans on the planet. I digress. The list–

Know where your food comes from
When I was a kid in Patterson Creek, West Virginia, my great-grammy and great aunts grew the corn, peaches, tomatoes and cucumbers we ate. They didn’t do it in hydroponic containers on their lanai. There was a garden where the outhouse rotation was located prior to 1968 when Great-Grammy got her bathroom installed. When we got bored and “HeeHaw” wasn’t on, we’d hoof it three houses down next to the church and bug the guy at Devangus Farms to tell us the names of the purebred Aberdeen Angus cattle headed to market. Many kids (and obviously some adults) get a real shock when they figure out their food had a face. This isn’t an issue when your burger had a name. Incidentally, that didn’t make me a vegan. That made me care about all the poor cattle that don’t get to breathe the air in Patterson Creek, WV.

Don’t buy what you have the time and skill to make
I’ll be 36 years old this month and I’ve never tasted Starbucks coffee. I’m sure it’s lovely but now it’s just the principal of the thing. I’m all for convenience. That’s why convenience stores were invented. I’m pretty sure “Venti” is pidgin Franco-Italian slang for “sucker.” (In related news, I’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life or had the money to buy an iAnything either. I’m a hopeless case.) I’ve traveled as much as I could and eaten at hundreds of restaurants. I’ve been a food critic for years and I consider trying new food a sport, but if you told me I was about to die and could have one thing as my dying wish, I’d want Great-Grammy’s home canned ketchup. Just the ketchup – with a spoon.

Don’t hire someone to do what you can do yourself
I went to a beauty parlor once with a friend who insisted I was missing out on one of the great treats of being a girl by never having had a mani/pedicure. After $40, an hour and a half and a pair of suspicious plastic flippers, I felt dirtier than when I walked in. I had just paid someone who didn’t speak enough English to read the OPI bottles to scrub my feet. The liberal white guilt in me tried to justify this by saying, “They need a job.” I just imagined that they must hate all the women who have that kind of time and money. I don’t fault those who choose to do this, it’s just not for me.

Don’t waste water
I’m only allowed to water my lawn on two specific weekdays. However, golf courses are exempt from any and all water regulations virtually everywhere in Florida. Jennifer Aniston told a magazine that she only takes 2 minute showers, yet she works for a bottled water company. Therefore, I take really long, really hot showers because I don’t have a team of personal groomers, I don’t watch Jennifer Aniston movies and I never, ever play golf. (Okay. There was this ONE time. It was only the driving range and I dressed like this to embarrass my brothers.)

 

 

Take all you want but eat all you take
How much food do you waste in a year? We’ve all seen the silly women’s articles about how to use the last squirt of mustard in a lovely vinaigrette, but seriously people – make a freakin’ menu. I do it because I have to feed five humans, a schnauzer and a 13-year-old garbage disposal, I mean, boy on a budget, but why would you wander into a store with no plan and no list then GUESS what you might need for the next week? Plan 14 dinners, put them on the fridge, make a list and then shop for two weeks at a time. You’ll be amazed how little you throw away and how much money you save.

Don’t waste paper
Don’t be stupid. If you’re getting the newspaper, they are sending you money every Sunday. You don’t have to have a special room for your 20,000 tubes of free toothpaste or clean out whole shelves of junk food. Take 15 minutes and a spare junk mail envelope and check out what’s in there. Clip the coupons only for what you already use and put it in the envelope. When shopping time rolls around, match up the coupons you’ve got with the list you’ve made. (See above.) If you are feeling really productive, check out what coupons you have then make your menu around that.

Look for green hotels
The last time I stayed in a hotel, there was a special (plastic) sign that informed guests that they were participating in a voluntary program to cut water and energy usage by reusing the towels. My favorite hotel goes a step further. The towels are ours because we camp. We don’t do this to “get back to nature” – we do it because it’s next to impossible to get a hotel room that sleeps six and I don’t have $100+ per night. We’ve exceeded the number of children alloted by society but we’d like them to know their grandparents. Therefore, we have two tents and I guaran-damn-tee you it’s green where we sleep every single time.

 

I firmly believe that my lot in life has forced me to live greener. Many things I do because I truly want to live a mindful life, yet many are just common sense. I believe that the economic mess we’re in is very much like the Titanic. There are vast, teeming crowds of people down below looking for a better life. There are a precious few elite above enjoying the fresh air and amenities. I’m in second class, in the cheapest seat. I can afford the ride, but there better be a job on the other end. Unfortunately, the ship is going down no matter who you are and we all know our chances are better if we’re riding in the upper decks.

A first class dog on the Titanic had a better chance at life than a third class child. How is America any different right now? The iceberg that’s sinking us broke off because some choose to live and conduct business like there’s no tomorrow, but the saddest thing is that the lower classes already live a green, mindful life. We have to because it’s the only way to survive. Too bad there are so few lifeboats, eh?

 

 

Contrary and Odd, Even When Quilting

I didn’t start life as a quilter. I loved and enjoyed quilts as utilitarian objects. I loved my “Grammy Quilt” – basically yardage doubled in on itself sewn together on most sides with batting on the outside, then turned right-side out through a little hole. It was all machined. My mother, grandmother and great-grandmother didn’t hand sew much of anything. The sewing machine was like the light bulb or the washing machine, if you had it, you used it. My grandmother spun together 50s confection dresses for my mother that were so voluminous, she had to be shoved into cars head first with her boyfriend holding her feet up. Other than the occasional embroidered Raggedy Ann face, I never saw my mother hand sew anything.

I got hooked on embroidery as a child – the victim of a “kiddie kraft” kit I won in Vacation Bible School for memorizing the books of the New Testament. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, but I remember that the first thing I put in a hoop was a pre-printed kitten I worked in bright purple.

I didn’t get into quilting until my mother-in-law (who is wicked-awesome) took me to a guild meeting in Michigan three summers ago. An absolutely hilarious lady named Doris had ridden along with us, with a mysterious giant tote bag on her lap. Once we got to the meeting, she stood up in front of the dozens of eager pairs of eyes and unfurled a miracle. It was a flurry of Chinese lanterns worked in rich, gilded fabrics and Oriental themes. It was, frankly, the coolest thing I’d ever seen.

As each lady brought up their completed projects, I could hear the difference between the women who said, “Rhonda over at Calico Acres did the long-arming” and those that said, “It’s HAND PIECED and HAND QUILTED.” The pride was evident. As an absolute newbie, I felt like if you were going to create something, you should be the one to make it. Once I realized that long-arm quilting cost into the hundreds of dollars per quilt, I solidified my opinion that I would leave that to others. Was Doris’ awesome Chinese lantern quilt machined? I don’t remember. It was amazing and it made her happy, and that is what matters.

I’m not saying I’ll never send a quilt to be long-armed, I’m saying I can’t afford it and it feels like cheating to me. I can buy a beautiful king-sized machined quilt in Penneys for $89. Quality fabric is routinely over $10 per yard.  Therefore, I hand quilt. At least it slows me down on the way to the bank.

Which leads me to the contrary bit – I am sick of quilt stores in Florida. In Michigan and Indiana, the long-arm service is there if you need it, but there is a respect and almost pandering to hand quilters. Good on them. I’m so okay with that, that if I hit the lottery and had $10,000+ for the machine, I’d love to learn to do it for others. However, it’s impossible here to find some of the most basic hand quilting supplies. I shouldn’t have to order STENCILS online. If there is a supply of stencils at a store, it’s of the most simple variety. I understand that shops can only carry so much stock, but I like to see and feel what I buy before I buy it.

The other day, I went looking for an Aunt Becky. Basically, this is spoon quilting on steroids. The video is all over the QNN and Jean Brown hits a shocking number of shows for a lady who is obviously getting up there in years. You can see the video of Aunt Becky at work here. If you are a hand quilter, be forewarned, you may become inappropriately aroused. I asked a quilt shop worker at a place that rhymes with Cinnamon’s Quilt Shop in San Jose on Hood Road, if they carried Aunt Becky. After I explained in great detail what it was to this person who goes to quilt markets for a living, she blinked, pursed her lips and said, “I don’t know what that is but we don’t have it.” So, I said, “I’m also looking for your stencils.” She says, “We don’t have those either.” Then she turned to continue the markedly more cheerful conversation she was having with a lady asking why they never had sales.

Where is the love, people? I want to support my LOCAL quilt shop, not pay shipping to some faceless entity in God-Only-Knows-Where, Oregon. Yes, they have betweens and a few gadgets, but try even finding more than one kind of hoop in a quilt store here. Hmph.

As I walked out of the store, I saw Sashiko pre-printed fabric. Obviously, somebody around here owns a needle. It reminded me of a video I saw recently of a Baby Lock Sashiko machine. They now have the technology to put the needle into the fabric, take a stitch, put it in again, then UNTHREAD THE NEEDLE from the bottom, take another blank stitch, then rethread from the bottom, mimicking the human straight stitch. See the video here. It’s like watching a robot breastfeed a baby. I have a machine. I don’t have a $4000 Bernina machine. I have a $120 Brother special I got off of the home shopping network. No, it doesn’t thread my needle for me or automatically cut my thread or make toast, but it works.

The last Fons & Porter Love of Quilting show I saw taught people how to fake English paper piecing with a machine using (::shudder::) plastic Mylar shapes. Because, you know, starching and ironing tiny pieces 80,000 times is somehow easier than basting and whip stitching. I am currently totally in love with English paper piecing. This is the tree skirt I’ve almost finished.

I made the template for the treble clef myself because I couldn’t find music stencils. Necessity mothering invention and all that. I’m planning to do a whole cloth quilt next (all hand quilted) and then a quilt for my Dad with fussy-cut lighthouses all over it very similar to the Lemon Tart quilt I did for my best friend.

I hated machine-piecing that one. You never know until you press whether or not your corners are straight. Even when I see professional quilts, the corners are always all wonky, but with English paper piecing, it’s perfection every single time. Sure, it’s more work, but I love it. My quilting experience isn’t about cranking things out, it’s about having an excuse to do what I love under the guise of “gifting.” Of course, there is a place for speed and production, but there should be a place for me too.

I tried the guild here. I went to the River City Piecemakers meeting once. The whole thing was about organization for QuiltFest and I didn’t see any hand quilters. I brought along some redwork haunted houses I did for the “Hocuspocusville” quilt and no one was appropriately impressed. I was used to Michigan where everyone gets excited about everyone else’s work, no matter what it is. One nonplussed lady said, “That looks like a lot of work.” I was obviously not in the right place. Am I now obsolete like the librarian in The Twilight Zone?

I do this because I enjoy it, but it really sucks to not feel like I can participate in the rich culture of quilting in my community. Tens of thousands of Civil War replica quilt kits are sold every year. Are ALL of them done by people using machines? Do any of them even get a twinge when they say they are trying to preserve an art form while they plug in their machines? Does anyone else out there have this problem? I’m a newbie who needs mentors and community, but I’m finding that much like food, the masses are satisfied with quantity and value. Is there a “Slow Quilting” movement, and if so, where do I sign up?

One Wrong Turn Deserves Another

Yesterday, I as rounded the little curve a block from my kindergartener’s school, I noticed two cars parked just past the blind bend in the road. Going my way was easy, but I immediately started dreading the trip back and the idea of passing on the left on a blind curve. I had seen the school buses barreling around the turn and I felt a little sick at the chance that I might meet one head-on.

I’ve struggled with social anxiety most of my adult life. My ultimate nightmare resides in the brains of those who do dangerous and angry things specifically to dare the meek to speak up so they might get the chance to assert their rights loudly and viciously. I am convinced that the moment I speak, I’ll be screamed at and invited to crawl back into the hole from whence I came. However, recently I have had some success with socializing with my neighbors, thanks to my best friend, Annie, who is friends with everyone in any town she happens to reside in at the time. I have dreams of having neighbors that will water a plant or bring in mail as a friendly gesture in return for the watching of their dog or a cup of sugar.

Unfortunately, I live in the core of a large southern city. Jacksonville can be a mean place, and the Arlington area of Jacksonville doubly so. Some days, as a lower middle class woman, it seems that all 1.2 million people in the metro area are just waiting for me to say something that will justify the ass kicking I so richly deserve. Screaming women beat their children with flip-flops in the aisles of Wal-Mart. Drivers holler out windows while making obscene gestures. My children come home from school with their hair cut off and their teeth chipped. When I asked my 5-year-old why she didn’t tell the teacher when her hair was chopped off by two little girls she said, “Snitches get shot.”

That’s where I live. Mayberry it is not. My ex-husband and I have agreed to stick together in the same place until our children are grown. As much as I love the food scene here in Jacksonville, I would have made tracks for greener pastures long ago were it not for that fact.

When I saw those two cars in front of a house on that curve, I tried to see it as an opportunity. I normally walk with my little ones until it gets too hot. I had said “hello” to just about everyone on the street at one time or another. I would face the music and get over my fears. I walked up the sidewalk toward the house with signs for the local Tea Party mayoral candidate and Fair Tax movement to reach the front door. As I knocked, the plaque said, “As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.” I knew I was probably in big trouble, but I just muttered my neighbor-talking mantra, “Do what Annie would do. Do what Annie would do.” The cars were dangerous. I would be polite. No one answered the door.

I called back through the open garage into the back yard. “Hello?!” No answer. I headed back toward my car, trying to crane my neck to see if any cars would be coming on the opposite side. A man watering his lawn one house over said, “What do you want?” I put on my best chipper smile and said, “Oh, I think these folks have someone visiting. I was wondering if they could scoot the cars up into the driveway so we don’t have a nasty run-in with a school bus?” He started yelling, “I CAN PARK MY FUCKING CARS WHEREVER I DAMN WELL PLEASE! THIS IS A PUBLIC STREET! I HAVE THE RIGHT!”

After I picked my jaw up off the sidewalk I said to him, “This is awfully dangerous. I’m afraid I’m going to have a wreck.” He screams, “I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE! MAYBE IT’LL SLOW YOU FUCKERS DOWN!” I felt the scared little person in me get even smaller. My ears burned and I felt sick. I gathered up all I had and said, “I don’t speed. I’ve got two little kids in the car. I’m just trying to get home.” He said, “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT. I HOPE SOMEBODY GETS CREAMED SO YA’LL WILL SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.” Before I could think, my fists balled up to my sides, I took a deep breath and screamed, “YOU KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS COUNTRY? THAT! YOU! NICE NEIGHBORHOOD!”

I got back in my van, prayed I wouldn’t get hit and pulled around the corner. I missed an oncoming car by about 4 feet. They flipped me the bird for being on the wrong side of the street. Once I got home I called the police and told them two cars were parked up at the curve. When I went back a half hour later to pick up my middle schooler the cars had been pulled up into the guy’s driveway haphazardly. I could imagine him blindingly pissed at the cops and me and it felt good.

I didn’t walk my kids to school this morning. It’s probably a fool’s bet anyway. I’m just asking to get yelled at, robbed or shot. I can’t help but imagine what I would say or do if Mr. I-Have-Rights came out to confront me again. I fantasize that I’ll be driving or walking by and he’ll yell at me and I’ll calmly step in front of him and say, “Here I am, Big Man. The little woman with four little kids who dared to ask to drive down the street safely. Glad you have your rights. Go get your Big Man gun and shoot me now. It’s just a matter of time because this is a war. It’s a war between your rights and mine. We can’t have a community or a neighborhood, only one long fight where nobody ever wins. It’s okay for little kids coming home from school to get in head-on wrecks because you have rights. Congratulations and fuck you very much.” Then I’d just stand there and wait. I started out trying to not be afraid, to reach out or make something better. Now I”m just as angry as he is and I’m still afraid – but I’ll bet that asshole’s cars aren’t on that curve when I drive past today. I guess not dying is the best right I can hope for in this town.

Here I Go Again On My Own

I swore I’d never write another political blog.

After a reasonably successful stint as an OpenSalon blogger who crossed over to the Mothership of Salon.com before it was cool, I decided I didn’t have the constitution for political blogging. I had found a sweet, if low paying, gig as an independent food writer. Never again would I need to defend my opinions or have whole discussion forums dedicated to critiquing my eyebrows. If you Google me, you’ll see that “Jodi Kasten is Not the Ideal Leader – She’s No MLK.” So, you’ve been warned.

When Osama bin Laden was killed my confusion over the reactions of my progressive brethren overwhelmed me. I got angry and indignant at the hateful things I was reading on my own friends’ Facebook pages and blogs. That old familiar knot in my stomach returned and now here I am – opening my big, fat mouth again.

My first indication that something was amiss came when I logged on to Facebook to express my pleasure that the war might be coming to an end. I was thrilled that it was the Navy that finally got the bastard, because my husband, father and both of my grandfathers had been Navy men.

Odd things quickly started springing up. People I love and respect were asking others, “How should I feel?” As if they had to check to see what they were supposed to think. People were saying we were like the people in the Middle East that danced as the towers fell. Many said patriotism wasn’t waving the flag and saying “We’re #1.” I believe these are the same people trying to outlaw trophies at youth soccer games. We had 10 years of pain, grief and fear but we couldn’t enjoy a single day of hope without, Goddess deliver me, the PROGRESSIVES crapping on the parade route. I wasn’t “celebrating the death of a fellow human being.” I was celebrating a glimmer of hope that one day my children might know what it’s like not to be at war. After all, every progressive I heard talk about the futility of this war would say, “Bin Laden is going to die in a cave before we find him. This is a useless waste of precious lives on both sides.”

On the night we found out he was dead, I thought that this would be our “V-ME” day. I thought we would remember that night forever as the time when the war might be coming to an end. Perhaps the economy would recover when the billions spent on chasing this murderer stopped flowing out. Maybe gas prices would go down. My children had never known a time without this war. My 12-year-old son said, “Does this mean I won’t have to register for the draft?” That one got me. I wept like a little kid, not because we “won” but because I didn’t want to lose my children to a senseless war. How naive of me.

Revenge never really crossed my mind. After 10 years it isn’t really about that. If a man had come into my home and killed members of my family then stood outside trying to get in to kill the rest of us for 10 years, the fear and frustration would culminate in relief when the murderer was finally dispatched. While I felt a sense of hard-won victory, I also knew logically that there are plenty more people who still want to kill us. I understand the intricate foreign economic and military policy decisions that fuel the terrorists. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. But for that night, I felt relief and, yes, joy. It was joy that perhaps 100,000 families could have their fathers, mothers, sons and daughters back in one piece. It was joy that maybe there wouldn’t be anymore death.

I’ve never seen anyone look at the photo of the sailor kissing the girl in Times-Square on VJ-Day and say, “What a disgusting display of American arrogance.” We all know they weren’t celebrating the horrific atomic bombing of thousands of innocent Japanese people. They were celebrating the end of the war.

Slowly over the past few days, I’ve realized that we have a major weakness as a political movement. Progressives have internalized the responsibilities of the world into themselves. When we hear that people starve, hurt, fear or need, we believe we are not only responsible for the solutions, but now simply responsible. The solutions themselves are really irrelevant, as long as we know it’s our fault. We believe that our own Priuses (Prii?) and Keurigs and Disney vacations are the direct cause of the suffering in the world. If one among us is unhappy, then no one should be happy.

We have taken this so far that if I posted on Facebook that my kid won a spelling bee, progressive friends of mine, meaning well, would comment, “Let’s take a moment to remember all those starving children who don’t have the opportunity to participate in spelling bees because they are being raped in Darfur.” Does this mean I don’t care? Of course not. Kids in Darfur are still starving, but they’ve done their duty for the day. It must be easier to sleep at night when you’re sure you’re more aware than everyone else. Me? I’m still awake worrying how I’m going to pay my electric bill. Rich American problems, right?

I try to understand how to change the world myself. I want to make life better for everyone. I want all 7 billion of us to feel safe. Will shopping at Whole Foods do that? No, but it makes us feel better. In reality, it would probably be better to shop locally and donate the astronomical markup to local charities that feed people who will never taste grass-fed wagyu beef, but then we wouldn’t get the satisfaction that comes with walking into the cocoon of FeelGood, Inc. that surrounds us with reminders that we’re so enlightened.

Yeah – I’m getting bitter. They say that if you’re not a Democrat when you’re 20 you have no soul and if you’re not a Republican by the time you’re 40 you have no brain. I’m disgusted with both sides at 35. Is this the tipping point? Will I wake up one day, dig into a cardboard box for my “Junior Marksman” certificate from the NRA and frame it? Doubtful. The “trickle down” mentality baffles me. People don’t need rocket launchers for protecting themselves. Who will take care of all the babies not aborted if we don’t teach contraception? On the other side, what happened to pride? It seems that the progressive movement is so in love with awareness that the US the root of all evil that they are paralyzed. It’s easier to fight each other than the scary corporate bad guys. If we measured the energy expended by progressives on admonishing each other for bad grammar and not caring enough versus the energy we expend actually bringing about change, I think we’d be ashamed, but shame is a familiar feeling these days. I can already feel the fingers twitching – ready to tell me just how much they’ve done to make the world a better place.

So, what is an aging Neo-Hippie to do? Registering Independent is like going to Non-Denominational Bible Church. It’s an indication that no party was extreme enough for you. I don’t want to throw my vote away and in Florida, you have to be affiliated to vote in primaries. But, I’m tired of being ashamed that I’m an American. I like it here. I’m proud of my family’s service to this nation. Virtually every man in my family has served. None of us have finished college. Maybe I’m not rich enough to have progressive principles? I am alienated by the progressive blogosphere that finds the last safe havens for schoolyard ridicule in fat, Southern, un-degreed white people. Hey, that’s me! Four years of college (no degree, never forget I have no degree) gave me the mechanics to write and think, but my choice to have four children and stay at home to care for them makes me an acceptable target. It’s completely okay for compassionate, charitable people to tell me that if I had only had fewer children, I could have made something of myself. I simply didn’t have the money to finish college. But, I don’t qualify for progressive understanding because I’m not poor enough. I’m only poor because I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that being a stay-at-home mom is best for me.

I’m aware. I think. I feel. But, my party is pushing me out. I’m not good enough for them. I like to be happy. I like to feel proud. I tear up during the National Anthem and I still have nightmares about people jumping out of the towers. I give as much as I can, but I have far less than most of the people I associate with on an intellectual level. Where will I land? I’m not sure. Years ago I left church, not because I didn’t believe in God, but because it was never enough. I’m sick of being judged by the people self-appointed to teach me tolerance. The people around me feel more sympathy for people they don’t know on the other side of the world than the people who mostly agree with them here in America. I’m tired of being torn apart and nitpicked to death. I see my party standing around wondering why people stick their heads in the sand. The progressive message is that there is nothing you can do but vote, give money and feel guilty. No wonder so many good people stop thinking and speaking.