Conversations... with Dad

Saturday, June 28, 2008

I just got home from a Unite for Change event that my friend Kathy and I did together. There were over 4000 held across the country as a response to the Obama campaign request. Ours was a very simple house party. We were able to get some new folks to open accounts on Barack's web site, and pledge to make a donation. We are planning another one.

ANYWAY... I went back to the site this evening and began reading some of comments from individuals who had had June 28th UFC events and found this posting. It is really astounding.

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About this Blog

My father died in 2003, 6 months after my mother. After his death, one of the things I missed most was our conversations. So I started this blog. We would sit at the kitchen table or on the front porch and have these long, philosophical conversations about the state of everything. Then we would solve all of the world's problems over a cigarette and a cup of coffee. One of the warmest memories I have was of him sitting on the front porch talking to me while I painted around him. It was the beginning of summer and he was commenting on how he wished he could pick up a brush and help. He often would read something from the paper and then voice his righteous indignation. It would end with a "It's a damn shame!" or "They must think we're stupid." I miss that. I miss the bond we shared around joint perspectives. And I miss the knowledge that could only come from one seasoned with so many life experiences, especially now that I have come to the point in my life that I know the real important questions to ask. I am 60 years old, and came of age during the '60s. I'm a proud boomer. I remember when poets poeted

Writers wrote... Actors acted out, Painters created art from everything and anything that remained still long enough to be painted

and there was truly civil disobedience at the very thought of someone taking away any of our freedoms.

And the world began to shift... A little. Well, I took a rest. And it must have been a long rest. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Anyway, by the time I REALLY woke up things were shifting back. Way back. And right now, I gotta say I'm feeling like it's gonna take more thin I got to turn this around. And my dad's not here to share my anger, to talk about our outrage, and to answer my questions. So here is where I can have the conversations I would have with him if he were still here and we could share a cigarette and a cup of coffee on his front porch.