Local Elections: a rant and a wish

On Saturday mornings, when we don't have some event or trip planned, we like to let the kids sleep in. Their growth spurts need it, and I need time to start gathering the dirty laundry and going through the pile of weekly mail droppings.

And what a mail dropping I had to sort through today! In two days, eleven 11x8.5 inch full color mailers; six of them from one mayoral candidate, two of which had been mailed (and recycled) previously, five of them negative. The other five were from candidates for other local positions; county executive, a judge and one city council member. 

I'm also getting daily emails from one county executive candidate that I don't read: they're too long. It's not that I have a short attention span. When does a candidate really have my attention? When I'm in a conversation with them.

Motivated by a post written by a friend and colleague that I respect, and also by the political insight of another highly respected local blogger, I wish to make my vote of a few candidates public. But before I launch into the opinion of an academic doctorate, university employee, and a pretty dedicated citizen - I need to state for the record that my opinion does not reflect those of my employer or of any social organizations with whom I associate. I also don't reflect the opinion of my husband. Forgive him, he actually allows me to have my own opinion - he's kind of evolved that way. 

When I was a kid, my mom would bring me to the voting booth, but wouldn't tell me who she voted for because she said, "It's private." I'm sure it's because she was afraid of engaging a 7 year old in political discourse. I was exhausting as a child. Imagine that. 

I also remember being shut out of adult conversations; always sent into a room far away from the grown ups so that I couldn't hear anything. I'm pretty sure it was for my own protection. My uncles didn't argue well. Political arguments never came to a conclusion, and they often pulled verbal punches that weren't part of the issue. They were meant to hurt feelings. But even as a kid - I didn't want to be excluded.

Negative campaigns are so over. I'm not interested in seeing them, and I won't be scared into voting for any candidate who chooses this method of campaigning. My vote goes to the candidates who engages me in their conversation. They answer my questions and seem to be glad that I am a citizen who cares enough to ask a question. 

I actually read local news. I'm hungry for more. I'm glad that there are reliable reporters who will share as much information about the candidates for the local elections as they can prior to the Tuesday primary vote. In fact, I'm counting on some well- curated pieces. Crap, even a single post with active links to all the candidate websites would be enough. I also read local bloggers. I care to read other opinions. I can also determine fact from rhetoric. Don't bullshit me. Give me answers, even if I might not like them. I want to know where each candidate stands on issues that impact our daily life. Local politics are a big deal.

You see, even though I'm a registered Democrat, I don't vote party line. I'm a Catholic, but I don't let my religion sway my vote. Public law and church law are separate for a reason. Public laws keep citizens safe. Church laws are between me and my maker, and nobody else's business. I won't push my Church law on anyone else. I vote for the candidate who best reflects my views on where I wish to see the community move forward. I vote for the candidate who is fair in decisions for all citizens he/she represents. I vote for the candidate I have seen engage with citizens, and works WITH others in government. Successful leaders aren't a success on their own merit. They empower others to contribute to progress.

I vote for the candidate who seeks solutions through exploration of multiple ideas. If through that exploration, their direction changes or evolves, I would applaud the elected official for responding to new information. This doesn't always mean "waffling." Goodness, if politicians didn't evolve we would have progress.

Three candidates have spoken to me directly about what their vision for the future of Bethlehem and Northampton County. One of them actually came to my home, and talked with me for 10 minutes. He told me he raised $8,000 for his campaign. He told me about his background, and his greatest concerns for county government. 10 minutes and he won my vote.

The campaign resource that is more valuable to me than dollars raised, is time spent talking/communicating with me. If not to my face and in person, through social media or through well informed and empowered campaign workers; not scare tactics. I prefer a campaign that engages in conversation about issues; not politics. A few candidates ran this kind of campaign. They give me hope for the future of our city, and county. They are also smart enough to work with a great team; and engage personally in our community. 

My vote also comes from my own time well spent. I read as many local news stories as I could, followed as many trusted bloggers and "twitteratti" as I have come to know through years of social media engagement. I look forward to reading a summary of all the local candidates. I hear from a local news writer that she's working on one that we can all read before Tuesday. I'm counting on you, Lynn. We all are. (update from Sunday morning: here is a link to Lynn's article on Bethlehem City Council candidates)

The three votes that I'll be casting on Tuesday are John B. Callahan for Northampton County Executive, Bill Wallace for Northampton County Council and William Reynolds for Mayor of Bethlehem. I made you read all the way to the bottom. Thanks for your time. Now give your time to the election be doing due diligence and reading the campaign issues of all the candidates you will be voting for in your local precinct. You owe it to yourself to know what kind of city you helped shape through your vote.

It gets easier?

Every time I see a mom challenged by baby/toddler multiples, I remember thinking how overwhelming my life was. Every time another mother of multiples said, "It'll get easier," I always answered with exasperation, "When!?"

In all honesty, motherhood has become easier. The challenges are still there; just different.

Today's challenge - not worrying about them as they walk themselves from school to my work place. It's only 6 blocks, and they'll be walking together. How else are they going to learn to be independently responsible? It's not like I'll ask a friend in the local police force to follow them in his cruiser.... (or maybe I will)

Here comes the "when I was their age" reflection:
When I was in third grade, I had to walk a little over one mile from my house to get to school. Here's the route:

I can also honestly share that there were mornings I had to walk in a snow storm (No, it wasn't uphill in both directions). I remember walking with my younger sister, who was in first grade at the time. We were plowing through the long stretch of side walk that framed the cemetery on Sheridan Rd. The snow hadn't been cleared yet, and since we were kind of short, there were drifts that were higher than the top edge of our boots. These boots went over our shoes. At one point, Shaun's foot slipped out of her shoe/boot and she took a step in the wet snow. She howled like Randy in "A Christmas Story" when he couldn't put his arms down.
[note for geography buffs: Terra Haute, Indiana is in the same snow belt as Kenosha, Wisconsin.]

In fourth grade, our family moved to a new home seven blocks away from school. It was only .4 miles. From this new address, I could walk home for lunch. One bonus to this situation, was that my grandparents lived two blocks away from the new house. I even walked there for lunch.

Grandma's Irish spaghetti looked suspicious - her tomato sauce was condensed soup and she added chopped overcooked strip steak. But I ate it - because it would have hurt her feelings not to, and I was always rewarded with a light, crispy sugar cookie.

Oh gosh, it was just too friggin' simple.

I'm getting a sense of how complicated I tend to make parenthood. I'm trying to figure out how to work around their schedule. More honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how to work them into MY schedule. I'm being selfish when I put work before them too much.

I'm incredibly blessed with a wonderful, challenging position in an institution which encourages me to seek solutions as an academically minded administrator. The opportunities to investigate systems, create new ideas at the edges of multiple disciplines, to forge relationships with forward thinking people, and to facilitate learning for students while being actively engaged in my community.... it doesn't get much better than this.

I'm surrounded by good people. My husband is ridiculously supportive of my urgent desire to make a difference. But this year, my kids started to complain about my leaving the house after dinner, or their need to quietly wait outside the board rooms. They are always well-behaved. But what kind of memory will that give them?

Moving forward, there will still be times they'll need to patiently wait outside the room while Mommy does her thing. Their patience is usually rewarded with simple things; a special trip to the library, a chance to explore the Monocacy creek in their school uniforms, or a round of Putt golf with the girl scout troop later in the evening. The latter is the activity I did with Bridget after she and Stephen had to wait in the lobby of the Hotel B while I live-tweeted the last Mayoral Debate. Don't worry, Stephen had his reward, too. They both ate a few too many bacon wrapped scallops and sesame chicken skewers. Good thing they aren't picky eaters.

Last month, I resigned from two boards. I'm making room to return to an academic program to support research and publishing goals in my field. I'm certain that this kind of focus will also give me more time with my kids. There will still be afternoons when I have meetings that go beyond their 3pm end of school day.

This summer starts an investigation into balance. I'm trying to balance my time better for taking care of things that will mean better memories for our kids. I'm also trying to balance things I take on to stay focused on work goals. I have learned to say no - now I have to say "yes" to things that may not be as exciting in the moment - but worth the dedication in the long run.

Time to create balance for simpler things. I don't need to do it all. I don't want to do it all.

I just want to know I'm making the right decisions. Giving my career the focus it needs, giving my family the attention they deserve, giving myself a break.

oh...., but I can't forget; there's the local history hobby/research I want to publish, too.

smack me.

Friends in Rough Places

I spent the day in a leadership training program. We had taken the Meyer-Briggs assessment, and some other tools for discovering our strengths. It was a great day that got me to thinking about a lot of things. One special exercise we did was write about an event or special strength we have that people wouldn't know about us. The class of trainees blew me away with their stories, accomplishments and experiences. I shared this story:

When I was a graduate student, I held a number of jobs to help pay for rent, food and other expenses. I played in a number of regional and professional orchestras, taught private lessons, and had a ridiculously demanding graduate assistantship. On top of that, I tended bar at a local hotel.

I actually started tending bar when I was in college. Back then, Wisconsin's legal drinking age was 18. I started when I was 19; serving beer at a bar not far from the Conservatory of Music. I learned then that I preferred being behind the bar, rather than jostling with drunken students - especially college students from Illinois who hadn't learned their limit like I did in high school.

Bartending offered me so many opportunities to develop skills I never expected. A good bartender knows how to mix cocktails, or recommend craft beer. A great bartender knows when a patron is about to get out of hand and needs a cab, or how to see a fight before it breaks out. When I'd see a customer about to get rough (it's in the body language and facial expressions), I'd signal to the bouncer or I'd find a way to intervene with a distraction. These skills served me well in Appleton and in Bowling Green.

The bar in Ohio was part of a restaurant/hotel not 400 feet off Interstate 75 South. Most of my regular customers were truck drivers, or vehicle delivery drivers heading south from Detroit. One night, the restaurant was having a crab leg special; all you can eat. There was one table who kept eating 3/4 of their plate and sending the rest back for one complaint after another. After four returns to the kitchen - and about 5 pounds of crab consumed, they demanded that they not pay their bill, which included a $100 bar tab. I said, "(nicely).....No."

As the argument was heating up, a gang of bikers walked in the bar. They looked just like you could imagine - leather chaps, scuffed boots, black leather jackets, scraggly hair, and missing teeth. I wouldn't say they were pretty. The last thing I needed was a hard time from these guys. I invited them all to sit at the bar, and I poured each one of them a free shot of Jack Daniels.

I said to them, "Don't worry about a thing, gentlemen. I'll take care of you." The name of the club (according to their jackets) was "The Penetrators of Detroit." I didn't ask.

They appreciated the gesture and ordered a round of beers for themselves. Then they watched me try to deal with the irrational diners. As their voices continued to gain in strength, I matched theirs with polite firmness to the liquor laws of the state of Ohio. They must pay for their bar tab; I would waive the costs of the food. They got more belligerent. I stuck to my offer. They took my name and threatened to get me fired. I said, "Go ahead. Give it a try. But I won't bend the law to make you happy."

They threw money on the table and walked about. We closed the restaurant, but the bar remained open. The bikers stayed until I closed the bar. After I cashed in the till, I got on my bicycle to head home. The bikers were staying at the hotel. They were lingering in the parking lot as I rode off.

Two blocks into my ride home, a car was speeding down the street and hit another car, which swerved off the road, 10 feet in front of me. The bikers heard the crash and got to the scene within seconds to see if I was alright.

I was a little shaky, but just fine. I got a good look at the driver of car who caused the accident and drove off. Some of them waited with me while the police arrived. What I didn't know is that one of the bikers chased the hit and run driver until the police caught up with her. She was brought to the police station, and I was asked to identify her. (You bet, I did.)

The biker who waited with me was named Mike. "Mike of the Detroit Penetrators." His gang was in town for a gathering of bike clubs in a nearby quarry park. He invited me to join their party the next day.

Curious to see what it was like - and I can't believe my mom is reading this - I went. I dragged a friend with me; who was pretty intimidated by the scene. When I spotted Mike, he had a gift for me.

A hollowed point bullet. He said, "Little lady, the next time someone gives you trouble like last night, you just show them this, and tell them you know how to use it."

He let me sit on his bike. We stuck around for the turkey shoot. Which was kind of sad because they were actually shooting at a dead turkey hanging in a tree.

My friend was getting pretty nervous after about 20 minutes, so I thanked them all for being there for me. As I gave him one last hug good-bye Mike said, "You took care of us - so we took care of you."

*****
#90 of 90in90 for #LUBlogTribe

I've had some fun with this blog challenge. I don't think I'll stop. I may not be as consistent with the writing - because I want to put some of my energy into writing more on the ArtsLehigh blog; and maybe a little more on a third blog that is more about my developing theories of arts engagement in higher education. I also guest blog for the Americans for the Arts, and I've got some more research projects on the shelf.

Today's inspiration led me to locate my memory jar to find the bullet. When I was digging around the jar, I re-discovered a bunch of mementos and tidbits of things that all have a story. Blogging has become somewhat therapeutic. Unless I need to write about my boring, busy life, or vent about parenting, or some other banal topic, I'll dig out something in the jar and write the story about it. If nothing else, I'm sure it'll give my mom something to talk about at her next book club meeting.

Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting.