Ripple, The Grateful Dead and Don Draper

Once upon a time, things were hopeful.  We were too.  Not because there was peace and love and bounty in the world but because, if we all tried, maybe there could be,

blissed out don draper Coke commercialThat’s what was so perfect about the Mad Men finale: the ironies of hindsight.  There was the desperate Don Draper, moving toward bliss and emerging from both the 60’s and his misery to create the perfect, pseudo-idealistic yet consummately cynical commercial: a UN of young people on a hilltop, singing about Coke.

This video is what that video should have been.  Musicians from 12 cities on 5 continents, brought together by Playing for Change,  join to pay tribute to the fiftieth anniversary of The Grateful Dead and to remind us of what had all hoped, and maybe still hoped, could be.

I was a little teary.  The friend who sent me the link said he’d been “crying like a girlymon the whole weekend…”

This isn’t the first “Playing for Change” video; take a look at what is a wonderful body of work created not only to move sentimental people like me but also to raise money for music schools and other services in areas of great need.

And while you’re at it – here are Robert Hunter’s lyrics for this beloved Dead classic.

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine

And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It’s a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they’re better left unsung.
I don’t know, don’t really care
Let there be songs to fill the air.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone,
If you should stand then who’s to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home.

ONE MORE VIRGINIA CANVAS, ONE TIRED CANVASSER (AGE FOUR) AND ONE SENTIMENTAL LOOK AT WHAT OBAMA, AND THE CAMPAIGN, ARE REALLY ALL ABOUT

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It was a long long Sunday canvassing for Obama, this time in Ashburn, Virginia, and it was also a very exciting one.  It began far from our destination, in a parking lot in Maryland, where we were "briefed" and handed maps of our Virginia destinations.   

Next stop: Virginia field offices.  Once we arrived at ours, in a manufactured "village" of mostly low-rise, not-so-expensive apartment buildings, we were briefed again, presented with the usual impressive packets with maps and voter rolls, and sent on our way.

As on our other sojourns, my friend and I brought along his four-year-old son, who is a rabid Obama fan.  We had 36 apartments on our list – in at least eight different buildings.  The complex, nice but clearly not fancy, had no elevators.  Instead, like an apartment you might rent at the beach, each building offered concrete stairs in an open stairwell, ascending four flights to the top.  No doorbells, just brass knockers or — as we did — you knocked the old fashioned way.   

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It was a lot of steps; I clocked at least two miles on my pedometer.  Leading our way was our four-year-old ambassador, who never flinched at the up-down-up-down-nobody home – maybe an answer – up – down of the day.  It clearly wore him out but boy was it worth it.

I’ve always been sentimental about our country; since I grew up just outside a mill town south of Pittsburgh I’m very aware of multicultural living.  In my class there were Kalcevics and Janczewskis and Brneloviches and Courys and McCurdys and Mortons and Stepanoviches — and more.  But days like today – well – they’re different, mostly because many of the committed voters we met today just got here.  One charming African man, with a wife in African dress, himself in shorts and a tee shirt, just became a citizen and received his voter card on October 12th.  Another, Middle Eastern, immediately declared his preference for Senator Obama and asked where he could get a button (of course we gave him ours.)  A third, whose son was also four, spoke to us as smells of curry and some unfamiliar seasonings drifted out the door; the scent of strange spices was all around. Some residents spoke Spanish, some perfect British English, some less perfect – and less British.  But here they were, in these simple apartments in a massive series of cul-de-sacs, so ready to vote.

When I was a kid, my grandfather talked endlessly to us about how he felt coming here – what it meant to him and why he never wanted to go back to the Old Country – even to visit.  He was a tough old guy – kind of scary actually – but fiercely grateful for what he had found here.  That gratitude, and our own comprehension of our lives as the daughters of a Harvard-trained lawyer, educated on scholarships while his entire family worked to keep him in school; lives that were possible only because our grandparents had had the guts to pick up and leave and our country had offered them, and our father, the privilege of a chance – built an awareness that has never faded.   Today though, it jumped from its quiet residence in the back of my mind to full-on awe.  We are part of something wonderful here.  As Jonathan Curley wrote in a Christian Science Monitor piece with similar sentiments

"I’ve learned that this election is about the heart of America. It’s about the young people who are losing hope and the old people who have been forgotten. It’s about those who have worked all their lives and never fully realized the promise of America, but see that promise for their grandchildren in Barack Obama. The poor see a chance, when they often have few. I saw hope in the eyes and faces in those doorways.

That’s what it is – hope.  And the remarkable privilege of acting on that hope – using the power of American democracy to turn hope into action.  Obama’s slogan "Yes we can!" isn’t just political.  It’s a battle cry, a pledge passed on through generations – this time from my grandfather to the "new folks" living in Ashburn Village.  The day we decide we are no longer obligated to help pass the legacy on will be a very sad day indeed.  That’s why what happens on Tuesday is so important.  Morals, ethics, values, opportunity, education, work, freedom, the pursuit of happiness…  this has always been us.  May it be again this week.

Sublime and Ridiculous — New Babies and the Golden Globes

MosheMonday morning dear friends of ours named their new daughter.  She had been born on Thursday, but in keeping with Orthodox tradition, no one knew her name until the service held during regular morning prayers.  It’s a beautiful tradition – babies names have great thought behind them – connection to a deceased family member and when it’s possible to some kind of deeper meaning.  Our friends’ other two kids have very meaningful and special names so we weren’t surprised that this little girl will also carry one.  Born the week that the story of Moses in the bulrushes was read in the synagogue – she was named Batya – daughter of God — the name given in commentaries to the daughter of Pharaoh who pulled the infant from the Nile.  Her courage, and the fact that she saved the man who would save the Jewish people, earned that for her.

I’d post her photo here but I write this for me and don’t like to turn friends and family into editorial fodder.  Suffice it to say that this was an event of great joy – the parents two people whose contributions both as leaders and role models are legion; the big brother and sister, 4 and 2, smart, funny and sweet.  Daddy often leads our services, Mom leads much of the study that goes on – and there’s a lot.  In the middle of all the love, laughter and prayer I remembered again why I had chosen this complicated life, and was grateful.

Ugly_betty Meanwhile, out there in the Outside World, I was amazed at the Golden Globes.  Yeah I’m an awards junkie but this year the Globes were like COSTCO – crammed with every kind of person.  It was exciting to see how different the winner’s roll call has become.  Whether you looked at age, race or nationality, all sorts of people made it to the podium.  Here are just some of the winners – and this doesn’t count people from countries other than the UK because I wasn’t sure enough about who was from where.  Here goes:  8 WHO ARE NOT SO YOUNG: Warren Beatty, Helen Mirren, Maryl Streep, Martin Scorsese, Helen Moreen (again), Alec Baldwin, Bill Night, Jeremy Irons.  2 WHO ARE LATINO;  America Herrera and SHOW Ugly Betty, 6 WHO ARE AFRICAN AMERICAN; Forest Whitaker, Jennifer Hudson, Eddie Murphy, Prince, Grays Anatomy executive producer Shanda Rimes and FILM Dream Girls, and 9 — yes 9 out of 26 major awards – to OUR COUSINS FROM THE UK:  Helen Mirren, Sacha Baron Cohen, Helen Mirren again, Peter Morgan, Hugh Laurie, Bill Nighy, Jeremy Irons, Emily Blunt and SHOW: Elizabeth 1

I also think the quality of the nominated and winning programs was pretty damn high.  If it weren’t for reality shows you could almost make the claim that quality is beginning to become expectable on television – and if you count Project Runway you can kind of make the case for at least one of those as well.  I’ve even had heavy-duty ‘DC politicos asking me "what are you watching these days?" right along with discussions of the Book Review.  The bad is still really bad, of course, but maybe by the time young Batya grows up that will change too.