A Week with Audrey

Let me say this at the outset: I am no baby person. I have friends (forgive me, all of you) who melt at the very sight of an infant, who adored every moment of their children's babyhood, who cried when their little ones boarded the kindergarten bus. Not I.

My children were (and still are) wonderfully beautiful and intelligent, but I loved them most when they finally learned to speak. Perhaps it is my basic insecurity. I get panicky when I don't know what I'm doing--and babies are (and always have been) the ultimate unknown country. How do you KNOW what's wrong when they can't tell you, when their only switch seems to be OFF or ON, smiling or crying? I need more sophisticated controls, more fine-tuning.

We have spent this week in San Diego in the company of our daughter and 4-month-old granddaughter. Young Audrey is a marvel. If one ever wondered how our species survives, all it takes is one look at her in the morning when she wakes. One wriggle, one baby kick and squirm, one sunshiney smile, and we are toast. Anything she wants or needs is hers, whether it be room service at 3 AM or an extended walk in the garden to distract her from whatever is causing her to whimper...she can trample all over our sleep patterns and restaurant ways and recreational reading habits, and we barely notice. She smiles at us as if we are what she prizes most in this world--and that is reward enough.

Don't get me wrong. I suspect that if I were to be the primary caregiver for an infant, I would probably fail utterly. My daughter (and son-in-law) do an admirable job, with remarkable good humor. I can do a pretty fair back-up routine, and haven't forgotten the basics of diaper-changing, baby-holding and transfer, and the intricacies of car seats and porta-cribs. But I am still not a baby person.

I may, however, be an Audrey person, and I hope that Audrey turns out to be a Grandma kind of little girl.

Cloud

Is it the economy, or the presidential mudfest, or the time of year, or what? I'm finding it difficult to read the paper, or follow through on projects, or even write much. The weather has been gorgeous, but there still seems to be an oppressive black cloud hovering overhead, making it hard to breathe. I think it's called the future.

I went through the paper yesterday and there's not much joy in Mudville. Negative headlines far outnumber (if not obliterate) positive ones. I'm no Pollyanna, but when the only happy-face headline involves the results of Lehman Brothers contributing to a Habitat for Humanity housing effort in India--and the worry that funds for charity projects like these will dry up--I think we're in worse trouble than just the economy. Is there nothing good happening anywhere?

I'm tired of the McCain/Obama campaigns. Both sides are just repeating the same old songs, with additional random accusations flung at the other guys. Why not say something new? Why not address the reality of the situation and at least try to offer, if not hope, at least some sympathy? I don't believe much of what I hear from either camp any more. Just let us vote and get these people and their petty accusations off my TV screen.

I can't help worrying that, with all the mud that's been thrown, the emotional tenor of the campaigns, and the rampant fear engendered by the economic crisis, whoever wins will be the long-term loser. When campaign appearances start to sound like KKK rallies, and even candidates can't rein in their own supporters, when people who want us to elect them show no signs of being thoughtful citizens, much less LEADERS, even economic worries take a backseat to fears of anarchy. How far have we regressed as humans? The only way to get through hard times is together, with the support of our friends and neighbors--and it appears we are even losing that in today's divisive atmosphere.

When our financial gurus start bruiting about sums of money that we can barely comprehend, when presidential "assurances" cause the market to drop even further, when it's becoming increasingly clear that there's no one left in charge who we can trust or rely upon, what do we do? Covering our eyes, holding our ears, and singing at the tops of our voices hasn't seemed to help (and I suspect that's what we've all been doing for the past few years.) I'm not sure that there's any remedy except to put our heads down against the wind, gather our courage, hold on tightly to whatever we have left, and try to bull our way through the storm.

It would sure help if we didn't have to do it alone.

Kingston Trio

Nick Reynolds is dead. Nick Reynolds, as in Bob Shane, Dave Guard...and later, John Stewart: the Kingston Trio. I am sure that means nothing to the vast majority of people online, but they were the soundtrack to my freshman year in high school. They were the group that crossed over from folk to Top 40. Who doesn't remember "Tom Dooley" or "MTA" or "Tijuana Jail" (and the calm baritone response to Nick's frenzied Spanish yipping in that introduction: "No more drinks for the dwarf.")? But I always liked the tongue-in cheek songs that you found on their albums or in their concerts and not on the radio...Zombie Jamboree, Merry Minuet, Ballad of the Shape of Things....

As much as the music, the Kingston Trio brings back times and people. My introduction to them was via Tom Magrogan, president of our CYO, and an avid fan who had all the albums--and was murdered in his early 20s before his life began. They bring back the years BEFORE the Beatles, the years of Joan Baez and her copper kettle, of The New Christy Minstrels, of Peter, Paul and Mary...and the Kennedy years, when joining the Peace Corps was a valid ambition, and the world's problems seemed to be solvable.

We were all much younger then. Goodbye Nick.