Can we call you President?

"John McCain is going to call me a lot of names in the next few days. I don't know what name he's going to call me next."
"President!" shouts a young child near us on the grass.
Yes, President Obama. That has a nice ring to it.

A crowd roughly half the population of Columbia gathered on the MU campus last night. That's 40,000 people! 40,000 people who practically ran into the gates as they entered the Mel Carnahan Quadrangle. I was one of them. I'm still crying about it!

I was a nervous mess last night waiting for Jevon to get home and watch the kids so I could be part of this historic moment. He was out of town working and didn't get home until 6:45 (gates opened at 7:30). After two days of moving furniture into the our motel in Hannibal, Jevon was exhausted. He had to eat, shower, and shave (yes, shave) before he dropped me off. I nearly lost it when I saw him shaving. "I may miss seeing the next President of the United States because you had to shave first????" Ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

It all worked out, and instead of having to wait in line for hours and walk several miles, I got dropped off right by where my friends Chris and Megan were waiting in line. And what a line it was--it wound all around the MU campus. People were friendly and chatting about the election. Many people waiting in line had been volunteering on the campaign, going door to door and making phone calls.

Vendors were everywhere, selling Obama tees and even "No More Bush" underwear. (I just got that as I typed it! Ha ha!!). I liked the "That One" t-shirts the best!

We caught the end of Judy Baker's speech as we looked for a place to sit. (Her speech was like the opening act for a band and I kept thinking, "Okay lady, you can stop talking now. Let's get to the good stuff!") Deciding not to fight the crowds to get a view of the stage, we opted for a spot on the grass in clear view of a screen.

Jay Nixon, Democratic nominee for MO governor had just started talking when he turned around. Chris and I had been chatting and wondered what happened. On the screen we could see people's faces and could feel the energy building. Here's a clip of the first moments. That's Chris, Megan, and I squealing and crying in the background!




I had been warned that Obama could be up to an hour late, but he made it right on time, even though he had started out in Ft. Lauderdale that morning. I am amazed at his energy. At one point somebody booed, and Obama said something like "Don't get mad. Get out and Vote." Nobody screamed profanities or chanted like a group of KKK people. This was a well-behaved crowd.

Watching these videos again this morning still brings tears to my eyes. Even though Jevon put me through an agonizing wait, I am so thankful that he stayed home with the kids. "I've never seen a President in my lifetime and most people probably won't. You should go." Oh, thanks sweetie! I will never forget this!

Oh, will somebody PLEASE take our picture? (a woman ran up right after this and took a shot with Megan's camera. I'm waiting anxiously for her to send it to me!) That's Chris on the left, Megan in front and me on the right.

And I will repeat this mantra to myself, "I will always bring the good camera. Even if it is heavy." I can only imagine the pictures I could have taken with my Nikon. Sigh... Check out these beautiful slideshows and articles from the local papers. I'm sure you're eyes won't be dry either.
Columbia Tribune Slideshow
Columbia Tribune Article
Columbia Missourian Article and Slideshow (check sidebar for slideshow and other articles)

And then, get out and VOTE on Tuesday. As the sign says, "It's your Democratic right!!"

I'm so hopeful I could cry....

Oh, this election. I honestly have never cared a lick about politics, until I got involved in homebirth/midwifery and breastfeeding issues. And now this Presidential campaign is really getting to me. For over a year, I avoided any news--I found it just too depressing. So I missed out on all of the news coverage, etc. before Obama was chosen as the Democratic nominee. Then I watched his acceptance speech and bawled my eyes out. Looking at those people in the audience, with hope in their eyes, was more than I could take. Obama has to win--our nation needs this so badly.

Every day I see something related to the Obama campaign that makes me cry. Today it was this video of a human Obama logo done by some Alaskans in freezing cold weather. Sorry, I can't figure out how to add video to my blog. Any tech savvy people out there who can help me?

I'm going to cry twice today because tonight OBAMA IS COMING TO COLUMBIA!!! I can't wait. I'm going with some other mamas for Obama and I will be sure to wear my "Another Mama for Obama" t-shirt. It will be nothing short of amazing, I'm sure.

Have you carved your pumpkin yet?

Oof! My hand hurts. Kai wanted a haunted house pumpkin. What happened to those old-fashioned pumpkins with triangle eyes and noses and a toothy smile? The pumpkin carving kit with patterns is a blessing and a curse!
Kai said, "I didn't know it would take all day to carve the pumpkin."
"Me neither."
"Gosh, I've just keep hearing that eh, er, eh, er sound."
"What sound is that?"
"The sound of you sawing the pumpkin."

Fun with pumpkin goo. And the windows and the floor need some smeared on them too.

"Mommy are you ever going to be done? Wahhhh!!!"


Ah... completion. Look at the little ghost on the left.

Bathing Suit Clad Elvis Impersonator Narrowly Escapes Death

You heard me. And I was there. If I had known what I was really getting myself into, maybe I wouldn't have gone.

Jevon called me at 11:30 a.m. yesterday and said, "You guys should get over here [to the Super 8]. Some guy is going to do an escape act in the pool." For some reason, I am imagining some thirty-something David Blaine type guy doing the stunt. Maybe he was staying at the motel and decided to perform.

I get to the motel with the kids to find an aging Elvis impersonator, attired in a black wig and black and red bathrobe. There were just a handful of people, mostly employees, who were intrigued. The gal next to me was a nervous wreck, worrying he would drown. The deepest part of the pool was only 5 feet so I wasn't worried. However, Manzini asked us not to come in and save him if he couldn't get out. Oh, the drama... On a table were an assortment of handcuffs.

Finally a reporter from the Columbia Tribune arrived, but he didn't bring a camera. When Mario Manzini, magician/escape artist, or escapologist as he likes to call himself, saw me with my fancy camera, he asked if I was with the press. "No, I'm just the owner's wife. But I can take some pictures and send them to the newspaper."

Now, I have taken some good pictures in my life, but not inside and not with the flash on this camera. I still don't know how to get it not to leave shadows. I started taking pictures and then saw that my battery was dying! Just as Mario jumped into the water, my battery died. So I missed getting a shot of him slip out of the handcuffs. It didn't impress me too much. His arms were lubed with baby oil and the water was cold. Seems like the cuffs would just slip off once he got into the water. However, I can't judge him. I'm terrified of the water and I'm not going to recreate his experiment and see if I could do it.

Manzini broke his own record. And I made my photographic debut in the newspaper with probably one of the worst pictures I've ever taken (maybe it's my subject that bothers me). I'm not even going to post it here for various reasons. But you can see it all here:

The photo (you may have to go back to the sports section archive for 10/28/08 if you check after today as it is not on the same page as the story):
http://www.columbiatribune.com/Sports/index.asp

The story. I thought the writer did a great job in his article, especially with the title.
http://www.columbiatribune.com/2008/Oct/20081028Spor004.asp

Now, if you want to see a cute magician doing some really cool magic, check out this movie. Don't worry, you won't see old guys in black wigs and tight swimsuits in this flick!
*********************************************************************************
Oooooh, that reporter SO owes me! My neighbor just brought me the print copy of the paper and my photo and his story made the front page of the Sports Section!!! They cut out the background so the photo is better now! He wouldn't have made it on the front page without my picture. Ugh, what's happening to me? I think Manzini's ego is wearing off on me! Ha ha! I will post a picture soon of the sports section front page though. I love it!! I can see the job offers for my photographic skills just pouring in now (just kidding!)
**********************************************************************************
It keeps getting better! The picture was also on the front page of the newspaper. Hilarious! I'm famous now! Hee hee...
http://www.columbiatribune.com/2008/Oct/20081028FrontPage.asp

And, finally, if you haven't had enough, I have downloaded the images to Flickr.
Just remember, I had to see this in person!! I am glad that I can finally laugh at all of this!

Dance of the Leaves

Mother Nature never ceases to amaze me. Just as the leaves are dying and ready to drop, the big winds arrive. My children's wonderment at such an event reminds me to slow down so we can enjoy these small details. Some days we just sit in front of the window and watch the leaves drop gently to the ground and notice how some float, some twirl and twist, while others spin rapidly on their descent. Today was spent at Stephens Lake Park walking in the blustery wind, taking snapshots, and playing and rolling around in the leaves. The leaves made a mass exodus this afternoon, and the brown leaves already on the ground danced up and down the grassy hills like a troupe of ballet dancers. We spent a lot of time beneath a giant maple tree, staring up as the sun glowed through its flaming red, golden yellow, and lime green leaves.

Food for the Soul

chrysanthemum from the market

I drive to the market alone today, not being able to convince anyone else to come with me. "We don't want to go the fahmaw's mahwket" they protest. I snicker at their cute "New York" accents and wish I could preserve their sweet little voices in my head forever. Pretty soon they'll be grown up and pronouncing their r's perfectly....

I pull in next to an older woman loading her car. As I walk along my van and open the hatch, I notice her homemade bumper sticker, "Old white ladies for Obama." I laugh to myself and then tell her,
"I love your bumper sticker!"
"Thanks!" she says. "I'm insulted they'd think just because I'm a woman I'd vote for Sarah Palin."
We exchange a few more words about the election and then part ways. I pull the empty red wagon behind me.

Approaching the long line of white tents, I notice that the man playing guitar is someone I met last weekend, a former student of my good friend Deborah who has just moved away. His long brown hair is pulled into a ponytail and he wears a stocking cap and well-worn clothing. He is singing passionately as I walk by.

I walk all the way to the end like I always do to see what each farmer has. Today it's noticeably quieter and there are fewer booths--they are no longer overflowing with the summer bounty. Now there are pumpkins, turnips, greens, onions, a few peppers and tomatoes and squash. The maroon and golden yellow mums lined up along the ground catch my eye but I keep going. I'm on a mission today to stock up on winter squash and items for my annual chili party (this must be the 13th year of it by now).

An African drumbeat fills my ears as I near the end of the row, and behind the women dancing in African costumes, I see a drummer who looks a lot like my pottery teacher. I make a mental note to stop back and talk to him, as I've been thinking of taking an African drumming class that I've been signs for around town. It's been 16 years since I've done any drumming but I've felt a real need to do it again lately. My dreams are often about music or I wake up with songs in my head and maybe this means I need more music in my life. The cold air gets to me, so I leave a tip and continue my shopping.

I bump into my friend Alexis, and barely recognize her in her layers of fall clothing and big sunglasses. We hug and catch up on each other's lives. I tell her about the chili party as she starts to leave, and a farmer at a nearby booth tells her that real Texas chili doesn't include beans. It was traditionally just peppers, onions, meat and spices. I stop by his booth and buy the rest of his peppers. He tells me he's sorry he's out of a certain kind of pepper that looks like a habenero but it's sweet. "It would be perfect in your chili," he says, but "this is the last week of peppers." A little twinge of sadness washes over me as I think about those long winter months without my weekly farmer's market fix.

Beef is next on my list so I stop by Missouri Legacy beef. The woman and I converse about various buying options and we talk about where I can find her meat during the winter months. I'm glad to hear I won't have to go to the grocery store to find it--it will be at Clover's Natural Foods store, a small market with friendly employees.

The young man working at Uprise Bread notices my empty wagon and says, "Where are the kids?" I tell him they didn't want to come but I also needed the room in the wagon for all of my goodies. On to Goatsbeard Farm to buy a pound of soft goat cheese... Ken jokingly asks, "How much do I charge you for this anyway?" We're regular customers and my husband helped out at their booth while they were in Iowa adopting their baby.

I make an impulse decision to buy some of those mums, even though I plant them every year and they never do well. They will look pretty at the party. My friend Stacy's mother-in-law hollers at me, "What beautiful mums, Amy!" And lucky me, she tells me how I can help them survive the winter. I convince myself that these will do well because they are locally grown, unlike the ones I bought at Home Depot last year. I cross over to Phil's Garden--he has winter squash so I fill my bag with pumpkins, acorn squash and butternut squash. "Thanks, Amy" says Patt, Phil's wife. I pass by her son's rack of nature photo greeting cards as I head to the car to unload.

With a lighter load, I wander back down past the booths to get some things I've forgotten. At the Share Life booth, I grab as many onions as I can hold in my arms and carefully place them on the scale. The kind old man looks into my eyes as he gently places the onions in my bag and gives me a sincere "thank you."

My pottery teacher Karsten is sitting at his drum alone so I walk up to him. "You're a man of many talents!" I exclaim. He holds up his hands, implying that being a potter lends itself well to other things.

Finally, even though I've tried to stay as long as I can, I am done. I have all I need.

I put a couple dollars in the guitarist's case as I walk out.

In one hour, I have talked with a more than a dozen people and have looked into the eyes and touched the hands of the people who grew or made my food.

I don't get this at the grocery store. There is no comparison.

The Farmer's Market is more than food for my family.

It is food for the soul.

Soul Communication

Our soul speaks to us in symbols--in our waking and dreaming life. It isn't always easy to know what those symbols mean, or to even know we are supposed to be looking for them. I used to think that our life was already mapped out and we were sort of helpless passengers on our journey. I now believe we make some general agreements before we come to this lifetime about the lessons we will learn and the people we will meet. How we will learn those lessons and find those people is a result of our free will and how well we interpret the symbols our soul is giving us.

I had a powerful dream two night ago. I don't know exactly what it meant but I was affected by the beauty of it all day. In my dream, I discovered this gigantic pomegranate tree, with the characteristic shape of a pear tree but much larger. The bark was white like a Sycamore. The leaves were almost gone, but those that remained were yellow and yellow-green. On the lower branches of the tree and on the were tons of pomegranates. It was set against a gorgeous light blue Fall sky.

I was thrilled to discover this tree and the house next to it, which was ours but we had forgotten about it. I went to find my mom, who wasn't really my mom (you know how that goes in dreams) and as we were looking out the window at this majestic tree, a song started playing--a melancholic alternative sounding song about a Pomegranate. Does anyone else hear songs in their dreams they've never heard before? If I had musical talent, I could actually do something with them!

Anyway, maybe that dream had a simple meaning--that I should eat some pomegranates, but maybe there was something more. I'm going to keep working on it. I did enjoy creating this pieces of art in response to the dream. My picture of the tree isn't quite what I saw in my head but that's how it goes.

I can think of some examples in my waking life of powerful symbols that I missed. I was very, very sick in college for about six months. I was hospitalized for strep throat, 2 weeks later I got pneumonia, two months later my appendix nearly burst. During this time, I was dating a guy that was CLEARLY not for me, but I was ignoring the obvious signs so my soul stepped things up a bit with the illness and said, "Hey lady, listen to me! Get out already!"

My dreams are always so vivid; I often remember them for years. Sometimes they are predictions of things I eventually see or people I will meet. I had a dream a couple of months ago that I was walking in this scary cellar/basement type place and was seeing ghosts or something creepy. I was trying to stay calm and this voice said to me "A thousand rays of love" and this light shot from my chest and I wasn't scared anymore. I woke up and wrote that one down because it sounded like the title of something. I looked it up but didn't find anything.

Imagine my surprise when I was the Festival of Arts last month and I saw this picture by local artist David Spear! I stood there in shock. In the picture is a guy with light shooting out of his chest! That was weird. I wrote to the artist and told him my story and asked him how he found the inspiration. It was from a Picasso quote that made no sense to me, but still very cool all the same.

Dreams are the ultimate form of soul communication and I definitely would love to spend more time figuring out what mine mean!