New post coming soon

I mean it.

Maybe I'll explain why it looks like I'm on tv.

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Have we lost the nuance between right and wrong?

The executive director of the local history museum found me on a Saturday afternoon in a friend’s art gallery. “I’m glad I caught you,” Susan said, and launched into a litany of information about an event she was organizing on Washington women’s suffrage.

She caught me off-guard. Although, I claim to blog about politics, I usually squeeze it in haphazardly, no big plan, just an occasional ‘hey,’ which sounds surprisingly like, “And we should all care about government...or at least pretend we do.” I never think about my right to vote, or ponder that it’s a privilege earned not by divine right, but by courageous women who believed in equality, wrestled men with words, challenged leaders and laws, and exhibited extreme persistence by introducing the same amendment every session of Congress for 41 years.

Susan, wrapped in enthusiasm, noted that Wyoming was the first state to allow women to vote, Washington—not too far behind—was the fifth. Of course, I knew globally some women still did not have the right, and it wasn’t until 1971 that women in Switzerland were able to vote—if you’re older than 38 that happened in your lifetime. So, why don’t I appreciate this right more, if at all?

Susan detailed her event, a gathering of sorts, a mind-meld of diverse women from our community, a way to brainstorm how to celebrate the 100th anniversary of our right to vote. “Sign me up,” I said. She did.

A month later, on a sweet summer evening I walked up the steep steps of the Carnegie Library on Main Street. Years earlier the building had been converted to the museum and more recently updated to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. I entered the echoing space and shared a meal surrounded by women and women’s handiwork, pieces of reed and bark once bought for mere tokens, now revered as priceless, an ongoing display of Native American basketry.

My table mates were also priceless:

Jean - ran for public office in the late 1950's and became the first woman on city council

Ann - our county’s first woman scoutmaster

Florence - first woman executive director of the Francisco Symphony

Cheryl - college debate team member whose experience propelled the first test case on harassment and discrimination

Dorothy - first HR specialist to put women into jobs on the male-dominated manufacturing floor

Jerri - past state president for Delta Kappa Gamma, a national society of women educators

Mi - first female president of our local Korean Society

Karen - recruiter (and counselor) for political candidates

Norma - stay-at-home mom in the 60’s, now university professor

Melissa - English as second language teacher

Erika - a college student

Becky - a volunteer at our local community college

Kerri - one of the first women on the Rotary Foundation Board

Molly - an attorney

Lisa - an art history professor

Stacee - a mayor in a neighboring town

Maureen - an artist

Molly – daughter of the first woman to receive a Meier & Frank credit card, but only after the department store called her husband and asked for his permission

These fascinating women shared amazing stories. They reminded us that over 130 state laws changed in 1972 when Washington enacted its own Equal Rights Amendment. Changes, so small and seemingly insignificant by today’s standards, but ones they valued because they had lived without them:

“Getting my name in the phone book along with my husband’s”

“Getting credit cards in my own name”

“Having my own checking account”

“Being able to compete in sports...Title IX”

“Comparable worth pay”

They spoke of personal gains:
“Birth control”

“Learning we could get married and postpone having children”

“Or not have any”

“Or choose a career”

“Being part of a state that produced the highest number of women in the legislature”

“The only state to have a woman governor and two women senators at the same time”(Chris Gregoire, Patti Murray and Maria Cantwell)

“Changing the school dress codes so I could wear pants in weather 35 degrees below zero”

The chill of remembering changed the pride. The hurts of the past emerged like a lazy, backwater relative you were hoping to ignore if not hide, a cultural backlash from the younger generation, youth who do not comprehend how recently gains have been made, have no idea how much they take for granted, and remain clueless on what yet remains to be targeted to create new opportunities.

The women I met that Sunday noted that cleaning products are still only advertised to women. They complained that college systems mostly make competition fair, but outside in the job world it isn’t. “Along with many other bright and caring women my daughter went into medicine and salaries plummeted,” shared a mother caught between pride and anger.

“I agree we have more laws that help us with access, but that glass smacks you hard if you go against the ceiling,” said a woman with experience in the military.

Another added, “I broke through the glass ceiling with shards of glass in my neck.”

They spun stories of subtleties and how dangerous they can be. The older women encouraged us to teach our children what those subtleties are, how they pervade our assumptions, our language, our perceptions.

“A conference room is littered with men and someone needs to take minutes. Everyone looks at me.” Why?

“BlueCross would not pay for my birth control, but they would pay for Rick Nelson’s Viagra.” Why?

“Women’s dress codes state ‘no dangling earrings,’ but is that on the dress code for men?”

“If you stand your ground, you’re aggressive, you’re a little hormonal, it’s that time of the month.”

“I can assert myself appropriately, but I hear 'she’s bitchy, she can’t take a joke.'” Why?

“If I beat boys in sports I’m labeled a lesbian.” Why?

“If you’re going to succeed you need to learn how to play golf, but you can’t be good enough to win. If you win you emasculate them.”

Them...why is it we all know who they are? Or do we?

Women’s experience dealing with credit issues or banks has changed very little. You are not the same person without a man. “Recently, a staff person’s husband was killed in a car accident. They had a line of credit with a local bank, never had a late payment and had good assets. The bank came at her the week he died and asked her to file new loan papers.” Why?

“This generation hasn’t had a struggle, hasn’t fought a significant war, they sense that everything is okay, and look for the path of least resistance, get what I want without too much effort.”

“We don’t remember that before 1976 marital rape was legal in every state.” I heard a door open and close as a few women with evening commitments drifted out: meal planning, laundry, ironing.

In the aching silence a woman sighed. “I don’t get a sisterhood feel. I get more pressure from women to not be more.” The room tensed.

“When do we get to not blame ourselves?” someone asked.

“It's not simple,” Susan answered, her voice gaining strength as she gathered our drifting attention. I was eager for a resolute summary that would conclude we had not faltered with the gift we'd been given. “There's a case right now in Newport prosecuting a teenager who took photos of another girl and sent it out over a cell phone. She is being held for a stupid mistake she made. She didn’t comprehend what she was doing. Now the way the court is looking at her she could be jailed and have to register as a sex offender.”

“Texting has made our children predators,” a young mother acknowledged.

“Sexting,” a co-ed corrected.

I shivered. Susan’s right. It's not simple.

The group took a collective breath and then released it as Susan steered the discussion to easier topics -- how to celebrate the gains that had been made over the last 100 years. Someone mentioned a display of underwear and that elicited a collective laugh.

The renewed planning warmed the open space as I slipped out. I started my car and before backing out flicked my eyes over the rear view mirror. How did we lose sight of the line between right and wrong? I waited for the traffic to clear. Or has the difference only become more subtle?

What do you think?

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Celebrities who've met ME! Meet Dr. Nomsa Geleta

Pictured: Educator and author, Dr. Nomsa Geleta and Little Karol.

It all began…looking for a Jodi Picoult book, Little Karol sauntered up to the shelf, stared at the array of neatly organized titles and couldn’t make up her mind. So, she did what any teenager does. She changed her mind.

New plan: non-fiction.

She had the exact book in mind, but couldn’t remember the title. She walked me through her little brain tease. Movie. Teacher. Writers. I recalled the book but had no recollection of the title, either.

I, however, am never without options.

I eased up to the information desk, leaned an elbow on the counter, and had a casual, albeit quiet conversation, with an elderly woman who looked like today was her first day on the job.

“There’s a book about a teacher and she works in the inner-city.” I shuttered my voice so as not to sound as dumb to the general public as I obviously was, “And it’s...um...a good book.” I eased in closer. “They made a movie out of it.” The old lady leaned away. “And it starred...” I pursed my lips and paused, gazed up at the 30-foot store ceiling searching for the answer. “It's that girl who married Ben Afflect.” We were surrounded by exactly 1.56 quadrillion books, amassed inside a building which took up an entire city block, the world’s largest independent used and new bookstore, Powell’s Books, 68,000 sq. ft., multiple floors of paper, bindings and a coffee shop. Exactly my kind of place. The thought of coffee kicked the name into place, “Jennifer Garner!” I clapped my hands in relief, and glowed. Powell's attendants knew everything. “Do you know which book I’m talking about?”

The old lady’s cheeks flushed, she floundered, hands flying up to her throat. “I…I don’t know,” she stuttered.

My eyes darted around and I tried another tactic: repeat, repeat, LOUDER. “It’s a book that became a MOVIE…”

A blond floated by, caught the hints of Hollywood in our conversation and, of course, stopped to listen. She eased up to the info desk and leaned in.

I glanced at her, realized others waited for information, but not ready to give up my source to the secrets of Powells, I re-worded my question. “A book about a teacher. The kids write. They drink champagne, only it’s school and it’s not really champagne, it’s that sparkling apple juice. Cider stuff.”

The blond’s curls bounced as her head bobbed between me and the info lady. Info lady shrugged her rounded shoulders and shrank back on her stool. “I…I really don’t know.”

The blond pounced on the opportunity. “I do!”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back on my heels. Really.

The blond squeezed her eyes shut. “Its…it’s Freedom something.” She opened her eyes and bit her lip, “I know it...” She strained as the competition with herself heated up. “Freedom...” She flapped her hands.

Little Karol and I blinked at each other and announced simultaneously, “FREEDOM WRITERS!”

The blond smiled and skipped off singing. “Told you I knew it!”

The old lady plucked at her keyboard and came up with the info. She slid a scrap of white paper our direction. In skaky script it noted, Aisle 641, Rose Room. We snatched the sheet and skipped off trying to figure out how to pronounce the author’s last name, using several variations. Erin Grunell, Erin Grinnell, Erin Groomwell. Old lady handwriting is hard to read.

“Gruwell,” stated a gentleman.

Our eyes flicked up and met the smile of a friendly stranger.

“Thanks,” I said. “I met her. We’re looking for her book, Freedom Writers.” Well, met as in sat in the audience at the YWCA event and listened to her story.

“Great book,” he said, and motioned toward the woman in the aisle with him, “She met her, too.” The woman smiled shyly as our attention focused on her. “In fact, “he continued, “She co-wrote her next book. Teaching Hope.”

It’s true, I thought. I can‘t go anywhere without celebrities seeking me out. It’s a good thing I’m interesting.

We introduced ourselves and and entered into a lively conversation with Dr. Dennis Pataniczek, Dean at Salisbury University, and Dr. Nomsa Geleta, Director of Graduate Programs. I tucked Dr. Geleta's card into my camera case right after I took her picture with Little Karol

We continued the conversation via email as I wanted to know more about Teaching Hope: Stories from the Freedom Writer Teachers and Erin Gruwell. Geleta first met Erin Gruwell just before the movie Freedom Writers was made. “We had invited her as a speaker for our campus. She stayed in touch with a colleague of mine. When she decided to invite a select group of "teachers" for a five day all paid institute she invited me although I was not a teacher in a K-12 setting. I am one of the only two professors in the group of 150 teachers that were selected to attend the institute and were then asked to participate in the book project. My role as well as those of other 150 participants was to write a story in the life of a teacher. I submitted one story about my teaching experience as a secondary school teacher. When the book comes out I will let you know which one is mine. The book is expected to be out August 16th. Barnes and Nobles will carry the book.

“I hope you and your daughter enjoy reading the Freedom Writers Diaries and the soon to be released Teaching Hope.

“I hope she finds the stories from both books inspiring and affirming her desire to be a teacher, our nation and the world needs good teachers.”

Thank you Dr. Geleta and Dr. Pataniczek for being friendly voices in a big bookstore willing to be kind to strangers looking for a good book, and for being in the right place at the right time. We loved meeting you! But most of all, thank you for caring about education. What you do changes the world

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From the Random House web-site: ERIN GRUWELL, the Freedom Writers, and her nonprofit organization, The Freedom Writers Foundation, have received many awards, including the prestigious Spirit of Anne Frank Award, and have appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, Primetime, Good Morning America, and The View, to name a few. All 150 Freedom Writers went on to graduate from high school. Erin Gruwell is also a charismatic motivational speaker who spreads her dynamic message to students, teachers, and business people around the world. She lives in southern California.

Subtitle: Stories from the Freedom Writer Teachers and Erin Gruwell

Author: Gruwell, Erin

Foreword: Quindlen, Anna

Author: The Freedom Writers

Publisher: Broadway Books

Subject: Teacher-student relationships

Subject: Teachers

Subject: Teaching Methods & Materials - General

Subject: United states

Subject: Attitudes

Subject: Philosophy & Social Aspects

Publication Date: August 2009

Binding: Paperback

Language: English

Pages: 384

Asians in art

Art. When have you seen beautiful art of women with dark hair? And where? I want to fill my home with pieces reflecting life, and my life has a dark-haired daughter. How do I show her how beautiful she is? The only Asian dolls I could find when she was a baby came out of a catalog, not a store. Catalog was created by adoptive parents raising Asian children. The Asian community had never sought out dolls that looked like their children, or if they had, had not protested the void. Why?

Silence. Don't make waves.

I see sumptuous baby pictures, so cute your heart melts, but the babies are always blonde. Why? I want the world of advertising and art filled with people who look like my daughter, not blonde, not sweet, but bold and daring. Wild and strong.

I want us to go through life making lots of noise, celebrating, crying, cheering, laughing, protesting what is not right, protecting what is. She takes me on walks along the riverfront and she insists we walk backwards. I'm just crazy enough to do it! Restaurant guests point and laugh, and we laugh right back and watch the river flowing a new direction, not away, not towards, but beside us. We notice what they'll never see because when they finish their meal they'll walk out like they always have and miss everything we noticed because we were walking backwards. And I paid less for this picture than for one of their meals. Shameful.

I want to see with new eyes.

I want you to see with new eyes.

See my daughter. Do you want to erase the Asian from her face before she dates your son, has your grandchildren? Or can you see her soul, her heart, and see what a lovely, loving woman she is becoming.

Can you see the future?

I can, and it's filled with women just like my daughter. Asian.

Asian in your eyes only. Love in mine.

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National Buy a Newspaper Day

Monday is National Buy a Newspaper Day. Supporting a news source in your own local community can ONLY be a good thing. We spend far too much time poking our noses around the globe, finding fault with everyone else's 'neighborhood,' or even our own national government without ever taking part in the very community where we live.

Buy a newspaper, read it, support writers who make a living writing, then recycle it and get out and change the world--the world you actually live in, which is a lot closer than the world we all comment on, and it costs less than a dollar.