The day after Hillary Clinton became the first woman nominated for president by a major political party finds me a bit groggy.  I didn’t sit down to watch last night’s convention coverage until 10:00 p.m. And by the time I’d sampled Katy Perry’s Fight Song and David Brooks’s fighting words (something to the effect that HRC would do better if she sounded less ambitious), it was nearly midnight before Hillary showed up on my screen. Though I was tempted to call it a night, I couldn’t turn in without seeing history in the making.

Until this campaign I was neither a Hilary fan nor a Hilary hater.  I knew she was smart and well-qualified for the job but her speaking style left me cold. I generally agreed with what she had to say but wished there was a little more poetry in her prose.  I didn’t think she was as duplicitous as her enemies claimed nor as angelic as last night’s white power suit might have suggested.

But I’ve spent a lot of time in recent years immersed in women’s history and I can’t help but be elated that a woman really could be the next president of the United States.  And not just a woman but this woman.  Her intelligence, her experience and her tenacity have won me over.  When she said that she was—“happy for grandmothers and little girls and everyone in between.  Happy for boys and men, too—because when any barrier falls in America, for anyone, it clears the way for everyone”— it didn’t sound like political claptrap to me.  I’m happy that barrier has fallen.  I’m happy she’s still standing on the other side.  Happy to be “with her.”  And happy to be a woman in America—albeit a sleepy one.

Here are a few other history-making Hillary things I’m happy about.

Dominique Browning on Hillary.

Some historical precedent for Hillary’s white suit.

This video that salutes Hillary’s mother and other heroines.

Happy Weekend All!

I’ve subscribed to a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) box for decades.  Every week I pick up a box full of organic vegetables and from May through September I can also receive a bouquet of flowers grown on the farm (Full Belly Farm north of Sacramento). These gorgeous sunflowers were today’s bouquet.

Arranging them in a vase at home, I thought of my sister Jayne’s wedding last weekend outside of Boise.   I worked on flower arrangements for the wedding site with my sister-in-law Saren and my mother-in-law Jackie (it was a big family affair!)  Jayne chose sunflowers as the dominant flower in the bouquets and provided several bunches from her local Costco.  Alas, most of them were pretty droopy.

After dealing with sunflowers from the farm over the years I knew that the woody stalks would need more than a quick trim to help them drink water.  This was news to the rest of the family florists who looked aghast as I pounded the ends of the stalks with the handles of my clippers. But bludgeoning sunflower stalks really does help them take in water.  It’s an easy, aggression-dispelling thing to try at home.

Cut the sunflowers to their desired length.  Smash them with a blunt instrument.  (My bludgeoning tool of choice is a little hammer or mallet.) Your sunflowers should now be able to drink enough water to stay fresh for a week–though it’s still best to change the water and trim and smash the stems again mid-week.

Here are some other helpful things from this week–

One man’s French pottery collection.

West Elm’s VP of Furniture and Lighting Design shares his 5 Favorite Things. 

How a self-taught photographer staged a wedding and ended up as a pro.

Carly Fiorni’s Look At This Face ad.

What we can learn from doomsday predictions.

Medieval students’ letters to their parents asking for money.

This pretty video that has something to do with a seed.

Happy Weekend All!

When I was a kid the biggest event of the summer happened one town down the line on July 24th. Known as “Pioneer Day” or, more pragmatically, “The 24^th,” this county-wide celebration commemorated the day that Brigham Young entered the Salt Lake Valley after leading his people across the plains. On that fateful July 24 in 1847 Young rose up from his sickbed to announce that the pioneers had finally found a home. His “this is the place” pronouncement launched a flotilla of crepe paper floats in small town parades across the Intermountain West for decades to come.

When I was a teenager I marched in the county parade in a short pinstriped jumper and white Keds with my high school drill team and later rode on the front hood of a sports car in a pale blue Gunny Sax dress (see above) waving my best beauty queen wave.

As a child I was most often a bystander hoping to catch the salt water taffy thrown from the flatbed floats carrying displays of our proud history.  But one summer a friend’s dad arranged for us to ride our bikes in the parade and we spent the night before weaving red and yellow crepe paper through the spokes of our bike wheels and making tassles to dangle off the handlebars.  We dressed up as clowns and threw our own candy stash out of our bike baskets as we rode beside the floats depicting busted handcarts and giant beehives.  Makes me hanker for some salt water taffy just thinking about that giddy ride.

Here are a few other things I’m thinking about on this Pioneer Day.

The inspiration behind Sea Ranch.

Cross-stitched furniture.

This image of a girl with her head in the (cotton-candy) clouds.

Shoes made from ocean waste.

Almonds and chilies in a summer melon salad. 

Letting kids figure things out on their own.

Some thoughts on Bill Cosby.

Penn Jillette on Donald Trump.

James Corden, Rod Stewart & A$AP carpooling.

Happy Pioneer Day All!

Though I was raised in the ruby red heart of the Rocky Mountain West, I live in midnight blue territory. With friends and family on both sides of the political spectrum, my own leanings tend to a more moderate shade of rosy periwinkle. But I was genuinely happy about how the Supreme Court decisions played out this week and tickled pink by Senator Wendy Davis’s fuschia-sneakered filibuster.  Inclusion, respect and female empowerment are all principles my red state community taught me to value. You can travel far from either coast and still find intelligent, kind people who are trying to make sense of things through the lenses of their own experience. I hope my bluest neighbors and friends keep that in mind when they decry opinions in various shades of scarlet. My true-blue Republican parents taught me that everyone should feel welcome at the God Bless America parade.

Oh look--a 4th of July bouquet from my very own garden!

Here are some other things worth celebrating this week:

1. Moms playing video games.

2. Defense of my college (English) major.

3. Wendy and the Boys.

4. Yankee Doodle Dandy decor.

5. Simple flag decorations for drink straws.

Oh, and remember that Google Reader goes away this weekend (sigh.) Personally, I’ve switched over to Feedly and the process was painless and free.  My husband is going with Feedbin based on this article.  Clearly we value diversity in our household. I hope you’ll keep reading wherever you land.

 Happy 4^th Y’all!

Really, boys.

According to pundits, these two alpha males are duking it out in hopes of wooing me–me!–to vote for them.  Now that it’s election season I’ve become that most elusive of creatures, an undecided female voter.

A registered Republican who has often voted for a Democrat in presidential elections, I’m still waiting to be convinced that either of these well-educated, sophisticated men has my best interest at heart. Both are dancing a complex two-step, trying to be so light of foot that they won’t stumble by letting someone pin them down on an issue.  So I interpret their sleights and feints as best I can to figure out what they’ll do for me.

Small clues like tie colors–Romney in blue this time, Obama in red–do little to put me at ease. But last Tuesday the wives’ clothing worked its Legally Blonde magic.  There they were, both dressed in Pepto pink, assuring me they’d each champion my cause with the next Commander-in-Chief. Michelle meant business in a fuchsia power suit by Michael Kors and Ann telegraphed a nuanced approachability in a textured raspberry sheath by Oscar de la Renta (rather than her go-to favorite Alfred Fiandaca). Maybe it was the unexpected turquoise glass beads and nails that swayed me, but I think Ann took this one.

So I get it.  I’m an object of desire.  Worth wooing.  But tell me boys, come November 6th after I declare one of you the victor, will you still love me the morning (and the next four years) after?