I think I was five when my great grandmother Big Mama, on a return trip from DC, made my Dad stop the car so that she could get out and walk beside the interstate - muttering, irate, about RR-40 "friend of the rich." This is a story I heard more times than I could count growing up. Posthumously, she was (thinly veiled as it may have been) ridiculed for her political beliefs. With a side of "look at all these things we can buy." I was always fascinated by how "right" (as in absolutely correct) they seemed to fancy themselves. How certain.
But in 2009... there was only one guy for me. Barack Obama awakened genetic memories. Of Leaders I've only read about in textbooks. Of Orators who are etched in stone. I finally understood that absolute certainty. Not that our President would be infallible. But that his intentions were to lead us into a type of prosperity that my family did not worship at the alter of. I don't remember sharing that with most of them. We don't measure success, of any form, with the same systems. I'm "metric."
In 2015, I decided that I would rather vote for anyone other than DT-45. Why? His own mouth. So I looked at J Dub (my friend Jessica) after Rotary one day and said "let's go put a Woman in the White House." Then we did. And then we didn't. We were as grief stricken as we had been hopeful. Barack taught us that. Again, I was mostly quiet about my opinions, my disappointments. But when Jessica left for The Women's March, I wanted to support her. So I posted a screenshot on my personal Instagram.
It didn't take a terribly long time
for me to get the text message:
"Sorry for the short notice but we're making cutbacks.
Your last paycheck will be at the end of March. Love, Dad"
Immediately, the President of the company - my father's sister - began hounding me about taking on responsibility for my Rotary dues. I guess she didn't care to hang on to the community partners and relationships I'd spent over a decade building. And she certainly did not inquire about my wellbeing. Still, I remained moderate. It wasn't until my republican-activist-father's-wife (after letting it sit vacant for years) sold my great grandmother's (yes the same one) house to a stranger for an amount we could have paid in cash... that I officially thought "you know I'd rather walk home from DC on the side of the Interstate than build my life around these people."
And you know the way it just is. Nature abhors a vacuum.
So I met Gordon Lamb. And almost immediately gained the kind of family that I was actually born into. Loving. Kind. Checks in on each other. Remembers birthdays. Sends Christmas cards and invites us to celebrations. Lets us know when one of the littles wins an award or has a graduation. Visits each other often. Big holiday spreads and family reunions. I was born into that. But it all fell apart without my Grandmother to keep it going. Fun Fact: Our blended immediate family has a full spectrum of political opinions and associations but we agree on one thing unanimously: to care for each other, is to prosper. For clarity though, I'm still blue as smurfette. But I'm seeing other ideologies - none with a Chief Wannabe.
This weekend, Dottie Lamb took us to something I like to call Holiday Hotel and hosted a surprise birthday (mine) pajama party for 4. So I'll not soon get the sound of Dottie, Gordon, and Aes serenading me over Ruth's Chris cookies & cream cheesecake out of my head - entertaining me in the sweetest of daydreams. Not to mention the most thoughtful and precious gifts and a petite but perfect GNO. The little one swam the width of the indoor pool five times without me holding him. The filet was kissed by the chef. And we ended the weekend with our new favorite: sandwiches from Automatic and a "giant pizza with one thousand cheeses." What's next? I can't wait to tell you.
IF I even leave the house this week...
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