Spring, Ah Spring

Good heavens, here it is May already. Oh to be in England sped right by...I must have missed it. Yep, I made the mistake of signing up for certain political articles from the New York Times -- here I sit, reading the articles, then looking over at the OpEd, follow that to the original they are writing about....and on and on, as more articles pop up every time I go back to the mailbox. Why can't the writers at the NYTimes just write a bit slower. I cannot keep up. I have now fallen in love with several of them. Why? I suppose because they always agree with me. And I thought I was getting even more radical than Jessie...or has the whole world fiinally begun to 'get it.'

But why are our children not back from Iraq? Another CA boy died yesterday. It is not right...well, yes it is because of the 'right.' Those nasty old members of PNAC who planned this horrible war way before they put their little patsy into the White House,, using the far right wing, the religious right and the right-wing talk shows. They are all weak now -- why can't we just end their war and bring home the children, so that a whole generation of poor unfortunates are not wiped out.

A cab driver told me a very sad story today. He said that his brother-in-law bought something in a convenience store for $6.50. Needing some change, he gave the kid a $20 bill, a dollar and fifty cents. The kid looked confused, so the man said, "Just give me $15 in change." To which the kid replied, "I don't have any fifteen dollar bills." That story and Jay Leno's "Jay Walking" when he interviews kids on the street, asking them questions anyone in my generation would laugh at if we were asked...and they don't ever know the answers. They can't identify a photo of Bill Clinton, or any of the Senators...yet they can sing any of the current 'cute' advertising jungles. Oh lordy, how I hope Obama can fix our educational system. Anybody out there know a kid with a high school education who can name all the states in the U.S.? I used to make up special homework for my son....and he could! His teacher let him get away with naming five--not me.

I take cabs quite often and am impressed with the use of the English language by all of the guys from all over the world who drive the cabs. Yet our children can barely speak their own language as well as these immigrants. Many of them speak several languages. I love sitting on a bus in SF and listening to all the different languages, and hope that the children are learning the language of their parents. I remember years ago talking to Kaye Ballard (whose parents came from Italy). She told me that when she was a kid she was ashamed of their speaking Italian and constantly told her mother to speak English. Sadly, when she grew up and had the money to travel, she had to go to a school to learn to speak Italian. "I coulda learned at home," she wailed.

I did rather badly in my years of French classes in school, primarily because I didn't like the teachers. I was one of those kids who made a C or below when I didn't like the teacher, and straight As when I did. But, when I did finally get to Europe and went to Paris, the Frnech found my dreadful attempts to speak to them quite charming, and usually simply switched to English to speak with me -- after all, they had all had English lessons in school. I lived in the Netherlands for six months, where I found Fielding's (travel book) comment about the Dutch very true: "Every man, woman, child, dog and cat speaks and understands English." And not just English, they also speak French, German, Spanish and often many more languages.

Finally, yesterday was Pete Seeger's 90th birthday. Happy Birthday, Pete. I was in tears often as I listened to a radio tribute to him on KALW, our local Public Radio station. Here's my take:

"When Will They Ever Learn"

I have wondered the same, Pete,
As the tears trickle down my cheek,
Caught by the tenth damp tissue,
Listening to you and many others
Sing and lecture and sing, sing, sing
Even I, who technically cannot sing,
Find a tiny voice inside of me
That joins in, becoming louder
As always when I hear you and
Arlo, Bruce and so many others
Sing out in protest, the protest
We have sung and talked about
Since both you and I were young.
Tomorrow is your 90th birthday
And maybe, just maybe, we have
A man in the White House, someone
Who finally must have listened to us
Well Pete, Happy Birthday at 90
We can only hope, can’t we?