Ray of Hope

While boarding the blood red city bus on the mean streets of southeast Rochester, Ray’s post gave me pause. Having hoped for a French press followed by a French kiss on my way out this morning, and having been granted at least the former, I found myself in the mood for expansive thought. His post provided a vessel from which I drank deeply. Maybe the cheesey fact that I was listening to FYC‘s “Good Thing” on the iPod as I squinted at Ray’s tsunami of optimism populating my blackberry’s Dick Tracy screen blew my skirt up a bit.   Or perhaps the fact that I also have young(er) daughters got me all caught up.  At any rate…
Picture being able to travel abroad – proud, for the first time in so long, to be an American.   Or, better yet, being accorded the ultimate international honor of being treated as an international agnostic.  That’s heavy stuff that could perhaps happen in our lifetime if Ray’s optimism ends up being actualized.   

On my mind as well today is the fact that my 87 year old mother has, over the last two days, been in and out of the emergency room.  I look at her as you would expect a son to do, but am recently troubled by the apparition of the cash register strapped to her back.  Yeah, having access to a health plan similar to that of the somewhat criminal body we call the U.S. Congress would be cool.

But the cynic in me warns that Obama, the consumate politician, potentially represents somewhat of a toxic milkshake.  Mind you, he strikes me as genuine – but nobody alive can make the call on what’s going to happen when the rubber meets the road when it comes to political figures.  But the good news is that, given the field, there’s really no choice to be made… so we can snuggle back into complacency until Obama gets a chance to burn his tires in the Oval Office.  At that point we should feel free to rear our funky little pundit heads, fire up the popcorn, strap on the monday morning quarterback lazy-boy,  and blather on in woulda-coulda parlance.

 

 

 

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