Sunday Morning ~ Finding the Way to a Fair Count

Kufunsa mdi kudziwa njira. ~ To ask is to know the way.

~ Chewa proverb

July 26, 2020

Hi Everyone,

I heard an interview with Stacy Abrams in early February about the importance of the census and her establishment of the organization Fair Count 2020. I hadn’t previously given much thought to the census. I knew it was done every ten years but haven’t investigated the history or significance. I’m assuming I filled out the 2010 census but honestly can’t remember. But listening to Stacy Abrams describe the consequences of an undercount, I immediately contributed to her organization. I guess I hadn’t considered that political districts are drawn based on the census count. Federal programs in schools are dependent on the census count. Potential for business development is dependent on the census count. And the tidbit that really caught my attention: for every person that goes uncounted, the state loses $2,300 in funding. That number is for Georgia and varies state to state but it’s a lot of money when thousands of people are not counted. Communities that are undercounted don’t get their fair share of resources or representation in congress. Resources include funding for head start programs, highway and bridge repair, Medicaid, and other community based programs. So yeah, given our current political shit show, I felt that was a good place to put some money. 

Not long after hearing that interview I was walking out of Marden’s (a Maine salvage discount store) and there was a table where two women were recruiting census workers. I had never considered actually going door to door but these two women were so enthusiastic, claiming they really needed someone on the island here, I could work as much or as little as I wanted, and they made it sound like fun. I took the information and it sat on my desk; at that point I was hoping to go back to Malawi. Then as I watched the political situation disintegrate even further I thought maybe this was one tangible thing I could do. It was clear I wasn’t going anywhere for awhile. So, I applied. Once the severity of the pandemic became apparent it took a while for the census bureau to regroup and make a plan for conducting this safely. A month later I got a call to report to a site in Brewer (about an hour from here) to get fingerprinted. That’s like the fifth time I’ve been fingerprinted. Don’t they keep these on file somewhere? I mean, they don’t change, right? We had to wait in our cars to be called, then we entered masked, one at a time. The mask came off only to be photographed for our badge, then I left and heard nothing for another month. In the meantime, I heard that Maine had one of the lowest census return rates in the country.  One possible reason being rural residents do not have reliable internet access (makes online school hard too). My county has an appalling 22% response rate. 

Three weeks ago I finally started my training and Friday was my first assignment. I was nervous.  I’m not afraid to go door to door, I like doing that for canvassing. I’m not afraid of dogs or angry anti-government types. I was more nervous about the way we have to enter the data onto a device, and though the training was excellent, it’s always hard until you actually do it. Friday I was sent to Deer Isle, a mere hour and twenty minutes away, and started the monumental task of finding the houses! These are addresses who have not sent in a response. I found many of them were summer residences and no one was there on April 1st, some were rented, a few were people who just hadn’t submitted their responses so I filled it out right there and submitted it. It’s actually kinda fun. It reminded me a bit of my visiting nurse days, trying to find obscure places down infrequently used paths. It’s an adventure. And I finally feel like I am doing something. I did come home with a splitting headache and was useless, but I’m out of shape in the employment department. I’ve grown accustomed to the princess lifestyle around here, putzing around, gardening, reading, painting. Whew! A reason to pull out the summer dresses! 

And there have been no angry responses about not trusting the government. We have a scripted response to questions, but mostly people have been lovely. When I can find them. One older man yesterday gave me information on a vacant looking apartment above a garage. I asked him if I could use him for a proxy and he was so kind and helpful. I thanked him a million times and asked if I could come back to him if I had problems finding others on that road, He said, “Why don’t I just come with you and that will save you some time?” Total sweetheart. He stood on the street and explained why the residences were empty, having lived there his whole life, he knew every coming and going and who went to the prom with whom. It was a hoot. It restored my faith in humanity. There are SO MANY good people out there and we need to remember that. 

I’ll put in some hours every day this week then next Sunday I leave for the Allagash! Can’t wait! Got my map, got my gear laid out, logistics are coming together, and I realize how much I thrive on having an adventure on the horizon. 

Off to today’s assignment! Make sure you all have filled in your census form. Go to census.gov if you’re not sure or haven’t done it. Think about the thousands of dollars your community will get from your participation. Thank you!!

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~  Going With the Flow

Khote-khote wa njoka, utsata kumene kwaloza mutu. ~ Crooked is the way the snake moves, but you follow where the head points.

~ Chewa proverb

July 19, 2020

Hi Everyone,

It’s a quiet Sunday morning, very still and serene. It’s so different from what my summer Sundays are usually like around here. I’m used to being alone in the winter but not in the summer; this is very strange. Last evening, three friends and I sat six feet apart around my newly constructed fire pit, drank wine, and talked. It was a warm evening for these parts but the fire kept the bugs away and the glow felt good as the chill set in when the sun went down. It was peaceful. We shared gardening stories, traded tricks for deer repelling, and talked politics. I thought about how removed we are from the sickness and death, from the violence, from the sweltering city confinement. My biggest problems of the day were slugs, deer visits, and a clogged bathroom sink. All that seems so petty. I sat, enjoying the evening, wondering if past generations sat and discussed the political instability in their country before all out war broke. My anxiety mounted again this week as new bold fascist acts unfold. I thought, “Yup. Just when I started accepting the craziness, here it goes up a notch.” It’s happening. And there we sat, discussing, in comfort and companionship, the witnessing of our country’s downfall. We’d all supported the same candidate who lost the primary on Tuesday so the bubbly we’d planned to drink in celebration we drank in solidarity. We accept the results and know we need to come together for the general election. It’s our only way out of this now.

 As I sat down to write this morning I thought about how mundane my life seems. No travel adventures to write about, no forays into new cultures and experiences. I always considered travel the great teacher and now I’m forced to take responsibility for my own growth. I have a new appreciation for home schooling. The lessons I’m learning now are civics and history. I appreciate this opportunity and recognize how privileged I am to do so. When the pandemic started I thought with horror that I might not be able to travel for a few MONTHS! Now I accept that there won’t be any traveling for the next year at least. It is unlikely the grandkids will even come for their summer stay. I thought I’d be back in Malawi this year, at least for a couple of months. This is the first time in my adult life I have no future plans. That feeling panicked me at first but I’m settling into it. I’ve been thinking about stuff I’ve been wanting to do in Maine. It’s a big state and I’ve explored relatively little of it. I’d saved domestic adventures for when I was older and international travel wasn’t as feasible. Well, here we are. 

I’ve been wanting to do a canoe trip down the Allagash River in northern Maine. Hearing stories of the trip from other’s who’ve done it put it on my radar a long time ago. But for one reason or another I just haven’t been able to pull it off. It’s not something I can do alone for one thing. I’m not super confident on the water and I definitely wouldn’t be able to maneuver a canoe myself, especially through rapids, so I needed to recruit a partner. Turns out that was not easy. Summer’s a hard time to get someone to take a week away from their life here. People have guests, second and third jobs, kids’ activities, events; it’s hard to budget the time away. Then, it has to be someone interested in doing this. I’ve found fewer people like camping than I imagined. And it is a week long commitment with lots of logistics; vehicles have to be moved on dirt logging roads. But the stars are lining up this year (funny the upside of a pandemic) and I’ve got the trip planned for early August with three friends. I love the idea of being deep in the wilderness, cooking over a campfire, sleeping on the ground, and reflecting on all those who lived on that river long before settlers arrived.

I keep pulling out maps, studying how the river flows into lakes and ponds, wondering about water levels, dry sacks, portages. I worried about getting lost. My son, who has done this, told me there’s no way to get lost. The river only flows one way once you’re on it. Go with the flow. I never appreciated that phrase quite as much as now. I worried about the rapids. My friend assured me I can manage them. “And”, he said, “if you do capsize there, you get out, bail out, and keep going.”  Good philosophy for life.

Wishing everyone well in these strange times.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Judgement (Election) Day

Usamatame nchito zace mtima wace usanaudziwe. ~ Do not praise his works until you know his heart.

~ Chewa proverb 

July 12, 2020

Hi Everyone,

I don’t work well with vague instruction. “Get out and do your part!” confuses me unless there is a clear task. I appreciate the enthusiasm but if I don’t understand what “my part” is I always feel like a disappointing slacker. Early in my career when nurse-midwives were fighting for the right to practice in an unwelcoming medical system, I heard the cry from our national organization to become involved in state and federal politics and do our part! We were to ask our legislators for votes on specific bills improving our ability to practice and women’s ability to access care. I had no idea how to do that. I lacked skill to even access the legislative system, never mind sit down with our elected officials. The aura was too thick, the schedule too packed, the desks too wide, the furniture too polished. Our national organization recognized this and offered educational sessions on the step by step on how to sit down with your elected officials and educate them. The whole process was intimidating and took some practice. But I found I liked it. So why is it so hard to keep up? 

My Maine midwifery colleagues and I made appointments and spent time on Capitol Hill informing legislators about midwifery practice and issues for Maine women. Access to care, discrimination, reimbursement for services, are all complex issues to present in fifteen minute blocks and it was always nerve wracking. The process is fascinating though; walking the halls of Capitol Hill buildings is daunting but awe inspiring. The flags! The plaques! The suits! We get a little giddy: the attire, the photos, the formal waiting areas, the conference room, the preparation about who speaks when and who is from whose district. It’s a game and I see why lobbyists get off on it. I also see why elected officials get corrupted by it. The power is overwhelming.

I remember sitting at a huge conference table with Olympia Snowe on a Tuesday morning, her brocade suit a major distraction for me. I couldn’t take my eyes off the suit. It was mint green, heavy, with shiny threads running through it. It looked like something the queen would wear to a state affair. All that was missing was the crown. I wondered what this woman wore to weddings? We took a posed photo before we got to any discussion (if that’s what you want to call it) as if the photo was more important than what we had to say. We sat. We had our little scripts we had to work into the fifteen minutes our group of ten were allotted. She wasn’t listening. I watched her; smile never changing. Her only comment was “Did you say three million with an M? That shouldn’t be a problem.” And I then watched the aide (a health aide? a personal attendant? older woman, more subdued suit) say, “Wait, we need to know more…” as Snowe was nodding with a wooden smile and agreeing to everything we asked. I sat watching and thought, “Wow, this was either very easy or very scary.” Our requests were never granted. Or at least not for the next twenty years. 

I had a flashback to my father sitting at the breakfast table with his face hidden by the open newspaper. This was a common morning scene but one day he collapsed the paper onto his lap roaring with laughter, tears streaming down his face. He tried to speak as we asked what he’d read that was so funny but he was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. When he could finally collect himself he tried to read aloud to us, having to stop several times while he endured another choking fit of laughter, “There are two things one should never watch being made,”  At this point there was another outburst of laughter and he had to stop again. We waited. It was fun to watch him so amused. We laughed just because he did. So far there was nothing very funny. He gathered himself again and continued, “One is sausage…(another outburst of hilarity), the other is…(we could hardly make out his words as he grasped for breath through his howls)…THE LAW!” He finally got out the last words and dropped his head on the table as if the funniness of this was just too much to bear. We stood there, trying to understand what the hell was so funny. It was a huge disappointment. I barely even cracked a smile when I heard the punchline. 

Sitting with Olympia Snowe that day, I finally got it but thought it was more tragic than funny. There have been many similar scenarios in my career and I’m bloody sick of it. 

Tuesday is primary day here in Maine and I can’t stand the suspense. Covid pushed the June election day forward with the assumption we’d be out of the woods by now. In Maine, however, the woods are never far away. Hopefully this has been a blessing for Betsy Sweet, the senate candidate I’m supporting. The past month has highlighted even more what is at stake. As each passing day prolongs the bad acid trip of a reality we’re living through, the electorate of Maine might be waking up. I am hopeful. I want to be sitting in my poorly lit greenhouse on Tuesday evening zooming in on the victory party. I worry I haven’t done enough: letters to the editor, letters to voters, donations, and signs are only small offerings. I had imagined going door to door and am wondering if being unable to do that has hurt or helped. But know what makes me feel better? She does! Her enthusiasm and energy always make me feel better. I want her to be my senator and imagine a country where everyone has compassionate, intelligent representation. Susan Collins has got to go and I’m more excited about this candidate than I’ve ever been. I can envision calling her for an appointment, visiting her office, and actually having her interested in what I am saying. 

I was sitting with Betsy at the Common Ground Fair last September volunteering at her table. There was a little lull and she turned to me and asked, “Since you work in health care, what is your view on immunization?” I thought, “Wow. A candidate educating herself about important issues affecting her constituents.” I went into a little fantasy of what it would be like to have her in the senate. To have many like her in the senate. We CAN turn this country around, I know it.  She has a history of advocating for women. She wrote Maine’s Clean Election Law. She understands the system. She’s unafraid to interact with those who disagree with her. She listens to their stories and learns from them. She is smart. She’s progressive. I am confident of our shared values. She has the experience, stamina, and guts. She is everything a leader should be. And I sit here and think, why should this be so remarkable? This should be the norm. So let’s make it that way. We can do this.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Where We Are

Athawa mpfuu race womwe. ~ He runs from the sound of his own echo.

~ Chewa proverb

July 5, 2020

Hi Everyone,

I am a sucker. I admit it. I never learn. My habit of giving the benefit of the doubt often doesn’t work out for me so I don’t know why I keep doing it. My trust issues tend to make me overcompensate in business dealings and I’ve had more than a few bad endings. These are difficult times, I get it. So when someone needed a temporary place to stay I gave him a deal on the rent when he told me he couldn’t afford the place. I knew he had a good paying job but thought his money problems were none of my business. The agreement was he’d do some needed work in exchange for reduced rent. (If anyone is considering doing this, call me first.) He was a pleasant chap, had a friendly dog, flattered me about my book, listed all the tools he had, raved about the house, and it all blurred my judgement. I rationalized that, even though I could have done the work myself, my energy could be put into other things. I assumed any decent person would make good on the agreement. But he clearly did not appreciate my generosity, or if he did he didn’t feel the need to honor it. He moved out early, let someone from out of state stay there, got defensive when I asked about it, and didn’t get his stuff out until midnight of his last day without having done any of the work. He also left the place filthy. And took the set of sheets I’d lent him. Not that I want those back.

I kicked myself as I madly cleaned, painted, scrubbed, and fixed broken wall lights (with an SOS to my neighbor for help with that) in order to get it ready in time for the next tenant. I spent a fair amount of the time complaining to myself about what an idiot I am. I didn’t even get a deposit! What a smooth talker! I told myself I will never do this again! Then thought I may have heard that before from myself. How do people live with themselves? I ruminated as I worked, listening to podcasts and oldies when I got tired of hearing myself think. Oh well. I kept my word and I get to live with that. He has to take himself with him. I always left rental properties better than I found them. It was my home and I cared for it. When we were dirt poor I’d asked a landlord if we could have a deal on the rent in exchange for fixing the place up. He refused without a hesitation. I always thought that was rigid and uncreative of him. Now I understand. I did manage to get all the work done before my new long-term tenant arrived and after a quick smudge it’s all good energy in there now. I complained to my friend that I’d never rent to entitled, privileged white males again. “Can I discriminate like that?” I asked. She said, “Probably not. Why don’t you just have a better rental contract?”  Hah! She’s right, of course. I’m the one who’s gullible but wanted to blame a whole group because of one person. Hmm. What does this remind me of?

Segue to Facebook. I admit I rely on it for announcements, information, entertainment, and connection. As disgusted as I am with it’s CEO I’m still using it. It’s not like Walmart or Hobby Lobby where I can boycott the place and still live comfortably. It’s annoying that I’ve become dependent on it and am very grateful to the advertisers who have pulled their business. I don’t drink coke or would buy some just because. I try to limit the amount of time I spend on there, but am often lured into this substitute for human contact. I have blocked a couple of people whose posts I can’t tolerate but have kept some, including my brothers, for reasons I’m trying to understand. Their views disgust and embarrass me yet I hesitate to hide them. I worry about being associated with them and struggle deciding if I want anyone else to see them. Sometimes I just take the comments down, (thank goodness we are able to do this) but then I think about what it means to stay silent when someone speaks in racist language. Is removing a post staying silent? I don’t believe I will change their minds. I consider them members of a cult and who knows what it takes to get people out of cults. I mean, seriously, when career military people are defending this behavior, what else can it be but a cult? I decided to let some of the comments stay and state my truth without trying to find an exposed nerve to jab. I need to get clear about what my goal is, though, when I do engage. I’m learning more about how we perpetuate racism if we stay silent and I have a lot to learn about how to speak up effectively. Maybe just challenging it publicly is enough. I heard from an old high school friend that she really did not know what was racist about the post she put up when I simply stated it was racist. She sent me a private message asking me to explain and it was an honest request. I was moved by her question. She said she really wanted to learn what she had done wrong. I thought about how to respond because her question was so different from other provocative comments I’m used to. I told her I was glad she reached out because I really wanted to discuss it. I told her I am learning about how we perpetuate racism in our system and I’m not an expert, but can safely say that expecting black people to thank northerners for fighting the civil war is inappropriate to say the least. I explained a little of what I’d read, how our history lessons were so inadequate in school, and that I’m trying to learn more. She thanked me and took the post down. I felt good about that and want to have more discussion with her if she’s willing. Again, I’m not claiming to be an expert, only someone who wants to be more aware. I really think there are racists who are beyond the pale and pathologic, whether it is from their past experiences of abuse or from greed and narcissism, I don’t know. But I also believe there are good people who are victims of a terrible education system and are unaware of how their actions and words are affecting others. 

In the voter training they said: Meet people where they are, but don’t leave them there. I like that.

Love to all,

Linda