Purple State Blues

I love living in Colorado. Purple mountain majesty, healthy lifestyle, and all the rest. But right now, I envy my friends in California and Utah, and any other state that is rigidly blue or red.

Colorado is a purple state. A battleground state where pollsters can’t solidly predict who will win the electoral votes in the presidential election.

As a purple state, we are visited frequently by both candidates. It seems like one of them is here every few days. You’d think it would be exciting, and I have gone to a couple of political rallies. But after a while, it’s just a pain. I roll my eyes when I hear that Obama’s coming . . . again . . . and the freeway will shut down right about the time I have to drive to work. The phone rings all too often with an announcement that Romney’s doing a rally. At this point, I just want them all to stay home.

That’s not the worst of it though. That would be the TV, radio, and print ads. They have invaded every form of media like hideous tiny monsters poised to jump out at any minute. Research says that 97% of the ads are negative. However, I didn’t need research to tell me that. The ads are the worst kind of name calling and, frankly, lying.

Each candidate twists information to suit his agenda. (I say “his” because right now all the leading players are men. However, female politicians are just as vicious.) Information is taken out of context. Fact checking is left to the fact-checkers – I’m not sure the candidates care, as long as they twist the “facts” to their advantage. The spin is so dizzying, it gives me a headache.

If it were only media that was a problem, I’d try to ignore it. But the election ugliness filters into dinner parties, church meetings, and everyday conversation. There’s a certain tension during everyday interactions – will she or won’t she bring up her disdain for Romney . . . again? Will he start ranting again about Obama’s foreign policy? Will this pleasant chatter dissolve into anger, fist-pounding, or annoyance?

Of course blue and red staters have these issues too. This is a mean-spirited election. It seems like the ugliest campaign in my lifetime, or at least since I started paying attention. In my twenties I was apathetic, more concerned with dates and school than who would be the leader of the free world.  During my thirties, I was busy raising three young boys, too tired at the end of a day to study the headlines and read party platforms. But those years passed, and I took notice.

Those days seem so simple now. Sometimes I yearn for that blissful ignorance . . . or at least a red or blue state.    

Transitions

Somewhere in northern California, May 2012

Life is all about transitions. They come regularly - birthdays, milestones, and firsts. They never end, and they are not all positive. (The first time you’re dumped? The first death in a family? The first colonoscopy?) We can’t do much about those transitions, except welcome them with as much grace as possible. It’s important, though, to celebrate the joyous ones.

I just celebrated a big one - my last child, Bryce, graduated from college. All three sons now have college degrees. One graduated in physics, one in music, one in biochemistry. Two are headed for graduate school within the next few months; one will likely go in the next year. Those college diplomas are hard-earned and I'm proud of these sons for achieving that honor. On a practical level, it feels like Robert and I are getting a raise, with no more college fees, monthly payments, and rent bills to dig up.  

Bryce graduates from Adams State, May 2012 - Next step - Graduate school at University of Utah

With all this good news, though, a question nags at me. Is my job as a mother finished? Are my boys officially grown up? They are now responsible for paying their own bills, making their dentist appointments, and doing their taxes. So, what exactly is my role in their lives?

Truthfully, I’m not sure, though a few things come to mind: helping to plan weddings, providing shelter and meals during holidays, calming nerves of new parents after babies are born, perhaps taking a grandchild for a weekend while tired parents get away. I like to think they’ll still travel with me and talk frequently.

But I don’t know. It’s a new era. We’ve never had an empty nest – two days after Bryce, son #3, moved out, my mother moved in. But this feels close to it.

The nest feels a little emptier these days because of another transition. We came to that awful place that all pet owners eventually come to – the time to end the life of a beloved family pet. Pet owners know this day will come. Dogs and cats have shorter lifespans than people. Pretty simple. But it’s still tough.

It was tougher than I thought it would be. It was clearly the right thing to do. Av, our Samoyed-Golden mix, was 16 years old. That’s an old, old dog. It was the only decision we could make, and in fact, it seemed cruel to continue to prolong his life. So, why when I walked up to the counter at the pound, did I choke up when I tried to say, “We’re here for an appointment to have the dog euthanized.”

Part of it was that I’d miss this loyal, gentle dog who snoozed by my feet as I wrote and welcomed everybody into our home with a wagging tail and smiling expression (yes, really). Perhaps a bigger part was that the dog’s passing was a further signal of the end of an era.

We got this dog for Bryce’s ninth birthday. Bryce was starting to read Where the Red Fern Grows for the third time.  He’d been begging for a dog for months. It was time.

Just as it was time to let him go . . . a few days after Bryce’s graduation from college.  

Transitions come and go, and we deal with them one by one. We celebrated this last graduation with a family trip. We went to Los Angeles, then drove up the California coast to San Francisco, where we stuffed ourselves with chowder and sourdough bread while breathing in the briny sea air. For me, travel is perhaps the best way to celebrate . . . well, pretty much anything. So this was a natural.

San Francisco, with Alcatraz in the background, May 2012

I’m not sure what the next transition will be, whether it will be thrilling or sad, whether it will be a major shift or a tiny change. I’ll wait and see . . . and hope for the best.