While there were no obvious dodos and no one ran in a circle* (oh, now that’s an easy extra credit point, no?) I found myself in the middle of a really pleasant mob yesterday. I hate crowds, but damn, the “down the street and around the corner” lines of folks wanting to attend the district caucus at the senior center was thrilling. We headed out at least 20 minutes earlier than you’d think necessary and it still took well over 30 minutes into the day’s schedule to get MOST of the people into the building.

By the time 2:30 had rolled around, I’d helped tally the votes (twice) and held up my hand to be the “delegate” to the next step, as a delegate for Obama at the district caucus in April. It’s a Saturday which is great but I still think of myself as having more time than other people since I can go shopping, run errands etc. seven days a week; working people have fewer options. Happily I didn’t even have to “run” – 5 hands went up and the 5th said “sure” when asked ‘would any of you be willing to be an alternate?” (you gotta have an alternate for every delegate. Mine sleeps next to me. Okay, I know you don’t get to have personal alternates but come on, how cute is it that Stu is an alternate to the same event. I seriously like him for doing this as it means that should April 5th be a really bad day for me, it won’t be a scramble to find someone who can fill in real quick.

The caucus thing still sucks. Only a small percentage of voters attend these things and while they MIGHT be representative, who the hell knows? Last time when I went, I went in as a supporter of Wes Clark. No one came in signed up for Edwards or Richardson or Kucinich. Most of that was probably bowing to the reality, the inevitability, but since our “primary” is a joke, having your first ballot be your most heartfelt one, woulda been nice to see the range. But we had very very little time and we got started SO late because based on previous numbers, there wasn’t a lot of time to gera up for what the newspaper dubbed a mammoth turn-out. (And Stu’ls litte fuzzy mammoth wants to know in that case, why didn’t he get to go to the senior center with us….rim shot please. Sorry but we will do these dumb jokes.)

It’s been so long since I wasn’t cynical, down, depressed, uncaring, disengaged by politics. This is a very minor thing; I don’t see myself going farther than the district event when there will be enough party types to go to the state convention. I’ m not a political party person. I grew up in a Democratic stronghold of a family but tend to dislike the party structure and from the time I was in college found myself far more comfortable with issues politics, over partisan politics. I mean at one point, supporting the Democrats meant being happy about Joe Lieberman. YUCK! No THANK YOU Amaryllis!

There were votes of all ages there yesterday. We’re a northern Seattle neighborhood, which seems to be permanently “in transition”. Some neighborhoods of Seattle, some of you who don’t live here might know, have personas, reputations. Seattle is where, when someone asks you “where do you live?” you tend to answer “Fremont” or ”Ballard” or “Greenwood” which is ours. We’ve had far to much condo building since we moved here (not just because I think they’re ugly and unaffordable by those of us who’d like to buy homes BUT because the water table here is um, well let’s just say that the scaffolding and tyvek makers of the world love neighborhoods like ours. Building walls crack, sidewalks sink, potholes bloom. But it’s way more affordable, from what little I know. And we certainly are white, but 9and yes, I looked hard) there were at least numerous folks there yesterday who were of color. And one of our other alternates is Ramon. But it was seeing what looked like college boys (I can’t tell anymore but they wore UW sweatshirts and looked young) and just in general seeing what looked like folks like us – boomers – to 20 something year olds. Thank GOD. And yes we aren’t there yet, but let it be so that by November, they still give a shit.

Got home, checked email, tried to lie down for a while because we still had dinner/concert to do and I’ll already spent like 3 hours in the scooter, which is not my idea of fun. (the fuckers sent a letter not approving the wheelchair saying I don’t have the right disabilities for it. Of COURSE I got it on the weekend so I can’t call yet and ask what the fuck it means. They don’t explain what half the terms are, just that I have A, b, c, d, and e and in order to get This sort of chair, you must have x, y and z. isn’t that a great way to decide things? Not based on what is wrong with me, what I need, but based on the fact that I don’t have the right disease?

Off we go by bus to the restaurant. We have lots of time and it’s a block from the theater. We get a salad, a couple little dishes and a couple big ones (that’s how this plac works best). All truly yummy (ah, peanut sauce. When the gods had nectar, it was Thai peanut sauce, I’m guessing.) and then Stu gets his main course. And I don’t. 2, 3, 5 minutes go by. I don’t see a waiter. Finally snag one – where’s my chicken? (ah, cooked with sambal, on peanut noodles) (drool). He’ll find out. Nuttin. Probably 10 minutes by now, and Stu’s almost done. YES, this ia food sharing sort of place, but it was clear, I think that we each expected our main course to be brought together and we’d share together. Waiter comes out (different one) doesn’t know what went wrong, sorry sorry really sorry and we’ll take care of it (by which I assumed he meant coming the entree) and we’ll get it to you as soon as we can. A couple more minutes and here it is, hot and fragrant and delicious. Everything I had hoped. And Stu gets some too. And thanks, that’s fine.

So we’re munching away, finishing Stu’s dinner, making inroads on mine and up comes Mr Idunno but he’s gotta be management or front house or chef, despite casual clothes because he’s there to apologize for making the mistake and the restaurant really is sorry and we will not be charged for the meals and here are two “coupons” to be used like cash next time. Which is more than expected, very gracious and yeah, we will go back. I mean they didn’t have to comp Stu’s lovely dinner, but our $50 meal ended up costing us $20. And yeah, we tipped well. That was how to do it. And I still got my dinner in plenty of time. Yay. Go team.

Then we headed over to the Paramount to find out what part of nosebleed country we’d end up in and holy wow. About ½ back in the orchestra, side section aisle seats. GOOD seats. For a concert where I found myself crying more than once.

If you’ve never heard Sweet Honey in the Rock (not to be confused, btw, with the other group that the guys at the restaurant near us confused them with. Ladysmith Black Mambazo. (well, you know,a capella, black, sort of weird name….) do find a cd or a mp3 or something and listen. I adore harmony and they ARE harmony. Years ago, I read a description of Crosby Stills and Nash and how just somehow, sometimes, a 4th voice emerged from their singing together(and no it wasn’t Neil Young – whatever his talents they don’t include a voice to swoon over!). When I closed my eyes, sometimes it was hard to believe that only five singers were on stage (6 women, but Shirley is the sign interpreter, or as Ysaye said last night, she does “hand vocals” a phrase I love.)

They are very into spirituality and growth and they sing songs with lyrics you aren’t going to find elsewhere bout “being a member of the world community”. They rap and sign, they sing and hum, they scat and use voices as horns and animal calls and they talk about empowerment and repression. And I love them. Because I don’t care when they go into the whole “you are great” Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers stuff because they do it with joy, conviction and fierce belief in what they say. And they sign spirituals and they use African rhythms and they get up and strut. And the music soars and your heart soars with it.

I would have, yeah, yeah, loved some older stuff (as someone who has listened to them since the 70s, and who owns most of their music in album form, I have my favorites) but they gave us2 hours of music we were privileged to hear.

I cry easily, it’s true. It was weird when filling out a survey post 9/11 about “how did these events affect you, can you tell?” to answer “I cry much more than I used to and don’t seem to know how to stop.” I cry when angry, I cry lots from frustration. But sometimes, as Stu calls it, I “cry for happy”. And Sweet Honey brings tears. They offer power, love, opinion, awareness, beauty and knowledge. They are so impressive. The group which has changed personnel lots of times over the years (it was designed that way) is made up of confident, creative women who seem to know how to do it right.

I’m an atheist. Many years back, at a special museum exhibit of Van Gogh’s paintings (in the last 18 months of his life, in Arles and St. Remy) I cried. I thought to myself that this is what religious people felt. That this awe, the amazement was what a religious experience was like, how it felt to be transported by god.

If god paints, he paints like Vincent Van Gogh in the fields of Arles. If god sings, she sings with Ysaye Maria Barnwell’s voice.