Seattle, Washington - written Saturday, Nov. 8, 2008
51 degrees, steady rain, wind from the south

Preview: This website has become a construction site. Before this time next week the content will have been reviewed, updated, and remodeled. If I’ll just get my work done, the tech wizards are standing by to turn raw material into recognizable images and information. It’s a hurry-up deal.
Why? On or by the 15th of November, Amazon will announce the availability of my novel, Third Wish, for download on their electronic reader, Kindle. And offer the printed version for pre-sale - for February delivery. Reader reviews, pictures, sound-bites, and music will also be posted. A week from now, between this site and theirs, you’ll have all the details.
But first, something much more important:

THE “C” WORD - a rant and a rave.

It’s not socially acceptable for an old geezer to walk up to a pretty young woman on a street corner and place his hands on her face. Especially if she and he are total strangers. This is over the line. The cops could be called. I know that. But I did that. And I want to tell you why. This is not an apology.

Scene: Thursday around noon. The day after the day after The Election. And like everybody else, I’m in a “Thank God it’s over” mood. And ready to get back to something resembling real life. If anybody uses the “C” word one more time I’m going to lose my composure and start shouting. Being in favor of change is like being in favor of oxygen and dirt and life. Duh. Put it down! Get real. Like fish in the sea, change is our element.

Scene continues: My dear friend Willy and I have had a workingman’s lunch at the Queen Anne Café - 1 corned beef sandwich and 1 pastrami sandwich, with extra pickles and fries. We did not have the lentil soup. The waitress said it looked like something she’d stepped in. And we trust her opinion.

Outside it’s raining buckets. The wind is blowing. It’s a nasty, gloomy day. But when Willy and I are together it’s always 70 degrees and sunshine. In great good humor we launch out into the weather on the way to Peet’s coffee a block away. So far so good.

Standing on the corner in the harsh weather is a young woman with a clipboard. “Oh, no,” I think. “Give me a break. Now what?” This corner always has people on it asking the passing stream of pedestrians to sign a petition or vote for somebody or something or enlist to protest something.
I’m thinking, “It’s over, it’s over - can’t this wait until maybe Monday?”

But, since I believe in free speech, and since I think it’s courageous of anybody to stand out there and reach out to people for any reason, and since I think that standing out there in this weather on this day puts one in the questionable intelligence category, and since I’m a sucker for sidewalk evangelists, I walk up to the clipboard carrier and ask, “So. What’s up?”

The face of a child looks up at me from under the hood of her sopping wet raincoat. Pretty. Soft. Sweet. Innocent.
“What on earth are you doing out here?” I ask.
A voice of mature commitment speaks back to me:
“We voted for change. Now we have to work for change to really happen.”
“Yes?”
“I’m with the ACLU - the American Civil Liberties Union - and we have a list of human rights that need to be addressed as soon as possible by the new administration. We’ve got a list to send to Washington. We need signatures and contributions.”
“And?”
It’s just not enough to vote for change. We have to make change.”

“How . . . old . . . are . . . you,” I ask, as I begin to loose my composure.
“I’m 19.”

I look into her eyes. I see hope. I see the future. I cannot speak.
All I can do is to reach up, take her face in my hands, and weep and think,
“Keep your eyes on the prize.”

It’s true what my generation says - the younger generation is going to hell. And when some of them get there, even hell may be . . . changed.
________________________________

I don’t know her name. But I know there are people connected to the ACLU
who read this column and who will know. Thursday, Nov. 6 - corner of Queen Anne and McGraw.  She may remember. Touch her cheek for me.
Tell her that . . . Tell her . . .  just tell her. . . “thanks.”