Blog, Beards, and Barak...

Blog

It used to be that my blog posts were interesting. I spoke of politics, and thoughtful insights, and other such things. I sounded young and vibrant and intelligent. I don't know if time has mellowed me or if I am just being too careful about not being offensive. But now, I think I might be boring to read.

Granted, this blog is not really the place for me to go all soap-boxy. However, if I had wanted to play it ultra-safe I wouldn't have made this blog public.

I am not really sure what I'm saying. Perhaps I think about being more risqué, but I worry about what family will think if I am too risqué. I think about stating my position and going all activist, but I can imagine how many people might get annoyed. Possibly this is not yet something that I have thought through enough to decide what I want to do.

Beards

The cold weather is upon us, and the dark of winter is here. (Even though technically it is not yet winter.) I can now say that there is a pattern: Stephen likes a beard when it gets cold. It is not yet as long as it was when he shaved it last year, but I am delighting in it.

I was pondering why it is that I like his beard so much. I know it is a little unusual: I haven't even met anyone that I can think of that enjoys the idea of their partner having facial hair. I know that partly it is a feeling safe thing. My daddy had a beard, and part of it is the feeling of being little and loving daddy. Part of it goes hand in hand with my idea of what an intelligent man looks like.

Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci.

Last but not least, a huge part of it goes hand in hand with my love of hippie culture. All hippie men, at least in my mind's eye, have beards, and I just find it extremely attractive. Yes, I suppose that means I have a 'thing' for hippie men. No, Stephen is not one. But he floats my boat when he rubs my cheek with his beard.

John Lennon, Jerry Garcia, Jim Morrison.

Part of me doesn't like to admit that I have such levels of fascination and identification with hippie culture. It feels somewhat silly, in today's modern age. But I look at my life thus far and it seems pretty obvious that it has always been that way. My mother told me, when I was a teenager and borrowing my daddy's shirts because I liked them far better than I did girl clothes, that I was her polar opposite. She spent the 60's and early 70's resisting and fighting against everything that being a hippie stood for, while I spent the 80's and 90's trying desperately to be one.

(One of my absolute favourite shirts is one I stole from my daddy way back when. It is blue, long sleeves, with mother of pearl snaps at the wrists and a pocket on the chest. I call it my "70's National Geographic photographer" shirt. It looks just like you imagine. Google Image it, too. Someone is wearing one.)

Since being an adult I have struggled to try to find the commune of my dreams. Reading about The Farm in Tennessee made me desperately want to go and live there. I always had a house full of people, and living with Dar and George was pretty much a happy commune situation. Sometimes I miss so many people around.

Barak

This election has been quite an interesting one for me. I thought it best explained when I responded to a friend's blog.

Hear, hear, and Huzzah!

I find it particularly interesting that so many people that I personally know feel profoundly affected by not only the physical act of voting, but also the results of said election. I have no previous memories of people crying for sheer exhilaration and joy, but that is what I see and hear happening. And, truth be told, I am feeling it too. I don't think it is Obama per say, at least for me it is not, but more the possibility of coming out of what has been seen as a very dark time. The glimmer of light in the tunnel ahead effect, I suppose.

While I have always been proud to be an American, the last year of living in a foreign country and seeing what the world thinks of us has been quite an eye opener. We made a huge difference this election. It might even make it so Americans don't have to hide their heads when leaving the country.

What I am saying is that I'm right there with you, my friend.

While I chose not to use the blog as a place to push my own personal politics, I am going to say that I am really quite happy with who won the election. Stephen stayed up late the night of. He let me sleep until it got exciting, then woke me up. We cuddled in bed and watched until the BBC called the election for Obama.

The next day, Tristan asked me while I was on the phone with him who I voted for. When I told him, he told me that it was a good thing I voted the way I did, because if I hadn't he would have been angry with me. Silly boy.