Forget Reagan, What Would Gramp Do?

People are scared. There’s talk of another Great Depression. And it seems that when a crisis so ominous comes along, both Republicans and Dems look to the past. “What would Reagan do?” say the Republicans who have had weak leadership in recent years. And “Remember the Clinton boom and budget surplus?” say the Democrats. We reminisce as we’re led like lemmings off a cliff. But can a powerful nation like the United States really let that happen again? Soup lines…Grapes of Wrath despair… 25 % unemployment? Things are different today. There are more safeguards against such a thing—the FDIC, unemployment that teeters around 6%, and a more stabilized Gross National Product than in the early 1930s. But we’re so spoiled and entitled, maybe it’s all relative. We may have to decide between our lawn service and our cleaning lady. Or the kids may suffer the humiliation of using an outdated iPOD…or we may need to buy a (gulp) used car.

If you want to know how to survive a deep recession that emotionally feels like a depression, don’t turn to the government. Ask your grandparents, if you’re lucky enough to have them with you. Or, say a prayer for their guidance. The members of the Greatest Generation, as coined by Tom Brokaw, were heroic in so many ways. My Gram and Gramp were guiding forces in my life into my 40s. It was a huge turning point in our family when they died only 7 months apart from each other. Gramp was a true hero of WWII, awarded two bronze stars and saving God knows how many of his fellow soldiers’ lives. We don’t know, because he never talked about it. Gram raised four kids on her own while Gramp was serving in Germany. In the 1960s and 70s, we remember their house as a safe haven—splashing in the pool, building tree forts and cuddling on the couch to watch Milton Berle or Lawrence Welk. They lived only a quarter mile or so from us, so my sister and I could walk there. And we did, just about every weekend. Gram and Gramp had a nice house and a comfortable life, but were always frugal. They had big holiday parties and barbecues, but never traveled. They gave us way too much at Christmas, but Gram saved her S&H green stamps in a little book. While Gram would be baking a pie in the kitchen, I’d wander into Gramp’s Magic Emporium known as his garage. “I need some kind of thick red cord for my science project, Gramp.” He would look at his dozens of containers (rejects from Gram’s kitchen) and pull out a plastic cool whip container of string and cords of every color and size. “Here’s a good red one,” he’d say. And it would be perfect. When I was a young adult, I was invited to a murder mystery party and the theme was a 1950s sock hop. My assigned role was a cheerleader…so I dug out my high school orange and black letter sweater and a black skirt. On my way to the mall to hunt for orange and black pom poms, I stopped as always to see Gram and Gramp. I told Gramp what my mission was and he said, “Hold on.” He disappeared into the cellar to access its crawlspace—a vortex of things past and present. He returned with…you guessed it. “Here you go, two orange and black poms poms.” I was stunned. They didn’t even smell musty. “I won’t ask where you got these,” I said, a little freaked out. This was exactly how my grandparents lived, always in the ready, with more canned food on the cellar shelves than they could ever consume and prepared for anything life dished out. Their willingness to save up for the things they desired made them so much sweeter. They believed in sacrificing today so their kids and grandkids would be better off tomorrow. They didn’t know greed or competitive spending to keep up with the Joneses. They knew the difference between really hard times and how to preserve the good times. We can’t depend on the government to get us through, but the answers may already be inside all of us. If we didn’t learn this deep seated resourcefulness from them then, we must learn it now.

The Debatable Pitbull: Open Snout, Insert Paw

Everyone watched the VP debate with anticipation, like looking at a car wreck, kind of half peeking over the couch to see some blood and (dare I say it?) gore. We didn’t get Palin’s off-the-cuff gibberish that we had in the Couric or Gibson interview—and that alone made her rise above the lowered expectations. But, she used the same babbling approach with betchas, dang its and gollies. It was mind-numbing. Like Mr. Rogers in drag, Sarah once again reminded us that she’s just like your neighbor out at the soccer field. Sweet. But I think the problems of the mortgage crisis, world economy, fragile foreign policies in Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran, climate change, gas prices, healthcare etc. need a powerful mind. As much as I love my neighbors, I want someone smarter than them (or me) to tackle these issues. And she’s just not. I was tempted to count all the times she used the word “also” –then I realized the also was her only way to string together a series of unrelated topics (the ones she memorized and rehearsed) no matter what the question. If the question was Wall St. she turned to taxes; if it was deregulation, she turned to energy. Her pitbullish excuse: “I may not answer as you Joe or the moderator want me to.” Joe Biden is not your teacher nor is Gwen Ifill the principle. It’s a debate! They don’t care how you answer, but ask only that you stick to the question. There’s no gotcha here. Like when Palin said we can go after terrorists in Pakistan, that wasn’t Katie Couric. That was a student. When you’re Sarah Palin and they let you out in public, I guess everyone is out to Getcha. But in the debate, it was glaringly obvious how many questions she just didn’t grasp: nuclear weapons, what an Achilles Heel means (dang that mythology!), the Wall St. situation etc. She’s not qualified, she’s not knowledgeable and there’s no question that Biden won the debate on the issues. But selfishly, I cannot not bear the thought of listening to hokey hockey stories in a voice that sounds like Mrs. Poole from the Hogan Family. Or, the mispronuniciation of the word nuclear for 4 more years!