When I was younger I was drawn to extremes. I wanted to be in the middle of a throbbing urban environment or out in the middle of the wilderness. My moods and my companions seemed to follow the same turning points of the pendulum. I wanted a life that was so flushed with passion and intensity that the only place for a still mind was in it’s slumber. There is merit in the experience, and I have no regrets about living it. I am, on he other hand, pleased that the inevitability of age has brought about a kind of ‘mellowing’. I still like to make noise sometimes,
but I’ve learned that screaming from the tower is not always the most effective way to spread your word. The space between the throbbing urban environment and the wilderness has many people just like me. People who have screamed, but their throats got sore and they found a better way to spread the love. They have not settled into doldrums, they have settled into peace.
This political process is not easy. I think the reason that our system is so screwed up is that it is next to impossible for the good guys to get into the fight. If you were not born with a bankroll and privileged with power, you better have the tenacity of a wolverine or you will be devoured before breakfast. The news will cater to what serves them, and the people that would benefit greatly from your public service will cut you to ribbons before they ever read the fine print. In my worst nightmare, I would not subject myself to such affairs. It is reserved for the stronger heart, the more solid ego, and unfortunately far too often…the bigger budget. There should be some kind of system where our to-be-elected officials speak their mind, layout their issues, and debate their case – that’s it.
Just the facts– without all the propaganda that accompanies the marketing strategies. I’m living in a grass roots campaign where like it or not – money matters. We’re not taking it from wall street, and the average American is using what they have to make the mortgage payment – including us. Without money from the little guy, the power will remain in the hands of the wealthy- in the hands of people like Crapo and those fooled by his rhetoric.
Just the facts– without all the propaganda that accompanies the marketing strategies. I’m living in a grass roots campaign where like it or not – money matters. We’re not taking it from wall street, and the average American is using what they have to make the mortgage payment – including us. Without money from the little guy, the power will remain in the hands of the wealthy- in the hands of people like Crapo and those fooled by his rhetoric.
I am here to talk about art – so I should move on. Pardon my ranting, but the youthful surges of my past overtook me.
We made it to Coeur D’Alene in time to set up at the Art Spirit Gallery. Several old customers from Tubs showed up to say hello and show their support for Tom. Passers by stopped in to see what was happening. It was the young ones in their twenties and early thirties that wanted the discussion. They wanted answers, they wanted information, they wanted a change. They questioned our government’s openness and the way information was ‘released’ to the public. They wanted to know about national debt, interest rates, health care, jobs, the environment…I did my best – and asked them to pick a color. I don’t want to sell myself short. I’m far from the dullest tack in the closet – but these were questions for Tom, and he’s happy to answer them. Write to him -he’ll write back. tom@tomsullivanforsenate.com
We were invited to two other political events happening in CDA following ours. A big part of me knew that we should attend and represent Tom – but we only had one night there – and I had other plans – personal plans. I needed to see the old Tubs Café (now O’Sheas), and our kids shared my desire to go back in time. We headed there directly after the FingerSmear with a few old friends. We pulled up and parked. We walked up to the outdoor patio that Tom and I installed in year two…or three. Memories enveloped me immediately, and I felt wonderful… I walked around. Things had changed – but tell-tale signs of our honeymoon years remained. The kids and I walked around as I retold stories of “I remember when you were here, and you did this, and I did that…” Robbie French was on the guitar, kicking out tunes with the vocal capacity of a superstar – we danced, and laughed, and danced. 10 years earlier they were in my arms – now they were at eye level – just as beautiful and amazing to me – but a bit taller.
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