Here in Minnesota, snow plays a major role in our happiness,

Without it, the holidays are bleak; the low pressure that bears down on our hemispheric weather systems depresses us. 

And let's be frank - brown dirt is not as pretty as  wet and white snow covered ground.

Snow makes a difference.

When I was a child, I began each year at this time to pray for snow.

In those days I believed that a white Christmas had the power to save the world.

All the songs supported me.

"Where the tree tops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow."

I wanted to be one of those children.  If the tree tops glistened, I'd trouble myself to be one of the listening gang of silly youngsters.

But if the treetops were naked, black and brown with the December death all around me, my spirits were bleak.

Snow made a difference then - and it makes a difference today.

That's why I cannot complain when new snow falls. 

I only complain when i am the only one who moves it off my walks and driveway.

But that's another topic, isn't it?

Happy holidays!

There are many reasons why I would enjoy a run at the school board, a county commissioner seat or city council. Most days I'm certain I would be a better Governor than Pawlenty, especially concerning decisions affecting the poor, civil rights, the critical separation of church and state and of course, reproductive freedom.

And I've been asked. When I lived in Rice County, the local DFL leadership frequently sought me as a candidate against the notorious John Tuma, anti-choice, pro-gun legislator turned lobbyist .

But I had a real life in those days. I had children to raise, sermons to write, a man who was always in the way. There was no time for political posturing.

Now, my children are grown, my church turned Republican, and my former husband is working on his fourth marriage. My real life disappeared long ago. Even so, I cannot run.

The reasons are simple. After almost sixty years of speaking, writing, working for the poor and advocating for women, I have something my mother warned me to never have.

I have a reputation.

I'm known as an outspoken advocate. Google my name, if you don't believe me. I'm flattered that some of my essays have been identified as the "best" on the internet and the "most progressive" of printed media.

My name is not at all "household," and yet, I've been called a "dangerous American" by people who have never met me.

Last week, an executive head-hunter phoned.  He had a client, he said.  A Twin Cities corporation, seeking an experienced writer, editor, copywriter and communications professional.  He asked if I was interested.

I was.  I am.  And so I forwarded my latest work.  The headhunter, bless his heart, is a young, young man.  He looked at my material and gushed with approval.  National Public Radio.  Column in the Star Tribune - surely, he said, the client would be interested.

Seriously?  Interested in a woman who's name makes a conservative corporate officer turn to salt?  I don't think so. 

But last week, once again, I allowed myself to nurture a vague and rather adorable hope. 

I am a silly and foolish woman.  The expected happened.

This morning the recruiter called me, baffled.  I am, he said, the obvious candidate for the position.  The poor recruiter couldn't understand why the hiring manager turned me down, and asked instead for a candidate described as inferior to me - the next on the list. 

"It makes no sense," the recruiter said.  "He didn't give a reason. He only said he wouldn't meet you." 

I comforted him.  "I don't mind," I said. 

I told the truth. I don't. I no longer go where I'm tolerated.  I work now for organizations and individuals who celebrate the values and skills I bring forward. 

That's why I'm not running for office.  Momma was right - the only thing a girl has is her reputation.  Me?  In cahoots with the likes of Pawlenty and the other hooigans who promise one thing and deliver nothing?  Not on your life.

I have a reputation to maintain.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a gentleman– giving all your love to just one nation. 

        Sleep deprived, over caffeinated and intellectually bankrupt , Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) put away all pretense to Southern hospitality and went on the attack.

       The Senator’s target? President Obama, his stimulus package and creative fight to right the wrongs of the failing American economy. 

        “Scaring people is not leadership,” Graham said, referencing the President’s attempts to communicate with the American people. “ Writing an editorial that if you don’t pass this bad bill we’re going to have disaster — we’ve had enough presidents trying to scare people to make bad decisions.”        

          Graham’s comments over-viewed his contempt for the Obama’s administrative approach to open communication and reliance upon the feedback and input from the American people.

          Although exhausted from working more than any white man from South Carolina should have to, Graham yesterday found the energy to flail himself into a petulant rage on the Senate floor, protesting the President’s  efforts to save the American economy.

       Coming to the conclusion that the stimulus bill is an “orgy of spending,” for the poor, Graham openly yearned for the good old days when government supported stimulus served only the rich.

        “The process that’s led to this bill stinks,” he said. “There is no negotiating going on here.  Nobody is negotiating. We’re making this up as we go.   This is not the way you spend a trillion dollars.”

The Right Way to Spend a Trillion

        To be fair, it is important to acknowledge that as a long-time supporter of  failed Republican economic decision making, Graham knows a great deal about the correct way to spend a trillion dollars.  His comments signal his intention to hold-out for some old-time thinking to solve these new-age problems.

       “Ronald Reagan and Tip O’Neill set  (sic) down,”  he said, “and found a way to go forward with Social Security.”

        Of course, Graham seems to have forgotten that the Social Security administration is weaker today than ever before.  His comments signal an ignorance of the fact that the American  infrastructure is crumbling.  Federal financial systems are inept and bankrupt.

       But perhaps the Senator  is not exhausted afterall.  Puffed, privileged and petulant, perhaps the rages we hear from the Senator are the last gasps of an old era, yielding the the fresh winds of change. 

No one in my family believes in Easter anymore.

My grown daughters are both self-confessed atheists. My former husband would rather be in the woods, slogging around listening to the toads mate than in church. My brothers and sisters all died knowing this, this life, this is it.

And sometimes it’s hard to hold up this faith all by myself.

Church people don’t make it any easier. The churches I attend are over-populated with self-congratulating couples, trotting about in matching Sunday outfits, chatting nonstop about their fabulous getaways to the latest bed and breakfast, or their wonderful dinner party last night with Garrison Keillor and his darling wife. What was her name again?

I kid you not. This is what Presbyterians do for fun.

So, here I am, facing the Big One. The Resurrection Sunday. The holiday for which all other Sundays were born.

Christ is Risen – (as the signs say, he is risen “indeed.” I always giggle when I see that word…) and those of us who still believe in the power of the faith and the strength of the eternal metaphor – those of us who have taken vows and who hold them fast in every bargain — we want to be in the front row.

I’ll be there again this year. Alone.

Wearing, as always the obligatory Easter bonnet with all the frills and a big smile for all the kiddies in their cute little pastel frocks and over sized baby-sport coats.

And I’m glad he is risen. Indeed, I am.

My wish is for the church to rise as well. When it does, I’ll have a leg to stand on when I, once again, try to lure my wayward people back to worship.