How Long Must I Wait?

Well it's another election cycle and the big news is the last woman standing
just gave up.  Elizabeth Warren has suspended her campaign for president.
That leaves us with two old, very old, white, very white, men; Crazy Uncle
Joe and  Angry Jewish Grandpa.

I am disappointed, disillusioned, and soon to become disengaged.  Tell me
why I should keep participating in a process that ignores me and more than
half of the population of this country?  Please explain why we are not taken
seriously,  why we are still patted on the hand and told; now, now, politics is
a dirty business.  You don't want to be involved in such sordid shenanigans,
now do you dear?  A woman certainly cannot have the stomach for such as
this.

Let me be perfectly clear, many of us women are smarter, and much more
capable than the two men still in the running; Elizabeth Warren, Kamala Harris,
and Amy Klobuchar any of whom would have made a more than capable
president, and would probably live out their four year term in office and still
be viable for another four years.

Around the globe there are more than twelve countries that have women
heads of state: Denmark, Thailand, Germany, Argentina, Brazil, Austrailia,
Liberia, Bangladesh, Iceland, Costa Rica, Finland, Lithuania, and Scotland.
What does the electorate in these countries know that we in the United
States do not?  What is the fear?  Are the men in this country so intimidated
by a strong woman that they fear putting her in charge of the affairs of the
state?  Or do they think their own wives would get the 'wrong idea'?

Pundits say that it is because there is a dearth of women in politics, but
there were enough women (five) in the race at the beginning, granted two
were airheads, one of which was eliminated early on, and one is still hanging
in there.  Though I can't imagine where she is getting her funds from.  But
speaking of airheads, just look at the current occupant of the White House.
There are hundreds of women who could do a better job than he has done,
without breaking a sweat.

The process by which a person is vetted after entering any of the races, from
city, county, state, or federal, can be brutal.  But chances are pretty great that
none of the women would be accused of grabbing another woman by her
genitalia, or forcing her into a sexual liaison, well there is one chance in a
thousand.

I used to think that I would live long enough to see a woman president, but
I am beginning to wonder, even though I am younger than the two men
running on the Democratic ticket.  But then so is four-fifths of the country.
Do I have to wait another four years?  Or will one of these septuagenarians
select one of the great women that shared the debate stage with them. The
first one that does has my vote.

                                            I'm just sayin'.

Donde Esta Mi Casa

What does it take to leave everything that is familiar, everything you knew
and believed in behind, and start again?  I just spent a few weeks finding
that out.

I have traveled extensively in the past ten years since my husband passed
away.  I have been to fourteen countries; some years in the Spring and
Fall and some years just in the Fall.  Many of my trips have been with a
travel company which books most of my transportation and accommodations,
and then just leaves me to wander on my own, with some intervention when
requested.  As such I have been lost in some of the most beautiful cities in
the world; Krakow, St. Petersburg, Rome, Istanbul, and Beijing.  I have
survived those encounters, for the most part unscathed, physically anyway.
With the exception of Beijing, where an old woman struck me with her
broom for taking pictures of her and her hutong.  I guess she didn't like
my pronunciation of 'nee how'.

But the trip I returned from yesterday has changed me and my thinking.  I
was asked to join some friends who had rented a condo in Trujillo on the
beach and then Lima for carnival. We were to spend a week in Trujillo,
and then drive down to Lima for the carnival celebrations.  I eagerly
accepted, I have never been to South America, though I have been to
Europe, Asia, and Africa several times.  Just after Christmas I booked
my flight to Peru and home again, and began packing my summer duds...

I am a native North American, born and lived most of life in Chicago.  My
family background is Polish.  A little more than one-hundred years ago
my family emigrated to this country from Poland and settled in Chicago.
When they came to this country they were welcomed by a large Polish
community, they had a job waiting for them and a place to stay.  And when
they had saved enough money for a down payment, they were able to buy a
house with the help of a Polish fraternity that held the mortgage, for little
or no interest.  Their neighbors all spoke Polish, and we children went to
school and were taught all of our lessons, with the exception of English,
in Polish.  This continued until we were acclimated to life in the United
States, and were able to assimilate into the culture of the country.

As painless as that appeared to be, I imagine it still took a great amount
of courage to leave home and homeland and begin again,  Though for
most Poles that decision was made for them by others than themselves.

Today, so many people come to this country without that support system
that enabled my family to move up and into the social structure that is
America.  For the last few weeks I have had a taste of what that must
be like.

My journey began at O'Hare airport, where for the sixth time in the last
three years my luggage was out-sorted and I was asked to surrender my
passport.  I was questioned and my luggage was opened and inspected.
After twenty minutes or so my passport was returned, my luggage was
relocked and I was allowed to go on my way.  I have ceased asking why,
because the TSA doesn't say why, they just smile and say thank you.  If
I were a stranger to the U.S. I would be terrified; I was troubled the first
time it occurred.  Now I just go along with the program, but as a citizen
I know my rights.  What would happen if I were a new arrival here?

I made my way to my gate and awaited my flight on Interjet Airlines.
Interjet is one of the largest airlines in Latin America, and I must admit
I never heard of them before booking with them for my flight to Peru.
I took my place in a seat near the boarding area.  My seatmates were
chatting away all around me, yet I could not understand a word they
said.  I tried on my best smile and it was returned as a blank stare.
Then came the announcements regarding the flight.  They were in
what I assumed was Spanish, the English translation was so accented
as to be unintelligible.  That was OK, the board listed the flight as being
on time and I figured I would just go with the flow.

My flight was to layover in Mexico City, I have a passing acquaintance
with conversational Spanish that has served me in emergencies, so I
figures I would be OK.  The announcements on the plane were in Spanish,
where I could catch every fourth or fifth word, but since I know the safety
announcements by heart, I wasn't too worried.  That announcement was
repeated in a language similar to Spanish, in what I was soon to learn was
Peruvian.  How stupid of me to assume that all Latin Americans spoke
Spanish.  Lesson number one.

Disembarking in Mexico City, thirty minutes late, I had to go though customs
and immigration, to accomplish that I needed to fill out a declaration form,
it was in printed in Spanish.  Thankfully a young man who noticed my distress
translated the form for me and allowed me to cut in line in front of him.  After
exiting the secure zone, I had to get to the gate for my connecting flight.  I am
sure I was looking a bit harried by now. A man guided me to a waiting taxi to
drive me to my gate area, and after driving around a bit he pulled up to the
door for my airline.  The driver said 45, I said pesos? He said American dollars.
That is when I realized I had 'been taken for a ride'.  I sat up as erect as I could
and told the driver if he did not open the door and let me out I would begin to
scream.  I think I frightened him enough as he unlocked the door and I retrieved
my luggage, tossed two dollars into the front seat and fairly ran into the terminal.
Lesson number two.

I realized how close I had come to being robbed or worse, and my confidence
was waning rapidly.  I made it to my gate with fifteen minutes to spare.  Another
five hours in a plane where I felt like an alien, transported into a strange place
where I didn't know the language or the customs.  It was now twenty-two hours
since I had eaten or slept.

Arriving in Lima, Peru's capital and largest city, I had a nine hour layover.  There
were only two flights daily to Trujillo, one in the morning and one in the late
afternoon.  I had booked the afternoon flight with good reason; the connection
would have been close if everything went well, it didn't.  The flight into Lima
was fifty-five minutes late and the plane to Trujillo was lifting as we landed.

I changed my dollars for Peruvian soles at the airport bank and proceeded to look
for something to eat and drink.  the food signs looked like they had in Chicago;
KFC, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, and Burger King, but for one thing, the descriptions
were in Peruvian and no one spoke English.  I decided to forgo American fast-
food and opted for a sit-down meal.  With much pointing and hand gestures I
managed to order a bowl of soup, an empanada, and a glass of papaya juice.  It
was outstanding!  I was regaining my confidence and feeling better by the minute.

I spent the remaining seven hours waiting for my flight, reading and dozing on
and off.  Sleep was next to impossible, the din in the airport approximated the
noise from a jack-hammer, and it was a constant, all-pervasive noise.  I
hesitate to call it conversation, because it sounded like babble to me.  I could
not even catch a word here and there.  Looking around me, I couldn't recognize
faces that looked like mine.  The faces were browner with black hair and dark
eyes; beautiful people, but not like me.  I was beginning to feel isolated and I
had only been in Peru for thirty-three hours.

In Trujillo, my friends met my flight with smiles and hugs, it felt so good to
touch someone who was like me, spoke a language I understood and who
understood me.  The world made sense again.  I was told not to get used to
riding in the car, they walked everywhere, and on the trip to the condo I
realized why.  I have never experienced driving with such abandon, horns
blaring.  It made Rome traffic look like a stroll with a baby buggy.

Peru is beautiful, crowded, clean, old and new, chic and kitschy, European
and Incan, all rolled into a dizzying, crazy, ear-splitting cacophony.  I
walked the streets and tried to imagine melding into this culture, I could
not. I was glad I went and even more glad to come home.  But I have a
new respect for any immigrant who is trying to make their way in America.
And the next time I see someone with a map in their hand looking like a
deer in the headlights, I will stop and ask them if I can help.

                                                      I'm just sayin'.