Having lambed more than a half-dozen times at the first farm and this one, I can say I believe with near certainty that Griselle is pregnant, I’ve seen those udders drop many times. Tomorrow, we’re calling for the vet to come and take a look, and maybe do an ultra-sound. Time to look up sheep butts once or twice a day. Looks like the udder and the nipples are filled with milk. Hmmm…
I don’t much like it when people call me at home and interrupt my work and ask me to do things. And here I was, sitting in a Brooklyn campaign office – Hillary Clinton’s campaign office – and calling strangers up and letting them know that they can come in an volunteer.
I was uncomfortable at first, but not for long. My reporter head came back and I remembered how much I loved to work the phone. One editor said I had an amazing gift for getting people to talk on the phone. “Once you get somebody on the phone, he have them,” he said, “they don’t get off without talking to you.” Made me proud.
I reeled in one after another, signed them all up – at least five or six before the phones went dead. And I didn’t even come to make any phone calls, I came to take care of Robin while my daughter made phone calls. I think it is true that sometimes we are led to do things we don’t even mean to do or know we should do.
I’ve learned later in life to accept things, and not to ponder them too, too much. I do things almost every other day that I have never done before, and that is certainly the way I want to live, the way to truly keep alive.
I think I ended up in the right place at the right time with the right women. Robin was unimpressed.
It wasn’t really politics that started it for me, it was family, my daughter and granddaughter. I have never, in my entire life, volunteered for a political campaign, made telephone calls on behalf of a politician, put a bumper sticker on my car or a sign on my lawn.
I do not tell other people what to do, or wear my beliefs on my sleeve, I do not shout or argue about politics.
I am not putting left or right labels on myself, and do not accept the labels of other people.
But today, and for the first time in my life, I went with my daughter Emma and my granddaughter Robin to a Hillary Clinton volunteer workstation on the 24th floor of a non-descript and ugly office tower to help care for the baby while Emma, who has volunteered for the Clinton campaign, made some phone calls letting supporters know there was work for volunteers to do – phone calls and door-to-door canvassing.
When I was a political writer, I worked on the other side of things, I never really saw the volunteers or was drawn to be one. I don’t join things or belong to anything but Bedlam Farm. I don’t go to political meetings or gatherings of writers or town meetings.
I was drawn to the idea that my daughter and granddaughter were going out to support the campaign of a woman who might be the next President of the United States.
And to my surprise and Emma’s, I found myself making calls. I signed up five or six volunteers in just a few minutes, some while holding Robin in my lap. I was taken aback. “Thank you for calling me,” they said. “I want to help.”
I went to Brooklyn to see Robin and help Emma out, she wanted to help the campaign, but couldn’t leave the baby with her husband Jay, he was working.
I was struck by the atmosphere of the room. I was diverse – African-Americans, Asians, Caucasians, young and old, gay and straight. There was a softness, a gentleness around the room, people were nice to one another, they were soft-spoken, there was no anger, no conspiracy talk or tension, no bellowing, there was an almost sad resignation about the need for them to be there, about the ugliness raging outside and online and on TV.
I liked the people there, I felt at home.
I learned today that babies make people smile even more than dogs, and I ferried Robin around the room to cheer people up, lift their spirits. Therapy work,of a kind, Red would do a world of good in there, so did Robin. People need to smile more and rage less.
An older woman, she was in her 60’s or 70’s, was in a corner. She grew up in Alabama and has lived in Brooklyn for 25 years, she had the sweetest eyes and the softest, saddest voice, it was like a song.
She sat in the corner and when I came by with Robin in my arms, she grabbed my hand, reached up and touched Robin, and said “God Bless her. That’s why I’m here. Isn’t that the best age, so sweet? They don’t know about the bad things out there,” she said, waving to the window.”
She said it was good I came and brought her. “They did it to me, they did it to my daughter. I don’t want to be here, but that’s why I’m here. God Bless you, maybe she won’t have to be here. Maybe she won’t have to come.” I knew what she meant.
Then I knew why I was there.
I’m not comfortable out in the open like that, I am not a joiner. I enjoyed making those calls, I was surprised at how happy people were to hear from me, how much they wanted to help. I don’t think they were the screamers and shouters you see online or on TV. But they were there, they were waiting for me, and Emma and Robin.
I was glad I did a small thing to help my daughter and granddaughter elect the first women President.
At some point, the WI-Fi went out and the phones wend dead. A Clinton campaign official came in and apologized. “Upstairs,” he said, the “Secret Service and DEA and ATF agents have offices and sometimes they do things and our electronics get cut off.” Nobody blinked, it made sense. He brought us all cookies, and handed out stickers.
I came home tonight, am happy to be back on the farm.
