Where were you the summer of ’85? The summer of the Cola Wars?

I was in middle school. Not even much of soda drinker. But when there’s war, you must choose sides. I chose Coke. Maybe it was those commercials in the 70s--people sitting together, lighting candles, and wanting to teach the world to sing. I mean, really, how can you argue with world peace AND singing?

As with any war, propaganda was prolific. And the enemy’s most notable spokesman? Michael Jackson. His message sent chills down my spine. Pepsi--the choice of a new generation.

On the outside I was utter mock and disdain. Choice of a New Generation? Right. I was of the New Generation and my choice was Coke.

But on the inside, I was all quivers and trembles.

Then came the Pepsi Challenge. My already teen-angst-ridden heart tightened with even more, well, angst. I allowed myself to voice my darkest fears . . . what if Pepsi won? What if they really were the choice of the New Generation? Where was a girl to find her Coke? The black market? (Coke and) Rum Runners?

It turns out Coke won--at least that first war.

Mini-insurrections continued to break out in the ensuing decades. I waved my, by this time, diet Coke-loving flag loudly and proudly. And while I survived the continuing barrages of brain-washing messages, I did NOT survive the CC. College Crush.

It took a sweet country boy to turn my diet Coke-loving heart to the Other Side. What Michael Jackson and his singing and dancing, and fire-flaming hair could not accomplish, John Tracy did.

John helped me find my New Coke. It was Diet Pepsi. And while I certainly enjoy a diet Coke if the opportunity presents itself--my heart belongs to the choice of my generation.

Can't get this out of my mind

     
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
Anais Nin

Pool

On my back. Floating. Enveloped by blue expanses. Buoyed up by unseen hands. At rest upon a egg-foam nest. Floating. Eyes closed. I drift among my Other Place. Detached. Unplugged. Removed from burdens I cannot bear. Floating. Floating. Floating. Safe.

Bedtimes are never boring . . .

So, the conversation went like this:

R (my five-year-old): I want a "too tight."

Me: You're supposed to be in bed. (I'd already told her a gabillion times to stay upstairs.)

R: But I'm reminding you to give me a "too tight."

Me: (chuckle)

R: Are you laughing at me because you think I'm cute?

Me: No. I'm laughing because I'm frustrated.

R: Frustrated?

Me: Yes. I'm frustrated--I can either laugh or yell. Which would you rather have?

R: (ponderous silence)--Will it wake Josh up?

‎"We, the people, are not free,” Helen Keller said. “Our democracy is but a name. We vote? What does that mean? It means we choose between Tweedledee and Tweedledum. We elect expensive masters to do our work for us, and then blame them because they work for themselves and for their class." Helen Keller (June 27, 1880 – June 1, 1968)

We should be worried about fascism . . . not socialism

"The first truth is that the liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerate the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than their democratic state itself. That, in its essence, is fascism - ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. "

-Franklin D. Roosevelt, "Message from the President of the United States Transmitting Recommendations Relative to the Strengthening and Enforcement of Anti-trust Laws"