I haven’t read much of Zinn’s work, but this essay for The Nation meant a lot to me during the dark days of the Bush II administration.  It still does.

In this awful world where the efforts of caring people often pale in comparison to what is done by those who have power, how do I manage to stay involved and seemingly happy?

… An optimist isn’t necessarily a blithe, slightly sappy whistler in the dark of our time. To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives.

If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places–and there are so many–where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.

If we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future.  I hope President Obama and congressional Democrats are listening.

Mozart Statue outside the Salzburg Museum | Salzburg, Austria | September 2009

My favorite composer, I have read every book written about him and, by the second year of graduate school, had memorized many of his works, right down to the Kochel number. Today, I listen to Piano Concerto No. 26 in D Major, K. 537 as performed by Wanda Landowska. It is by no means one of Mozart’s best works, but I feel only Ms. Landowska could play Mozart’s compositions as he himself would have. She owned those notes with playfulness and took them out of formation in clever, heartful cadenzas, unlike the dour, reverential, “so lofty, they sound as if they shit marble” moods assumed by other pianists.

Wonder who Mozart would be today and in the future?  Read Mozart in Mirrorshades by Bruce Sterling and Lewis Shiner in Mirroshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology.  Whomever stole this book from my library is hereby authorized simply to mail a copy back to me anonymously or place it on my doorstep.  a) I promise not to beat you. b) You know who you are.

This morning, I opened the front door to another fresh, breathtaking blanket of snow.  Figures, the last holdout of ice from previous storms had just melted and all was clean and visible once again.

Sitting in the utter, enveloping whiteness of snow-covered everything is like being in your own personal limitless isolation tank. Thoughts come and go, some settling like the snow into the furrows of a glove.  Only this is important, not your worries, not what lies ahead.  For what is ahead or behind in this colorless, dimensionless universe, at the interface of billions of years of earth and the atmosphere rushing into your face?  To know this beauty, to be a part of something so big and small that it makes scale immaterial.

And then to rise and acknowledge that which lies beyond this moment.  The walk.  Through the snow and through life, with a resolution to keep this feeling in the back of your head.  Good luck with that.   Brimful and I are in the same orbit today, at least when it comes to snow and metaphorical snow, although we ramped into it from different perspectives. I will let her finish.

You could meditate on such things when enveloped in a cloud of snow, in the blanket of white that makes everything look clean, pristine, untouched once again. It’s a blank slate, a slate wiped clean. You can take it as a sign and forge a path.

Or you can just take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and behold the beauty of the temporary. Because you have been here before. You know it won’t last. Remember that this slate is really just covered, not clean. You know what lies beneath. But that doesn’t make you jaded. It makes you more aware of how precious, how amazing. So look at the impossibly blue sky and feel the biting wind from the lake, and let your eyes burn from the blinding reflection of the white.

It’s hard work, walking through a snow drift. And once you’re in deep, once you are in the heart of the forest, it’s like so many other difficult journeys- you must finish, simply because you have no other recourse, no other options that require less of you. It’s exhausting and after a while, you feel as though you simply can’t continue. But you stop, and take it all in, embrace the moment, and then you start again. And you keep going until you reach the end. And when you reach the end, it feels such a relief, it feels as though you will never feel so happy to be on pavement.

But the next day, you do it all again.

The New York Times | N.F.C. Championship Final: Saints 31, Vikings 28 (Overtime)

This win is for you, Professor Morris. Each time the Saints faltered, I touched the big fleur de lis on my shirt and said, “Come on, Ashley, give them a nudge.”  You came through.  You are our twelfth saint.  As an offering, I will make absolutely sure your friend and mine, Loki, is dressed as a Saintsation on Super Sunday and, if he reneges, drive to Cincinnati and accost him with a wig and a tube of lipstick.

I’m screaming for you and New Orleanians everywhere, big man. So loud and often and hours later that I am hoarse.

Chicago Tribune | Super Bowl Matchup: New Orleans Saints vs. Indianapolis Colts: A young kicker named Garrett Hartley is the most valuable person in New Orleans right now.  His kick sent the Saints to the Superbowl.  The Saints defense worked their butts off as well – according to my stats team (that would be D and @NOLADishu), the official #FavreOnTheGround count stands at 12.  To count, his ass had to make full contact with the turf and his eyes with the Superdome’s ceiling.  Pierre Thomas, Devery Henderson and Jonathan Vilma, good work.

The real credit for beating the Vikings, however, goes to Favre himself.  As a fiercely loyal Green Bay Packers fan and former Favre fangirl who suffered many a loss with him at my team’s helm, let me assure you that #4 did today what he does best in the post-season: throw grounders and interceptions at crunch time.  This game nicely encapsulated his career to date.  So, just you go ahead, sports media, and wipe, powder and kiss the Packers Jets Vikings Oh Who Knows Probably The Bears This Year quarterback’s tush before, during and after his LOSS.  There’s probably a special place in Hall of Fame Heaven reserved for your story of Aging Superhuman Reviled By Many.  Hell, it probably makes your ancient behinds feel good, too.  But don’t you ever insult your viewers and pretend you didn’t anticipate his loss.  And don’t you ever ignore a team and its quarterback through the entirety of a championship game only to wear its beads, talk of its city, sing its songs and praises (but not really) and party in its streets after it wins.  For marginalizing this New Orleans Saints team even when it wins, you’re on notice.  Especially you, Joe Buck.

Then again, I smile knowing that Jon Gruden cries himself to sleep tonight with an 8×10 glossy signed “Hugs & Kisses, Brett” on his bedside table.

NYTimes | Did The Officials Bungle The Game For The Vikings? Let’s not even talk about the reffing tonight.  I have no embolisms left.  If anything, the refs tried really hard to give the game to Jesus Brett, but the Saints prevailed.  So, so, so proud of Drew Brees and his great team.

New Orleans, you fill my heart and soul tonight.  I wish I could be there to celebrate with you Right Now, but it will have to wait until Thursday night when I arrive to walk in Krewe du Vieux once again.  Our theme this year is All Fired Up.  Now I wonder why we bothered making costumes when each one of us is going to combust between now and then.

Watch out, Miami, THE SAINTS ARE COMING!