I write this with a heavy heart.  My father, a good man and father, whom I have adored my whole life is, I must finally admit, a racist.  

He’s a lifelong democrat, an ex-union man, the quintessential swing voter and a racist.

And saddened, and disillusioned, and enraged and resentful and offended and anguished and frustrated and tormented and worried and exasperated and outraged and furious.  And I could go on and on.

And I’m one of the lucky ones!  

O, what men dare do!

Ah, poor Eliot, hoisted with his own petard.  A sorry sight. Our knight in shining armor, the noblest of them all, the future prince with a lean and hungry look.  Or...was he done to death by slanderous tongue, victim of a murderous plot? Is it much ado about nothing?

Yesterday, this political junkie cried.  This seen-it-all, hardened amateur political strategist welled up again, full of something I’ve never felt before a primary election...hope and enthusiasm, respect and optimism, and long abandoned idealism.

The moment that Maria Shriver walked out on the stage at UCLA, I knew it meant something huge. The implications of it are astounding.  The normally shy Caroline, with Michele Obama, the never-before-endorsed Oprah, and Maria Shriver is a picture to be e-mailed around the world.  A picture worth ten thousand words.

A few months ago on a much dreamed of trip to Italy, I stood in a place that literally sent chills up my spine; the cell of Girolamo Savonarola, in the convent of San Marco in Florence.  Savonarola, the Dominican priest who in the year 1494 led an anti-Renaissance movement which gave Florence "The Bonfire of the Vanities".

Recently, at my uncle’s wake in Queens, my Dad, my husband and I stood talking to a friend of the family.  He was a talker...no one could get a word in edgewise...going on and on about the old days. My dad held a bible with a picture of Jesus on the cover, given to him by the union representative.  As we stood talking – or barely listening, nodding politely, out of the blue this man turns to my husband and asks, "Are you a racist?".  Hubby, stunned, says "no".  Man says, "Well, I am.  I hate the bastards."  Dad laughs uncomfortably.  I point out – gesturing to bible - that brown skinned Jesus would not be amused.  Later, hubby and I shake our heads over the audacity of it.  And regret that we didn’t deal with it more forcefully.  

Another Saturday night, another chapter in the soap opera of Lee Court.  

Lee Court is very social.  We have block parties, book club, a dinner club, and lots of birthday parties.  Before the election of George Bush, we considered each other friends as well as neighbors. When we discussed politics it was always good-natured, everyone generally agreeing on most issues, no hard feelings.  

John Dean's new book, Conservatives Without Conscience, reminds me of the 1950s TV show "Father Knows Best".  

There have been many diaries written here about what the Democratic Party lacks in the way of ideas and slogans.  But I've been thinking lately that what the Democratic Party urgently needs is a face.  The republicans have their father figure in the persona of George W. Bush, a loveable idiot and the mother figure of Laura, appearing slightly smarter while playing the part of the enabling stepford wife.  

Last night before I went to sleep, I read the headline  "US Paid Families $2500 for each civilian killed in Haditha."

Today I woke to "Men cry outside a hospital morgue after their brother was killed when gunmen dragged 24 teenage students from vehicles and shot them dead."

Great day at the polls; staunch republican gets pissed, votes democratic for first time in life.  Single issue abortion voter wife goes out with the girls, doesn't vote.  Yep, it was a head spinning day at the polls.  In my very right leaning precinct, which by the way seemed to be manned entirely by democrats (if they only knew) there were numerous comments from voters like "let's throw the bums out", "let's hope this one doesn't end up in jail", etc.

Have you ever woken up in the morning telling yourself that you will not visit Daily Kos today, will not read the paper, will not let Chris Matthews get your bowels in an uproar?  Do you ever think I don't want to do this today, I can't stand it anymore, life's too short, what can one person do anyway, I should take my friends/parents/spouse's advice and chill out?

What you are about to read is a classic case of truth is stranger than fiction.  A sad but true story of three men, a cleaning woman and Bill O'Reilly.

It all began a little before the 2004 presidential election...........

Maybe this is repetitive but it just happened last night so it's fresh on my mind.  I've been attending a book club with my right wing christian neighbor ladies for four years.  We have had a few political discussions although we try to steer away from it in general as they are aware that I am a loyal democrat who despises Bush and thinks the war in Iraq is morally wrong.  But last night all my anger, angst, and disgust came spilling out.  

I'm sending this on my break, so I've got to be short.  Contrary to what was expected, voter turnout is good.  I can only see who is showing up and the turnout for republicans is good.  They are showing up with their pre-printed "Arnold" checklists, so all dems who want to see these issues defeated, get off your keyboards and get to the polls!

I'm new at this/just wanted to post a letter to the editor;

It was widely reported yesterday by both the MSM and republican blogs that Cindy Sheehan's sister in law wrote a letter supporting Bush and the war.  When Cindy was asked about it she freely admitted that this was her husband's family and although she begged them not to vote for Bush in November they did so anyway and she hasn't spoken to them since.  The Sheehan in laws fall into the category of "Bush Bullies"; people who would turn their families into the authorities rather than admit they were wrong about their fearless "leader".