There are… um… some problems.

Sigh…

Since Adorable Child will be entering high school next year, our impending relocation out of Texas seems all the more timely.

There’s probably deeper meaning here, but it won’t be found at Walmart.

Every time I come across one of these assertions (and they come from all over the political spectrum, depending upon context or specific policy issue), I wonder the same thing:  what is it that people expect?

Now, I’m not talking about the federal debt, and whether our children are being left with a bill they won’t be able to pay.  That debate is very recent.   I’m talking about this assumption right here (from Reuters last year):

U.S. politicians constantly refer to the “American Dream,” best defined as the idea that each generation will live a better life than the one before. By now, the mantra has taken on the quality almost of a basic American right that young people can count on automatically.

Is it true that this has taken on the quality of (almost) a basic American right?  Judging from some of the policy debates we have these days, I’d have to say yes.

How did a dream become a right?  And just how far can one realistically expect to extend the “better life than the one before”?

This WSJ article (also from last year) demonstrates just how far out of whack the expectations have become:

My two siblings and I grew up very well off, in a sprawling house in an expensive New Jersey suburb with very good schools. My parents didn’t drive flashy cars or buy fancy clothes, but they did spend lavishly on travel, allowing us to build incredible memories of annual trips to Europe, Asia and across the U.S.   […]

Money is tighter for my husband and me. My field, journalism, doesn’t have much financial upside; my husband’s career prospects in software development are brighter, but he’s in an industry that is vulnerable to the economic downturn. While we are by no means poor—and we are lucky to have very generous families and stable incomes during these down times–we likely won’t be able to offer our son all the same privileges we had.

So if one cannot offer the same privileges, the Dream is gone?  That’s ludicrous.  Following that line of thinking, disappointment is absolutely guaranteed eventually, regardless of where one starts in the spectrum.

Somewhere along the line, this train has gone off the rails… but where?

Perhaps some glimmer of understanding might be found in where this idea of “an American Dream” came from in the first place.  According to Wikipedia, the term was first coined by one James Truslow Adams.

The American Dream is a national ethos of the United States of America in which democratic ideals are perceived as a promise of prosperity for its people. In the American Dream, first expressed by James Truslow Adams in 1931, citizens of every rank feel that they can achieve a “better, richer, and happier life.”

A promise of prosperity?  Really?  That sounds like a place where the “streets are paved with gold” to me.  And better, richer, and happier than what?

Mr. Adams’ page sheds some light on what the original thinking was… and also on the glaring change this dream has undergone:

It is believed that Adams coined the term “American Dream” in his 1931 book The Epic of America. But Truslow’s coinage of the phrase had an entirely different (and much broader) meaning than what it has come to mean today.

The American Dream is “that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.”

Maybe I’m missing something, but I really see very little resemblance to that original “dream” in the expectations of today.

Working on problems that have the potential to overwhelm the American Dream altogether makes sense, but only if one is trying to preserve the promise of opportunity, rather than the illusion of guaranteed prosperity… because there was never a promise of prosperity.

What America promised was opportunity regardless of one’s social class or historical antecedents.    There was never a guarantee of success, nor was there a guarantee that children will — or even should – expect a higher standard of living than that of the prior generation.   Yet we’re measuring the success of our society these days on this flawed assumption.

Yes, I will agree that the American Dream is lost.  It’s just gone missing in a way that most folks don’t seem to realize, or want to face.

Cross-posted from The Moderate Voice.

“Rahm Emanuel is son of the devil’s spawn, Rep. Eric Massa (D-NY) said. “He is an individual who would sell his mother to get a vote. He would strap his children to the front end of a steam locomotive.”

Dang!  And these guys supposedly play on the same team?

Puts a whole new perspective on the perennially nauseating Dem - Rep hyperbole, doesn’t it?   Comparatively speaking, the partisans are downright polite!

The local unemployment rate shot up to 8.8 percent in January, the Texas Workforce Commission reported this morning. The rate was 8.2 percent in December.

Meanwhile, the overall Texas rate held steady at 8.2 — which therefore means that Houston’s numbers are dragging the Texas average up.

During fits of funk and blogging boredom, a quick couple of lines might come floating in:  “Dear Polimom, I was very upset to read your last post and I just wanted to send a small note of support.”

Occasionally, if we were writing about the same subject, he’d drop a comment on something I’d written — and follow up by telling me that he’d been inspired by one of mine, or he’d give a link to a story he thought I might want to write about.

Every now and again, I’d be struck by a fit of satirical whimsy, for which I always blamed him — and at which he laughed right back.

And I’m not the only person he encouraged and promoted and supported.   The blogosphere is filling up today with stories much like mine.

His nom de plume was Jon Swift.  Suited him well.   Always, he made me smile.   And if you read his blog — even if you didn’t necessarily agree with him — he probably made you smile, too.   Because sometimes, it just helps to laugh at the idiocy in the world.

I’m so very sad that my special email folder is as full as it will ever get.  This, posted to his blog yesterday, is crushing:

I don’t know how else to tell you all who love this blog. I am Jon Swift’s Mom and I guess I’m going to OUT him. He was Al Weisel, my beloved son. Al was on his way to his father’s funeral in VA when he suffered 2 aortic aneurysms, a leaky aortic valve and an aortic artery dissection from his heart to his pelvis. He had 3 major surgeries within 24 hours and sometime during those surgeries also suffered a severe stroke. We, his 2 sisters, his brother, his partner and his best friend since he was 9 years old were with him as he took his last breath. We have all lost a shining start who warmed our hearts, tormented us and made us laugh as he giggled at our pulling something over on us. He passed away on February 27, 2010. My beloved child will live on in so many hearts. I miss him more than I can say. If you are on Facebook, go to organizations and join “Friends of Al Weisel, Unite!” It will give you just a taste of how special he was. Farewell, Jon (Al)

Farewell Jon.

The general take-away seems to be that Governor Perry benefited from (as Jonathan Martin puts it at the Politico) “an anti-Washington message in an already volatile political environment”.

I really don’t think so, folks — and the reason is at The Moderate Voice.

Nearly $2 billion in money from the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act has been spent on wind power, funding the creation of enough new wind farms to power 2.4 million homes over the past year. But the study found that nearly 80 percent of that money has gone to foreign manufacturers of wind turbines.

Most of the jobs are going overseas,” said Russ Choma at the Investigative Reporting Workshop. He analyzed which foreign firms had accepted the most stimulus money. “According to our estimates, about 6,000 jobs have been created overseas, and maybe a couple hundred have been created in the U.S.”

My emphasis.

The leadership of this country is abysmally, hopelessly stupid.

We came with nothing.

A newly-single mom, I’d left my beloved tiny village in upstate New York;  there simply were no jobs in my field in the area.  So I headed south, where I hoped that my parents could help me get back on my feet as I relaunched my life — at nearly 40 years old.

Starting over from scratch was incredibly hard.   I had no money, no employment prospects… and in very short order, nowhere to live.

Those were dark days for me.  But within a couple of months, Adorable Child and I were up and running.  Just a little over a year after I arrived, I bought my first house, and shortly thereafter I took the big leap and began working for myself.

The success was stunning, and it was due — in no small part — to the individuals and companies who were willing to take chances on me.

I started that first job on the strength of my education, not my experience.  I rented a  townhouse before I’d shown up for my first day at work.  I bought a house within ten months of starting work, even though doing so took my last nickel.  I actually had to wait for the next paycheck to buy a refrigerator.

It’s been one success after another.   Yes, there have been iffy times, but every time a door closed, several windows opened, and on we went.

Such a story isn’t possible everywhere….   but it worked here.  Houston is a “Can Do” kinda place, where people are, as a rule, busy, ambitious, and high energy.   At each and every step of the way, my drive and motivation were met halfway — and sometimes more.

The Houston area has been very good to my family.  In fact, it’s been good to most of the people we know.  We all owe a great deal to this vibrant community, and now that it’s time for us to leave, we’d like to say Good-Bye in a meaningful way.

So… I think we’re going to throw a party.  A different kind of party.

Stay tuned.

Thank goodness.

I can’t bear the thought of him suffering.

It’s been a brutally fast decline.  Even though the vet told us that this type of cancer moves very quickly, I’m still shocked.

He’s only 11 years old.  I expected — looked forward to — many more years with him.

But in the last week, he’s started resting between bites of food, and more than once I’ve seen him lying down while drinking from his water bowl.  Rather than walking, he’s kind of staggered from place to place, as his strength has failed.

Right up until this morning, though, he seemed at least comfortable.  Yes, he’s been eating less and less (and losing weight dramatically), but he still loved to be petted and talked to, and his purr was strong and immediate.

Everything’s different this morning.

The vet opens at 7 am.

I don’t know if I can do this.

How will I get through it?

I know how.  I’ll call up the fabulous memories;  he’s given us so many over the years.

While they’re readying his merciful final sleep, I’ll pet him and visualize him in the arms of my toddler daughter.

He was just about the same size as she was, and when she put him into the toddler swing out back, he fit perfectly.  He’d just sit there in that swing, his face radiating tolerance (just barely) as she pushed him back and forth.

While I’m holding him, I’ll remind him about the bird he savaged right outside my office window one morning — while I was on a conference call.  He probably remembers that, since his feast was uninterrupted.  The best I could do was close the blinds so I couldn’t see.

Or I’ll apologize for the many feathered feasts I denied him — like the time the birds’ nest fell into the house from the chimney, releasing 5 or 6 potential meals into my bedroom.  (That was a crazy morning!!)

I’ll rub between his eyes and beside his face, just where he likes it, and I’ll remind myself that in these eleven years, he’s had a lot of near-misses.  Several times, the vets have barely saved him.

After each of these terrifying brushes with death — after he’d recovered and was back to being fat and sassy — I’d gratefully hold him and laugh about how he was now on his second life.  Or his third.  Or his fifth.

Not this time.  This was number nine.

As he slips away from his pain — and from us — I’ll tell him how much I love him.  I’ll thank him for being such a wonderful part of our family.  For tolerating the danged dog.  For always remembering to keep his claws in.  For keeping Adorable Child company in the night.

Nine lives aren’t nearly enough this morning.

Update, 8:35 am:

Pounce died here at home this morning.

It turns out that he was resting more than comfortably.   He was resting permanently, and most likely slipped away even as I wrote this.  I’m so glad I was there with him at the end, even though I didn’t realize that’s what it was.  I know it gave him some comfort.

We’ll miss him.  I already miss him.