THE FEDERAL BLOGGERS' PROJECT

Gentle Readers,

I  just watched a very interesting documentary about the Federal Writers' Project that was part of the WPA during the Great Depression.

I always wonder why that time was the Great Depression and now we're simply having a recession. Shouldn't we at least substitute a word for great and call this some kind of depression? The Crappy Depression. The Lousy Fuckin' Depression.

But, ah, I digress.

For those of you who aren't up on your history or are Canadian or Slovenian, the WPA was part of Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal. It was the Works Progress Administration, and the idea was to give jobs to the unemployed not only because they needed to earn money, but having a job also helped people get their dignity back.  A lot of people -- including me -- don't want charity. They -- including me -- want jobs. While Roosevelt's administration admitted that the WPA cost more than putting people on relief, they knew how important the jobs were for morale. This I totally understand. Not being able to find a job is so disheartening. The program was also good for the country's infrastructure because many of the jobs involved building roads and bridges and even parks.

Of course writers were not earning much during the depression and some were on the verge of starvation. People didn't have money to buy books and magazines and many newspapers laid off writers and editors, so a group of writers got together and demanded they be included in the WPA. The writers included such luminaries as Zora Neale Hurston, the author of the amazingly marvelous Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Thus, the Federal Writers' Project was born. Writers were given jobs writing, and since the point was to provide employment, the writers sometimes included typists or the occasional truck driver who needed work.

But what were the writers to write? Eventually someone came up with the idea that they would write guides to all the states, focusing on places of interest, what the cities and towns were like, folklore. Up to this point, no such guide existed for the U.S.

So where am I going with this story? I bet you know. Since some of us -- including me -- can't find jobs, President Obama needs to create the Federal Bloggers Project to provide jobs for unemployed bloggers! I would continue to stay at home and write my blog, but I'd get a decent salary and benefits.

Wow! Is this a good idea or what?

And I don't even have to be told what to write because you can't shut me up. I always have something to say.

Lots of other people who need jobs could also write blogs, or maybe we need new state guides. And wouldn't it be great if the state guides told the truth? Like "St. Augustine may be the nation's oldest city, but it's a tourist trap." Or "Topeka. Why bother?"

Unemployment problem solved. Tourists well informed.

You're welcome.

Infinities of love,

Lola

I SAW MY DAD EMBARRASSED - ONCE

Gentle Readers,

My dad could have a bit of a temper at times, but in general, he was a pretty calm guy. He raised five daughters without a lot of drama, at least not on his part, although I do remember him chasing one of my sisters around the house, and I mean outside, where she had run to escape, still carrying her plateful of supper.

The only time I recall seeing him embarrassed was once when he and my mom were talking to me about their voting records over the years. I was about 18 years old. He told me that the first time he voted was the last time that Franklin Roosevelt was elected and he had voted for Roosevelt. Then we talked about some other people they had voted for.

All of a sudden my mom piped up, Your dad voted for Nixon. He wouldn't vote for Kennedy because he said Kennedy was too damn Catholic.

I was shocked. My parents were rather ardent Democrats. Although they were Kansans, they despised Republican Bob Dole, rather than being proud of his success.

So I asked my dad, Reeeeeally?

He made faces. He grumbled. He mumbled. He squirmed. You woulda thought he had his drawers full.

And he never answered.

But my mom insisted it was true, and he didn't try to deny it.

I still think it was funny, but I never brought it up again.

There was one other time that he was almost embarrassed, but he managed to squeeze out of it. I was probably 10 or so and I had seen the musical Gypsy on TV -- you know, about the famous stripper, Gypsy Rose Lee.

I guess my mom and I were talking about watching the movie, and my dad suddenly said, I saw Gypsy Rose Lee.

I said, Reeeeeally? What was she like?

I don't remember, he said, quickly and gruffly. And he walked out of the room.

It wasn't until I was older that I realized he wasn't going to tell his little girl what Gypsy Rose Lee was like.

Tee hee.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MY DAD HAD A BIRTHDAY RECENTLY

Gentle Readers,

I don't remember the date my dad died (I always think of it as Memorial Day because he died on Memorial Day and Memorial Day falls on a different date each year), but I can certainly remember his birthday because it was St. Patrick's Day.

You may be shocked to know that I write most of my posts well in advance of the time they're published, so here I sit and tomorrow is my dad's birthday and I have a happy memory to write about.

Because my dad was in the military, he wore a uniform to work every day -- until he retired. Then my mom picked out his clothes for his new job with the state, and oh my goodness she made some awful choices. One was a green leisure suit. He was very tall and thin (Favorite Young Man's predecessor) and looked like a giant stalk of celery in that awful leisure suit. It was the '70s and my mom was pissed because he wouldn't wear a necklace with it -- a gold chain around his neck. He wore the clothes she chose but he drew the line at the necklace.

Anyhoo, back when he still wore unies to work each day, sometimes he would have to dress appropriately because we were going someplace. He always said he wasn't color blind, just color ignorant. I guess that meant he couldn't match colors appropriately because my mom was always yelling at him about his clothing choices because they didn't match.

One time he and I were at home alone, I must have been about 10, and my mom, I think she was getting her hair done before whatever weird outing we were about to go on and my dad asked me what he should wear. I picked out navy blue pants and a yellow shirt. Easy, right?

My mom got home and said, Good God, you're dressed decently for a change. What in the hell happened?

As soon as she turned away, he gave me the biggest smile.

I still feel that smile, Daddy.

Infinities of love,

Lola

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Happy Birthday (plus one month) Daddy. I miss you now more than ever. I wish I had told you every single day that I loved you and appreciated you.