Note on the Fridge to Governor Palin

No Telling

You certainly gave a rousing speech last night. At least I think you did. There was an awful lot of cheering and such, but I’ll admit I was distracted by the camera flashing back and forth from you to your lovely family down in the good seats. As a mother and a grandmother and a voter and a woman, there are a couple of things that concerned me, Sarah.

1. What in the world were you thinking bringing your four month-old child to a loud and late political convention?

2. How is it possible that angelic child slept through the entirely of it? I know babies, Sarah, and most of them aren’t as dandy as yours was when being handed off, person to person, past bedtime and in a room full of screaming people. You must have prayed really, really hard for that kind of peace in the valley. It’s a maternal miracle.

3. Your Iraq-bound son is so handsome and you must be terribly proud of him. He seemed a little surprised by the September 11 date of deployment, though. Bless his heart. I’m sure you two talked about it afterward.
4. Watching your daughter and her beau hold hands was sweet. That poor boy looked like he’d been hit by a truck, and she…well, she just makes my heart hurt. I noticed that while everyone passed the sleeping angel down the row, the infant never quite made it into their arms. Oh, Sarah. I know that was a decision made by some Very Important Strategist, but it was a little unnatural. You’ll have to agree the young couple (when is the wedding, by the way?) do need the practice.

5. Your husband is a cutie. Watch out for those Washington gals, though. Some of them don’t look like Janet Reno.

And my final question/observation…

6. While I understand it’s not terribly Vice Presidential to be holding babies all the time (who is that Very Important Strategist, anyway?) I’m a little befuddled by a woman who’s never seen holding her own newborn. Ever.

Oh, Sarah. Don’t parade your family around if you don’t want us watching. I realize I’m looking at you through bifocals instead of my old pair of Gloria Steinem aviators now, but that’s what happened to a lot of old feminists – they became mothers and grandmothers and realigned a few things. Go on out there and run a country if you must, and more power to you for the effort and all that, just be sure to vacuum up all that cracked glass ceiling before you let the baby crawl on the floor.

Note on the Fridge to Senator McCain

No Telling


In deference to your age, Senator, and with the highest regard for your military service, I’ll keep this clean and brief.

All women are not alike, and they aren’t interchangeable. I’ll admit that when we were little girls, some of us popped off Barbie’s head and swapped it around with Skipper’s body. Maybe even Midge’s, you know, just for fun. But we knew it wasn’t real. Barbie was always Barbie and Midge, well, she had freckles.

Please understand if we’re completely, utterly, hopelessly insulted.

Warm regards,

Every Woman Who’s Ever Drawn Breath
Since Seneca Falls

Letter on the Fridge to Emily

No Telling

How is it possible? Twenty-two years ago right this minute I was screaming at some unsuspecting night-nurse to BRING ME MY BABY NOW. And she did. You were three hours new and a tiny Snow White blinking up at me. I spent the rest of that night memorizing you. It was the finest night of my life, just you and me and the occasional night-nurse making sure I wasn’t post-partum crazy. I wasn’t.
I spent a lot of time that night wondering about the woman you’d become, and here you are that woman. I’m proud of everything you’ve become and I’m thrilled to see what’s next. I’m a spectator and your biggest fan, gal. Always have been, always will be.
I love you high as the sky, deep as the ocean, as long as a mile. YOU are my sunshine.
Happy Birthday, sweetie.

Leaving a Note on Hillary’s Fridge

No Telling

Oh, Hillary. I’m afraid it’s over, gal. I know you’ve got fight left in you and I’m thrilled you’re willing to continue, fist in the air, but as a woman who’s been “in the kitchen” you have to realize now that the party is over and it’s time to clean up. There are dishes in the sink, hon, and they can’t wait until morning.

I’m sorry.

It’s not that there isn’t victory in this, though. My 21 year-old daughter voted in her first primary because of you, and as a semi-antique feminist that gives me comfort.