I return to posting because of Fred and Ginger, and Barack Obama. The president has encouraged us all to “pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again” several times over the last few months, but it was only when NPR reminded me of this delightful scene in Swing Time that I thought about the lyrics and got all misty.
My generation may have been the last to get that occasionally dangerous, always reductive dose of exceptionalism in our school history classes, the notion that perseverance is a particularly American quality. Now that we are mercifully post-exceptionalism, the inclination to reflect on the Depression-era difficulties of my grandparents and great-grandparents is inspiring simply because they are all people who made it through times so bleak. And, like them, people are making it through right now.
There are no great, greater and greatest generations. Most people whose circumstances allow them to generate a small gleam of hope for themselves will continue to move, in fits and starts, toward something better. Depressions end. Recessions end. Hope never does. Despite circling realities, it’s a particularly good day, so at this moment I really believe that.
Layoffs yesterday. Inevitably more to come. We’re safe for another chunk of time. Played this little movie for our girl last week and when she wakes up I’ll play it for her again.
