Diarist's note:  All the events in this story are true, however, in the interest of the privacy of the parties other than myself, names have been changed.

We had quite a galvanizing experience a few weeks ago.  My husband, an inveterate scavenger, found a pool table on Craigslist.  Now we've looked at several pool tables, something I desperately don't need.  But this one was in Clarksville, which is about an hour away, and it was a beautiful day for a drive in the country.  Clarksville is on the TN side of Fort Campbell, home of the 101st Airborne.

It may have been that my coffee was overcaffeinated this morning, when I opened my email and saw a note from a relative.  It was one of those "spam everyone you know" chain emails, and this is what it said:

Nostalgia is a wonderful thing, a little spiritual indulgence that each of us can - and does - partake of from time to time.  In my own case, my feeble efforts as a parent leave me often pondering how my own folks would have handled a particular situation, or how the differences in the times have changed the task of parenting.  Lately, I've been pondering whether some of the social changes don't account for changes in the way we use energy and whether a little reversion could result in a big savings - for each of us individually and for the earth.  Follow me below the jump as I explain.

It all starts at the local level.  Mark your calendars, break out your Democratic gear and get ready for the best political time in middle Tennessee!  The Sumner County Dems proudly present the 5th annual 3-Star Celebration!

Join us on Saturday, August 18 at 6pm as we celebrate our accomplishments in 2006 and get ready for the 2008 campaign season.
Sumner County Democratic Party

This is really brief for a diary, but I'm sure there are plenty of folk in Chicago and across the world who might stop for a moment to remember the incomparable Tommy Makem, who died last night of cancer at the age of 74.

Happy Father's Day!  We've done our celebrating around here, and the spousal unit is indulging in a little well deserved R&R, so I'm left with a few minutes to myself in the kitchen.  With my own family's celebration pretty much complete, I've been left to think about my own Dad.  Of course some pretty fine diaries about rail transportation, including BruceMcF's diaries on high speed rail, a favorite of Daddy's, always bring him to mind.  Of course Daddy was  more than a rail fan.  And that's where tonite's memories begin:

If you've finished your own Mother's Day celebrations or remembrances for today, I'd like to invite you to spend a few minutes with mine.  Mom's in a nursing home now, no longer ambulatory, and most of her memories have left her, so we weren't able to chat about all the things I'd like to thank her for.  But if you pull up a seat and help yourself to a tall cool one, I'd like to share a taste of Mom with you.

Nice to see you in the kitchen tonite! I didn't cook much tonite, it was too nice a day and I got wrapped up watching the deer and the wild turkeys in the back.  But there's always time for a little after dinner chat, so clear yourself a spot, grab a dessert or an after-dinner drink pull up a chair and join me.

Watching all the new life in the critter world took me back a bit today, want to go there?

Welcome to my kitchen!  Clear yourself a spot and pull up a seat around the table.  I hope you don't mind the papers, I've been writing a letter to the next generation in my family.  I was inspired today by Cookiebear's diary about the lessons of the Irish Potato Famine and have decided to write a bit of my own family's history down for the next generation, starting with one of my great-grandfathers.  Care to take a look?  Pour a Guiness or a hot Irish Coffee and follow me below the jump.

Sunday evening and the dinner dishes are cleared away.  While the washer runs, time to pour a drink and pull a chair up to the kitchen table for some after-dinner chat.  This week, I was particularly touched by two diaries, this one by Brahman Colorado, reminding us of the liberation of Auschwitz, and plf515's diary about his rabbi. Together, they reminded me of my own first glimpse of these issues as a child, and how important it is that all of our children learn the lessons of history. So here begins my tale:

In a letter to the editor published in the Washington Post on January 17, Cully Stimson has apologized for his earlier comments damning those who would give their time to represent alleged terror detainees, and has attempted to clear up any misunderstanding about his prior remarks.

Been working hard to get it all done before the big events start with your tribe?  Take a break and join me for a cup of your favorite beverage.  I don’t want to put dessert out before dinner, but you’re welcome to taste anything that’s cooking – just to make sure it will be perfect.  

As we rush the final preparations toward completion, we approach the Holidays not as a discreet event, but as part of a mosaic which includes all of our holidays past, and which carry the traditions and lessons learned from all of those who have gone before us. A look over the holiday letters of Christmas past may tell us quite a bit about where we were and how far we’ve come.  Indeed, those letters may be the first draft of the history that our children tell on us long after we’re gone.

This morning I got a call from my 88-year old Aunt.  As we chatted about various family comings and goings, she stopped to reflect on her recollections of December 7, 1941.  Even before the news of Pearl Harbor, it was a sad, sad day.  One of her uncles, a WWI Veteran, had taken his own life that morning - in a veterans' hospital, and so she and another uncle had immediately left to go to the ancestral home for the necessary rituals of grief when the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor came over the radio.

Well it's been a busy week here at our place, and an exciting one, too.  Worked like a demon all last weekend phone banking, then all day Tuesday, trying, among other things to "snag and drag" voters to the polls.  Got to bring my youngest along, and she got the civics lesson of a lifetime, seeing how it all works. Sadly, the outcome here wasn't what we'd hoped for, but the big picture still looked great to me, and helped ease my pain.

The other thing that helps, of course, is the company of friends.  So once again it's time to clear the table, pour a beverage and cut a slice of pie, and count my blessings.  Please join me at the table.  

Tonite's story is a little different.  Ordinarily, I write about events that shaped me.  Tonite,  I'll give you a sneak preview of one my kids may someday  tell on me.

Like many of us, I spent Tuesday on the front lines of Freedom, in my case, in Sumner Co., TN, just northeast of Nashville.  I'd like to share the story of one of my memorable experiences from that day.

After being sent out to do "visibility" by holding Harold Ford, Jr. signs on a busy road in the pouring rain for a couple of hours, I returned to my local HQ to get started working those phones.  That's where I met Ruby.

As we approach this election, I have to admit I'm getting a tiny bit tired.  The phone-banking,  after-rally cleanups, sign-posting, GOTVing, as well as reading the editorials coast to coast, listening to CSPAN and the 24/7 obsessing about what will happen next has all worn me down a bit.  And I don't know about you, but when I'm worn down, it's a good time to recharge my batteries.  So, if it's true as Karl Menninger said that "Our lives are shaped by those who love us as well as those who refuse to love us," it's worth stopping to consider those who shaped our lives - and consequently, our politics.

So clear the dishes, pour your favorite beverage, hot or cold, wet or dry, and come to the kitchen table to share some dessert and after dinner conversation.

    Some time after my father's death, I began to dabble a bit in genealogy, attempting to find the historical documents that supported the family lore.  Coincidentally or not, at the same time I began to wonder what the things were that made me a liberal.  After some thought I could not help but conclude that the biggest single influence in my political views was my upbringing.

    Well, talk of family history invariably leads to memories of family gatherings, and memories of family gatherings lead to memories of food - some wonderfully good, some laughably dreadful.  With the dinner dishes cleared it's time to tune out the noise of the world for a bit and enjoy some after dinner conversation, so below the fold I put on the table the first in what may become an occasional series of Memories and Recipes: