To Stockton in the Rain

For the love of Clinton, why would I drive to Stockton (a two hour drive to cattle country) in the rain, after dinner, on a Wednesday night? Well, I did it for the love of Clinton. Bill Clinton, that is.

Just before I left, Greg said, "Maybe you'll get to shake his hand!" I felt a touch of that teenie-bopper-pop-idol weakness in the knees, that catching of the breath, that tightening of the vocal chords, and I let out a high-pitched, loopy, "maybe"! Just so you know, Bill Clinton is the only celebrity for whom I would drive to Stockton after dinner in the rain -- on a Wednesday night or any other night of the week. I wouldn't do it for Mick Jagger or the Queen of England.

Last night was one of those rare nights with that running-through-honey feeling that you get in dreams -- dreams in which you are trying to catch a flight or make it to a college final and every little thing is taking forever and you can't find your way and the clock keeps ticking and you know you can't possibly make it but you keep trying because what else can you do?

Yesterday I learned of Clinton's plan to rally the troops for Jerry McNerney, who is in a vicious sword fight with the evil Richard Pombo (CA-11). This event was planned in twenty-four hours, so I figured it would not be a huge event. I figured I might be able to actually see Clinton fairly close up. So I decided to go even though I cringed at the 9:00 pm start time -- I'm an early-to-bed type and this was in Stockton.

From 4-5 we had Amharic class, where we reviewed the colors of the Ethiopian bandera (flag): ahrenguaday (green), k'ay (red) and beechar (yellow). We skipped rope, counting to ten in Amharic (ahnt, houlet, zost, arat, amist, sedist, sabat, semint, zetang, aser), and sang our two songs, Selam, Selam (Peace, Peace) and Aser Ahrenguaday Termoosoch (Ten Green Bottles).

It always takes time to get out of there, and then, of course, I have to stop to pick up a latte if I was not able to get one on the way to class. Carrie, of course, needs to use the bathroom and they don't have a bathroom at this particular Peete's Coffee, so we have to go next door to Whole Foods and make our way through the after-work-before-dinner shopping crowd to the back of the store. On our way out of Whole Foods we see Carrie's long lost preschool friend, Charlie, and her mother. A bit of catching up about kindergarten is required.

We manage to get into the car and drive home, and as I start to pull into the driveway, I see the dark figure of a young man standing on the sidewalk. I am glad that I saw him and that he saw me and that I did not run him over, especially when I realize that that dark young figure is Austen! What a great surprise!

At this point it is nearing six o'clock, and Chloe is starving -- nearly to death, I'm quite sure, because she is protesting so loudly. Austen, the hard worker that he is, is out trying to sell a promotional package for wine country to our neighbors until Greg gets home, at which time we will all go to Hobees for dinner.

Greg. Is. Late. And. Chloe. Is. Starving. To. Death. I am rummaging through all of my keepsakes boxes looking for my "My President" pin, which shows a photo of Bill in his Yale days. I love that pin! I find it. I put it on. Ding, ding! Idea! I hurry to the book shelf and reach for my "My Life" book -- Bill Clinton's autobiography. Maybe I can get him to sign it! (Ha, ha.)

I had forgotten that it is kids-eat-free night at Hobees, which Greg can never resist calling "eat your kids free night." When he comes up with a good funny, well, better get the most out of it, right? The fact that it is kids-eat-free night would be a good thing except that Hobees fills up on kids-eat-free night and you have to wait for a table. Tick, tick, tick. Austen wants to talk with me outside one-on-one, and as we are wrapping up, Carrie comes out to let us know our table is ready. We order. Chloe wants to talk with me outside one-on-one, and as we are wrapping up, Carrie comes out to let us know that our food is not ready.

It's close to eight o'clock when Austen and I hit the road. Livermore is on the way to Stockton, so it works out perfectly for him that I can give him a ride home and perfectly for me that I get to have his company and get to see the apartment he just moved into last weekend. All goes well until I try to get back onto the freeway after dropping him off. I miss the freeway entrance without realizing it and it becomes one of those things where you think you might have screwed up, but you're not sure so you keep going, then you start feeling pretty sure that you screwed up but you don't want that to be the case so you keep going, then eventually there can be no doubt that you screwed up and you just have to turn around. This would not have been so bad if I could have found the freeway entrance on my return trip past it and if I had not eventually, accidentally, entered the freeway going west instead of east. It was now nine o'clock -- the time the rally was supposed to start -- I wasn't really sure where Stockton was, but I was suspicious that I still had some distance to go, and I was headed toward home. It's dark. It's raining. It's late. What would you do?

I turned around and headed for Stockton. Not only do I not know where Stockton is, I also don't know where the Stockton airport is -- the venue for the rally. But some inner confidence leads me on.

It's 10:30 pm. I park my car at the Stockton airport. I hear a cheering crowd. I ask the security guys if Clinton has spoken already. No -- he just arrived. I join the crowd to hear McNerney's final comments. Two minutes later, Clinton is on! Wow! He's right there! I can see him! I'm not too far away!

Clinton gives a great speech. He is so spot on. He talks about McNerney's expertise in alternative energy and Clinton's own belief that alternative energy is the next source of new jobs for an economic resurgence. He talks about the problems that come of running a country from a place of ideology rather than philosophy. He talks about my favorite rule -- the Golden Rule -- and how Democrats will need to put that rule into place in our dealings with conservatives. We cannot treat them the way they have treated us. Clinton is a big man. A good man. But he did get a few digs in. He said that the Republican strategy for winning this election is as follows: Admit that they have made some mistakes in Iraq and with Katrina and here and there -- but that if Democrats take power we will tax everyone into the poor house, and on the way to the poor house people will meet a terrorist on every corner and then trip over illegal aliens!

It's a great speech and the rain is light -- I'm completely comfortable except that I'm feeling a little foolish for having "My Life," which is quite a large book, tucked under my arm. I've been trying to protect it from the rain with my "ticket" for the event, which is a sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 printer paper. The speech ends and Clinton starts shaking hands. I know he likes to please as many people with a hand shake as possible and I'm standing along an edge, but Clinton is heading the other direction. I think he will leave the area to the left, which is in my direction, but I realize that he will be leaving the area to the right, he's just steps from the door through which he will leave, and there is a crowd of people hoping for hand shakes. Well, I might as well try, I figure. I hurry over and into the crowd, pushing plastic chairs out of my way as I go. I see someone lift a "My Life" into the air, and Clinton reaches for it! I lift mine into the air as I work my way in as politely as possible. This is actually possible because others are trying to leave. He points to my book! Someone takes it from me and passes it up to his aide. I reach out my hand and Clinton takes it. I did it. I did it! Well what do you know. The autograph reads, "Thanks. Bill Clinton 11.1.06."