Dear President Obama and members of Congress,

I’m writing this ‘letter’ more out of a need to express myself than with any true thought that it will actually be read.  At least not by anyone who might be in a position to represent my voice in a Congress that has an ear only for those voices which will further their own, or their parties agendas.  Of course, if I declare that I’m one of the many uninsured Americans then maybe those pushing for Health Care reform would be interested in what I have to say.  And although it’s true, I am uninsured, that’s really not the purpose of this letter.

Just what is that purpose?  To introduce you to a class of Americans that you may not be aware exist.  We aren’t homeless (yet) or getting any type of government assistance like food stamps, medicaid or welfare checks.  It’s not that we might not qualify, it’s just that we feel that walking into a local office to apply for that type of assistance feels like defeat.

Because you see Mr. Obama ( I hope you don’t mind my calling you that), we are fighting a battle every day.  Some of us are out of work and searching for jobs that can’t be found and others, are creating their own businesses and struggling to make money.  We dance for joy when enough money comes in to pay the rent for the month or keep the utilities paid and then start worrying about next month and the bills that we can’t pay.  The outstanding student loans, credit cards and others that aren’t required to live.

It’s not that we don’t want to pay them, but when it comes down to a roof over your head and food to eat we have no choice but to leave them unpaid.  We are embarrassed by it, but have no choice.

And speaking of eating, we’ve read all about the need for healthier Americans, but unfortunately the healthy food is the most expensive to buy.  When your grocery budget is smaller than the cost of most peoples phone bills, you have no choice but buy the cheaper, high fat cuts of meat and things like mac & cheese.  Fresh vegetables and lean meats are out of the question.  It appears that in America you need to be rich to eat healthy.  In fact I’m sure that some peoples grocery bill per month is perhaps higher than my gross earnings for the month.

Some of our children started off getting college educations, but now, with our credit ruined and no way to pay, their financial aid isn’t sufficient to allow them to remain to continue.  And try as they might, they can’t find a job.  Because with so many adults with families out of work, whose going to hire a kid without dependents?

We fight the battle every day, waking up with optimism and determination and going to bed with the same fears and worries as the day before.  How long can we survive this way?

We haven’t always been like this.  We were once your middle class, with white picket fences and 2.2 children living in the suburbs in our own home, attending PTA meetings and football games. We were alot like you, wondering not if we were going to eat, but what and where.  It’s still a shock to us that our lives have changed so drastically, and maybe in some ways we are still in denial, hoping that tomorrow we’ll wake up and be greeted by that picket fence again.

Although the numbers would tell us we’re poor, we’re a proud bunch, and resilient.  We have a hard time swallowing that label.  We tell ourselves we’re ‘frugal’ and ‘thrifty’.  When in truth, we don’t go places and do things because we can’t afford gas for the car or money to get in.  No one would know from looking at us either.  We dress well, and no one would ever guess that the last time we bought new clothes was over a year ago. And generally Mr. President, we don’t complain.

But there in Washington, DC I’m pretty sure no one is aware of us.  We’re not on the welfare rolls, so you don’t number us amongst the poor and we’re no longer middle class.  It seems we’re a whole new class of Americans and we’re invisible to those that represent the American people there in America’s capitol.

If only each and every one of you could spend a few months living just the way we do, wondering if the next paycheck is going to come and what you’re going to do if it doesn’t.  Apologizing to creditors calling for payment and explaining yet again to your landlord or lender why your payment is going to be late again. They need to go to a grocery store with $30 and try to buy enough to eat for a week as well as necessary items like soap and toilet tissue.  Then maybe we wouldn’t be invisible anymore.

The funny thing is, we aren’t asking our government for a handout.  We simply want  you to see us, recognize us and what we’re dealing with and find a way not to try to solve all of our problems, but to provide us with something to grab onto so that we can help ourselves.  This letter, in it’s small, rather insignificant way is our way of saying “We’re here” .  We need a Horton to hear us.

First, Elizabeth is in an entirely different situation than Hilary was.  She’s battling a killer disease and she still has young children.  Although leaving her cheating husband might be a better thing for her, with her own uncertain future it would not be the best thing for her children.  And when Ms. Expert with the oh so proper English accent mentions that Elizabeth is rubbing salt in a healing wound…how would she know?  Just because time has passed doesn’t mean things have gotten easier for any of the Edwards family.  Experts shouldn’t make assumptions from the outside.  A family can look to the outside world like everything is just peachy, but have some major ugliness going on behind closed doors.

I think that as a mother, Elizabeth Edwards would not have written and released the book if she felt it was going to cause her children more pain.  I believe she felt it was important for her children to hear her side of the story, for her to explain her feelings and the reasons behind her decisions.  She felt it was vital to leave them a picture of their mother as a fighter, someone who weathered bad times with grace and dignity.

And if there is a certain amount of ‘take that’ directed toward her husband, doesn’t she deserve to dish that out too?

Maybe it’s because this is the first time someone of my age group has entered the office, but watching this family take on the highest office in the country has truly made me think about what they are giving up for our country. The pressures, the stress and the responsibility that the entire family will not be easy. I’m not saying there aren’t plenty of perks to the job. But it’s not a job I’d want or even desire. That alone gives me respect for the man, his wife and his children.

I know I’m not alone as I say that President Obama brings me hope for a better future for our children. A hope for change in our country, when we so badly need it. As Barack Obama raises his hand and is sworn in as President of the United States of America, we are watching a truly historic moment in history. And we place our hope for a better future on his shoulders. May we all work together to assist this charismatic man and his family as they step into the history books to bring change to our country.

“Ruin what?” another voice asks. Yeah, yeah, don’t give me grief about the voices in my head. Like you don’t have them? Puh-leese. Anyhow, I’m still not sure exactly what I will/would be ruining by giving more details of my interesting week. Except there seems to be a certain complete feeling now that the week is over. And perhaps going over the details would disrupt that somehow. So maybe I’ll just forget a recap of the week and write about what’s on my mind right tonight, now that my week has come to a close.

I’m experiencing a small twinge of regret. A few weeks ago; well actually more like a month or so, I discussed the fact that I’d gotten an e-mail from someone I considered a friend, someone I cared about. In that e-mail, they were pretty blunt about the fact that they didn’t consider me a friend, and went into some detail about where I fell short in my friendship capabilities. I was deeply hurt and yes, a bit angry. At that time I wrote a responding e-mail, in which I explained some things and countered some of this person’s bitterness. I then read it through and decided not to send it, as I was afraid it was too harsh and perhaps more retaliatory than I wanted it to be. I stumbled across that response in my e-mail today and reading it again, I think perhaps I should have sent it. Sure, there is a certain degree of spitefulness in it, but there is much more truth in it than anything else. Yet, now, here it is several months later, and to send it now would surely be seen as re-opening old wounds. I think perhaps the window of opportunity has passed and I regret that just a little.

In another part of my head I’m treading on familiar ground. The path in front of me is well worn, and my feet recognize it so well that I can almost close my eyes and still follow it to it’s inevitable conclusion. It’s funny how a part of me always holds onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe this time it’ll lead to someplace new. And even if it doesn’t, the warm familiarity gives me an odd sense of security and belonging. With so many new things going on around me in my life, I think perhaps walking this path again isn’t such a bad thing. At least as long as I remember it’s highly unlikely its going to lead where I really want to end up.

And that is really enough of looking inside my head…

Oh, you know the Princess has an opinion on that one, now don’t you? I think its because Christmas (omg, I said it again!) has become a competition of sorts. Yup, you heard me right. I said competition. Some folks have to outdo what they did last year. Others have to make sure their loved ones are impressed by their generosity. Still others are determined to get their kids the ‘it’ thing, regardless of cost or availability. It’s put a lot of pressure on people. And pressure equals stress and stress…well, stress will zap the goodie right out of goodwill.

I can’t honestly say I come from a generation where what was under the tree didn’t matter. I was the same as the next kid. Barbie camper vans, airplanes and groovy Barbies in tie-dyed purple outfits with fringe were expected to arrive via Santa’s sleigh when I was a kid. And then when I had kids of my own I wanted them to have just what they asked for, too keep Christmas magical, you know? And then there were the gifts for family, friends, teachers, etc. I didn’t want to look cheap, now did I? So yes Virginia, I’m just as guilty of the next guy as being sucked into the ‘gift performance anxiety. But…I wonder…

I wonder if back before department stores and office parties things were different. I wonder if people were just grateful to celebrate together, content to be thought of regardless of just what the gift was? Is that what all of those Christmas songs about joy and goodwill are talking about. Are they all based on a period of time before everyone was concerned about what other people would think?

Don’t get me wrong, I still love giving gifts that I know are going to be loved. Even ooh’ed and ahh’ed over. But every once in awhile I remember how giggly and happy we felt as kids when we went caroling. I remember loving to decorate the tree instead of doing it because it was expected. And I wonder just what needs to happen to bring those same feeling back to Christmas again.

I’ve gone out with my girly-girl friends a few times already, but truthfully taking care of my business has been a priority. I really love the fact that I can truly concentrate on building my business. So many ideas, so little time. It’s a juggling act trying to keep it all balanced. Of course, I know that this is just step one of my grand adventure as I have started haunting Craigslist looking for apartments in several different desirable areas. Part of this grand adventure is not knowing exactly where I’m going to end up. My friend is simply amazing for offering me a place to stay for awhile, but I don’t want to lose sight of my goal. I’m a bit anxious to have my own place, even though I know it’s going to be February before I can seriously begin looking for my new home.

My former landlord has not, as of yet, returned my security deposit. I unintentionally left a few items in the apartment and I was told he will charge for their removal. It was just a small bookcase tucked away in a closet and a few hidden items that I totally forgot about. Ah well, hopefully he’ll return the remainder of the deposit soon so that I know exactly how much I need to save in order to expedite my move. I’ll admit, I was irritated that he was so picky, since on an earlier inspection he had stated that I had left the apartment in excellent shape.

Speaking of changes, I’m seriously considering making some changes to Princess Girly Girl. I’ve toyed with some ideas and now am about ready to really work on them. I’ve made a Royal Proclamation to post here more often, and as my latest adventure unfolds it should be interesting. Heck, I may even venture back into the dating world now that yet another go-round with ‘the heartbreaker’ has ended. What is it about that man that keeps me going back for more anyway?

In auto-pilot mode I got into my car and headed out. My iPod was my companion and mindlessly I drove, leaving Maine behind, then New Hampshire, then Massachusetts, followed by Connecticut.  Then, somewhere in New York I started to feel it. The freedom and excitement. How many people were able to follow adventures at my age? Here I was, driving hundreds of miles, alone with my car full of belongings. I remembered the meek little wife who didn’t dare drive on the interstate…yes, that was me just 7 years ago. Not only was I driving, I was comfortable doing so. Suddenly I remembered the many dreams I had before my marriage, the ones about driving all over the country. Motherhood and a bad marriage had buried those dreams. But now new dreams of living in an area where I loved the weather, where I could afford to live and build my business. Where I wasn’t sinking all of my money into over-priced rents, heating costs, and taxes. Somewhere forward thinking.  

I’m settled into a hotel room tonight, for a night of relaxation and sleep after a stressful month and a day of driving. I’ll have a short 3 1/2 hour drive to my new temporary home in Richmond. And just 3 hours south is my son, waiting anxiously for next weekend when I get to go visit him. I’m smiling because although I still feel the sting of missing my daughter, my parents, my family and friends, I know that this is a new chapter in the book that is my life. It seems to be like so many books, a little slow at the beginning but it keeps getting more exciting and filled with possibilities as it goes along.