Love it. Tis Best.

Check out this website.

http://www.tisbest.org

I heard its founder interviewed on NPR just before Christmas and found it compelling. Sadly I had already selected gifts for the season. Then. Opportunity.

A few days ago I managed to get myself and my baby girl out of the house into the frigid Boston air to meet with other mommies at an event called "Whine & Wine" (or "Wine & Whine"?). It had been a rough day of near-naps and nap fails. I had a head cold. Did I mention how the sunshine merely intensified the glare of the snow and the glint of ice? Somehow I managed to get of the house and arrive at the event. Of course, I didn't manage to RSVP. Or notice that the event started at 4:30. I arrived at 4:00. Or succeed in bringing a bottle wine to share. Alas.

The good news! This gave me the opportunity to use Tis Best.org.

As the site instructs:

Q: What is a TisBest Charity Gift Card?

A: It works like any other gift card, except that instead of buying stuff in a store, the recipient spends it to support a charity of their choice.

You are the donor and your recipient chooses the charity!

I went online, uploaded a supercute (indeed) photo of my sweet baby girl, chose a $$$ amount, opted to send the charity gift card via email, and BAM. In lieu of wine, I gifted my hostess with an Obamafication. Pay it forward. Give Back. You get the idea.

At any rate, love it. I do.

Take out your pencils. Begin.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/20/us/politics/20text-poem.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

The following is a transcript of the inaugural poem recited by Elizabeth Alexander, as provided by CQ transcriptions.

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

Arrest Me

“I am hoping to offer language that will give people
a moment of pause...That there is almost a quiet pool
in which they are able to stand and think for a moment.
I think that’s part of what poetry does. It arrests us.”

Elizabeth Alexander on what she hopes to accomplish 
by reading her poem at Barack Obama’s inaugural,
January 20, 2009.

--Thanks to Mary N. for sharing this.