"It'll be alright!" my mother said as she leapt from her narcoleptic stupor into fully awake mode. There's often a line of dialogue at these transitions from one state of consciousness to another. We were sitting on the couch last evening watching the Democratic convention when my mom snapped into her "deep sleep" mode. Our attention spans were waning. We wanted Barack, but there was Jill. And Joe. And John Kerry. Cocktails were in mid-stream, and the cheese and crackers were wearing off. We wanted dinner--but what did we want more? The president--or our avocado and chicken sausage quesadillas? Mom went out for a smoke now that she was awake again. "Shut up," she yelled into Joe Biden's face as she passed by the TV on her way back inside. More congenially, she told me that all the speeches were too long. We couldn't wait for Obama and sat down at the table.

My political heart needed a pacemaker today when I heard all the fact-checking reports on NPR. Can't the facts be checked before the speeches--at least for the Democrats so they look better than the Republicans?

My mother's other political proclamation of the evening: "We don't do enough for our veterans!" She told me about the suicides in the neighborhood where she lived before coming to live with me. Hanging. Shooting. "They need help," she said, "and they don't get it soon enough." She told me about her brother after he returned from being a tail gunner in World War II. " He shook so bad, he couldn't hold a half-cup of coffee without spilling it," she said. "And he drank a lot. But the military helped him." My uncle's therapy included crocheting. He made  a lot of crocheted lace tablecloths. By the time I knew him, he was alright.

I want Obama to be re-elected. That's my version of alright.