A little girl, maybe seven, ploughs into me on her way out of the girl’s locker room.  ‘Daddy!’ she calls into the empty foyer of our local pool.  ‘My dad’s got my bag,’ she tells me.

‘Maybe he’s in the boy’s locker room,’ I offer.  ‘We can call him from the doorway.’  We both try.

‘Daddy!’

‘Anybody in there have a little girl?’  No answer.

So we head back to our locker room with me listening to the girl’s steady stream.  ‘I already have my suit on but I need my bag to put my clothes in,' she points out.

By the time we’ve got on goggles and caps and I’m saying her dad’s probably waiting for her on the pool deck, I notice the girl is studiously ignoring me.  She’s gotten a grip on worry and gotten in touch with something her parents taught her.  Rules. 

Ah yes, ‘don’t speak to strangers’ and ‘don’t speak to kids who aren’t supposed to speak to strangers.’  In our rush to fix a problem, we’d both forgotten rules and roles and business as usual.  Strange woman.  Dutiful child.  Zero trust; all hallowed rules.

There are times when our great need, or loss, or even greater love temporarily interrupts the who’s who of trustworthy others.  After 9/11, it’s often noted, a national, even global suspension of distrust between strangers took effect.  Safe distance gave in to compassion and kindness.  It reminds me of cherished reunions with my family, whose Weltanschauung could not be further from my own.  I’m not the only one who loves her kin far more than she misjudges them.

It’s Saturday afternoon.  We're off to stimulate Ohio’s economy, darting through the red hot fluorescence of Target.  We hear one lady grazer say to another, ‘oh, this is that inner peace stuff.’  Not one to gawk at those in the throws of self-actualization, I’m left to imagine the peace inducements crowding the big box shelves - candles, perhaps, patchouli oil, incense wands and a yoga primer.

But our feet stop not until we zero in on what we came for:  angel cake cutter, PJ pants, fitted sheets, dark chocolate and a toaster oven - heaven to hell, honey, with sweet dreams inbetween.

At the toaster oven display, we encounter a philosopher couple, pondering the wares.  They want to find a small oven for baking two potatoes at a time.  The male fancies baked potatoes with crispy skins.  'We don't really need triple trays and room for a twelve inch pizza,' confides his partner with a calm Dutch accent. As we discuss the pros and cons of all the shiny multi-featured models made in China, which is all the models, it feels oddly sublime to machinate potato bakery with a pair of shoppers in the kitchen isle.

The Obama budget bars no holds in its plan to reverse the flow of goodies:

"The past eight years have discredited once and for all the philosophy of trickle-down economics, that tax breaks, income gains and wealth creation among the wealthy eventually will work their way down to the middle class. In its place, we need economic opportunity to trickle up."
Steven Thomma and David Lightman, McClatchy Newspapers

His critics are not sold on the proposal:

Republicans and other critics argue that Obama's plan would punish success and stifle the very kind of spending that would foster investment and economic growth.
Lori Montgomery, The Washington Post

But neither argument credits the power of imagination to foster growth, and the lack thereof to squelch it.  NPR's David Folkenflik links the financial meltdown to