I think I am in
love. I discovered chocolate bark with blueberries and quinoa. I’m not a big
quinoa fan but in this instance, it adds a nice crunch. Please keep me from
eating the whole bag in one sitting. It was not cheap for one thing.
Oh, this heat
wave. I haven’t felt stifled by the heat, but I live a pretty protected
existence. Most days I’m in my cottage. If I go out, it’s in the evening, when
the temperature has started down. This morning, Jordan and I went to the grocery,
but we left at 9:30—still pleasant outside—and were home by a little after
10:30. Still I worry about those who are out in this extreme heat every day.
Hope everyone is keeping hydrated and staying indoors as much as possible. I
also worry about brown-outs—maybe I just worry as a natural habit.
Learned today that
our extreme heat is caused by dust drifting over us from a storm in the Sahara
Desert. Apparently, the dust just hovers, giving us skies that aren’t quite clear
and beautiful sunsets but really hot days. And it’s not going anywhere—I can
see that because when I look outside, not a leaf is stirring. No breeze. None.
Supposed to move on in a week. Meantime Friday is going to be record-setting
hot.
I am really scared
for America. I’m scared that there are those who don’t see what’s happening, don’t
see that trump’s actions are treasonous. Somewhere today Monte Negro, Estonia
and other eastern European countries got into the mix. They are supposedly on
Putin’s list as he goes about building a new Russian empire. Other rumors
include Scandinavia and Finland. What would trump do if Russia invaded those
countries?
Some former FBI
agents claim trump shows all the characteristics of a managed spy, and I would
desperately like to see that disproven. I have sworn not to discuss Republicans
on the basis of appearance—no more talking about Trey Gowdy’s pointed head or
McConnell’s resemblance to a turtle—but I think it’s fair to say that in
pictures from the Helsinki summit, Putin looks smugly happy and composed; trump
looked more rumpled than usual, his expression semi-confused, his eyes and hair
wilder than usual. I reject the off-color hints of a sexual encounter (just
plain bad taste, folks, about a really serious matter), but I think appearances
support the idea of a puppet and his handler. Scary stuff, and I wait daily for
an explosion that may not come. That may be the whole strategy—let the country
build in tension until we self-destruct.
Strange and
frustrating internet experience tonight. I cancelled my Wednesday Betty dinner
to be at my computer at seven. A friend, a woman I’ve met only once but know
better through a small and close-knit online writing group, has been diagnosed with
a serious form of cancer and is hospitalized on total bedrest. Tonight, friends
and colleagues were making a minyan for her in the hospital chapel, and we were
all invited to attend via Facebook. I thought it was the only way I could show
my support and planned my evening around it. But come seven o’clock, I couldn’t
find it. About seven-thirty, as if by some strange fiber-optic magic, my screen
popped up with a small window that said she was live now. So I was able to join
in remotely—for a few minutes, and then it cut out again. It was a roomful of
love, and I was glad to be able to add a comment that I was there in spirit.
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