Thoughts on yet another gun tragedy and on a traveling daughter

 

Jordan in San Miguel
just before she left for Paris.
A globetrotter

Last night, I was filled with the joy of a great week just past. Tonight, my heart is heavy, and I want nothing more than to crawl into a cave and pull a rock over the opening. I am heartsick over yet another mass shooting in Texas, this a cold-blooded execution over a simple request to cut out late-night noise so a baby could sleep. Abbott is on record as saying he is going to continue to defy federal gun laws, and his goal is to make Texas a Second Amendment safe haven. I wonder what his thoughts are tonight. So far, as of almost twenty-four hours later, the governor has not spoken out about the tragedy but has posted a picture of his dog with the caption, “All smiles for the weekend.”

How many times have you asked neighbors to tone down the music or the outdoor party? Did you ever drive into the wrong driveway? Knock on the wrong door? Mistake another car for your own and try to get in it—one of my sons did that just the other night, and I watched in horror from our car. Shooters need little provocation these days. If they didn’t have assault weapons, the outcome would be so different. I do not understand, will never understand, why our legislators are so wedded to protecting AR-15s. They are for military use, killing as many as possible as rapidly as possible. They do not belong in th hands of civilians. If legislators would interpret the second amendment as it was written, in the context of its times, they would see that. But they are blinded by greed and power.

I keep thinking of the terror these people must have felt—the eight-year-old boy, the fifteen-year-old girl, the young women who died shielding their infants with their bodies. What kind of a monster does this? And why do we have laws that allow him to have that kind of weapon?

Like much of Texas and the country at large, I am heartbroken—not for the first time and, I know, not for the last.

I have another worry on my mind tonight. Jordan left tonight to fly to Paris on a work trip She is meeting a colleague there, who had already checked into their hotel. But a corner of my heart is both frightened and full of admiration that my baby child would set off for Paris alone—she may be almost middle aged (she says I can’t call her that for two more years) but she is still my youngest child, my baby.

I am a rotten traveler, nervous to the core. I don’t like flying, I don’t like being away from my nest, although once I get where I’m going I generally “put my full weight down” and enjoy it. (An old story: an older woman was asked how she liked her first plane ride and said it was fine, but “I never did put my full weight down.”) And I have never ever traveled alone. Oh, maybe a few flights, but always there was someone at both ends of the trip. I love Santa Fe, and I loved one trip to Scotland. I have happy memories of everything from re-visiting Chicago to a stay in San Diego. Florida was not so much fun—perhaps I anticipated DeSantis—but Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho were great. Still, the older I get, the more reluctant I am to leave home.

Jordan on the other hand loves it, as well she should since she is a luxury travel consultant. She has been to Mexico more times than I can count, to Italy and Tahiti, and on countless cruises. So this trip to Paris and then by cruise ship to Reykjavik has her excited. She came out to the cottage to say goodbye, and I wish I had taken a picture—all in black, as she often is, with a black leather bomber jacket and a straw fedora. So stylish.

She’ll be home a week from tomorrow, and I will be just a big edgy all week. Oh, I know she’ll be fine. She’s cautious, among other things, and never a risk taker. I will just have to bat down the extremes to which my imagination can go. I have faith in her. But I will be glad when she’s home, and life goes back to normal. And, of course, I’m anxious for pictures and lush descriptions of French food (okay, she’s not an adventuresome eater, and I am wondering how she’ll do with the seafood-heavy diet in Iceland).

Meantime, Christian and I have plotted out some meals for the week, Christian and Jacob will go about their daily routines, and I have work to do and good books to read. Who knew that my golden years would be so golden and so interesting.