A boring, lonely weekend

 

Sophie hoping someone, anyone would come visit
so I would have someone else to talk to.

With Jordan and Christian at the golf tournament and Jacob celebrating the end of the school year, Sophie and I have found it a sort of lonely, boring weekend. At least we have each other to talk to, though the conversation is pretty much one-sided. She contributes by cocking her head and looking at me as if to say, “Really?” I do have work on my desk, but sometimes I just don’t feel like doing it on weekends. So I piddle a bit and read a lot.

I did spend much of the day on domestic chores—hanging up clothes, putting away groceries, generally straightening things, and making a batch of my pea salad because I like it a lot. Contrary to most recipes, I do not put bacon in it, and I grate cheddar instead of cubing it. Last night I asked Jacob to get me a ream of paper from the corner where we store such supplies, and he asked, “What’s a ream?” I explained, he looked, said he didn’t see any such. This morning, Christian found an unopened box of three reams. I had already ordered three, so I’ll return the package that arrived today. Poor Jacob—he had no reason to know that’s how paper comes, but I’ll tell him so he can add it to his knowledge bank. Who knows? Someday he may work in an office.

I do have a slight domestic dilemma. The electric teakettle that Mary Dulle handed down to me several years ago gave up the ghost. The switch refused to work, and while I know those things can be fixed, it’s usually less expensive and easier to order a new one. That does, however, leave me with the guilt about the footprint I’m leaving on the earth. But I ordered a new one, partly because I don’t know anyone who does such repair. And for once, I read the instructions and warnings. One of the latter was: do not immerse. Okay but I always wash a new appliance before using it. Can I use a soapy dishrag on it and then rinse without immersing?

Good dinner tonight: since I was cooking for myself tonight, and Jordan was picking up my grocery order at Central Market, I included a quarter lb. filet of Dover sole. First problem: a half lb. is too much, since I don’t really like leftover fish the next day, but a quarter lb. is too skimpy. Second problem is I can only occasionally sauté sole in one piece—it usually turns to hash when I try to flip it, as it did tonight, even with a fish spatula. The delicate flavor, however, is so good, I don’t mind the hash. And even though I didn’t get the crispy brown crust I like, it was so tasty that I forgot to put lemon on it. What I did do, however, was to sprinkle it with a bit of the lava salt Jordan brought home from Iceland. Really enhanced the flavor without making it too salty. I do need, however to learn to use a lighter hand with the black salt. To go with it, I made a big batch of English pea salad which is a favorite of mine. Thinking of people who don’t like English peas—Christian, Barbara Ashcraft, and Jean, who once said she didn’t like pea salad and then ate two helpings. Mine has no bacon and no little lumps of processed cheese—I grate some good cheddar. We always buy Tillamook cheddar from Oregon but today Jordan wasn’t watching, picked up Lucerne, which is I think the Albertson’s house brand, and then was so mad at herself. I am sure it will be fine.

Not an appealing picture--too monochromatic. I am
obviously not a food photographer, but I was trying to
show the black lava salt on the fish. Honest this
tasted a lot better than it looks.

My political brains is whirring happily tonight with the vote of the Texas House to impeach Ken Paxton. I may despise Texas politics, but I have to admit it is interesting, and I’ll wait to see what the state Senate does. Maybe tomorrow my further thoughts on politics. Tonight I have a new issue of Bon Appetit to read.

Sweet dreams, y’all.

 

The European tour continues, sort of

 

Jordan's shipboard view

It’s not actually Europe. Jordan embarked at Brest, France on a ship from the Ponant cruise line bound for Iceland. The neat part about the cruise is that instead of going out to sea and around Ireland, the ship is going up the channel between England and Ireland, so she will get to see England and Scotland on the starboard side and Ireland on the port, including the city of Dublin. I am pretty sure they won’t disembark, but she’ll get a glimpse. And since she wasn’t along when her older brother and sister and I went to Scotland, I am glad she’ll get this glimpse of the land of my ancestors.

Of course, she has a glass of wine in her hand in most pictures, but she also has apparently ordered hake again, this in a lovely presentation on a bed of vegetables. Since she likes it so well, I checked Central Market, but when you search for hake all kinds of weird things come up, like baking powder and a plant-based protein chocolate shake. I love shopping at Central Market, but their website frustrates me.

Hake with vegetables

Meanwhile back at home, I’m busy planning menus of things that Central Market does carry, as opposed to hake. Today Christian fixed a pot roast with carrots, onion, potatoes, and onion soup. Delicious, and a good thing to have when Jordan’s out of town because she would say it’s heavy. I’m going to make a shopping list for coronation chicken salad and old-fashioned pea salad for Saturday—I presume there will be coronation reruns Saturday night.

So tonight I’ll decide what to cook for three other nights, so that we have supper the first night Jordan’s home. She definitely won’t want to run to the grocery store that first day back. Menu planning is one of the great pleasures of my life and the reason I cancelled the Home Fresh order that Jamie so sweetly gave me. Jordan forwarded an email, apparently unrelated to Jamie’s gift, that said she had somehow been awarded eighteen free meals. We jointly agreed not to claim them.

Meanwhile, it was a beautiful day in Fort Worth—sunny and about eighty degrees. Subie and Phil came for happy hour, and we sat on the patio. Sophie overcame her bad manners of the last time they were here and was sweet and docile, except for a couple of barking periods. Subie and I agreed she likes for us to be outside. Christian came home in time to join us and recounted his trip to San Miguel, where Subie and Phil visited a number of years ago.

We also touched on politics, so here’s my two cents for the day: If you live in Fort Worth District 9, please vote for Elizabeth Beck. She’s been pro-active for neighborhoods and an active council member. I know nothing about her opponent, Pam Boggess, save for a slur kind of post on Facebook which I will not repeat. But Beck deserves re-election. No sense changing horses in mid-stream for no good reason. Maddie Parker appears to have endorse both candidates, which cancels out her endorsement.

My other political note for the day is that I am delighted that Colin Allred is going to take on Ted Cruz in the next senatorial elections. Allred has been a rising star in the Democratic caucus in the House and takes a risk by challenging the incumbent, but Beto O’Rourke came so close to beating Cruz last time that it seems possible to unseat the senator. I am cheering for Allred.

Otherwise, a workday. I am revising my Helen Corbitt manuscript, pulling 3,000 words out of 28,000 for an article. Today I went through seven chapters, choosing article material and fixing in my mind the theme of the article—how Corbitt and the Zodiac Room at Neiman’s changed Texans’ palate. I even think there may be a second article buried in that material, but I will have to find a food magazine that is an appropriate outlet. Fun to have a project.

So that’s my day. How was yours?

Where do we go from here?

 

Is Texas really a political lost cause?

That’s the question a lot of Texas Democrats are asking after yesterday’s midterms. Nationally, the picture was not all bad, as everyone knows by today—may not have been a blue wave, but it was definitely not a red wave, and Democrats scored some significant, unexpected victories while Donald trump, as titular head of the Republican Party, saw some of his special candidates go down in flames.

But in Texas, it was the same old, same old. Abbott, Patrick, and Paxton, that triumvirate of evil, sailed easily into re-election, a bitter defeat for the many of us who backed Beto and his vision of a better Texas. Beto had a firm grasp of the problems facing Texas and offered solutions—school shootings, failure of the grid, the desperation of women with difficult pregnancies. In eight years, Abbott has solved no problems but created new ones or turned a blind eye to existing ones. We believed in Beto—still do. And most of us believe it’s criminal that Paxton, under indictment for seven years, was re-elected. Patrick? Who could approve of the man who spouts such callous ideas as bathroom monitors to detect LGBTQ kids. Patrick, who claims Christianity, has a heart full of hate.

But here we are—stuck with them for another four years, and with a lot of down-ballot sycophants. What’s next? I read today that Beto says he’s in this fight for a lifetime, and I’ve read several members of Mothers Against Greg Abbott swearing to continue that group and its mission. But in the depths of last night I thought of a new, probably unworkable plan.

Instead of an all-out assault or objection, how about negotiation? I don’t know who would represent us, but it seems to me we need immediate relief on two issues. And Abbott is apparently the man who has that power.

The first is the abortion clause which permits the procedure to save a woman’s life. Who’s making that decision? Far as I can tell, it’s politicians and not physicians. I’ve read several horrendous stories of women at death’s door who had to be transported to another state because of an ectopic pregnancy, a nonviable fetus, any one of many things that can go wrong in a pregnancy. In the case of a poor woman without resources, she’s likely to die. Why not review those standards and treat these women before their cases become so desperate. Why put them through a near-death experience when it’s clear that a living or life-sustaining fetus will not emerge? Or that the fetus will be so deformed that it will suffer in the hours or days before its death. Is cruelty the point? Punishing women? Legislators frequently reveal their absolute lack of knowledge about women’s bodies and/or pregnancy—and yet they are making those decisions, setting those standards.

Would Abbott, if approached right, create a panel of physicians who would set some reasonable guidelines instead of the Draconian approach taken today in which doctors know the procedure is needed but are afraid to perform it for fear of the consequences. In God’s name, what kind of society have we become? It has too many similarities, to me, to the burning of witches in New England.

The other area that simply can’t wait four more years is the danger of school shootings. We have kids throughout the state who are terrified to go to school. That’s hardly conducive to learning. Children’s gun deaths have doubled under Abbott, and Texas now has the distinction of the highest number of children killed by gunfire of any state. (As I write those words, I am appalled at how awful that is!) Abbott is a gun aficionado, and he does what we all hope people will not do—imposes his personal beliefs on the entire state. He’ll never sign on to a ban on assault weapons, which was one of Beto’s goals—and maybe a rash remark several years ago that sealed his doom.

But how about stricter controls on assault weapons. It is beyond belief that the  Uvalde shooter, eighteen years old, could buy an assault weapon with no training, no background check. What’s more important, protecting the freedom and rights of a deranged teenager or saving nineteen school children? Law officers generally want more control on the sale of weapons. Why not have a panel of law officers draw up guidelines for preventing these guns from getting into dangerous hands. Personally I think the age limit should be, maybe fifty, but that’s me. There should be rigorous background checks, extensive training emphasizing the killing power of these weapons. Counseling for those who express generalized anger of hostility during the process. We have the knowledge and ability to weed out potentially dangerous people. We’re just not doing it.

Governor Abbott is not a man known for his empathy. He was, as we all know, badly crippled in a freak accident. Instead of making him more empathetic, that accident somehow made him determined that no one else would get the benefit of the large monetary settlement he got. So I don’t know that an appeal to his better sense would work, but if there was strong enough support in the state …. Law enforcement, churches, legislators, parents of school-age children? There are many blocs of people who would enthusiastically support stricter controls, if there were an organized movement.

Or just call me Pollyanna.

A spat with my dog

 

Can't believe I yelled at this sweet thing. On the other hand,
I can't believe how she threw herself at my bed in anger.
Shame on both of us.

This afternoon, Sophie and I had a stand-off. A terrible battle. She went outside just when I wanted to nap and wouldn’t come in. Jacob happened along and between him and a bribe of cheese, I got her inside. She ate her cheese and immediately wanted to go back outside. I knew, because she’d been outside for long enough to take care of needs, she didn’t have a bathroom issue. I also knew she wanted to go outside and eat grass. I wanted to nap.

There ensued a half-hour battle in which she did her little dance clicking her nails on the wood floor, barked, growled, threw herself at my bed, and did all kinds of things. I responded in an unladylike manner, telling her “No!” in a loud voice, even telling her she was a bad dog—how could I? Thank goodness she doesn’t understand the words, though she got the tone of voice. I yelled, she barked. I tried to put myself in a trance, because I figured if I gave in, I was reinforcing bad behavior. On the other hand, if she’s ten years old and willful, am I too late trying to change her behavior? Or mine?

Finally, disgusted, I let her out and said a prayer that no dognapers chose a sunny, pretty Saturday afternoon for their nefarious activities. I crawled back into my bed but of course sleep wouldn’t come. At some point, I heard her come in and lie by my bed, though when I got up, she was in the living room.

I think we were both ashamed of ourselves. We both know better than to behave like that, and we are both too old for such. I was afraid my irregular heartbeat was banging off the walls. But later, on the patio, she and I made friends, and she came willingly to me for love. Maybe we are both allowed our bad behavior moments.

It was a glorious evening on the patio. Longtime friends Carol and Lon came for supper. Well, I had invited them, but they ended up bringing the supper. I had fixed a seven-layer salad—if you don’t know what that is, you’re too young. Carol and I talked about it and both agreed our mothers never made it. Somewhere along the way, I learned to make it and appreciate. Carol, less interested in cooking than I am, never made it. But the prize was they brought fried chicken (from Drew’s Place, quite probably the best soul food fried chicken in town), fresh fruit, bread and butter. We had a delicious dinner.

Carol and Lon and I have so many interests in common that an evening with them provides me with the kind of conversation that I spend much of my time longing for—a lot of politics (we’re all on the same indignant page), some philosophical talk about aging, and a bit of gossip. There are not many people with whom you can share opinions so freely, so an evening with them is a special bonus for me.

Lon was for many years a representative in the Texas Legislature, so he knows his way around causes. He is also a man of passions—environmental protection and climate change, voting rights, fair elections—a lot of the liberal causes I care so much about. Carol, a trained archivist with a master’s in library science, is so knowledgeable about architecture and historic structures and related history that I hardly know where to begin to say how important she is to my work. She has proofread and edited for me, written books for TCU Press when I was there, and solved many a historical question about several of my projects. I count on Carol to keep me historically honest and well documented. Beyond those professional associations, they are friends I have cherished for thirty years. A nice evening.

They have toddled off into the darkness now, and I have done the few dishes. The patio door is still open, because the temperature is lovely. As Lon pointed out, too early for mosquitoes. A perfect Texas spring evening.

False alarm and other matters

Thanks to all for good wishes, but my dental emergency disappeared—does that happen to emergencies? I am crediting it to either the power of prayer or magic—take your pick. This morning, there was no tenderness, no sign of all the unusual stuff going on in my mouth yesterday. Dutifully, being an obedient girl remembering the dentistry of my young years, I called the dentist office. The assistant who answered didn’t seem too interested in making me an appointment. “Well, if you really think . . .” I decided I didn’t really think I needed to see the doctor immediately. I am not fooling myself. I know that it could flare again, but for now, it’s okay.

When I was young, twelve or thirteen, I had a lot of cavities, for which I credit my father. Like him, I  had poor enamel on my teeth. Dentistry then was not what it is today, and the drill was a slow, cumbersome, excruciating thing. My family dentist was a family friend—outside the office he was Uncle Walt—but he was taciturn, which didn’t help my discomfort during many many procedures. Later, I learned to appreciate him with some affection, but to this day I remain sort of dental phobic. Today, at least temporarily, was a huge relief.

So I stayed home, worked, and in a fit of energy, prepared the chicken filling for pocket sandwiches for a lunch guest tomorrow. I’ve had this recipe in my untried repertoire forever, always wanted to try it, decided this was the time. But all the while I thought it was chicken salad in a puff pastry dough. Not until I got into making the filling did I realize it was not salad—it’s a meat filling, like an empanada, only chicken and with more Anglo spicing. By that I mean butter, onion, garlic, mushroom, and thyme. It made the cottage smell incredible, and when Jordan came out hours later, her first words were, “It smells good in here.” So tomorrow I fight with the puff pastry. More wishes of good luck are appreciated.

Tonight, I went to dinner with Jean and good friend Betty Boles. We haven’t seen Betty in a while—she fell, had hip replacement surgery, and various other things, including covid precautions, have kept us apart. But it was good to be back together again. We ate at the newly redesigned Tavern. I’m still not sure about some aspects of the redo, but I love the tile floor—a hostess told us it is marble, which made my mind boggle at the cost. As usual, the food was really good—I had been wanting their meatloaf, and it didn’t disappoint. Besides the mashed potatoes, with a reduction sauce from the meatloaf, were delicious. I ordered knowing I wouldn’t eat it all and came home with a generous doggie bag.

Talk at the dinner table ranged over many subjects. For some reason, Jean and I reminisced about our childhood homes. We moved on, of course, to politics and Beto O’Rourke’s announcement today that he is in the governor’s race. I’ve been waiting months for that word, fearing Abbott was getting the drop on him in campaigning. But I think Beto is wily, knew what he was doing. All evidence now suggests he has a well-thought-out campaign planned and is jumping right into it. An Austin columnist I read tonight quoted an Abbott press-release with fear rhetoric about how all Texans must fight against the dangerous liberalism that Beto represents. No specifics, no policy talk, just vague generalities about threats. Beto on the other hand is already talking about the missed opportunities for expanded medical care for our citizens because Abbott would not accept increased Federal help, the dangers of ignoring the grid and the possibility of another power failure this winter, the danger of having an unlicensed, untrained population carrying  guns anywhere and everywhere, the failure of Abbott to deal efficiently with the pandemic which has resulted in the loss of thousands of Texas lives. Beto has specific talking points; Abbott has vague looming threats of “dangerous liberalism.”

A confession: I took a Pew Research Council survey, and the results showed that six percent of the American population is more liberal than I am. That, of course, leaves ninety-four percent on the other side of the line. Christian said, “That’s about right.” But I think there must have been a mistake. As I rant and rave about injustices and blind stupidity in this world, I think there must be more people who agree with me. If not, please don’t burst my little bubble.

Y’all have a good night. As my mom always said, “Tomorrow is another day.”

Big day for the Burtons

 

Cutest ranch couple I ever saw

Tonight is the annual Cowtown Ball, a charity event held for the benefit of the American Cancer Society. Christian is co-chair, with Virginia Durham, and Jordan is a member of the committee. Last year, when Christian was also co-chair, they had to go to a virtual event because of Covid-19. This year, because it’s at the Fort Worth Zoo, we thought rain was going to spoil the evening. It’s been a tense couple of days around here.

Feeding giraffes was 
part of the fun

But the weather is lovely, the temperature mild, and I presume everyone is having a good time. Christian said they had sold close to 500 tickets, which he considered a good turnout. Jordan got a special hairdo this morning that would fit under a cowboy hat, and she tried on her dress for me. Of course, I thought it was smashing—her usual black brightened with black-and-turquoise cowgirl boots and big turquoise earrings under a black hat. Last I heard she was debating about wearing my squash blossom necklace, but the picture shows she wore it.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t exactly playing Cinderella, but left on my own I ate a composed salad for supper. Sometimes there’s nothing better. I had defrosted some freezer leftovers with soup in mind, but what I thought was chicken broth turned out to be scallops in a wine sauce—in a cracked plastic container that leaked. What a mess! Jordan complained of the smell when she came out just before leaving, but I think now, with the doors open, it’s going away.

One of those days when suddenly everything hits at once. This morning I gleefully announced publication of The Most Land, the Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas. My tag line for marketing came from Red Steagall’s blurb: "The majesty and intrigue of a ranch is of course invested in the land and livestock. But the true soul of a ranching property rests with the humans involved, both staff and owners. Judy Alter has done a magnificent job of explaining and describing the amazing family of the world-famous Waggoner Ranch, all under one fence.” It’s more the story of the people than the cattle, land, and oil.

But, unbeknownst to me, the pub date had changed, and the book is not yet available. Supply chain problems have affected publishing as they have many industries, and the book is delayed three weeks. Paper supply, no doubt. So now I get to announce it all over again. I did read today that some university offers a graduate degree in managing the supply chain, and I thought it a great idea, if a bit late. But who knew that in addition to astronomic deaths and unbelievable political squabbles, the pandemic would delay goods. Jordan has stocked up on toilet paper again, and my closet runneth over.

Late this afternoon, I got my voter registration (glad to have it) and my mail-in ballot, which is full of nothing but constitutional amendments, almost none of which I understand except that several are labeled as tax increases. Since our state governor is spending billions to build a wall and advance other items on his warped agenda, like Operation Lone Star which imprisoned immigrants without charges or counsel, I am not inclined to support bond program until his right-wing, partisan spending stops. If he would fix the power grid, I might have more sympathy. It would be interesting to see the state budget and see what is allocated to maintaining power all winter. I have asked for ballot advice from a friend whose husband was a state legislator and who keeps current on such matters.

Then came a questionnaire from the Medigap program TCU offers its retirees and a questionnaire from my insurance company—all sparked by the Medicare enrollment period which opens next week. Keeps a person busy, I’ll tell you.

Today is National Black Dog Day (I love these oddball national days), so Sophie bids each of you good night and sweet dreams.

Politics, food, and writing—what else is there?

Truly, I have little else to write about today, except politics, food, and writing. Oh, and then there was that wonderful rainstorm this afternoon about 5:00 p.m. By 4:30 the sky to the north and east looked blue-gray but not dark enough to promise rain. Gradually, however, everything darkened, and I began to hear distant thunder.

When the storm came, it was a nice, gentle summer one—we had no lightning here, though nearby areas did, and the thunder was soft and distant enough that Sophie was not overly alarmed. But the good, healing rain came down heavily enough to water things but not so heavily as to damage blooming plants. There was wind, blowing sheets of water across the back yard, and I did fear for the bougainvillea, which is just beginning to bloom again and which was battered a bit. But it seems to have survived. I know in North Fort Worth there was more damage, and I am sorry—but for us, I am grateful for just the right amount of storm. I’ve said it before, but my mom taught us to love a thunderstorm, and that stays with me today.

I’m avidly following the news of the Democratic walkout in Austin today, and I am most angry at Ryan Rusak’s opinion piece in the Star-Telegram where he says Democrats just need to win more elections. How can they, the way Abbott is stacking legislation against them? Although Rusak claims the exodus to D.C is a gift to Abbott, I don’t see it that way. I think this extreme move will spotlight the ways in which Abbott is trying to create a fiefdom here in Texas—and will turn thinking voters against any 2024 presidential hopes he is harboring. Yes, I think there are enough thinking voters in our country.

As for the constitutionality of what the Democrats are seeking—whether or not the DOJ can help them—I am not a constitutional scholar and can’t comment. But I bet that holds true for a lot of those who are commenting.

Abbott has, of course, not commented on the overwhelming numbers of Texans who waited hours in line to testify against his voter suppression bill. But they did, and I hope they were effective, some not testifying until the wee hours. I haven’t heard who testified in favor of it, but I can guess—Abbott, Patrick, and Paxton, the triumvirate of evil in Texas. I’m holding my breath for what happens next.

And on to food. We had ribs last night—with a sauce made of apricot preserves and soy. Awfully good, though there was talk that we should replace baby back ribs with beef next time. I’m not sure the same sauce would work as well on beef—big difference in flavors of the meat.

We must be on an Asian kick, because tonight I fixed an Asian salad—and had a real learning lesson about rice noodles. Watch for it in my Thursday blog from Gourmet on a Hot Plate. Now that I know how to do it properly, I’m anxious to do it again. Maybe I’m hooked on soy.

From a writerly point of view, it was a good day, a satisfying one. The phrase work-in-progress is common among writers, though in my case it was really a misnomer: it should have been something like work-in-limbo. Saying I’d put it aside to simmer in the back of my mind was an elegant excuse—I’d really ignored it, because it puzzled me, and I filled my days with other, less ambitious chores. But today I went back to the rough draft of Irene in Danger, with new ideas for working out a plot point that had been a stumbling block and creating a new conflict between characters. I began, of necessity, at the beginning and am about halfway through re-reading the 27,000 words I had already written, editing and re-writing as I go. It feels good. Please cross your fingers for me.

And that, folks, was my day. How about yours?

 

Facebook, politics, and—oh, my!

 

Last night, one of my closest friends, a woman who has lived in small-town Texas all her life, whose late husband is buried in her town, who has many ties and memories and friends here, told me she’s thinking of leaving Texas. She just can’t stand the politics. I sympathize but I can’t—or won’t—leave. I am too old to start again, my beloved family is all in Texas, my career has been built on writing about Texas. Where would I go? I like living here—except for the politics, which are horrifying. My big thought about all that is that it is terrible what Republicans have done to my beloved adopted state.

By now many of you have discovered I spend too much time on Facebook and too little time writing brilliant fiction. Many of my friends are disparaging about FB—it’s too vitriolic, it’s a time suck, you can’t convince those you oppose, only old people read it, etc. A long list of objections. I am not here to defend Mark Zuckerberg. In fact, I think he does a lot wrong, from pushing advertising to censoring. But still, I find it informative and useful.

I think you must be discriminating—click through the gossip, the accusations, the conspiracy theory folks, even the advertising. Underneath all that, you can find some cogent political discussions, and these days, that’s what I’m looking for. No, I do not expect to convert a trumper by my words or even a lifelong Republican who doesn’t realize this is not your father’s Republican Party. What I hope to accomplish with my posts is to bolster those who think like I do, encourage them that we can win against the Republican gargoyle that has Texas and the nation in a stranglehold, spur them to action.

I know how to pick and choose the posts I read. I ignore obvious right-wing extremists and conspiracy theorists, but I learn from posts by rational conservatives and progressives. And every little bit of knowledge helps me understand what's going on. I am sometimes moved to action, as I am now with the terrific walk-about by the Texas Democratic legislators which, at least for now, killed the draconian voter suppression bill. I intend to write my state senator and representative tonight to express my outrage over several of the measures passed by the Texas legislature in the session just ended—the harshest anti-abortion bill in the nation, the “constitutional carry” gun law, the law which allows carrying open liquor containers out of restaurants, the unbelievable law that restricts what teachers can say about American history. A history of racism? Us? Oh, no, you must mean another country. Talk about blindersl

But the voter suppression law is perhaps the most egregious, clearly racist to the point that no Republicans dare deny that. The bill is praised for ensuring safety of elections against fraud—but absolutely zero fraud was found in an analysis of the 2020 election in Texas (and precious little in the nation at large). Still, Republicans are terrified by the rising tide of blue votes. So they wrote a law that was clearly aimed at persons of color—who coincidentally mostly vote Democratic. The scariest part of that awful bill is that it allows a judge to overturn the popular vote. Whoa and wait a minute—wasn’t this country founded on the sanctity and privacy of the individual vote? It is, as President Biden said, an attack on democracy.

Gov. Abbott, the emperor who has no clothes, will call a special session to push this voter bill through. Those of you who join me in horror at it must actively fight against it—write your senator and representative, speak out on social media, do whatever you can. Democracy is too precious to lose it to a bunch of power-hungry old white men.

Sorry for the political rant, but it comes from the heart. Tomorrow I’ll get back to telling you about the goings on in my small world of the Alter/Burton compound. Not much happened today anyway—too rainy and dull.

Stay safe—and think about righteousness in this crazy world.

Learning to count my blessings

 

The resident papa cardinal in my back yard just flew down to the railing around the deck, sat there a moment surveying his world, then flew to the sidewalk, pecked at a few things, and flew away. I love sighting him and was so relieved to see him and “mama” again this spring. Cardinals are not travelers. They generally stay within one yard, so I am indignant if I see mine in the yard behind me. They say when you see a cardinal on your property, it means someone in Heaven is thinking of you. I always think it’s my dad, a great gardener and bird lover. When Jacob was little, I taught him about cardinals, and he would say excitedly, “Look, Juju, the red bird.”  I don’t suppose he’d let himself get excited today, but I do.

The cardinal is one of many things that makes think I should count my blessings, on this a day when I’m really feeling sort of whiny about several things, including the small health hiccups of age. Frequently you see a question asking people if they age would they rather keep their mind or their physical well-bring. Having seen my mom sink into dementia as the result of several small strokes, or TIAs, my answer is unequivocally that I want to keep my mind lively. It’s one reason I continue to write (aside from the pleasure I find in writing).

But for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been struggling with swollen legs and feet—puffy is the word for my feet. I’ve contacted the cardiologist, and he has prescribed more physical therapy, which is okay but sort of a nuisance because it’s a repeat of what we did not a month ago and what, since then, I do every day myself, though not as often as the therapist would like. They don’t want to give me a prescription because of my recent bout with a kidney injury, so I’m sleeping with my feet in the air—above my heart—and trying compression stockings. Not sure the latter was a success today.

I have exercises to do—chair yoga and five loops around the small circle from living area to bedroom to bath in the cottage. The PT figures it’s about 100 feet total if I do it five times But I have a problem: Sophie goes bat-shit crazy, especially over the chair yoga, though she follows me, barking furiously, when I do the walking. She can easily tell the difference between me just walking from desk to bedroom or bathroom and me doing the exercise walking. On nice days I can lock her outside, though she protests, but on rainy days, there’s no such out. In the past when she stayed outside for long periods of time, I longed for her to come in—guess that’s come home to bite me.

At any rate, with all this going on I fight the temptation to think of myself as an invalid. It’s part of my worry over being a recluse—it’s so easy to stay home and not make that extra effort to get ready to go out, especially when I don’t know the accessibility of my destination. I have ordered myself an upright walker, hoping that will relieve some of the pressure on my arms and shoulders and entice me to get out in the world more.

I thought that was so smart, until I read an email from a friend who said her husband ended in the hospital for two nights because he took a hard fall off his—yeah, you guessed it—upright walker. She thinks, however, there were extenuating circumstances.

Tonight, neighbor Prudence had a meet-and-greet for a run-off candidate for the city council election scheduled for June 2. Jordan sort of co-hosted, and I wanted to go because I wanted to meet the young candidate. I am really impressed by how he organized a neighborhood that had lost its sense of neighborliness and helped earn it the Best Neighborhood of the Year award. But because of my swollen legs and not being sure of access to Pru’s and not wanting to burden Jordan and Christian with looking after me, I elected to stay home. I think it was the right decision, but it’s also the decision that makes me worry that I’m becoming—or have become—a recluse.

After days of rain, it was lovely, sunny, and almost hot today. Tomorrow will apparently be sunny also but then more rain Friday. Of course, it’s the Colonial Gol Tournament (which has a better name) that is attracting all the rain. Happens every year.

Stay safe and dry.

Gone to the movies

I did it! I went to the movies. The friends I went with, knowing my usual avoidance of film, asked when the last time I saw a movie was, and I replied that I think it was Julie and Julia. That was 2009, so that makes it ten years.

Of course, today was no average movie in a commercial theater. We went to see Raisin’ Hell: The Life and Times of Molly Ivins, showing at the Modern Art Museum. I’m not a judge of movies (obviously), but I enjoyed this. Lots of laughs, yes, for Molly’s legendary wit could pierce the thickest political armor. But there was so much more to this film—a serious statement about democracy and our responsibilities as citizens. As she constantly reminded us, publicly elected officials work for us, not the other way around. I wondered also if the film wasn’t about a woman who, surrounded by friends all her life, was essentially lonely. She grew up in conflict with a father who told her she wasn’t the beautiful sister and was constantly angry at her.

Lots of people familiar to Texans—and a few outliers—appeared as narrators in vignettes, from Ann Richards to Ann Lamott (the latter a surprise—I never guessed a connection between them). A couple of people I’d met over the years and many more who were familiar from the liberal wing of Texas politics—Ronnie Dugger, Dave McNeeley, Kaye Northcott, Lou Dubose, Cecile Richards, Jim Hightower, along with friends and classmates of Molly, past and present. These vignettes gave continuity to the film and made it not only the story of her life but saved it from being a pastiche of one-liners. Cinematography was beautiful and some scenes could make you fall in love with Texas all over again. An enriching afternoon.

Of course a 2:00 p.m. show time was right when I usually nap, so I came home and had a late nap. Sophie did not like that at all—after what she deemed long enough, she began noisily to drop her chew toy on the wood floor. Then she jumped up on the bed, peered at me, and pretended to settle down. But she lay next to me and kept nudging me, gently but still nudging. When that didn’t work, she came back to check my face and gave me a gentle lick, soon followed by more vigorous licking. I gave up.

Trivia for the day: thanks to a Facebook friend for enlarging my vocabulary. Do you know what a snollygoster is? A politician who uses his or her office for personal gain rather than the public good. If the shoe fits….and so on. What a wonderful word!

I have new friends in my bathroom. Last night a tiny gecko was running around in the shower and then moved to one wall. If I could have been sure I could do it without hurting him, I would have moved him outside. As it is, I left him untouched and just watched him in admiration. I hope he finds a crack and makes his way outside. I’m less happy about the tiny black spider who has staked out the wall next to the commode as his territory. I well know that spiders don’t have to be big to bite and their bite can be painful. But, Schweizer-like, I don’t want to squish the little fellow, so I keep a wary eye on him. His cousin was on the toilet seat one day, and when I tried gently to brush him off, he fell in and presumably drowned. No funeral was held.

Another week coming up. Make it a good one, my friends.