Soup and Nostalgia

Dinner plans with longtime close friend Kathie tonight. We hadn’t decided where to go when she called and said she really had a hankering for split pea soup. (She knows I love it.) Could she make a pot and bring it? Kathie never does things halfway. She brought soup, salad, and macaroons with chocolate bottoms—plus her own pinot grigio because she absolutely does not like my chardonnay. We had a glass of wine on the patio—such a lovely day—and then we feasted.

We also had a good, old nostalgia session, talking about our lives, our children, people we know and love. We shed a few tears talking about her late husband, whom I knew and loved, and about the changes in our lives as we age—she’s about five years younger than I. We’re part of a foursome that dines together at least once a month, but the other two were unavailable tonight. I think we both thoroughly enjoyed the one-on-one visit.

Otherwise, a non-eventful day, although how anyone can call life non-eventful with what’s going on in D.C. is beyond me. I am in complete sympathy with the man who wrote that he wakes every morning waiting to hear some astounding news like Trump has resigned, been arrested, stroked out—and yet, nothing happens and the tension builds.

I have a new resolve not to be drawn into fruitless arguments with people who are blind Trumpites. To my mind, all that is wrong is so clear; but I must reluctantly accept that people who follow Trump have convinced themselves he’s right about everything from nuclear attacks to the environment to the economy. I absolutely cannot see how they can do that and overloo so much, but I realize I demean myself when I argue.

Nonetheless I was drawn into it yesterday by a woman who said she didn’t elect a preacher, she elected a businessman. When I pointed out that he is a failed businessman—nine bankruptcies—she wrote and said in effect, “Oh well, we all know business is risky.” Not quite the kind of leader I want in charge of our national economy.

See? There I go again. I simply can’t control my tongue or my fingers. Perhaps my brother is right—I’m like a dog with a bone. But then I have a Facebook acquaintance who posts statements like what wonderful things Trump is doing for the country, starts a volatile thread, and then backs off and lets the acrimony roll, occasionally inserting such innocuous comments as “God bless you all,” or “Don’t argue, pray.” I think I agree with the latter.

On a happier front, I procrastinated today—wrote one guest post about why I indie publish but didn’t ever get to my work in progress. Feels good to be lazy for a day. I’m sure my conscience will drive me back to work tomorrow.

Enjoy this fine weather, my friends.