I have been having
so much fun lately reading the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and the Fort Worth
Register from around 1900. You know, the kind of paper that reported the
social news. Mrs. So and So entertained Mrs. A. B. Wharton at tea, and Mrs. Wharton
honored her sister-in-law with a luncheon that was “delicious and delightful.” Of
course, there are endless advertisements, but there’s an occasional lynching—two
ranchers angry at a third rancher—and the lawyer who was surprised when his
wife did not greet him at the train station when he arrived from a business
trip. He went home and got to exploring—found a letter to her from her lover.
Articles about the
early use of automobiles in Fort Worth are especially interesting to me. Did
you know there was a racing park, sort of behind where the Montgomery Ward’s
Plaza now is? Car races were all the thing, almost as popular as horse races,
and A.B. Wharton once raced against legendary driver, Barney Oldfield. I remember
my mom talked about Oldfield—if she thought someone was driving too fast, she’d
ask, “Who do you think you are? Barney Oldfield?”
These old
newspaper accounts are hard on the eyes but a joy to the mind. Sometimes I
think I’d like to have lived back then, but of course I realize I’m reading
about people of privilege. For large segments of our population—the poor,
people of color, the ill—life back then was even harder than it is today.
I’ve had the thought
lately that I’ve lived too long—not because I’m tired of life, but because I
simply cannot believe what’s going on in our country. For much of my life,
Russia was the great enemy to be terribly feared. Their government, if not their
people, was bent on destroying America. I lived through the McCarthy era,
though my memories of it are vague, and through the Cold War, where we were
terrified that atomic bombs would rain down on us. School children hid under
their desks or in hallways during raids, and William Faulkner assured us in his
acceptance of the Nobel Prize for Literature that mankind will not only endure,
he will prevail.
And yet here we
are today, with clear evidence that Russia manipulated our presidential
elections, indeed was responsible for scooting a criminal into the presidency. Putin
as much as said the goal was to turn Americans against their government. Mission
successful. Yet the controlling political party does not bat an eyelash. No
outrage, no anger. Chin up and eyes out the window—they act like nothing happened.
Predictions from those who know are that meddling in our elections is continuing
and will increase with the 2020 election—and yet the Senate vows to do nothing,
rejects bills that might protect the process.
In another day, in
another time there would have been outraged howls of treason and immediate action.
What has happened to us as Americans?
I guess one of the
things I do when stressed is to cook, because today I made pesto from the basil
plant growing in a pot on my desk and made a big pot of the cold cucumber soup I
love. For m supper I cooked scallops. Unless I’m going all out and making
Coquille St. Jacques, I have a hard time with scallops. But tonight I sort of
followed Ina Garten’s recipe for scallops Meuniere—dredged them in flour,
browned quickly, then simmered briefly in white wine, and served with a dash of
lemon. So good!
Sweet dreams everyone.
I hope I dream tonight of scallops and cold cucumber soup and
turn-of-the-century teas with “delicious and delightful” food—and not of Russians
rigging our voting machines. And I really hope that Faulkner was right.
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