Justice, computers, cozy mysteries, and sloppy Joe

 

Sloppy Joe

Count me among the many who rejoice today that we now have Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson (why can I not get beyond wanting to spell it Kenanjti?). When Biden first announced, way back before the South Carolina primary which gave him such a boost, that he would appoint a Black woman, I cringed—not because I didn’t think there was a qualified Black woman but because I thought he had boxed himself into a corner where he could have been accused of a kind of reverse racism—not considering qualified Anglo candidates. That is not, of course, what opponents overtly objected to, though it may well have been the underlying thought. On the surface it was that she was too progressive, too lenient on pornography, too this, too that. They tried to trick her with everything from “Do you attend church?” to “Can you define a woman?” They were rude and insolent and demeaning.

Through it all Judge/now Justice Jackson was cool, calm, and clever. She never fell into the verbal traps. Her answers were intelligent, straightforward, and respectful. I have seen a chart that indicates she brings more professional credentials to the nation’s highest court than any of those now sitting.

She shifts a balance—white men will now be in the majority, and she will be one of four women sitting on the Supreme Court. Conventional wisdom is she will not be able to do much in the face of the “originalists” who dominate, but I somehow have faith in this woman. I think she will have a major impact. And I rejoice, not because she’s Black, not even because she’s a woman, but because she’s highly qualified, which is a pleasant change from the last three appointees. No, I’m not afraid to name them: Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Bartlett. A packed court, but Justice Jackson may make some cracks in that originalist wall.

I realized today, with a gulp, that she is the same age as my oldest daughter, coincidentally a lawyer.

Yet another computer problem day. This afternoon for several hours, I could not establish a Wi-Fi connection. I am trying to determine whether it’s just our property, just me, or a neighborhood problem. But when I don’t have Wi-Fi there’s not much I can do—not even save Word files, nor print. Just read a book, as long as I have one downloaded. No Facebook, no email, none of that. It’s a huge frustration. I can get most of that on my phone, but I don’t like the small screen or keyboard. If I get desperate, I boot up my iPad but I don’t keep it charged.

Not quite ready to broadcast it about, but the last couple of evenings, I’ve been exploring posting to Pinterest. I think when I gave it up several years ago, I was simply a consumer and not using it to market my own books. I was using it like Jordan who searches it for recipes. Besides, when it was new and wildly popular, I created boards like a madwoman with no sense of organization, so now I am working on eliminating irrelevant boards and organizing posts. But I did get a board up for Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries. And I did write more yesterday and today, so I’m creeping toward the conclusion of the third mystery in that series.

On a mystery listserv, we’ve been discussing cozy mysteries. One point that came up was whether it is a convention of the genre to have justice served in the end. I always remember Texas novelist Elmer Kelton who said life is not tied up in pretty packages with a bow and plots should not be either. But many see that as a criterion of the genre. I think a lot about that as I work toward the end of Finding Florence.

Ona lighter note, Jacob and I were alone for dinner tonight. Days ago he rejected my idea of sloppy Joe, but I’d been waiting for a chance to cook my own special recipe (posted on Gourmet on a Hot Plate last October) and I was not to be deterred. Tonight, when push came to shove, he was hungry and asked for a sandwich. His verdict was, “Pretty good.” I asked if I can now put it back in the menu rotation and he said yes. It was awfully good—if I hadn’t burned my bun. I was more careful with his. For those who are interested, Sloppy Joe is thought to have begun in the 1930s as a "loose meat" sandwich in Iowa served by a cook named Joe. References to it began to appear in print in the 1940s. You can still get loose meat sandwiches at restaurants in the Maid-Rite chain.

 Burtons will be out for dinner again tomorrow, and I know Jacob won’t like my plan: an old-fashioned, seven-layer salad. Now that’s what I call good eating!