Monday all day long

 

This is one of those days when I’m tempted to shrug it off with the explanation, “All work and no play makes Judy a dull girl.” I have nothing outstanding to report from my day—or maybe I do—and the national news did not inspire me to comment. One report I read was full of minute by minute reports of jury selection in the trump trial—well, ho hum! I’m waiting for something blockbuster to break loose, or maybe at least for Stormy Daniels’ testimony. And, mostly I guess, I’m waiting to see what the decision will be. You hear so many things—some pundits say this is the most consequential of trump’s trials, and other say it will be impossibly hard to prove that he had felonious intent. I’m not holding my breath. It seems to me the American public is going to have to consider, when they vote, not these cases and their many delays which may well stretch out beyond our November elections. What they must consider is the no former American president has ever stood trial for a felony nor ever been indicted on 91 counts. Meantime, I am really tired of trump everywhere in the news.

Otherwise, the international news is discouraging. Netanyahu is promising revenge on Iran where, if I’m not mistaken, he started the pissing war that is taking real human lives. I once saw a map that showed Israel’s geographic place in the vast Middle East—it is but a tiny dot. You’d think Netanyahu would realize the precariousness of his position, but I suspect he’s gloating because Israel’s defense network was able to deflect most of the attack, which of course is a good thing in terms of lives saved. That doesn’t mean they will always be able to do so. To me, they are like David and Goliath—only this time I’m not so sure David has righteousness on his side. I weep for the people of Israel and for the people of Gaza. I don’t know much about it, but I like the name of a group that sends me emails: Win without War.

And Mike Johnson has still refused to bring before the House a bill that would aid Ukraine and Gaza. He is so in thrall to trump that he does whatever the former, twice-impeached president wants. And trump apparently wants revenge on Ukraine because Zelensky refused to support his attempt to smear Biden during the 2020 election campaign and also is in thrall to Putin because he admires blind power. What a chain of thralldom they present. And how directly they violate the principles of American democracy. As for Johnson, I am tired of pseudo-sanctimonious Christians. There is no question in my mind that the American people at large understand the importance of supporting Ukraine and, despite our long ties to Israel, the humanitarian need in Gaza.

One of the things I’ve increasingly come to believe is that compassion and empathy are always more effective than punishment. I believe with all my might it holds true for our whole correctional/penal system which needs a massive overhaul. It is true in our treatment of the homeless—countries and local communities which have responded with compassion and provided homes and stipends for the homeless have seen that some large percentage go on to build productive lives. What do we accomplish by criminalizing those who would feed them, kicking them out of their encampments but offering no alternative. It is true for immigrants—in communities where they are welcomed, they become contributing members of society. “We have to stop criminalizing poverty.” When we yank lunch programs from children who are food-starved, we create a rebellious segment of society; feed them, and they become contributing members of our society.

Okay, I’m wandering around tonight in philosophical fields, and I am much more at home with the concrete, with specific facts. So I will say today I went back to Irene in a Ghost Kitchen, wrote a blurb and copy for Amazon. Then, with perfect timing, I got the beta reader’s comments. Lots for me to think about as I dig into yet another trip through the manuscript but basically good comments. He thinks it’s a book that will work. So now I have a project, and that makes me happy. Watch for a cover reveal soon!

Tonight my friend Mary V. came for supper. I had grave doubts what I intended to feed her—the spinach dish I didn’t make for my chef friend last week because I had no spinach. Now I had spinach, saved from my kitchen fail with spinach and scrambled eggs. Not a good start. But I chopped the spinach, added more salt, sauteed in butter and melted cream cheese—which made creamed spinach. I heated heirloom tomato slices, piled the spinach on top of them, and topped with grated cheddar. Ran the whole thing under the broiler—it was delicious. Mary brought grits; I added marinated cheddar, just a few cubes each, and cucumber salad, and called it a hodgepodge dinner. Mary called it a success.

So I have a positive reader’s report, with suggestions I understand and can see will make the book better, and I have served a good dinner. I think I’ll go to sleep with happy dreams tonight. But no dog news. I leave you with this quote from Ann Lamott: Courage is fear that has said its prayers.

Sleep tight, my friends.

New Year’s Day superstitions

New Year' dinner with all the good-luck foods

Do you suppose there is any truth to the old saw that the way you spend New Year’s Day is an indication of the way your new year will go? If that’s not true, why eat black-eyed peas on January 1. This morning, I thought my new year was off to a really rocky start. I put honey and a tea bag in a coffee cup, ran hot water into a measuring cup to heat in the teakettle—and promptly poured it into the coffee cup. A ritual I’ve done a thousand times, and I blew it! Not a good sign.

Truth is the new year is off to a rocky start at the Alter/Burton complex. Sophie is hanging in there, maybe eating a little more but still not enough to sustain a bird, not drinking as much as we would wish or peeing as often. We are all holding our collective breath until we return to the vet at ten o’clock Tuesday morning. Meantime, JuneBug, who had us all convinced she was headed for the rainbow bridge, has brightened. She is eating a bit more and seems a bit stronger. Still nothing to brag about but doing a bit better.

But this morning Jordan wakened with a swelling in her face—right about at the junction between her upper and lower jaw. At first she said it didn’t hurt, but then she discovered it hurt to eat. And as the day went on it became more painful. Finally in the early afternoon they went to an ER clinic, where the diagnosis was “inflammation,” which doesn’t tell you much about why or what to treat. She’ll probably have to wait until Tuesday to see her doctor. So we are in this waiting game, for Jordan and for the dogs Our motto is, “Just two more sleeps.”

But if what you ate for dinner is any guide, we should eat well in the coming year. I planned a whole meal around Christian’s childhood memories of New Year’s Day: black-eyed peas, ham, cornbread, and Christian’s special green beans, sauteed in bacon grease and splashed with vinegar. No, it is not the healthiest meal you’ve ever eaten, but it sure was good. I ate a full plate and wished I had room to do it all over again

The trouble is—or maybe it’s not trouble—I got carried away. I found some easy directions for peas and didn’t pay attention to the quantity. So I cooked a pound of peas, enough for eight to ten people—so easy, with no pre-soak but just eight hours on low in the slow cooker. There were just the four of us for all those peas! The ham and green beans were no problem, because Jordan bought one of those small pre-cooked hams—I would always prefer a real, bone-in ham to those pre-packed things that I suspect of having too much water content. But this was really good. And the green beans? I always make a lot because everyone likes them. But oh my, the cornbread—I used that recipe that’s so bad for you—Jiffy mix augmented with (lots of) sugar, sour cream, butter, a couple of eggs, and a bit of Parmesan. It made a 9x13 dish! We’ll eat those leftovers, though. I am already savoring cornbread for breakfast. And maybe ham salad for lunch.

I don’t really think our ongoing problems—Jordan and the dogs—are an indicator for the coming year. My mind today is filled with the end of that novel I’ve been working on forever—I can finally see how it ends. And I devoted much of my day to reading a novel I’d started and put aside. I decided my current habit of starting novels and deciding I wasn’t interested might be more of a problem with me than the books I chose. And now I’m enjoying what I’m reading: The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany. Italian family curses passed down through generations, lots of good Italian food, a setting in Venice and Florence, and yes—more than a touch of romance, but no murders! I figure the literary part of me is off to a good start.

And the public citizen in me is encouraged—the Biden administration has passed landmark bills improving life for all of us, and those who embrace an anti-democracy attitude are in such disarray I think they may simply implode. Yes, there are lots of battles ahead—women’s rights to their own bodies, the right of each and every citizen to vote, an immigration system that works for our country and for the many immigrants who see America as their escape from a life of violence and brutality. And, frankly, I’d like to be rid of some of the loudmouth, uncivil voices that harangue us daily, trying to feed their base with rage. But I feel the world has tilted on its axis toward the good side. I think the good guys just might win.

My new year’s resolutions? I don’t really make many, never have. But this year I want to be a bit more conscious that we are all in the same leaky boat together. I want to remember to reach out to others in kindness, to give a helping hand or thought when it might do good, to see myself as part of the greater, worldwide community. The more I read, the more I believe the Biblical words, “Faith, hope, and love—and of these, love is the greatest.” (Okay, rough quote, but you get the idea.)  If we can all love each other, the world might be a fine and dandy place. Yeah, it’s a pipe dream, but maybe we can inch a bit closer in 2023.

Wishing all of you a year that brings home your dreams, a year that is whatever you need and want it to be. Did you eat your black-eyed peas and ham?

My Thoughts on the War Against Women

            The internet chronicles so much anger and indignation over what’s going on in legislatures in Georgia and Ohio, Mississippi and Alabama—and throw in Texas where one faction wants to rescind the rape exemption for abortion. It seems redundant of me to want to chime in, but I am so outraged that I cannot keep quiet.

I come at this topic from the perspective of an infertile woman who thinks the ability to bear a child is one of the greatest gifts God can give anyone. My feelings about that are only overcome by my unshakeable belief that every woman should have control over her own body, and what another woman decides is none of my damn business. I am grateful that none of the four girls in my family ever put that attitude to a test.

If you study this issue online—and I would urge you to—you know the arguments behind women’s outrage. Man are acting as gynecologists and assuming an expertise they don’t have; they’re obsessed with punishing women for tempting them (a bit puritanical and certainly misogynistic—though they never admit it); they accuse woman of heinous acts without knowing the emotional trauma that accompanies a miscarriage, a late-pregnancy fetal death, a stillbirth; and there’s the classic argument that once the baby is born the state abandons both it and the mother. Look for instance at the statistics about children in Georgia. Finally, there are so many contradictions and such illogic about the presence of a heartbeat, the way men would have us treat a fetus with a heartbeat as opposed to laws governing the treatment of a brain-dead individual with a heartbeat.

Sunday, for Mother’s Day, our senior minister preached on the strong women of the Bible and the value of women. I applauded his message, but it made me sad when so much is being done in our nation to undermine women’s roles. When I said the war on woman contradicts the love that Christ preached, someone said to me, “I don’t know. Abortion is not a loving act.” That in-the-box, traditional, conservative thinking drives me wild.

Very few if any women use abortion as a form of birth control. Nor do they wake up one day in their fifth month and decide willy-nilly they don’t want to be pregnant after all. Abortion is not a whim like going to get your hair cut. When I was a teenager, abortion was too often illegal, dangerous, and fatal to the mother—and it was done for reasons of “saving face.” Today that reason no longer exists—having a child out of wedlock is not a scandal to most people. Today, abortion is often an act of desperation—to save a mother’s life, to terminate a nonviable pregnancy, to spare a badly damaged fetus a life of pain and suffering. I don’t know statistics, but I am convinced that for most women miscarriage or abortion are emotional traumas that they carry with them for life. You never completely recover. And instead of showing Christian love and compassion, men want to punish.

For what? For being human? For being a woman? That they dare to couple their draconian measures with Christianity is, for me, the ultimate outrage.

I don’t personally believe in hell, but I do believe in karma. My concern is for the women who will suffer today and tomorrow while we wait for what goes ‘round to come ‘round. I think the least any of us can do is vote to retire old white men who have been in power too long and elect men and women of compassion and common sense.

Finally exasperated

Okay, friends and neighbors. I have reached the breaking point. I’m going to do something I vowed I would never do. I’m going to block or unfriend some people on Facebook over politics. I had hoped for reasonable discussion, but it’s not there.

I am tired to death of statistics when talking about police brutality. One death of an unarmed black boy is one too many, and statistics will never convince me otherwise. When I mention the Chicago policeman who fired I think 14 times into a boy already down and writhing in the streets, statistics don’t matter a darn. We have a police brutality problem. The majority of officers are dedicated to doing their duty, dispensing justice fairly, but we have too many who are rogue, whose sense of power is inflated by the badge and the gun.

When a Supreme Court nominee turns in obvious horror from the father of a Parkland murder victim, I do not want to hear that it is was the wrong time, the wrong place. How good would your judgment be if you lost a child to random gun violence? It was a moment for compassion, not one to recoil as though a leper tried to touch him.

I am tired of people who make sweeping generalizations (All Democrats are anarchists) without any knowledge or basis of fact. Don’t they read newspapers, watch anything but Fox? .Do they really believe Beto is a thug and a punk rocker?

I am tired of people who can support trump in spite of the atrocities of his administration, the corruption, the obvious incompetence.

I watched a clip of Beto on the Ellen Show today—he praised her for representing the qualities he wants in America; kindness and joy, caring for others. I too want those things. I don’t want to live in a country ruled by old white men without hearts or souls, without an ounce of compassion.

These things I am not: burning for open borders for our country—what an idiotic accusation, and yet its been flung my way. We need immigration control, and everyone recognizes it. It’s just that we need a reasonable system that is not based on race, creed or quotas. I don’t want to abolish ICE—some branches do good work. I do want to curb and perhaps abolish the branch that deports people willynilly, whether they’re guilty or not, and tears families apart, locks children in cages. I don’t want to murder small children, but I do want to let women decide what to do with their own bodies, not that same bunch of old white men. I want to do away with whatever authority allows banks to freeze people’s accounts until they prove their citizenship.

Peace, my friends, and go about your lives with joy and kindness. I’m still going to speak out. I just won’t hear some voices—and they won’t hear mine. Just as well.

Random thoughts on a day stolen by the dentist….

The airwaves and the internet have us all holding our collective breath until the last man is rescued from the cave in Thailand. And yet, some have asked, “If we have that much concern about a soccer team trapped in a cave, why don’t we care equally about 3,000 (or however many—the number keeps changing from anywhere between 3,000 and 10,000) children in cages? I think it’s the wrong question.

The American people made it plain loud and clear that we care desperately about the caged children. World leaders have joined the outcry. But those boys in the cave are in a life-or-death situation, one with a terrible immediacy about it. At any hour, monsoons could wipe out their escape route, dooming them. The escape itself is full of dangers, even with skilled divers to guide them. Their window of opportunity is short. Pray God they all escape safely and can go on with their soccer game and their lives.

The caged children, on the other hand, face long term consequences from their forced separation from their parents. Even when and if—and for someit’s a big “if”—they are reunited. Some may come out unscathed, but most will suffer the results of this cruel treatment the rest of their lives. They will require our continued support, and as Americans, the country that imprisoned them, I think we will owe them that.

But I also think as Americans we’re capable of both kinds of compassion. Worrying about one group doesn’t cancel our worry about another. We are Americans. Our compassion is not a finite pie with a certain number of pre-cut pieces—it is infinite, unlimited. It expands as needed. As crisis after crisis arises, I am struck by how many good people there are in this country. In fact, in moments of hope, I think this current debacle may ultimately cause us to right wrongs that belong not just to this administration but to generations before.

A specific incident concerning the separated families sticks in my mind. By now you’ve probably seen the video clip—it’s gone viral—of the well-dressed woman, self-identified as a concerned grandmother, who went to a detention center, as part of a demonstration, her arms filled with toys and stuffed animals to comfort the children being held. Not only was she turned away, her gifts confiscated, she was taken away in handcuffs for refusing to step back a few feet. As far as I could tell, she did not resist the officers, she was not angry, dangerous, any of the things you might expect. She was compliant, even submissive, so what was her crime? Is that the point we’ve reached, where people are arrested for caring, for trying to be kind?

And that leads me to another question: how do the police officers who cuffed this woman feel about their duty? How about the ICE deportation officers? Are we back to the My Lai defense of “I was only following orders”? Who is giving those orders? I know God’s eye is on the sparrow, but Mr. Trump’s eye is far too busy with a golf ball to have time to reach so far down in the ranks as to command the arrest of a grandmother bringing toys to hostage children. Is it Jeff Sessions? I doubt he has the time either. How far down the chain of command does this infestation (I used Mr. Trump’s word deliberately) extend?

As for the dentist, yeah, the day was shot. Ten o’clock appointment, so I didn’t get anything done before because I was getting ready physically and emotionally. Two and a half stressful hours later, I walked out of the office, had lunch with a kind friend, came home and slept for another two and a half hours. It really did take up the whole day. Dental phobia dating back to my 1940s childhood when the drill was slow and bumbling. So glad this day is behind me.

Words to remember

The New York Times had two spot-on, memorable editorials this morning. I’ve borrowed eloquent passages from them, words I want to remember for a long time.

Of the ongoing enmity between John McCain and Donald Trump, Frank Bruni wrote, “It’s between the high road and the gutter. McCain has always believed, to his core, in sacrifice, honor and allegiance to something larger than oneself. Trump believes in Trump, and whatever wreckage he causes in deference to that god is of no concern.”

In a piece titled “Our Trump Addiction,” Nicolas Kristof wrote, “Yet I worry that our national nonstop focus on Trump is helping to usher America into a hole: a Trump obsession. The danger is that Trump sucks up all the oxygen, so that other issues don’t get adequate attention “

I particularly find the thought that Trump sucks up all the oxygen apt. I am reminded of the late-night comedian, now retired, who said we must stop listing Trump’s outrageous acts and concentrate on leading him off to a nice protected home somewhere.

We are bombarded by so many opinions—can Trump take the Fifth? Does he have to answer a subpoena? Does “under oath” mean anything to him? Is he mentally capable? A few years ago, my attitude was that wiser heads than mine would work that all out while I went merrily about my business. Now I’m not so sure—in fact, I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. But much as I study the conflicting opinions, I feel helpless, as though history is rolling over me like the lava spewing out of that volcano in Hawaii.

We hear that 75% of evangelicals now support Trump and that his base is energized, but what are the numbers? How many people approve him? Isn’t his national approval at 40%? I know one thing: no matter those numbers,  we must get out the non-voters in November. I’m sure those of us who value the American democracy outnumber those who would tear it down with hate and racism and greed.

Undeniably Trump makes good news copy, which may indeed be a deliberate plan behind his outrageousness. The media, in all its forms, is always anxious to sell stories, and so they reward him by publicizing his antics. It’s a self-feeding circle. Yes, the media should show some responsibility, but their charge is to report facts, not opinions or “fake news.” And we, as consumers, must show even more responsibility in assessing the news.

For me, it comes down to a battle between compassion and hate. What kind of country do we want to live in?

Wow! I didn’t start off to be so solemn tonight. It’s really been a lovely day, at my desk and on my patio. I’m optimistic about the world—and about most Americans.

Political confession coming up

I have too often been accused of being a fervent member of the Democratic party, and I am always taken back to my dad, who used to say he voted for the best man (not many women ran for office when I was a kid). The best man just always turned out to be a Democrat. I’ll admit that’s true for me too. I was raised in a household where FDR was a god, and Truman not too far behind him. My dad even cooperated with Richard Daley, Democratic mayor/boss in Chicago. I have rarely if ever voted for a Republican candidate.

But it goes beyond that. In the past if I thought a Republican was the best candidate, I would have voted that way. No longer true today. I am openly, honestly anti-Republican. People ask how I deal with Republican friends, and I must admit that I have few to none. The people I chose to spend my time with are those with values and concerns like mine—compassion for others, leading the list. I have a few Republican acquaintances that I like, and one brother that I adore who refuses to even enter an open discussion of politics with me. My suggestion that open discussion benefits everyone falls on deaf ears.

This hard-core stance has been strengthened, confirmed, whatever, by the Republican reaction to the Las Vegas massacre. This, they uniformly declare, is not the time to discuss gun control; it’s a time for mourning. Hogwash! If there ever was a time to discuss America’s disgraceful record of gun deaths, it’s now. We cannot avoid the uncomfortable statistics that America leads the world in gun deaths, and certainly is way out in front of developed countries. I have found fascinating and frightening statistics on Facebook and shared most of them.

One I particularly like is a long list of things that are regulated—women’s bodies, leads the way, but there are others—liquor sales, driving, school bake sales, home improvements, driving a car, owning and caring for a dog, cutting hair for a living. The list goes on with endless trivia—but guns are not on it.

The administration recently made it easier for people with mental health issues to buy guns—anyone remember Newton? And there’s a bill before the House now to legalize silencers. It includes a rider or whatever to permit bullets that can pierce body armor. Who is the wide world needs to pierce body armor? Who needs an assault rifle? The NRA and they own the Republicans, bought and paid for. Speaker Ryan, with great sensitivity, has tabled the bill, which simply means he’ll wait for the public furor over Las Vegas to die down and then introduce it.

The lack of compassion is evident in other matters: Republicans just let CHIP insurance for nine million children expire, yet the House has passed a strict—and probably unconstitutional law—covering abortions after 20 weeks. Just when a woman finds out her baby may have serious, life-threatening deformities. Ah yes, compassion. They care more about unborn children than those that are here, sick, starving, uneducated. They now want to re-establish CHIP (how many desperately ill children have died during this lapse) and extend help to children in Puerto Rico but they’ll salve their consciences by cutting Medicare—which isn’t theirs to cut.

The list goes on. I write to my senators, yes I do, but they are both hard-core Republicans and send me platitudes in response. In general, with few exceptions, I find Republicans to be dishonest, devious, greedy, self-serving, and lacking in compassion. They value dollars in their pocket over human life, even in the face of a tragedy that killed 59 and wounded well over 500.

Yes, I’m anti-Republican. And I will do everything in my power to defeat the party in upcoming elections. We as a country are caught in the grip of a party that thinks more of its donors than of its constituents. It’s way past time for a change.

We must not let the memory of Las Vegas die, as we did the outrage of Newton. Take as a slogan, "If not now, when?" and keep the anguish, the horror, the indignation alive. And above all, vote those sobs out of office.

Mother’s Day compassion—NOT

Mother’s Day should be about love and compassion, right? Please tell that to our legislative leaders, both national and state. While it was a mind-boggling time—historic, to use a more proper term—in Washington last week, the Texas legislature did not get left out of the party.

Currently a handful of right-wing extremist representatives are using parliamentary procedure to block 100 bills because they aren’t getting their way. One of the bills blocked has to do with cutting Teas’ way-too-high maternity mortality rate. Particularly appropriate on Mother’s Day. Sure, it’s called serving for the good of the state.

And state officials have found a swell way to turn young immigrants into haters of the U.S. and terrorists. Just lock them up in a for-profit juvenile facility thinly disguised as a day-care center. Really, guys? You want us to believe that? It is so wrong on so many levels, among them the fact that for-profit prisons should be outlawed. We encourage crime by making it a source of profit—there’s no direct money in educating youngsters and leading them away from a path of crime. So, let’s make a buck!

Second, the immigration law in Texas is harsh enough, tearing children from their mothers’ skirts (often, literally). But to put them in a for-profit incarceration center goes beyond any sort of human decency. Yes, I believe our governor has signed that one into law.

As he did the sanctuary city law which forbids city governments and law enforcement officers from ignoring Texas’ harsh immigration laws. The tiny border two of El Cenzio is suing the state government over the law. The mayor refuses to turn in his fellow citizens. Resist, he says, is the right thing to do.

This may seem like a non sequitur, but I assure you it’s not. Last night my oldest granddaughter went to her high school prom. Her father, mother, and younger sister checked into a hotel for a Mother’s Day getaway and left the keys to the house to Maddie She was encouraged to invite her close friends, boys and girls, for the after-prom all-night party. My son’s reasoning? “I’d rather have them in my house than in a cheap bar or hotel.” His stipulation: they collected all car keys (Maddie knew where they were) and the kids were forbidden to touch his liquor (he’s a connoisseur of fine Scotch). They didn’t hide liquor, jewelry, anything, just opened the houses to the kids.

We’re waiting to hear a report, but I’m betting on Maddie. I have faith in her to do the right thing and to have chosen her friends well. How does this relate to the Texas or national legislatures? I believe if you trust people, they will live up to your expectations. If you distrust them, they think, “Why the hell not?” and do what you suspected them of doing.

I cannot fathom this hatred of immigrants, particularly Mexicans and Muslims. Texas, of course, is focused on Mexican immigrants. They are, we’re told, criminals, rapists, the dregs of society. Funny, some of the Mexican-Americans I’ve met are the nicest people—kind, caring, raising their families to be good citizens. In California, farmers are crying because their crops are rotting in the fields—the immigrant workers are afraid to come to work. Not all immigrants can afford the time and cost of citizenship—a factor no one considers apparently.

If we continue this ban, think how many service industries will be affected. The hospitality industry will take a huge hit—no one to clean hotel rooms, wait tables, tend bar. Who will clean your house and your office? There are a thousand other jobs done by Mexicans. Don’t tell me those jobs belong to Americans—most Americans won’t do a lot of them.

I think we need to get a grip on this immigration nonsense. By all means, deport any known and proven criminals and terrorists. Stop deporting innocent people or those with minor infractions in the long-ago past. Sure, it’s hard to detect terrorists, but we have tremendous law enforcement tools and techniques. Put them to work. And use a bit of compassion. And outlaw for-profit prisons.

Happy Mother’s Day. Sorry for the rant. Maybe I shouldn’t read the news.

PS: My son’s house was just as he’d left it. Yay, Maddie!

Where’s your safety pin?

I had been searching in my mind for some clever internet campaign that would contribute to the idea of countering hatred with love and kindness—and along came the safety pin campaign. I wish I’d thought of it, because it’s a terrific idea.

If you wear a safety pin, you say without words to people you meet, “I’m here for you. You’re safe with me.” A lot of Americans are living in terror right now, bone-shaking, gut-clenching terror that makes them cower and dread. Muslims, Jews, women, gays, African-Americans, Latinos—any of the target groups of Trump-style hatred. I hear for instance that the director of immigration—whatever his correct title—is preparing plans to begin deportations the first day of the Trump presidency. Imagine for a moment you’re a Latino born in this country but your aged parents are illegal, though they’ve paid taxes and been contributing citizens for years. That my friends is terror. Or the Saudi who was beaten to death because his skin was the wrong color…or the gay beaten within an inch of his life. Remember that poem, “First they came for the socialists….” It seems unbelievable but it can happen to any of us.

So wear your safety pins. Show those living in fear that you support them and are there for them. It’s not your call whether or not you think the fear is justified. To those suffering from it, it’s very reeal.

I like the story behind this current safety pin campaign. It originated in the Netherlands during Nazi occupation when people did not dare speak up. Instead they wore safety pins—men tucked them under the collar, while women generally pinned them on the inside of their hems. I suppose at the right moment they flashed these surreptitiously to give reassurance and comfort.

We can do no less. A small step but an important one.

My thoughts about Brock Turner

 When two people are caught in the sad situation of Brock Turner and his rape victim, we can’t help but moan, groan, and worry about their futures. The victim statement of the woman Turned raped at Stanford has been widely distributed, praised by Vice-President Joe Biden, and gone viral on the net. It’s a powerful statement which, I think, comes from a position of strength. I wonder if this woman won’t go on to become a lifelong advocate for rape victims. We know nothing about her life and circumstances but somehow I feel she’ll make the best of this.

But what about Turner who has been vilified on the net and whose picture confronts us every time he goes on Facebook? We know a little more about him, and it’s not all good. His father’s statement is the clue we need.

I’m a fiction author, so I see things in scenes and true or not I can imagine scenes between that macho father and his son. The son looks from the photos to be much more timid that the dad, and I can imagine the dad urging his boy to buckle up, act like a man, get some action. Perhaps that was even a motivation between the rape—Brock proving himself to his father.

The next scene I see is the father castigating Brock after the event. The boy has ruined everything but most principally his life. He’s banned from swimming competitively in the US, when he apparently had Olympic hopes; he has to register as a sex offender. His life is essentially ruined by 20 minutes of “action.” The question in my mind is what will he do after he serves that ridiculously short jail term designed to keep him from being impacted by the trauma. (Did anyone worry about the impact on the victim?)

Brock Turner has essentially two choices: he can sink into despair and depression, fall back on his family, perhaps become alcohol or drug-addicted, and essentially fritter his life away on the excuse that he ruined it in one short episode.. Or he can pull himself up by the bootstraps, start small, and make the most of whatever he can salvage from his life. People have overcome even more horrendous circumstances, with grit, determination, and perseverance.

Somehow I hope Brock Turner does that. No matter how despicable what he did is—and it certainly is—I suspect he’s a nice kid caught in the web of circumstances that is college life and alcohol. Perhaps he too can become an advocate for rape victims and an active crusader against the plague of rapes that has come upon our culture…and our world.

I’m pulling for both these people. I think we as a village can do more than condemn—we can reach out in support and help them put their lives back together.

Call me Pollyanna?

Are we dogs’ best friends?

Sophie

I heard today about an older, small dog (chi mix) that ended up in a shelter’s care. Somehow they knew the identity and phone of the owner, so they called to ask her to pick the dog up. She said she would but when she didn’t show up after a day, they called again. “Don’t you get it?” she asked. “I’m not coming. Send the dog to the pound.” So much for love and compassion for animals. Too many people believe that dogs have no feelings.

Today in particular I can testify about dogs’ feelings. My Sophie has been my shadow all day. Everywhere I went, she tagged along behind. She even napped on the bed with me, although she’s a restless napper—there this itch to be tended to and that to scratch and hark! Was that a noise in the attic? I get the sense that she thinks she let me out of her sight and I disappeared for four days and it’s not going to happen again!

Facebook is full of dogs and a few cats lost and found in Rowlette, Garland and other areas devastated by the storms. Many pet owners who have lost their homes seem to feel it will all be better if they can get their beloved dog back. And kind souls have rescued animals from debris, wet and shivering, and taken them into their homes. The problem of course is matching them.

For those who have taken dogs in, I have one request: please be sure to get definitive i.d. of the person and the dog before you turn an animal over (I have a persistent and terrible fear of dog-fight people who will use even small dogs as bait). And when you do reunite owner and dog, watch the animal’s reaction. If you can’t find the owner and can’t keep the dog, take it to a shelter (preferably no-kill) where anyone claiming or adopting it will be properly vetted.

If you’ve lost a dog, check with shelters, both the city kennel and private shelters in the area. They are overcrowded with storm dogs, and yours might well be there. Here’s another hint: put a large poster, with a picture, in front of your house. If, God forbid, you lost your home, put the poster where it was. When allowed, curiosity seekers will be driving through the area and might help; chances are also good that the dog will return to the home it’s known.

The goal of course is to see all these dogs in loving homes, reunited with their owners; if that’s not possible, then let’s get them into safe new homes. The elderly girl above? She was rescued and hopefully is settled in a much more welcoming home than the one she came from.

A lovely lazy day--and a lesson in compassion

I have a case of the lazies. Last night I did nothing but focus on the novel I'm currently reading for review. After procrastinating about Loved Honor More by Sharon Wildwind, I found myself quickly drawn in--or was I avoiding writing? Anyway, I decided today was Saturday, and I'd play hooky again. Went to Central Market for a few special items--and, oh, tragedy! bought the wrong kind of chocolate.
Met a former student (she graduated in '98, so she really is former) for lunch at Swiss Pastry where they have my favorite tuna salad. She's an interesting lady--background working at a winery and lots of experience in food service, with a smattering of editorial jobs in there. Like a lot of sous chefs, she bounced from restaurant to restaurant, but four months ago she started what seems like her dream job. She's director of food service for Union Gospel Mission. So we talked about the joys and perils of feeding 800 meals a day. The mission relies on donated food, but once they had cases of canned green beans donated--all those small cans. It meant hours of opening cans. She has lots of stories and they're funny and sad.
But the reason she's perfect for her job is that she has such compassion for her guests. Yesterday as I left a small restaurant, a homeless man called something to me across my car. I didn't understand him, but I quickly said, "No, no thank you," jumped in my car and locked the doors. When I told Heather about it today, I said, "You wouldn't have done that, would you?" She said no, but she understood. I asked what makes her feel safe and she said, "Instinct. I'm pretty good about reading people" and told me about a man who rushed up to her. She said, "Hey, you're in my bubble, and I don't let anyone in my bubble." He backed off.
The world needs more people like Heather, and I will do what I can to be one of them. Jordan always rolls down the window and gives a bottle of water or a couple of dollars to someone begging on a street corner--another thing it never occurs to me to do.
Came home, read some more and went down for a nap just as the thunder rolled in. I saw on Facebook that some people sat on their covered porches, a few with wine, and enjoyed the rain. I'd have liked that, but it's so lovely to lie in bed and listen to the thunder. My mom said the gods were bowling. I didn't sleep, but I drowsed, and when I got up I saw that the schoolyard across the street was a lake, so we had a good amount of moisture (that's my rain gauge).
Tonight, Jacob's with me. He's terrified of storms still at age eight, but I think it's passed at least for now. If it doesn't come back before he's asleep, all is well. He won't wake. He brought his golf clubs and explained in detail when you use each one, but it makes me nervous when he practices in the house. I told him about the time his grandfather took out an entire chandelier with a golf club.
Meanwhile, less than two hours after dinner he was starving for a peanut butter and honey sandwich. I said when I finished what I was doing, and he asked indignantly, "Which would you rather do? Write or get me a sandwich when I'm starving?" "Write," I said. Maybe that too is a lesson in something but probably not compassion.

Troubling times

I'm upset today about several matters. That old phrase--the world is going to hell in a handbasket--seems too true tonight.
Like many, I am upset, angry, you name it over the Supreme Court decision in the Hobby Lobby case. There are so many reasons why it's wrong--gender discrimination, personal liberty, all the things that have been mentioned ad nauseum on Facebook. But the big problem, to me, is that it's another push down the slippery slope toward a capitalistic oligarchy. SCOTUS (always makes me want to add an "r") has consistently sided with corporations against individuals. That's not the country our Founding Fathers had in mind--remember individual liberty? The phrase, "With liberty and justice for all"? We slide farther and farther away from that all the time.
I was never a big fan of George W. Bush (no chuckles from those who know me well, please) but it seems to me we are feeling his legacy. He supported corporations and gave them big tax cuts--too many of which are still in effect today. And the five appointees who constituted the majority in yesterday's decision are all, I believe, Bush appointees. Those appointments have long-lasting effects, and I suspect if any of those five wanted to retire tomorrow they'd hang on until 2016 in hopes of a conservative president. (Let's not even mention that the current trouble in Iraq is part of the Bush/Cheney legacy too).
A country where corporations rule will be a country where the individual counts for nothing. It reminds me in some ways of the Industrial Revolution, where individuals were swept aside in favor of machines. Read The Education of Henry Adams for insight on that issue.
Then today I read that we are deporting 25,000 children to Mexico, children who fled to avoid the abuse and torture of the cartels. Their parents, fearing for them, sent them alone across the border...and we are sending them back to that very life. Who knows if any, particularly the tiny ones, will ever find their families again? I was particularly taken by a commenter on Facebook who pointed out the cartels wouldn't be so powerful if it weren't for the U.S. insatiable market for illegal drugs. We create the problem, and we make it worse.
No, I don't know what to do with 25,000 undocumented, parentless children, but there's got to be a better way than sending them back to a life of horror.
And then there are homophobes who take the SCOTUS decision as license to discriminate against gays--I can't quite figure their logic, but I know the hatred is there.
I truly wish I lived in a country of compassion and love, not hatred and greed.