A word about electricity and a lot about book bans

 

I may be the last person in the world you would suspect of doing scientific investigations, but I sort of did today. When I found both my teakettle and my can opener weren’t working, I unplugged them, moved them to another plug—and voila! They worked. Just when I was on the verge of calling the electrician who has worked on my house for years. When I told Christian this, he (much more practical than I), said, “It probably just needs to be reset.” And he did. And tonight they both work in their original spots. I also read the troubleshooting directions for my garbage can and decided what we hadn’t done was to unplug it and leave it for hours. That was less successful. It still doesn’t work. Still, one savors the small victories.

I am overcome tonight with the hate in the world. A lengthy article on a bookseller’s newsletter this morning details an Arkansas law that bans almost every good book I’ve ever read and jeopardizes not only the jobs and income but the freedom of librarians, teachers, and booksellers. Can you spell Nazi? The law, signed by the odious Governor Sarah Huckaby (yes, I used a pejorative adjective) provides that anyone can challenge the ”appropriateness” of a book in public libraries, but it does not define “appropriateness” nor does it provide a standard by which to judge books. Those who support the law say anyone under eighteen should not have access to books that include racism, sexual activity, or LGBTQ topics. They call such books indoctrination. I call such laws suppression of knowledge. Seventeen organizations, including booksellers, librarians, publishers and parents and some international groups, have brought a lawsuit. I wish the Godspeed.

I did not raise my children in a vacuum. I remember when one of my daughters read Flowers in the Attic, about four children struggling to survive as they are hidden in the attic of a mansion. Scary stuff but intriguing to a fourteen-year-old mind. We talked about it. When she moved on to books by Danielle Steele, I did read a couple of them, because I wanted to know what my child was reading. One of her brothers was devoted to the Dungeons and Dragons series and was the kind of a kid who read by flashlight under the covers at night. I never had a complaint about that, except that he was hard to wake in the mornings. None of my four grew up to be a sex maniac, racist, or bigot.

The Arkansas law means booksellers can be liable for displaying “questionable” books but does not define questionable. That means booksellers can display only innocuous titles—cookbooks, maybe?—or they have to forbid children to come into the store. If there was anything my son Jamie loved, it was a trip to the bookstore where he would beg and plead until I bought whatever caught his fancy. And I remember a nephew who at fourteen or so was fascinated by Anne Rice’s vampire fiction. He’s a successful physician today, father of four, a good guy.

Locally, I am not over my disappointment in Mayor Mattie Parker of Fort Worth. The Fort Worth Public Library prepared a big publicity campaign—print materials, etc.—for its annual Mayor’s Summer Reading Program, with a special Pride Badge for youngsters who read one book with an LGBTQ theme. A splinter group—with “Liberty” in its name, of course (such words have become red flags to me)—complained to the mayor and she caved. Gave the library an ultimatum: withdraw the Pride Badge or she would withdraw her endorsement. The library felt it had no choice and withdrew the badge. So wrong. I wished for just a moment there that I were director of the library because I would have, I hope, told the mayor to go fly a kite. And she did this at the beginning of National Pride Month. Bad call, bad timing, Mayor Parker.

Today I read that Texas and Florida (of course) have passed stringent laws that forbid immigrants from certain countries to buy land except under certain circumstances—proof of citizenship or a green card and then only land not close to a military installation, etc. The laws in large part are aimed at Asians and decisions are often made on facial structure. Is this really the land of the free?

There’s a meme on Facebook that says if you have to pass laws punishing certain minority groups to prove your faith or morals, you have no faith or morals to prove. So true.

I cannot fathom people with so much hate and fear in their hearts, but I know that they are a slim minority, and we must all fight back, each of in whatever way we can, to keep them from changing the face of our land, the way we live and raise our children. My moral standard may not be yours—as long as neither of us infringe on each other or commit a crime against society, that’s fine with me. How about you?

No sweet dreams tonight. Dream instead of every good book you want your children or grands to read.

 

A strange sort of a day

 

Tonight a friend was coming for happy hour at five. He emailed this morning to confirm, and I wrote back that I would have the gate open and a snack ready. So at quarter to, I put out smoked salmon, cream cheese, and crackers. Jordan poured me a glass of wine, and I fiddled at my computer while I waited. Five-fifteen, five-thirty—nothing. At quarter of six I decided something must have come up, he wasn’t coming, and I put the food away—just as he walked up the driveway. Then we both fell all over each other apologizing—he insists that I said six when I confirmed. I can’t imagine that because I know he gets off work at TCU at five, and it’s two minutes from here. I may have made a typo, but I can’t find the email to find out. At any rate, we had a good visit about books and TCU and restaurants.

Christian had thought to join us, but Jacob’s car died in the high school parking lot today, so it was towed to the house and carefully backed into the driveway, with the tow truck driver holding the battery in place, so Christian could install a new battery. When James left, about seven fifteen, he, Jordan, and Christian had a good driveway visit. And I had a salmon and cream cheese sandwich for supper.

Today I finally cleared up the last of the busy-ness details that had burdened me this week. Got my Origins (cosmetics) account straightened out and was able to place an order. But it took three chat sessions over three days, which I consider a chunk of my time. Those chat options are great for me because when I get a tech in Indonesia, I can’t understand her or him, but the chat moves slowly and does take time. And often it’s over such silly small matters. But I feel good that by mid-week, I have those niggling little items off my desk and calendar.

A few days ago I wrote about my renewed conversation with the older sister of one of my best friends growing up—and mostly with the sister’s daughter. You may remember I sent them a manuscript titled, “I Wish I Lived at Eleanor Lee’s House.” Today, Leslie, the daughter, sent me a PDF of faded newspaper clippings about the daycare program Elizabeth, Eleanor Lee’s older sister, established in their back yard when she was twelve, and Eleanor Lee and I were probably eight or nine. I remember it well—they had maybe ten or twelve neighborhood kids, fed them snacks (probably Kool-Aid, yuck!), and played games with them. One summer my mother was gone a lot—her sister was dying—and I spent my days helping with the daycare children. We were all impressed that it made the newspaper, probably the Chicago Tribune, because the Harrisons were conservative. The Tribune was not allowed in my liberal household; we read the Chicago Sun-Times.

Those clippings triggered another memory. Liz and Eleanor Lee used to go around the neighborhood after Christmas, dragging home every discarded Christmas tree they could find. This was in the days before artificial trees so there were lots. They stashed them all in the backyard and made a forest. Great for playing hide-and-seek—until the fire department got wind of it and cleared out the forest as a fire hazard, which it really was. But you can see why I wanted to live at Eleanor Lee’s house! No such excitement at my house.

Today, as almost every day, I don’t know whether to weep or celebrate when I read the news. But today there are several disturbing developments—Ron DeSantis has absolutely gutted education, particularly higher education, in Florida. Public universities cannot teach DEI, nor anything that reflects a biased history, racism, etc. He even gets specifics about what pronouns are to be used, though I don’t see how he can enforce that. I hope the ACLU hops on this quickly. Many students at public universities in that state are people of color who cannot afford private or out-of-state schools, so they are being robbed of their only chance at a broad, liberal education which will help them advance in the world. And we will have a generation of people so uneducated that they are not qualified to be leaders in government, industry, health care, all the fields vital to advancing America. It is classic dictator tactics.

In Texas the gun news continues to be horrifying. You probably have heard of the Sonic employee killed in Keene, south of Fort Worth. A thirty-some-year-old man took a leak in the back of the Sonic parking lot. When the employee went out to talk to him, a twelve-year-old boy in the man's car grabbed an AR-15 which just happened to be handy and blew the Sonic employee away. Dear Governor Abbott: that is not a mental health problem; it is a problem of the availability of an assault weapon. I am not sure what the answer is, where we will find a solution, but I know that something like eighty-seven percent of Americans want better gun control. We do not have to live like this. And I am ashamed that Texas leads the way in killings.

On that note, be safe, everyone. And do whatever you can to protest. I’m thinking hard and long about it.

Bringing terror to education

 

Yesterday online I saw a news photo of a sheriff, standing in front of a jail, announcing new, hardcore school discipline policies in his Floriday district. He was big, burly, overweight, and standing as though braced for a fight. Behind him, standing in what look like parade rest stances, were a uniformed officer, the school board chair (a man, naturally) and an elderly woman whose role I couldn’t figure out. But they were all scowling. Take a minute and let this register: A sheriff, in front of a jail, was announcing school policy. Why not the school board chair announcing it in a school setting? Talk about intimidation much?

My mind went immediately to a quote I’d seen online earlier that day: “Christianity should sound like, ‘I am deeply committed to deepening my love for others and seeking their best,’ not ‘I am obsessed with how others are not conforming to my personal beliefs, and I must make them do so by any means necessary.”—Rev. Benjamin Cremer. Reverend Cremer is a pastor at a Nazarene church in Colorado.

While Governor DeSantis didn’t actually craft these new disciplinary guidelines, he was certainly behind them. He openly supported the alt-right candidates who have now taken over school boards in many Florida districts. And we all know he supports bullying techniques. The sheriff was not specific about the disciplinary measures, although he promised students it would be their worst nightmare. Good one, buddy--how to encourage learning. Ss to be expected much revolved around bathroom issues and who uses what bathroom. I’m suddenly envisioning scores of kids with urinary tract infections and gastrointestinal problems because they were afraid to go to the bathroom when they needed to. Or even kids who, forced to wait, have classroom accidents. Can you imagine the humiliation?

Several years ago I worked on a writing project about a school for troubled children—it had once been a storied orphanage but had evolved over the years. I was in the superintendent’s office one day when he looked out the window at a group of kids, turned to me and said, “You know what’s wrong with these kids? Nobody every told them they’re okay.” I’ve thought about that a lot—we all need to be told from time to time that we’re okay. And we need to hear it as a message delivered with love.

What schoolkids in Florida are hearing is a message that they are not okay; they are deviant, unworthy, and the message is being delivered with anger and hate. For too many kids, school is going to become a place of terror. There will be dropouts and failures and probably psychological problems. With the current pace of “discipline” and book banning and teacher censorship, Florida will raise at least one generation of undereducated children, many of whom will fail at life.

I did hear today that a judge came down hard on Florida’s attempt to pass the Stop Woke Act forbidding college faculty from teaching about institutionalized racism or any history that might make students feel guilt or anguish over racial matters. The act was tied to faculty review for tenure, which made it clearly a threat. Calling the act dystopian and referring to George Orwell, the judge said that it gave faculty academic freedom only if they expressed the views of the state and did not allow for a robust exchange of views and ideas.

Cheers for that judge, but I fear as long as DeSantis is in power, the judge is a lone voice crying in the wilderness of Florida. Living in Texas, I can’t say much, for I see the same hardline alt-right policies destroying much that I love about the state where I’ve lived for over fifty-five years.

It comes down to who is in charge of education—parents or teachers? I come down hard on the side of trained professionals who understand the long-range effects of education. It’s not about this book or that—it’s about learning to make your own decisions, to read and study wisely and decide what makes sense to you and what doesn’t—and not blindly accepting what someone tells you. And, yes, young minds are malleable and fragile, and we need to encourage them, not stifle with fear. In Florida, however, those ultra-conservative school boards are firing “noncomplicit” teachers and superintendents.

Most days I feel pretty optimistic about our world and our country, but there are days when I despair that common sense will win. The Florida sheriff gives me the willies. Thank what he does to kids!

National Sons Day

 

Colin and Jamie
a marathon somewhere, sometime.

Losing my grip as a doting mother. First, I almost missed Daughters’ Day, and now I’m about to miss Sons’ Day. Who knew they came one on top of the other? But here they are, after a race though I'm not sure where. And a shout-out to sons-in-law Christian, who puts up with me daily, and Brandon, who shares my love of books. And to grands: Sawyer, Jacob, Ford, and Kegan.

I seem beset these days with AI—took me a while to figure that is artificial intelligence. But between ads online which seem to know every little detail of your life and automated conversations with service companies, I’ve about had it. Only the hardiest of us can resist those ads that broadcast an alarming health symptom and suggest something dire may be wrong. We read on. The one that caught my eye recently asked, “Do you wake at 3:00 a.m.?” Well of course I was hooked because I do wake at three. And at one and at five. But three is a dark hour, and I sometimes have to bat away negative thoughts at that time. I remember my brother talking about three-o’clock-in-the-morning thoughts, most of which led him to say, “Ooh. Wish I hadn’t done that one.”

Well this ad suggests you may have sleep apnea and I forget what other serious conditions, but if you read on, in small print, it says that wakefulness may be due to a list of other causes, among them drinking too much (either alcohol or non-alcoholic or even water) just before bed. I keep an insulated glass of water by the bed and sip frequently which means I wake frequently needing to pee. And finally, it says, we wake more often as we age. Sleep cycles for the elderly are about an hour and a half. Well, hello! That describes me perfectly. I don’t need ads suggesting I have sleep apnea, which seems to be a fashionable thing to have.

I have given up the hunt for my missing keys and moved on to the process of acquiring a new key fob. I recounted my long and fruitless chat with an ADT representative the other day, but the part I left out was my first chat. I told an automated chat person that I needed a new key fob because I lost mine, and she/it/whatever responded with directions for reactivating my key fob. How can I reactivate what I don’t have? Today I dealt with Protection One, the company that installed my system but was subsequently bought by ADT. Three representatives, each apparently with a specific duty. It took at least forty-five minutes, but they were all pleasant and sympathetic, and I got a discount for being a long-term customer. Still, nothing happens fast –a service tech will come out October 10. By serendipity, Jordan and Christian have a tech coming tomorrow, because their system was disarmed when they replaced the back door. Christian said he’d ask if they couldn’t do mine at the same time, but I am sure life is never that easy.

My good friend Melinda came and brought lunch today—chicken salad on croissants. Melinda was production manager when I was director at TCU Press, and we have remained close though we don’t talk often. Being both of the same strong political persuasion, we intended to watch the January 6 committee hearing, but it worked out just as well because we got to catch up on kids and grandkids and talk politics and have a lot of good laughs. I think the longer the committee waits, the more stuff that turns up. Timing is a delicate matter with that committee. I’m sure out of good manners they won’t announce anything until after the mid-terms, but surely people can figure out for themselves what happened. You think? On the other hand, my personal opinion is they need to make a final recommendation before trump truly launches a presidential bid.

Meanwhile, DeSantis, now trump’s rival, is in big trouble. We’ll see how he weathers the storm—and I mean that literally. The pictures coming out of Florida this evening are horrifying. God bless those with damaged homes and protect those stranded by flood waters. Seems even worse than Harvey. Until we reverse climate change, the storms are going to continue to worsen. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea. Nor the idea that people see the storms and fires and floods and still deny climate change.

Despite all the bad in our world today, do have sweet dreams. Seems an oxymoron.

 

Holding my breath

Like much of the country, I’m holding my breath and praying for the people of Florida and the southeastern part of our country. Who knows what direction Irma will finally take? The maps with a hundred lines leave one confused, but the Caribbean took a hit and probably the Keys too. I think of the woman who curates the Hemingway house on Key West and stayed behind with all those cats. Last word was it undoubtedly was damaged. I know tomorrow I’ll keep the TV on, sometimes muted, to keep up with reports.

Such scary times, for those of us with the wits to be scared—fire and flood, storms and inevitable pestilence. The wildfires in our northwest have been overlooked, overshadowed by the hurricanes. But they too deliver unbelievable destruction. People lose their homes. I read today that authorities are recommending people bring their pets in at night and leave buckets of water for wild animals fleeing the fires They will be scared, hungry and thirsty.

An earthquake in Mexico, accompanied almost simultaneously by hurricane Katia. So much tragedy, so much loss of life and property. And, always, I worry about the animals, both domesticated and wild. Scary is way too mild a word for the western hemisphere these days. If you don’t believe in climate change, please go immediately to buy property in Key West.

Back in Texas, life is almost normal, though we can’t forget that many, too many people have lost their homes or are still unable to go back to them. Floodwaters of that magnitude recede slowly, leaving overwhelming destruction, and it will be a long time before Houston and the surrounding towns dry out. A friend wrote that family was going through the detritus of her home, searching for memorabilia, before the bulldozers struck—somehow the bulldozers stuck in my mind. I hadn’t thought of that.

Pray for our country, our hemisphere. Pray for the world. I sometimes feel that we in America have sent off a negative chain reaction. In truth, we are in part the architects of our own doom. We have ignored flood plains and drainage studies in our wild push to build—more business complexes, more housing developments, more shopping malls--the earth will adjust. No, it won’t. The earth doesn’t need concrete covering such large portions of its surfaces. It needs to breath. And now we have a president who willy-nilly tears down the protections for our earth, allowing pollution of our rivers and streams, rolling back building codes designed to erect structures resistant to destruction, ignoring EPA warnings and disbanding that unit of government, showing no respect for the earth that nurtures us. We cannot build pipelines across sacred native lands, and we cannot defile wetlands by drilling for oil. We must learn to respect the earth. Pray that it is not too late. Harvey, Irma, Jake, Katia—all are a wake-up call, albeit it a late and disastrous one. Who is listening?