Trying to avoid looking at the awful right in front of us

I hate to go too long without saying hello to my blog friends and posting something, anything. But tonight, I’m afraid of lapsing into yet another rant about immigrant children. The problem, the criticism, the agony, the horror are all over Facebook, and I confess I’ve spent too much time on that website. It cheers me to see the outrage because it reminds me that most people are indeed good souls with compassion. On the other hand, I am reminded of what one TV news anchor said—was it Chuck Todd, one of my least favorites?—that Trump takes up all the air in the room, indeed all the air in the country, until we are forced to focus on him. Which is probably part of his plan.

In spite of the cruelty of Trump and Sessions and the heartbreaking situation of all those children, daily life does go on for most of us. We are tonight awaiting the arrival of Megan, my oldest daughter and second child, with Ford, the youngest of her two sons. They were to arrive tomorrow but decided on the spur of the moment to come tonight. Ford and Jacob will spend the week attending TCU basketball camp. In previous summers, they’ve done the baseball camp, but the little wimps decided they didn’t want to be out in the heat. Then again, who can blame them? It got hot early and stayed there this year. Today was 95, but the week ahead is predicted to stay in the lower 90s. I’ll take any bit of relief.

A working weekend, and I got quite a bit done. The Kelly O’Connell novel is at Amazon to have advanced reading copies made. I must be learning because what I submitted met their criteria the first time around. Yippee! And the cookbook is off to the designer, although I’ve already sent a revised version. Today I was making fromage fort (strong cheese) for happy hour tonight and realized that the recipe in the cookbook lacked a key ingredient—garlic. So I added it and added the pasta salad I’d forgotten and sent it off again. I have promised not to do that to the designer any more, so someone will have to help me with restraint. Now about that recipe for Sauce Gribiche . . . . My trouble in proofing the cookbook is that I came across so many things I want to cook.

The newlyweds from last weekend’s wedding came by for a glass of wine tonight7, and Subie was here too so we had a jolly, impromptu party. Lots of re-living the wedding, tales I hadn’t heard or noticed, identification of people. Fun, except when they get together they all talk at once, and I am never sure of the conversation. Still it was lovely to have them here and see them looking so happy. The bride is a thoroughly modern woman—but she couldn’t wait to take her new husband’s last name. Good for her!

Tomorrow, church, yard work, laziness. In the evening, Jordan and Christian are taking the two boys to Concerts in the Park—it’s Christian’s Father’s Day treat. Megan and I will have dinner in the cottage, and I’ll cook scallops with mushrooms in a lemon sauce. Should be a lovely day.

But in the back of my mind, I still see that Palestinian boy, so terrified, and now that two-year-old Honduran girl whose crying picture has gone viral on the net. How can we be so content, enjoying our daily lives, when there is so much misery in the world, some of it so close to home? I need to go to church tomorrow.

Did somebody cancel today?

I think the world cancelled today and forgot to tell me. None of the things I expected to happen came about. I thought I was going to lunch with a friend, but he had a stomach bug, so I stayed home and ate leftovers. What really bothered me about that was I had already put on make-up.  Jordan was going to come for our occasional afternoon happy hour after her work--but they had workmen at her house and she had to be home. She might, she said, need me to pick up Jacob. I did odds and ends all morning and got lots of little things done, After lunch I napped, woke up late, and called to see if I should go get Jacob. No, he was already home so he could see all the digging in their front yard. Result: I spent the entire day in my pajamas, with only Sophie for company--but she's good company.
The day left me with time to contemplate world affairs which is not a happy thing to do these days. Bob Schieffer said it best in a recent broadcast: we are in the midst of a world gone mad. Russia's encroachment on Ukraine; the horrifying Palestinian-Israeli conflict. That one I really don't understand, but perhaps I don't understand such age-old violent hatred. It seems to me that Israel keeps building settlements on Palestinian land; Hamas incites warfare, knowing that its citizens will be slaughtered--men, women, and children. I saw a cartoon recently that showed a group of supposedly Palestinian men milling around. The caption read, "Hamas loves us so much they even gave us T-shirts." On each shirt was a bulls eye. Gold Meir said years ago, "We can forgive the Palestinians for killing our children; we cannot forgive them for making us kill their children." One hardly dares use the term "fair" in this situation.
Then there are the children at the border and that horribly botched execution in Arizona, wildfires destroying eastern Washington state, violent storms in the Midwest and South. As long as we keep destroying our environment, the eccentricities of nature are beyond us and will only increase. But we could work with the atrocities wrought by man by teaching the world one word: compassion.
Oops, I slipped into the pulpit by mistake--that's what a contemplative day at home will do for you. But our minister said it well yesterday. Paraphrasing, but all we can do is take care of our own corner of the world with compassion--our family, friends, community. And vote, folks, it makes a difference.
My goodness, solitude also makes me ramble.