No Sunday Funday

Long, slow Sunday, the kind of day when I long for daylight savings. The family didn’t want to go to church and had busy activities scheduled, so me and my dog and my computer have been alone except for pop-in visits. By 5:00 p.m. I thought it was dreary and dismal, and I had to remind myself that it’s the time change. Predicted rain never came.

I cleaned out the fridge and freezer and made a pot of chicken soup—rotisserie chicken, broth, canned tomatoes, a few carrots, a couple of potatoes, a half onion. Now, when it’s almost done, I cubed and added a half zucchini.

Pet peeve: you have to be so careful when you buy diced tomatoes. Plain, original are rare. Only when I opened the can today did I realize that I bought diced tomatoes with green chilis. Not the end of the world—chilis in chicken soup are probably a good addition, but it’s not what I had in mind or what I wanted. And the line about green chilis was in tiny print.

Soup smells good. Perhaps it will warm my soul.

It did warm my soul today to see on TV that the church in Sutherland Springs, Texas held services this morning. I had thought the pastor, who lost his daughter in the shooting, said the church would close and perhaps be demolished. But there he was this morning, preaching the word of God. Somehow that’s a sign of hope and courage to me. Not defeated, not turning away from faith, these people are carrying on. A huge crowd attended. Bet they didn’t all fit in the church.

On the other hand, all the news about Judge Roy Moore chills my soul, more than our usual daily diet of Republican scams and presidential bloopers. To think that scores of pastors, men who supposedly share my faith, are defending this man and Senators are dancing like cats on a hot tin roof seriously assaults my faith. Moore, who should even have to forfeit the honorary title Judge after being barred from the bench twice for judicial misconduct, is a man to whom corruption of all kinds clings like a polyester cloak. One report says Moore will win a landslide; another says his Democratic challenger is running slightly ahead, which in Alabama is a huge victory. I may just close my ears until the election is over. Nah, I’d never do that. Probably won’t close my mouth either

I’m sure much of the country is outraged by the Alabama politician who compared Moore’s situation to Mary and Joseph, but someone kept posting on my wall comments to the effect of “What about corrupt Hillary.” It’s a tactic 45 uses all the time. A friend called it “whataboutism” and labeled it a Russian disinformation technic. Someone else referred to Newt Gingrich dating an intern and waiting until his wife was hospitalized fighting cancer to tell her he was filing for divorce. Sure, it makes my point, but it too is whataboutism. When talking about Moore, folks, can we please stick to Moore and not drag others in for better or worse.

And to end on a light note: I really like the word “bigly.” Like the sound, the implication. I’ve longed to use it, but I thought it was one of many pseudo-words 45 has added to our lexicon, and was therefore off limits. But I looked it up today—love, love, love the dictionary resources available online. The first use was in the middle ages, so I am bigly relieved. Is that the right usage?

A prophetic dream?

Weird but intense dream last night, prompted I’m sure by all the allegations of sexual misconduct flying in the air these days. I was working in a hospital (not unusual—I did in high school and college). There had been incidents with predators, and I was terrified. Everyone was on alert, and watches were increased. A young man was arrested for repeatedly patting a girl in the tush. He was bewildered, and then frightened, as what seemed a slight incident morphed into a criminal charge and a possible jail sentence. Calls to his dad and a lawyer didn’t help, and this young man saw his future crashing. The girl he’d “offended” never came forward to say anything about the incident, but everyone in the hospital was crying for the young man’s head on a platter.

I think this dream reflects my personal feelings about the many allegations we’re seeing these days. A post or two on Facebook reminds that a “person is innocent until proven guilty,” but that’s not the case here. An accusation becomes widespread rumor and is soon accepted publicly as fact. Protestations of innocence fall on deaf ears, and lives and careers are ruined by innuendo.

The really scary thing is that each of us tend to make individual judgments, often independent of the facts even if we know reported facts. I’m as guilty as anyone, for I’ll quickly say that I think Alabama Judge Moore did what the woman claimed he did when she was fourteen, and he should get out of the race and so-called public service. He’s been called down from the judicial bench twice in his own state for judgments based not on the law but on his own belief system, which seems pretty warped. He’s a racist and a bigot on record, and to my mind a piece of slime. And I’m appalled at the prominent Alabama Republican leader who excused him by saying that Mary was fourteen and Joseph much older.

On the other hand, why make a fuss about slight incidents ascribed to former President George H. W. Bush. There was absolutely no sexual intimacy involved, no force, nothing but a casual pat on the behind. Bush has apologized, and many have pointed out it’s hard to see an old man in a wheelchair as a sexual predator. He gave good service to the country, and we should not repay him by shaming him in his last years over incidents that, to me, seem trivial. Others will disagree, and I understand that.

I think it all proves that nothing is black and white. I applaud the openness that our society now is experiencing. I think it will make would-be predators think before they act on base instincts, and I hope it will punish some severe offenders. But there’s no logic, no equality in the handling of each accusation, and I’m afraid some good lives will be ruined by falsehood.

Then again, I have no concern for Judge Moore. I’d hang him out in the wind any day.