Me and Joe Biden

 

I would never presume to compare myself to President Biden, but we do have one thing in common: we are old. I am distressed though by the current controversy over whether or not he is too old to run for office in 2024. Everyone seems to be trying to make up his mind for him. Signs are that he very much wants to, but even some in his own party question the wisdom of trying for a second term. And of course Republicans are all over the “sleepy Joe image.” I even read somewhere that Dr. Jill Biden is pressuring him not to run, going so far as to threaten to leave him if he announces. I suspect that’s someone’s fabrication—whether a MAGA person or a Russian bot—because it is so out of character with what we see of her almost daily on TV. The ostensible reason is that she does not want to see him humiliated by a defeat. To my mind, Joe Biden right now is a victim of America’s preoccupation with ageism.

The president has just had a physical and been pronounced fit and healthy, a “vigorous eighty-year-old man.” In two years, much of it in the face of a Senate controlled by the opposition, he has set a course for America which differs dramatically from that of his predecessor, and he’s making progress in bringing his vision to reality. Whether you ike his vision for the country or not, he’s clearly a man who’s hit his stride. So why quit now because of something that might happen? Sure, he might develop a life-threatening illness or dementia, but elect a fifty-year-old president and they could develop a disease, be the victim of an assassination. Nobody know what’s around the corner, but age is relative. I don’t think we should look at the number of years, but at the individual—how they act and speak and think. Vigorous isn’t just an empty word.

Let’s banish two images: the first is that of “sleepy Joe,” one of trump’s famous derogatory nicknames. Joe Biden is not sleepy, but his style is understated, calm, and slow, in contrast to the loud, dramatic rants of trump. While some criticize him, Biden goes quietly about doing what he thinks is right, getting the job done. The other is that he misspeaks—every time Biden stumbles over a word, Republicans are fast on it. The man continues to battle a lifelong stuttering problem, and his speaking ability is to be admired, not derided. He fights to get each word out. Did you hear him stutter during his State of the Union? I didn’t.

I am particularly interested in what seems to be the Biden age dilemma, because I am two years older than he is. When people express amazement that I’m still writing—with an emphasis on still—I want to say, “What else would I be doing? Watching TV all day?” I’m in good health, knock on wood, and my mind is clear (don’t ask my kids!). I like what I do, the life I’m living. Should I look ahead at the calendar and say, “Wow! Next year I’ll be 85. I guess I better quit writing?” I don’t think so.

Why we write came up as a discussion topic in a small online writing group I belong to, and the best reason I heard was, “Because sometimes the words fly onto the page.” But there is more—I don’t know any other way to live. Watching TV was a joke, but I seriously don’t know what I would do if I didn’t write and didn’t have my involvement with the writing community. And there are things I still want to write—that memoir I talk about, another Irene book (having just finished one that will be out in the spring, I already have the opening scene for the next one), the Helen Corbitt project I keep procrastinating about. I’ve always thought it would be fun to write a short book titled, Dogs I Have Loved.

So I get Joe Biden’s dilemma, or at least I think I do. I tried to keep this post non-partisan but, clearly, I think Biden is doing a good job at moving us back from the brink of authoritarianism, back to what America is supposed to be—but not back into the times of racial and gender discrimination, banned books and illegal abortions. I’ll vote for him again, given the chance—the alternatives so far are pretty awful.

Now about that book about dogs …..

Where are the good guys today?

This was one of those days that it was hard to clear your mind and go about business. For me, the most pleasant moment was happy hour. Five-thirty is Sophie’s  favorite time of the day. When she senses that we are about to go out to the patio, she runs in and out excitedly. If I am slow—getting my sunglasses or phone, for instance—she runs back in and looks at me as if to say, “Well, are you coming or not?” Tonight she seemed to know that neighbor Mary was coming, and she sat expectantly watching the driveway. I thought it made a cute picture.

My sisters and brothers in Sisters in Crime consider it gospel that you should never talk about religion or politics on social media. You might alienate readers, and heaven knows, we all want each possible sale. I’ve been thinking a lot about that today. I rarely if ever talk about religion, certainly never to suggest what someone should or should not believe. I may occasionally allude to the way my faith governs my beliefs and actions, but that’s it. On politics, I am more outspoken, compelled by my conscience to speak out. If you truly believe that the nation—or a particular person—is leading us to disaster and you can express that in calm and reasonable terms, I think you are morally obligated to speak out. Otherwise, we become a nation of sheep.

But the two—politics and religion—collided last night when the White House ordered Lafayette Square in DC cleared of peaceful protestors so that the squatting president could have a photo op in front of St. John’s Church. It was wrong on so many levels, all of which have been thoroughly explored on social media today—the unbelievable violence against peaceful protestors, the arrogance of a man who defies Christian principles holding a Bible (upside down and backwards), the hubris of trespassing on church property—and forcing church personnel to flee for their lives.

Did it gain him any votes? Not from anyone I heard. All I have heard and read today is scornful. Except from trump himself, who apparently tweeted, “Thank you, Mr. President” for clearing “violent” protestors.

Across the country, we are witnessing a terrible irony: some cops are using brutal methods to quell peaceful protests—against police brutality. They are making the people’s argument for them, their actions demonstrating the need for drastic and thorough reform of police departments, their education, government oversight. I haven’t yet heard much call for training in compassion, but surely that too is needed.

But increasingly, we are seeing examples of police reaching out, walking with protestors, kneeling and praying with them. These are the men and women who set the example we need. God bless them. I was proud of Fort Worth last night where an eight o’clock curfew cleared the streets, and the chief of police, among others, took a knee and prayed with protestors. We need more of that and less rhetoric about dominating the battlefield. Trump seems to want a civil war; we need to show him peaceful cooperation.

Does anyone else have the feeling as I do that the trauma in this country is building toward some sort of a climax? I don’t sense that these protests will stop as those after Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination did or the riots after the beating of Rodney King. Tonight the marches seem more peaceful, but I think the public won’t soon be distracted. I hope I’m right. But I wish I had a magic lantern that would show me the future. I cannot begin to think how this unrest will end, how the national will ever get back to normal or to a new and better normal. Still, I remain hopeful.

Winter, pause for thought, and a thought on vanity

            It’s a wintry cold day in Fort Worth, the kind of damp cold that chills to the bone, or as old-timers would say, to the marrow. A morning trip to the grocery made me cold for the day. My cottage is cozy, but it has lots of windows, and since it’s an old structure at heart, it’s drafty. I long for a fireplace, but there’s no room for it.

My ego has suffered a terrible blow. A couple of weeks ago, Jacob confided he had asked a certain girl to be his valentine. When I asked what that meant, he shrugged and said he’d probably take her to dinner. I heard no more about it, but Jordan announced the other day that she and Christian would be going out that night, and I would have Jacob for supper. Valentine’s happens to be a Wednesday (and also, in an odd twist, Ash Wednesday). That’s the night my weekly dinner pal Betty and I go to supper, and she said Valentine’s didn’t matter. So I asked Jacob if he’d like to bring said girl to dinner with me and his “Aunt Betty.”

The answer was a definite negative shake of the head. I have to say it was delivered with one of his charming smiles and a sparkle in his eye. But he was clearly appalled at the thought. “Why?” I asked. “Is it because we’re old.” The head shake was affirmative this time, though the grin stayed in place.

I have to admit I was taken back. I don’t think of myself as old, and it . .. well, it hurt my feelings a bit, that he sees that as my defining characteristic. Jordan said he wouldn't even let his parents take them to dinner and is trying to get up some groups event. Still, I’ll have to get his oldest cousin to talk to him. Once last summer she drove over from Frisco to have supper with me, and when I thanked her for coming all this way to see an, old lady, she assured me I’m fun. Maybe when Jacob’s eighteen instead of eleven!

I’ve been thinking about the occupant of the White House and vanity. A friend posted that 45 has done so much bad that people attach anything bad to him, whether it’s his fault or not. I agree, but he bulls through life with such belligerence and such lack of grace that it’s hard to muster any sympathy.

I saw a picture the other day of him boarding his plane. The wind was up, and it played havoc with his hair, exposing the very bald back of his head. I might feel sympathy for another man—or woman—similarly exposed, but all I could think was what crashing vanity compelled him daily to construct that elaborate and unattractive hairdo. Why doesn’t he adjust to baldness, like thousands of others do? Or at least wear a hat.

Thought for the day: The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails. So, folks, adjust your sails and stay warm this wintry weekend. And, Mr. Trump, get a fedora.

Feeling a bit sad

Not sure why I feel sad tonight. Maybe it’s because no one is in the house tonight, and I feel a bit isolated. But I often—usually—spend the evening without seeing them. I guess it’s a comfort to know they’re there. Besides, I’m expecting a certain eleven-year-old home soon, and he always cheers me. He’s been to Cotillion, so I’ll know that he’ll have tales to tell, including about the latest love of his life.

Maybe it’s because of an eye problem which I suddenly took seriously, although in retrospect it’s been coming on for some time. But I scared myself today—and exasperated an admissions person at the doctor’s clinic. I know just enough about a lot of medical matters to be dangerous—and today it was detached retina. The admissions clerk scolded me on several counts, until I finally told her she sounded antagonistic. “No, not at all,” she said and seemed to forgive me requesting a new appt. so I could see the doctor I have seen for 30 years instead of one I didn’t know. We old folks don’t change easily. But I did talk to one of his colleagues who said it didn’t sound like a detachment, and he’ll see me next week. Now to figure out someone to take me.

I don’t even think it’s that. I think it’s the rash moves the sitting president has made in the last couple of days. Threatening Puerto Rico, cancelling the Iran nuclear agreement, slashing the ACA—how many people will die before we get that straightened out? His zeal for erasing President Obama’s accomplishments, regardless of damage to our country, is purely appalling. And while he’s made these bold public moves, without Congressional support, serious things are going unnoticed: a bill to end the EPA, another to end the Dept. of Education (the only good I can see there is that is gets rid of Betsy de Vos). It’s like a slash and burn campaign, and it scares me.

I have no doubt Trumpf will not serve out his full term, but it will take so long to undo the damage he’s done. How many people will die? How much public land will be sold and exploited? How much irreversible damage will be done to the already-fragile environment? I somehow can’t wrap my mind around all that without wanting to weep.

I read a statement by Trumpf today on the release of an American family held by the Taliban in Pakistan. Apparently, negotiations for their release have been ongoing for some time, but Trumpf took it as a personal victory. Trumpf went on and on about how the Pakistant were at last respecting us. The emphasis on the term “respect” scared me. It was like he equates it with fearing us.

This man-child makes me sad—for our country, for me, for my grandchildren and yours. How long will it take before the Cabinet invokes the 25^th Amendment about an impaired president, or congressional Republicans develop some backbone? Privately, they are worried about him, from what I read, but publicly they are cowering in their shoes.

A bright note in the day: the upholsterer delivered a throw pillow he’d been working on. It’s needlepoint, done by a dear friend probably at least 30-40 years ago. It had gotten beaten down over the years—four kids, seven grandchildren, and who can count how many dogs?—and he gave it new life. The design is from the classic story found on Blue Willow china. I grew up eating off that china, and will use my mom's daily A most meaningful pillow for me.

And another high point: Jordan and I, having done luxury shopping yesterday, did staples shopping today—don’t ask how much I spent—and I again demonstrated my prowess with automated shopping cart. This one worked fine, and I didn’t hit anything, not even Jordan, though I backed into her cart once.

Goodness and Mercy

On the plaza outside Samford University’s Beeson Law Library in Birmingham, a statue depicts the relationship of justice and mercy. The Angel of Mercy is seen encouraging the blindfolded Lady of Justice. She is staying the sword of justice to keep it from being used too swiftly, tempering it with compassion. The sculptor is Glynn Acree from Roswell, Georgia who also created statues for Emory, Georgia Tech, Mercer, and the University of Georgia.

Justice is not about vengeance; neither is the law. Justice must be tempered with mercy, with compassion. And yet, there was our president/pretender today, warning 800,000 young people who have never known any other country to prepare to self-deport. How heartless and cruel.

I am not, never have been a fan of Republicans, let alone the man they have now chosen to lead the party. That’s well-known to any who know me. But this latest act strains my credulity, appalls me in ways I never thought possible. I won’t ask what the rush is to get everyone of Hispanic descent out of our country. I know only too well that it is blind, hate-filled racism.

 And I am full of fury at people who hide their hate behind the rule of law. If the rule of law were so damned important, why did the president/pretender pardon Joe Arpaio, an act done completely outside the law and the usual constraints of presidential pardons. People who ask why the Dreamers have not applied for citizenship reveal an appalling ignorance about the citizenship process and the archaic laws that govern the move from immigrant to citizen, a years-long process that can cause a person to leave the country for seven or eight years before returning. Do you realize what would happen to the life you’ve built for yourself and your family if you had to leave for eight years? What could you come back to?

Many of the Dreamers are in the midst of their education, well on their way to becoming solid citizens with strong contributions to make to this country. The dissolution of DACA could well send them into lives of poverty—and worse, robbing them of their golden dreams and us of their future contributions. Does anyone in this administration think beyond their long, pointy Pinocchio-like noses?

Congress can fix this. Will they? Will they have the guts to buck the president? They have on other matters, to my delight and surprise. But do they see this as deserving and important. I can only pray for guidance for them. Writing my senators is useless, and I have long ago given it up.

I weep for my country. I weep because I live in a country I once could be proud of and now am ashamed of its cruelty, inhumanity, lack of compassion. What if justice turns its blind eyes on you? How will you be sure it is tempered by mercy?

Please pray for the Dreamers…and for our country. May goodness and mercy follow us all the days of our lives.