Updates and thoughts on passion—no, not that kind!

 

Sophie in her donut collar. 
She is now old and mostly blind, and it shows in
her expression which clearly says
"Why are you doing this to me?"
I have no idea how to tell her it is for her health.

Update on Sophie: she is docile about the donut collar, and the shot-givers have all learned to avoid the tender areas, so no more snapping. Her cellulitis bump is going down, and she sleeps through the night. Praise be!

Update on the plumbing crisis: my native plant bed is totally destroyed, filled with large rocks—who knows where they came from? No hole in the floor yet, but the handyman is prepared should that happen. And it goes on. Today, Saturday, there is one man here working. I have no idea what he’s doing.

Update on Judith: I am faced with chores I dislike—my tax organizer arrived, so did a multi-page questionnaire to complete before a ophthalmology appointment next week, my miscellany holder on the desk badly needs sorting, and I need to check the Discover bill.  The great American novel will have to wait, though I have yet to figure out the resolution, so maybe that’s a good thing.

I’ve been chewing on the concept of gratitude lately. I try to make it a part of my life because I truly feel blessed. I was born white (not racist to say that’s worked in my favor), fairly intelligent with a comfortable life and a loving family. My refrigerator and freezer are overflowing, and I sink into a comfortable bed with a secure roof over my head each night. I am, I think, the epitome of privilege. It could have been so different; I could be an immigrant at the southern border, desperate for a new life in America, or a child hiding in a makeshift shelter next to my dead sibling in Gaza, or a farmer in Ukraine, or a nonbinary teen in Oklahoma. And somehow I think gratitude accounts for what Christian called my passion for my beliefs. It is simply because I am not that teen in Oklahoma that my blood boils when I hear a legislator refer to them as “filth” and proclaim, “We are a Christian state.” (Ironic for someone in a state with a high native American population and for someone who proclaims himself a Christian.) Gratitude is why I despise Greg Abbott’s cruelty with his cursed razor wire at the border—because I am not that pregnant woman who got entangle and died. I know life doesn’t have to be like it is for those and millions of others throughout the world.

There’s not a lot I can do from a walker in a cottage in Fort Worth, Texas, living on a fixed income. I can’t walk the block or go to rallies; my financial contributions are so small as to be insignificant, even though one of my favorite candidates insists $3 helps. Were I wealthy beyond measure, the list of politicians and charities I would support would be long. Progressive politicians like Katie Porter in California or John Tester in Montana or our own Colin Allred here in Texas. Add to that environmental organizations, wildlife and animal welfare causes, women’s rights, and others. Someone said to me that money rules the world (I think greed was implied), and I reluctantly agreed. When I protested that some people use wealth for good causes and cited Joe Biden, Christian immediately said, “He’s a millionaire.” But that, I countered, is not the operative thing about him. His life is shaped by his passion for democracy. I believe the same is true of Obama or Beto O’Rourke and was true of Ghandi, Mother Theresa. We have role models in this world. It’s just that too many of us ignore them.

One of the things I’m grateful for is that I have a church home where I am comfortable—and challenged to do what I can to make the world better. I like the Jewish concept of Tikkun olam, literally “repairing the world.” And I think it’s precisely because I am so blessed that I am bound to do what I can to repair our obviously broken world. And so I speak out. I don’t hide what Christian calls my passionate beliefs. Some have asked if I worry about alienating readers, and my answer is not at all. (Besides my career is winding down).

I’ll end this rant by quoting Martin Niemöller, “Then they came for me/And there was no one left/To speak out for me.” (see the complete poem here:  Holocaust Memorial Day Trust | First They Came – by Pastor Martin Niemöller (hmd.org.uk)

Singing the blues

 

This dismal, damp day is a perfect reflection of the way I feel. I don’t know how long it’s been since I had a good, old-fashioned common cold, but one of the upper respiratory type has hit me. For several days I passed it off as allergies, but clearly it is not. I’m coughing, my throat feels tight, and I’m hoarse—I won’t get any more clinical than that. I was emailing with Sue, my Canadian daughter, this morning, and she wrote, “How in the world did you catch cold? You never go anywhere?” That startled me. Do you have to go somewhere? I actually have been out a couple of times, and people come to see me. And who knows how you catch cold? Maybe it’s just airborne. I’m not sure scientists know. It just happens, and then you have to live with it for a week or ten days.

Last night for our regular Tuesday night happy hour we had “Hot Dog Happy Hour.” Mary’s husband doesn’t eat hot dogs, and good German girl that she is, she occasionally craves a hot dog with relish and kraut. Always a good meal to me, so Jordan served us and included some Bush’s Original Baked Beans. A great meal, but hallway through I couldn’t eat. I think it was my cold. Took a moment and finished most of my dinner, but the episode upset me.

Then I had an angry phone call about the neighborhood newsletter I edit. I am really upset with myself that I ended up raising my voice in an effort to stop my critic from talking over me. Didn’t help and worsened my hoarseness and sore throat. Looking back, I should have put the phone on speaker, let her rave, and ignored it. But I was blindsided by the call. Next time!

Unfortunately I took those two incidents to bed with me and dreamt about them. But I slept ten and a half hours which I figure I needed. Sleep for me is never continuous—I am up to use the restroom (a curse of aging, I think) and in the wee hours, up to feed Sophie, then up an hour later to let her out. But still, I had plenty of good long sleep.

This morning I cancelled my dinner plans, a good move since I feel lethargic, and my cough is now to the point where it might alarm other restaurant patrons. I actually did a lot of work this morning, but then took a long nap. When Sophie first woke me, I thought I had written a long blog, but the details blurred as I got going.

My dream blog had to do with a company re-introducing Dorothy Gray cologne—you have to be really old to remember that, but it was the fragrance my mother always wore. In an effort to imitate that, I have worn Jean Naté for years—nothing else, just the one scent. Once in a car going who knows where one of my granddaughters held my hand and then said, “You smell like your house.” “Maybe,” I suggested, “my house smells like me.” The idea must have intrigued me because the rest of the dream had to do with a log cabin that smelled like Dorothy Gray.

At lunchtime I got ambitious and made myself some chicken salad, though I ate very little. I’m in the mood for “invalid food” though not quite to the point of my mom’s milk toast. Her crackers and butter in milk were pretty good, though, and my stock favorite was a can of tomatoes (they didn’t come diced in the day, and in my childhood, they were often home canned) with crushed saltines and lots of butter. But tonight, I think a “Tom Sawyer”—poached egg on a raft of cheddar cheese and toast. What’s your favorite comfort food?

Of children and dogs

Anybody in Fort Worth recognize this good-looking fellow?

For me, another day of grief, watching as more news and more sadness comes out of Uvalde. I have friends who have turned off their TV and ignored the newspaper, because they find the news too stressful. I can’t do that—reading and sharing posts keeps my anger up, and I hope, yours too. If we’re going to fight for a decent society where kids are safe in the schoolroom, where what women do with their bodies is between the woman and her doctor, and where everyone has equal opportunity to vote, we have to stay angry. And we have to be informed. We have to win this fight—the alternative is unthinkable.

Greg Abbott used the word “unimagineable” in his press conference, but as Beto and others have pointed out the tragedy in Uvalde was not beyond Abbott’s imagination. This is the sixth school shooting on his watch. He doesn’t have to imagine. He know the drill, at least as he perceives it—do nothing preventive but after the fact stress all that you are doing to investigate. Who needs investigation? A troubled kid got a gun he shouldn’t have had, and now he’s dead and can’t tell us more.

Today we learned that law enforcement stood outside the school for forty or fifty minutes, while parents urged them to go in. Standard procedure since Columbine is to go in immediately. One father, who lost his daughter, tried to get an unarmed citizen group to rush the building. Meantime, children were dying inside. I also heard the police got their own kids out first. There is much to be investigated about the reaction to the shootingand much to be learned, but that’s not what Abbott was talking about. And we must not let it fade away as other mass shootings have. Make this the last one. And as Beto said, now is the time to do that.

Do not tell me Chicago has more violent gun deaths. That’s apples and oranges. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago, and I know about inner city violence. Have you heard of one school shooting in that city? Most of the gun deaths are gang rivalries, with, unfortunately, children too often caught in the crossfire.

Do not tell me that gun control laws don’t work, there will always be bad guys, and they will always get guns. That’s a cop-out for politicians so they can continue to collect NRA funds. Gun control doesn’t work in the U.S. because there are no consistent laws and there is lackluster enforcement. Texas has perhaps the loosest gun laws of any state and one of the highest number of mass shootings (plus other gun deaths). Coincidence? I hardly think so. How can an eighteen-year-old who can’t yet vote or drink legally, walk into a store and purchase two assault rifles and God knows how many rounds of ammunition. Senator Cornyn brought up another interesting opoint today: where did he get the money?

I challenge Greg Abbott to study what was done after mass shootings in Australia, the UK , New Zealand. I also challenge him to go talk personally, one on one, with the parents who lost children at Robb Elementary. Not a press conference where he is buffered by politicians, like the loud mayor of Uvalde who was out of line in his public attack on Beto O’Rourke at the presser.

I am indignant.

As if that were not enough trauma for the day, I have spent much of the day worrying and writing beseeching posts about lost dogs. Today alone there has been notice of at least ten dogs wandering, looking for help and afraid to approach would-be rescuers. One, a gorgeous big fellow, lies on the front porch of an empty house, waiting for his people to come home. Speculation is that college students went home for the summer and left him behind.

People get on various internet sites and ask, “Anybody want this dog?” It makes me blood boil. My constant advice: if someone claims the dog as theirs, demand proof—photographs, an identifying physical characteristic, a letter from their vet. Watch how the dog responds to his supposed owner. In Fort Worth (and I think Texas) strays must be registered with the local animal control facility because that’s the first place people go to look for a lost pet. It is illegal to re-home a dog or cat within 24 hours. And, no, animal control facilities do not automatically euthanize these animals. The Fort Worth facility has a re-home rate of about 95%. There are people out there who acquire “pets” just to abandon or torture them. I’m told there are no organized dog-fight rings in the Fort Worth area, but there are “pick up” fights.

If  you want to re-home your dog, the same cautions apply. Do not just give him or her to someone who says, “How cute!” By taking a few precautions you may be saving your pet’s life. Sometimes circumstances make it impossible for devoted pet owners to keep their animals—death, illness, etc. But I hope people who are considering adopting dog remember that it is a lifetime commitment. I get really angry of people who tire of their dog or want a younger one or just don’t have time. You are that dog’s only family, and he or she trusts you.

Yeah, I harbor a lot of anger at the world tonight. Some shrug and say, “That’s the way it is.” I say, “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

Anger must surpass grief

 

     

That old cliché, “’Twas a dark and stormy night,” applies tonight. It is depressingly dark early, and I hear distant thunder. Sophie refuses to leave my side. We need the rain so badly that I would welcome a good storm, if I could add certain conditions: no hail, no tornadoes, just rain—preferably steady and not too heavy. As it is I fear it will once again pass over. I think tonight of the people of southern Ontario where a terrific storm swept across the land, moving from Toronto to Ottawa, where it flattened many old, sturdy hardwood trees. One forester said Ottawa’s tree canopy was forever changed. Some used the term derecho, so I’ll add that to my conditions, no derecho.

The dark night seems to reflect the national mood tonight. We are once again grieving a mass shooting, this another horrific targeting of young children. What kind of a madman shoots innocent young children? We will never know for sure because the shooter at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas, was killed on the spot. But for many of us, the images of Sandy Hook have come roaring back with unbelievable tenacity.

President Biden spoke for many of us tonight in his brief words from the White House. At first, his grief rendered him almost speechless, but then grief turned to anger as he lashed out at the fact that we are the only country to suffer such mass shootings. Other countries have angry people, mentally disturbed people, but they do not have mass shootings. It is of course because we have gun control that is ineffective and almost non-existent. The president called for lawmakers to get a backbone and do what we all know needs to be done.

I can add nothing to the words that are flying across the internet tonight. Except to say that many of our gun aficionados on Facebook are downright scary people. They range from the woman who told me her husband needs an assault rifle to hunt the wild hogs that infest much of the South and Southwest to those who told me their guns are protection: if the Russians attack, they are ready. I can almost understand the wild hog argument—my brother has a ranch, and the hogs are so destructive as to be beyond description. They are also tough and numerous—if you hunt with a rifle, you get one at a time. If you hunt with an assault weapon, your stats are better—and that matters to ranchers whose livelihood is threatened; many of whom hunt almost nightly as a means of self-preservation. The flaw in that argument is that if assault weapons are legal for a small group of people, they will inevitably work their way into the hands of those who should not have them.

The self-protection people are more scary. They truly believe they could stand off a Russian invasion, completely overlooking the selfish patriotism, long years of organized training and preparation that have gone into Ukraine’s ability to counter the Russian invasion. Some believe that their guns are protection against their own government. And too many speak of the coming civil war. These folks always overlook the part of the Second Amendment that calls for an organized militia. In fact, they overlook the entire working of the amendment, bending it to their will and refusing to see the difference between weapons in the eighteenth century and today.

Gun folks never mention the mass shootings but they talk about all the illegal criminals Biden is letting in (actually he is under court order to turn immigrants away and most aren’t criminals, but that’s another topic for another day). They claim only criminals will have guns. Their arguments are almost desperate, and often semi-literate. They scare me. And they are rude. I have been criticized, insulted, dismissed as both naïve and an idiot by people who have no rational answers. If you question their statements or logic, they shut down and don’t answer.

So my reluctant conclusion is that logic will do not good. Neither will grief nor appeals to their better selves. We need anger, active anger on the part of all of us. And we need new legislators and a new SCOTUS.

The town of Uvalde, the state of Texas, and the whole country grieve tonight. I cannot imagine the families who sent their children off to school this morning, only to learn that they’ll never see them again. My heart breaks. But we must move on to the anger part. This is a call to arms. We’ve had those calls before—too many of them. What is it going to take to break this pattern? (Note: the NRA is meeting this week in Hoston; trump and Abbott will speak.)

And on a good note for the night: we are getting a nice soaking rain. It didn’t last long enough, but it was lovely while it did. One big clap of thunder sent Sophie scurring to her hidey hole between the couch and the coffee table—she thinks she is invisible when she’s there.

A reflection on pandemic

 

The last few afternoons have been sunny, if chilly, and in the late afternoon, just before dusk, the living area of my cottage—office and “company” couch and chairs—have been flooded with warm, bright sunshine. The room has windows on the south, west, and north, which make it bright but not always warm. But this week it cheered me just to walk into the room, filled me with gratitude for all the comforts I enjoy—a comfortable shelter, plenty of food, and, usually, plenty of companionship. I like to think of myself as a grateful person.

But re-reading some of my recent blogs startled me into the recognition that I have bee anything but grateful. Story Circle Network is having a blog competition, looking for the best blog post on the subject of growth. When I got that notice today, I thought, “Why not?” As I ate my lunch, I scrolled through some recent past entries in “Judy’s Stew.” I did not find growth, no gratitude either; I found a lot of anger and a lot about isolation. I think my blog—and me—is in a rut.

As many of you know I have been sort of quarantining since the New Year for reasons that have to do both with exposure and caution.  What I found today was that lots of my Lots of my posts were about isolation and anger. Isolation because my family is out and about, exposed at high-risk events, and my friends are cautious. For a while, patio entertaining was fine, but it turned cold and is supposed to do that again this week. We developed a transport system between the main house and my cottage. Mostly it consists of a grocery sack left on the step by my kitchen door, sort of in the same manner you raise a flag for service at a Brazilian steakhouse or at Pancho’s. Jordan makes many trips from back door to back door, especially since one or the other of us cooks dinner for everybody. Transporting dinner without spilling or letting it get cold has proved tricky. I posted about Jordan’s brief, two-minute masked visits to do this or that I needed, about wishing Sophie could talk about books and menus, about Sophie knowing something is different and acting out like a two-year-old. About gloomy, gray days when I could seem to get warm. About the day I just decided to write the world off and keep going back to bed—which left me wakeful during the night. Not a good solution.

And anger. I was angry at the Covid virus in all its mutations, angry at the rodeo (I tried not to be angry at my family because they, after all, have lives to lead and are not as much at risk as I am because of age and health), angry at a world where half the people doubt science and refuse to take precautions to protect others—those people who fuss about their rights and won’t get vaccinated or who swear masks don’t work and won’t wear one. Angry at Governor Abbott and his cavalier attitude about the pandemic while pursuing his own dreams of glory, at “the former guy” who let it get out of control (I’m always angry at him anyway). Angry at the world because I eat alone most nights instead of with my family gathered around my coffee table, angry because we didn’t have our annual Twelfth Night celebration, because … because … because

There were of course highlights—a visit from a dear friend back in Texas briefly after a move to Taos, patio visits from the neighbor ladies, lunch on the patio with my Canadian daughter; some good meals that I enjoyed cooking, despite transport difficulties. I’m grateful for some good writing sessions and a lot more reading than I usually have time for. But what re-reading these blog posts taught me, beyond that I need to change my attitude, is the Covid is re-shaping our lives and making us into people we sometimes don’t recognize. You can’t see the shift day-to-day, but pandemic has made us angry and cautious, suspicious of our neighbors. Who knows4 who might be asymptomatic and a carrier, even a super-spreader? And so we do, as I have done, hide in our houses, become lonely and angry. I’m wondering what the effects will be five years from now.

A wonderful visit tonight with old friends Phil and Subie brightened my spirits immensely. We met in the cottage, unmasked but with the patio door wide open. Conversation was lively, wine generous, and I felt more alive than I have for days. But I still say it’s true that pandemic has changed us as a society. I’d love to hear your opinions.

 

Thoughts on masking--and nonchalance

My pity party is over. I’m thankful that such episodes generally don’t last long with me. Today I’ve been much more upbeat and busied myself with some household chores like laundry, getting rid of stuff for the party that wasn’t, etc. Jordan and I have sort of perfected our delivery system, which means a lot of trips between houses for her. Today we exchanged laundry, and I packed up the wine caddies and things for the party—emptied a wine box that was perfect for that—and set it outside.

Tonight I made an experimental dinner, took out a portion for myself, and put the rest on the doorstep for Jordan to take inside. It was inside one of my treasured Corning Ware casseroles—and when I set it down, even with the stool for help, the lid bounced off. I watched in horror as it crashed to the cement driveway, but miraculously it did not break. (More on the dinner in tomorrow’s Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog.)

I may be over self-pity today, but I have a healthy dose of anger, indignation, whatever. I vowed this year to be kinder, to think of the other person’s viewpoint, not to leap to conclusions, and—this is a weakness of mine—not to assume that I am right and the other person’s opinion has no validity. But then, today, I read an essay from The Atlantic, titled “Where I Live No One Cares About Covid.” The writer, editor for a Catholic literary journal and a contributor to The American Conservative, lives in rural southwestern Michigan, an area I knew well as a child. I suppose now it is extremely conservative—Michigan is such a teetering state with a liberal governor who is always under attack.

This writer seemed to think that concern over Covid was strictly an urban matter. In rural areas like his, he claimed, people go about their business as if it’s over. His children have continued to go to day care, unmasked, and to see extended family every weekend. The only time he has seen masks is when he went to D.C. and was astounded. Frantic concern over Covid, he writes, is a folly that urban elites are imposing on others. He believes sooner or later they will realize their folly

Part of my indignation was that he seems to nonchalantly overlook the deaths of nearly a million of our citizens (we are truly moving up close to that number), let alone the long-term effects of those who survive. We have the long-haulers, and we don’t even know what complications will arise in survivors thirty or forty years from now. I think of chicken pox, which I had at the age of six or seven (no, I won’t say how long ago, but you can guess—it was a long, long time). Last year I had a case of shingles, because that chicken pox virus hiding in my body all these years decided to make itself known. Similarly, polio survivors are having complications—muscle weakness, joint degeneration, etc.—some sixty or more years later. Who knows what Covid will do?

More than that, the writer seems to dismiss the anxiety many of us feel as bureaucracy instigated. He apparently doesn’t believe the CDC. He is not worried that he does not know one person who has had a booster (data has suggested that the booster makes the difference with the omicron variant), the controversy over masks is silly. And this, apparently, is an educated man with some intelligence. Although he writes for a conservative publication, I found nothing in his essay to indicate that his stance is politically motivated. So I am at a loss to understand it.

Meantime, tonight a friend in an assisted living facility says that today they are near lockdown. She can come out, but restrictions are severe. There is no communal dining; she must wear a mask at all times, until she is in her own apartment; no guests are allowed. Our county has high statistics of cases, though as is the case elsewhere with the omicron variant, deaths are not as high as with the original or delta strains.

I am angry that there are people in our country, even our world, who take this so lightly, ignoring the tragedy it has brought to so many families. Masks are not major protection, but they do help. I saw a chart recently that said if two people both have KN96 masks, it takes two and a half hours for the virus to transmit; if they are not masked, it’s something like ten seconds.

Me? I’m going to isolate and mask and wish the rest of the world did. If they don’t—and I truly mean this globally—we’ll never eradicate the virus or even tame it.

Stay safe, everyone.

My no-post post

 

This will be brief tonight, because I don’t feel I have much to say. I am heartsick over the Texas Supreme Court decision backing Governor Abbott’s ban on face mask mandates, and I worry about all those young children returning to overcrowded classrooms with probably half their fellow students unmasked. So grateful my grands are all vaccinated. And I am heartsick over the too-quick fall of Afghanistan. The latter is not our problem, though we’ve made it that for too long; the former is indeed our immediate and urgent problem.

My personal opinion? Governor Abbott is running for president on a purely pro-trump agenda, from hard right on individual “freedumbs” to spending a fortune of taxpayer money on a short, two-mile section of the wall that never will be built and never did any good anyway. And his “all hands on deck” to deal with the flooding in the Austin capitol? Showmanship to appeal to trump’s base—he’s a man of action and courage. No, folks, he’s a mean, little man with no compassion, no concern for anyone besides his own ambitious career plans. The thought of him as president sends me scurrying to check my passport.

Afghanistan? It was an exercise in futility, and we should never have stayed there. But it traces back, not to Biden, but to Ronald Reagan and the Iran-Contra affairs. Google it and study up if you need to. And Trump set the deadline for withdrawal and had already withdrawn the bulk of our troops. Not only do our troubles in Afghanistan go back ro Reagan, so does our problem with immigrants at our southern border. Reagan and cohorts used the profits from armed sales to Khomeini, in exchange for hostages though they denied it, to fund Sandinistas who over-ran a socialist government in Nicaragua and installed a dictator. The godawful conditions in Central America trace back to that. When will America learn to tend to its own problems and stop trying to impose governments and regimes on other countries. And that should include lessons learned in Vietnam, but apparently those lessons were never learned. We have enriched the war machines in our country at the cost of an unbelievable number of American lives. More heartache.

All that aside, I had a peaceful day, with online church, a bit of cooking, some reading, and a nap. The day was capped by dinner with Jean—salmon burgers, made from fresh salmon not canned, and a wilted lettuce salad because I knew she loved that. Plus Jordan’s brownies for dessert. And Jean brought me two big, beautiful tomatoes from the Farmers’ Market. I foresee a tomato sandwich for lunch tomorrow.

I’m going to sleep and try to wake in a better frame of mind, figuring out how I, as one individual, can contribute to the causes I care about. Right now, I figure my concern for students is balanced against my anger at Abbott and those parents who whine about liberty and their freedumb so they can send sick children to school unmasked.

Surely the world will look better tomorrow.

 

Efficiency

If yesterday was my day of gratitude, today was my day of efficiency. Within half an hour of getting out of bed, I had washed my hair and baked a batch of biscuits, so that Jacob and I could have sausage biscuit sandwiches for breakfast, cleared the kitchen after last night’s supper, and settled down at my desk. I felt so efficient I almost thought I deserved to go back to bed.

But that efficiency got me off to a good start on the day, and I worked steadily all morning, taking copious notes from a resource I’d found and then adding almost nine hundred words to my manuscript. That seems to be my daily goal with this manuscript. It’s funny, but after a certain time, I run out of steam and the words become wooden. Then I know it’s time to quit.

When I reach that point, I read emails, do more research, read Facebook. I am, as you can imagine, if you’ve read this blog much, keenly interested in what is going on in our country these days, and I’m following the current uproar closely. But for me, reading Facebook is more than politics—over the years I’ve made many friends, people I’ll probably never meet but whose opinions and daily activities interest me. And I find everything from inspiration to humor. In fact some memes make me laugh out loud, which is surely good for the soul.

Yesterday I saw a picture of four comedians—Dick Van Dyke, Mel Brooks, Carl Reiner, and Norman Lear. All four are in their nineties and looked hale and hearty and full of life. It struck me that laughter must be good not just for the soul but for health and longevity. Who wants to live that long if you’re unhappy and critical of the world and people around you? I have always appreciated a positive attitude—and I strive to have one myself. But this picture really struck home with me. Okay, I’ve also always been a big Dick Van Dyke fan.

By contrast, I thought of many people we see and meet daily who are consumed with anger and resentment. Specifically, I thought of politicians, many of whom are shown on Facebook, making the most angry, contorted faces. What can that intense negative emotion be doing to heir health? Yes, I though specifically of the man who occupies the White House these days.

If laughter is good for the soul, I had lots tonight. Two friends—Marj and Amye—came for happy hour, and Marj brought supper from a place in Keller, where she works. Turns out Chicken Salad Chick is a chain with ninety-five restaurants across the country. Specialty is obviously chicken salad—probably ten varieties. I chose classic, and asked Jacob what he wanted.

Jacob: what’s chicken salad?

Me: chicken mixed with mayonnaise and other things.

Jacob: I’ll think about it. I’m going to sleep

This morning, me: What did you decide about the chicken salad?

Jacob: Explain it to me again.

I did, and he said he’d try it, so I emailed Marj to get him any variety without onion. But she also emailed him, and he chose a turkey pesto sandwich. So frustrating! I really wanted him to try the chicken salad. Obviously, it’s not something his parents eat often, if at all, But I adore all those meat salads—chicken, tuna, ham. I hope a Chicken Salad Chick franchise opens in our part of town.

We had a jolly evening, with lots of laughter. Jacob is sometimes monosyllabic with me, but he carried on fluent conversations with these two friends of his mom. Marj, a teacher now in administration, was able to explain some things to him when he complained about school or a teacher. Lots of talk about summer camp, because Marj’s daughter and Jacob both head off to camp this weekend.  A delightful evening.

Now to sleep, so I can get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

Sophie and Marj, having a little lovefest

Exposing Angry America

Well, wasn’t yesterday fun? Many Americans, like me, watched the long, long day of hearings, and Facebook is full of comments, mostly disbelief at the anger displayed. Lots of us seem to feel Kavanaugh disqualified himself, and it had precious little to do with Christine Blasey-Ford. It had to do with his anger management issues, his belligerent partisanship, his total absorption in himself.

I have nothing to add except one point I haven’t seen belabored much: Lindsey Graham, who also disgraced himself, kept shouting, “You’re ruining this man’s life.” And Kavanaugh himself whined a lot about how hard all this has been on his family.

They miss the point: his future, his career, his happy family life is not what’s at stake here. It’s the future of our country, the future of women, of working people, minorities, even wildlife species. I don’t care a fig about his career or his family, and now I find it even harder to dredge up any sympathy.

By contrast, Dr. Ford did not mention her family. When asked, she admitted to claustrophobia which she traced to the high-school attack on her. And when a senator—Cory Booker, but I don’t think he was the first—asked how her family was doing, she simply said they are fine and, “Thank you for asking.” The contrast in styles is remarkable.

And, frankly, I would give two cents for the future of the Kavanaugh marriage. Mrs. K. looked neither proud nor happy while her husband spoke.

The committee will vote him out today, angry old white men predominating. There’s still a chance he will not be confirmed next week, but it’s strange to think that our fate is in the hands of so few. This is not democracy at its best. Nor have the cream of the crop of our population risen to the top.

Hear that shouting? It’s the Founding Fathers protesting from the grave what’s happened to their experiment in democracy.

Theology, politics, and the journalists

How Jordan is spending her day

My day

 Every morning I start my day with an online meditation from theologian Richard Rohr. Most days his words help balance me and send me in the direction I want to go. This morning, he wrote about the difference between restorative and exploitive systems of government. Restorative philosophies seek as the name implies to restore earth’s natural resources, from environmental to human. It cares for rivers and lakes and pristine wildernesses, just as it cares for the poor, the sick, the homeless. It builds toward a future. An exploitive government uses up all resources for satisfaction in the moment, with no thought for the future. It ignores all but the rich, whom it coddles, and it destroys the environment for the sake of immediate wealth.

Guess which one I think we’re living in now?

Then a bit later I read an essay about former President Obama’s expected return to politics, in some degree, for the mid-term elections. He was quoted as saying this is not, should not be a dog-eat-dog world in which people are angry all the time. Probably he’s an idealist, but if he can help us restore a bit of loving kindness to our world, I’ll be ever so grateful.

None of us should think we’re helpless in the mess that has become our country these days. We can each begin with kindness and an absence of anger to those around us, even those with whom we bitterly disagree. We can erase anger from our lives, though it isn’t easy. The absence of anger does have great health benefits.

And that brings my thoughts to the sad, sad case of the five journalists killed in Maryland yesterday. The tragedy is horrendous, made even worse if possible by the timing. Trumpf had just called journalists enemies of the people—not of the government, mind you, but of the people. One of his sycophants—apparently a person of some notoriety that I have never heard of and can’t remember or spell his last name; he’s Milo somebody—said he couldn’t wait for people to begin shooting journalists.

And then bam! Five dead.

Liberals were quick to claim that Trump and this Milo person have blood on their hands for inciting violence. That may well yet prove true, and it is horrendous that the president of our country says such things. But if we’re honest, this particular shooting was a grudge act, anger against the specific paper, fueled not by Trumpf’s words or Milo’s but by the obsessive hate of one individual who had been nursing his anger for years.

In these outrageous days, it’s too easy for those of us who resist to leap to blame everything on the president, be he legitimate or not. But if we would strengthen our argument, we must curb the anger and stick to logic, to rational arguments. It is right and good to defend journalists in the face of the awful attacks being hurled at them; it is not right to blame this one episode on Trumpf’s words.

Many will disagree with me. Bring it on. With logic, not anger, please.

A day of violence and tragedy

In the words of one survivor, the London apartment fire was horrific, with a high number of dead and injured; the UPS shooting in San Francisco was equally horrific—four dead, including the shooter. Tragically, our country is so deadened to daily shootings we almost take no notice, unless it affects someone we know or love or unless it’s right in our backyard.

Some resent that the baseball field shooting in Virginia got so much more attention than the other tragic events of the day and, indeed, the other shootings that have become all too common. But this was different—a shooting apparently politically motivated and aimed at members of our government. Party is irrelevant in a situation like that. It was a blatant attack on our government, and on all that America stands for. We weep together as a nation and thank God that no lives, except the shooter, were lost.

It is shameful to politicize such a tragedy, but I cannot help but view it in terms of what goes around comes around. The most prominent congressional victim, Congressman Scalise, ironically is the one who introduced a bill that weakened gun control laws and made it possible for the mentally unstable to get weapons, not that this shooter has been proven to be mentally unstable. Gun rights advocates are already using this as an argument for guns for self-protection, but it is unlikely that baseball players, if gun owners, would have carried their guns onto the field with them. The armed guards who were on duty did a heroic job of preventing further injury and loss of life. They are true heroes of the day. But even they couldn’t completely prevent the attack. I see this violence as an argument for making guns less accessible, particularly assault weapons, though I’m not sure what kind of fire power the shooter carried.

Several studies have analyzed the increasing violence and anger in our country since Mr. Trump began campaigning and calling for violence against detractors at his rallies. I think he and those of his party who support him, for all they talk about unity and praise God there was little loss of life, need to take a long, hard look at themselves and their policies.

Millions are about to lose their health insurance; many of the poor and underprivileged have already lost needed benefits. Veterans have either lost long-promised benefits or will. The poor, the young, the old, the chronically ill will lose health care in the cruelest bill to be proposed, let alone rushed through the Senate with undue haste and secrecy. But tax cuts are in store for the ultra-rich. The environment is encroached upon daily; education is treated as an elitist privilege; social security is threatened, even though it is not the government’s money; international relations are in the tank, and suspicions about Russian collusion run high; the list of outrages grows daily. It makes a lot of people angry, and it apparently was enough to push Mr. Hopkinson, a dedicated progressive, over the edge to violence. It may push others too, but there’s a dark message there if the administration and Congress will listen.

Tonight, as I pray for the victims and their families, I pray also for those who angered the shooter in Virginia, that they may be touched by human compassion and reach out in a positive way to those they were elected to serve and protect. Most profess to be Christian, and as a practicing Christian myself, I hope they can remember the teachings of Jesus. Hate and greed were not in his vocabulary. I pray too for those devastated by the tragedies in San Francisco and London. Who knows if London’s fire was preventable—I’ve heard complaints about poorly done renovations—but the tragedy in San Francisco might well not have occurred were the national mood different.

Please pray with me, in the way of your choice. And then reach out and hug someone.

This crazy poliitical year

“And now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. And of these the greatest is love.” I am not a person who quotes the Bible often. Sad truth is that, although a lifelong Christian, I don’t know enough Bible to quote besides the 23 Psalm, the ten commandments, and maybe the Beatitudes. And if I did, I would not push my religion on anyone else. But these lines from 1^st Corinthians 13:13 keep coming back to me, especially when I survey the political world we live in.

Believing as I do that love is the most important value, I am appalled by the hate and vitriol around us. Both Trump and Cruz are promising to bomb the you-know-what out of Isis and the Middle East. Civilian casualties? No matter. And Paul Ryan recently said that the poor are like feral cats—as long as we keep feeding them they’ll be with us forever. Where is the compassion for our fellow human beings?

And the hate for President Obama is appalling. I read someone’s opinion tonight that he has led us down the road to destruction. In my opinion, many of his accomplishments have led us toward love for our fellow Americans—the ACA act, for instance. I am struck by the man who came forward and said he’s always voted Republican but now he thanks President Obama—and the ACA—for saving his life. I truly cannot see a reason to hate Obama unless it’s the color of his skin—and we should be so far beyond that.

Donald Trump is to me the scariest though many say Ted Cruz is more frightening. But Trump’s spectacular brand of hate for everyone from overweight and disabled people to Muslims has attracted the most attention. One can only hope he’s like a carnival barker who sheds his flamboyant ways the minute he’s out of the spotlight. What worries me is the anger he’s aroused in so many Americans—how long has that anger been simmering. And why?

That the anger exists is a great argument for Bernie Sanders campaign. He advocates for change of things that I think make many Americans angry—they feel powerless, they work hard and follow the rules but never get ahead, they feel insignificant as individuals. This is not a campaign speech for the Bern—I love his ideas but will probably vote for Hillary.

Bernie Sanders says we have to educate our young people because they are our future leaders, our doctors, our teachers, the ones who will keep American moving forward. Donald Trump loves the uneducated. Without sounding like a snob, I think that’s significant—the uneducated are angry because they don’t understand how to empower themselves, they haven’t been taught to think critically. Republicans have even been known to say they don’t want people to think critically. We’ll be Neanderthals in a couple of generations if that thinking prevails.

After all is said and done, we’ll be left with a nation of angry people, no matter who is elected president. What do we do then? We reach out with love as our guiding principle. They are our people. We do not need a divided society—we need unity, and that comes with love, not anger and hate.

I’ve lived a wonderful, comfortable life—sometimes I ask the Lord why I have been so blessed.  But I have seven grandchildren, and I want to leave them a world in which they have every opportunity for the same kind of life I’ve lived. So far, they’re all on the right track, but I don’t want them to have to deal with an out-of-control world.

Lord, give us peace and teach us to love one another, regardless of faith, skin color, sexual orientation, and disabilities. And PS Lord, deliver us from Donald Trump.

Zippig the lips

This morning, on one of the writers’ listservs I follow, a writer with recent stunning successes,  was sort of philosophically complaining about a man in her critique group who said really ugly things to her at the end of the meeting, like ‘That was the worst thing you’ve ever read. I’m never coming back, going to find a critique group with good writers.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the problem is with the man and not with what my friend had written. All of us on the list rushed to extend sympathy, advice, and all that. I said she was wise to take the high road and walk away without retorting, but I was surprised at the vitriol of some of the posts, calling him a jerk, a scumbag, suggesting she kill him off in her next mystery (a standard joke among mystery writers). All sorts of anger boiled over. In truth, the woman who wrote originally finally added that her critic was seventy and perhaps on medications that altered his personality; others suggested the personality changes some experience with early Alzheimers. But I am for forgiveness, understanding, and looking the other way.

A close friend of mine had an unpleasant encounter with a woman she of necessity sees often. She did not respond, though she was boiling with anger and wanted to say, “Don’t ever talk to me that way again.” Once more, I was proud of someone for taking the high road. But it’s sure a rocky one. I suggested she should have said, “I’m sorry something has made you so miserable and unhappy but I will hold you in my thoughts and hope you find peace and happiness.”  Truth is, I stole that line from this morning’s exchange, but it seems just right to me. My friend laughed and said she thinks she would have been slapped if she said that.

For some reason all this reminds me of my good friend who told me once when one of her five grown children comes to her with a problem, she says, “Gosh, I’m so sorry that’s happened. I hope it works out for you,” and then zips her lips. And when one comes with good news, she shares their joy, says, “I am so happy for you,” and zips her lips. Oh, to have her wisdom!

All this has gotten me thinking that we so often respond in anger and look for revenge, when maybe we should respond to ugliness with compassion and look for its cause, reach out to the difficult person. Or maybe we should just learn to zip our lips.