A weekend vacation

Sometimes the power of positive thinking fails me. After determinedly announcing I felt better toward the end of last week, Friday I had to give in and admit I really didn’t feel well. I decided to take the weekend to feel better; if I didn’t, I’d call the doctor Monday. Friday, Saturday and most of today I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to. Mostly I slept—a whole lot!—and read. I didn’t worry about writing, cooking, etc. I ate very tentatively, very little. I’m making no promises to myself, but I think it worked. I’ve felt halfway human yesterday and pretty much all the way there today. After all my psychological explanations to myself—I was worried about everything from my career to my upcoming trip or so I told myself—I think I had a stomach bug. Jordan wisely asked, “Could we wait until after our trip to worry about your career?” And a wise friend said, “Stop worrying about how you’ll get on and off the boat. The crew is expert at that, and it’s their job. Just relax and enjoy.” Besides, I know Jordan takes such good care of me when we travel. Today she said I should call and get an x-ray of my hip in case we have to show it at security. Seems extreme to me, but she knows best.

Sophie has been a sympathetic companion. Saturday morning, she hopped up on the bed when it was time, she thought, for me to get up. Usually she only stays long enough to jiggle me out of bed (she’s not a good cuddler), but this time she stayed probably half an hour. She’d snuggled up close to me, and I’d think she had settled in—only to have her twitch and shift positions every two minutes. It was required that I have one hand on her at all times, and that hand had to be moving, even if only ever so slightly—petting, rubbing, scratching, some sign I was paying attention. Sometimes she’d end up with her face right in my face for a nose lick; other times she buried her head in the crook of my shoulder. You get the point—she was never still. Only when I asked, “Want to go potty?” did she jump down.

As I’ve said a thousand times, I don’t think I could live happily without a dog.

Jacob was away at camp last week, home yesterday, and leaves again tomorrow for a few days. I’m going to bake some chocolate chip cookies for him to take. Right now.

I’m increasingly disturbed by extreme trump supporters, their virulent hatred, and their blindness to the truth. Many many things about trump disturb me, prime among them his war on our environment and wild animals, but I am struck lately by the way he plays people at his rallies, whips them up to a frenzy. Jim Acosta is right—someone is going to be badly hurt. These are people it’s easy to whip up—the raw anger on their faces is as amazing and frightening as their words. Many uneducated, they truly believe he is decreasing their taxes and raising their income; they support his antagonism toward international leaders; they praise his harsh immigration policies. They seem to have no idea about future consequences and only live in the moment of their anger. I am truly worried about the future of our country, but I refuse to give up hope. Maybe, indeed, that was what was wrong with my stomach.

Peace, friends. My cookies are done—and so am I.

Orlando--as if enough hasn't already been said

A few years ago a relative came to town to visit with one request: she wanted to go to a gay bar. So two or three of my girls took her—and I can’t remember if they took some guys with them or not. Was I worried? Yes, I was. Not about someone hitting on them-they’re big girls and can handle that. But about violence breaking out at the bar—the fisticuffs kind of violence. I never thought of the horror we saw in Orlando last night. But this was a small bar, not a sprawling nightclub.

So much has been said, so much of it spot on, that I am hesitant to add anything. But two points stick out in my mind: one was expressed on Facebook earlier today when someone posted that she hated to see this referred to as the record mass shooting, for fear that someone with hate or anger would think, “I can do better than that. I’ll show them.”

The other thought on my mind is sort of a “Here we go again.” After each of these mass shootings, Americans are outraged and vow to do something to prevent such atrocities. But time goes on and headlines fade, and nothing changes. I’m not sure what it will take to wake Americans to the fact that their chance to change things comes this November—Vote Out the NRA. So many have said today that there is no reason for assault weapons to be in the hands of anyone but the military, and I truly believe that’s where we must start.

In Texas, my two senators are wildly conservative and opposed to any gun legislation, so I feel stymied. But I will find a way to make my voice heard. I have seven grandchildren in school, from high school to elementary, and yes I worry about each of them every day. Nobody thought about gun violence when my kids were in school—it just didn’t exist. But we have had 988 mass shootings since Newton—and what has been accomplished to keep guns out of the hands of the mentally incompetent and others who shouldn’t have them? Not much.

I could argue until I was blue in the face about the weaknesses of the Second Amendment for today’s world, but I won’t even go there. Getting AR-15s and other assault weapons out of the hands of citizens seems more important.

Ask a family member left behind by the Orlando shootings.

No, this wasn’t a terrorist attack; it was not Muslim inspired. The shooter was a deranged man who hated LGBT folks. But why are we letting people like that have such easy access to assault weapons?

Jesus weeps tonight—and many of us join him.

 

Pollyanna speaks again

Today was Meet the Frogs day at TCU, and Jordan, Christian and Jacob were first in line (no, I did not go with them). Christian went to talk to Gary Patterson, but Jacob visited with his special buddy, Ju’juan Story, a wide receiver. Last year, Christian found Ju’juan’s wallet in a parking lot and returned it, and the football player has been Jacob’s hero ever since. The kindness that these football players show to star-struck youngsters at this event makes my heart glad. It’s one of the feel-good stories that convinces me there are a lot of good people in this world, and maybe, just maybe, American is growing kinder.

Take the three Americans—not Marines as originally reported but childhood friends—who were heroes in the terrorist attack on a French train. Or the firefighters who are working so tirelessly, at risk of their lives, in the State of Washington. Or the young man who sensed something wrong about a couple arguing at a bus stop and stayed with them until he could call the police—turns out the man was trying to kidnap his ex-girlfriend and the young man may well have saved her life. When I fell recently in a restaurant parking lot, a crowd of people was almost immediately upon me, offering help, expressing concern. I see other instances—not all of which I can call to mind right now, of the goodness of our people. I firmly believe that most people, given the chance, will do the right thing.

I am subject, as most of you know, to sudden attacks of “I can’t take a step away” from whatever secure thing I am holding on to. It’s that first step, and after that I’m off and running. I have asked a wide variety of strangers to help me, and each and every one has been helpful and concerned. It has occurred to me that I could be asking the wrong person—a purse thief, mugger, who knows what—but so far my faith in people is confirmed.

But then I read pure ugly hatred and fervent misinformation on Facebook, and I’m appalled. Obama is the son of Satan; Planned Parenthood is selling body parts from live fetuses; Boehner and McConnell are ready to sacrifice the security of America over the issue of Planned Parenthood; and on it goes. Politicians are playing to the ignorance and fear of too many Americans—what happened to public servants who had the good of the nation at heart? It too often seems that politicians have their egos and pocketbooks at heart. Disheartening. Call me Pollyanna again, but I believe good will triumph, and we will elect in 2016 a moderate, reasonable, capable president. Of course, being me, I know he’ll be a Democrat, but hey! That’s just me.

We live in interesting times, and I so often think of my father, a yellow-dog Democrat up north where that term wasn’t even known. He’d have apoplexy over our current political situation. But those of us out of the political spotlight? Most of us are good people, good Americans.

There's no joy in Mudville tonight

This is a strictly partisan post, so ignore if you want. But I am distraught, heartsick, and befuddled by today's elections. I truly thought the Democrats had a chance--most Democratic candidates had enthusiastic crowds and their own enthusiasm on their side, not to mention concrete proposals for the future. I heard that Allison Grimes drew crowds of hundreds, while Mitch McConnell had trouble getting a hundred to a rally. What went wrong?
I love two definitions of a conservative: someone who plants his feet firmly and proceeds to march backward, and someone who is firm in his convictions, no matter how wrong they are. Democrats on the other hand aren't called progressives for no reason--they're represent progress, forward movement, and--what scares many people--change. It seems so clear to me that there's no alternative to the way the country should have voted (I know, not all polls are in yet but the trend is clear) that I am befuddled.
Do we have an electorate that doesn't want progress? That longs for the "good old days" even though those days will never come again? An electorate that doesn't care about the environment, the economy, a raise in the minimum wage so that all families can make a living? Have they not read about the success of Costco, which pays employees handsomely, vs. Walmart, which pays so poorly that employees are on welfare? Do they not read the statistics about the growth of economy in states that increase the minimum wage opposed to those who don't?
Do they not care about women's rights? Education? Children's health care? The poor?
In a darker mood, I sometimes wonder how much of these election results have to do with the overwhelming and vitriolic condemnation of our president--and that too baffles me. Jobs are up, the stock market is up, the debt is down--looking at what President Obama inherited, he's worked wonders. So when I wonder why the hatred, I am led reluctantly down the path toward racism.
At dinner tonight I sat next to a retired journalist who said he's covered politics for fifty years and never seen the vitriolic hate that is spewed on President Obama--not just as a politician but as a person. And even worse, the hate that is spewed on his wife.
I am afraid for my country, afraid it is becoming a nation consumed by greed and hate and elitism. If the election indeed goes the way it looks, we are now in the hands of the Koch brothers. Two years ago I'd never heard of them.
Another thing is picking away at the back of my brain. I am the last one to believe conspiracy theories, but it's hard to understand that Democrats roused so much enthusiasm in the campaign and then came out so badly in the election. I can't help wonder about voting regulations, bribery, whatever. My daughter-in-law moved in the early summer and filed all the proper places to change her driver's license, voting status, etc. She was denied the right to vote today and told she would have to go back to her previous district--many miles away. A friend of hers said the same thing happened to two other voters she knew. The excuse given? DPS dropped the ball.
The next two years will be a hard test for President Obama, but I have confidence in him. To all the Democratic candidates who campaigned and lost--thanks for fighting the good fight.

Race relations--and my personal education

In the venomous hate for President Obama that circulates on Facebook, at protests, etc. innuendoes and outward expressions of racial hatred are too often clear. I can't remember now what comment it was that sent me reeling back in time to examine my own education in race relations. I was raised in a liberal household where no hint of prejudice would have been tolerated, but I also grew up in Kenwood, a South Side Chicago neighborhood that by the '50s was ringed with poorer black neighborhoods. I was afraid. Yes, I'd been coddled by black nannies (one of whom proudly told my mother one morning that I'd eaten four eggs for breakfast!) but I heard at an early age that black men did bad things. This was reinforced by an aunt who lived two doors away and once, looking out the window to see a black man walking peacefully down the street, said to me, "Look how evil he looks!" (This is the same aunt who washed tomatoes with soap and water before peeling them, but I loved her.)
Al Knowlton was the first black man I really knew. He was a painter at the hospital where my father was administrator. Al came on Saturdays and some evenings to do the chores that my did couldn't or didn't want to do (Dad spent his weekends gardening and wasn't a particularly good handyman). Saturdays were a highlight for both of them--Mom would serve them lunch at the kitchen table, and they'd talk about the hospital and Al's days as a waiter on the trains (when trains had uniformed waiters and linen and fine china as well as fine food), and I remember they both enjoyed the visits. Al always called Dad "Dr. Mac."
Two incidents stand out in my mind. One night, when I was maybe eight or thereabouts, I was flitting about the house in my nightgown until my mother told me it wasn't fitting to be in my nightgown around a man who was not family. Period. No mention of race, but I made a subtle connection.
Another time Al surprised me somewhere in the house, and I cried "Oh, Al, I thought you were the bogey man." I got a severe lecture for that: black people, my mom explained, were particularly sensitive to being called the bogey man.
Of course there as the time Mom went to the hospital to pick Al up, having thrown on an old coat. She asked the switchboard operator to call him, and the operator asked, "Should I tell him his wife is waiting?" Even Al got a kick out of that one.
When my dad retired there was the usual hoopla, dinner, etc., and in all the pictures, Al was quite prominent, wearing the only suit I ever saw him in along with a broad grin. Theirs was truly a great friendship...and a lesson for me.