Sick at heart

My sleeping shirt this week is a U. S. Border Patrol T-shirt given me years ago by a friend of my son who had just joined the BP. He was, incidentally, a native of Columbia who was a U.S. citizen. He handed ashirt to everyone in the family and said, “Don’t wear this in the Miami airport.” Today, I wouldn’t wear it outside the privacy of my bedroom, but it is much-washed, soft, loose and comfortable. So I sleep in it. And tonight I fear it will bring me bad dreams.

I’m afraid I conflate ICE and the Border Patrol, but I have it figured out. The Border Patrol deals with newly arrived immigrants—and, oh boy, do I have thoughts on that, but they’re for another post. ICE, of the two the most malignant, goes after immigrants—brown skin only, please note—who are living amongst us. I’m not sure I can express tonight my outrage over the sweeping raids promised for this weekend in targeted cities. Nor am I sure why trump has given so much warning about when and where, but I hope it has given targeted individuals time to get a game plan and, if possible, hide away from their homes. I also hope that they know they do not have to open the door to ICE.

Targeted individuals are apparently those who have missed asylum hearings. Could we have a little compassion here? Many of these people speak little or no English and have little understanding of our judicial system. They are probably terrified to show up at official proceedings. And I have heard stories of people who regularly turned up at their annual meeting, only to be grabbed and deported. 

ICE waits like vultures to pounce on these people, tear their families apart, traumatize their children. I read a case history this week of a couple who were apprehended on their way to work. They have young children and jobs and a house they’re paying a mortgage on. They pay their taxes—did you know illegal immigrants paid billions in taxes last year while trump paid zero, squat, nothing? This couple has asylum petitions that have been pending for years. They have gone to all hearings, done everything required—and they’re picked up.

A neighbor who told the story said it was like they had disappeared from the face of the earth. ICE denied any record of them, then forbad anyone to see them. And this weekend ICE will add an estimated 2,000 families to this proud record. What kind of a nation are we?

Most immigrants, even illegal, have built honest lives as citizens who contribute to their communities, pay their taxes, raise their families. And our government is hounding and terrorizing them. Statistics time and again show that, contrary to trump’s outrageous claims, very few are criminals—and none are animals. They are honest people who want a better life for their children and are willing o work for it.

The Houston chief of police, scornful of the promised raids, said they should catch crooks, not cooks. A great line.

If these people are illegal, they are not getting the benefits of citizenship, no matter what the alt-right says. They have the obligations--taxes, etc., but they do not get welfare, social security, Medicaid or Medicare, child care benefits—none of it.

And trump’s program, which causes him to gloat unbecomingly, is not as he claims an extension of what went on under Clinton and Obama—notice he skipped Bush, who did, like Obama, have a minimal deportation program for crminals. Clinton’s presidency is almost irrelevant to this issue, and under Obama only hardened criminals were targeted for deportation. The few cases in which children were detained separately involved such serious crimes as drugs, trafficking, etc.

Today, it is a whole new ball game, and come Monday your neighbor or mine may well have disappeared. I weep for them, their children, and our country.

The long walk north

I’ve been worrying about the Central American immigrants for some time. You’d think by now that word would have spread that we aren’t exactly putting out coffee and doughnuts for them. Indeed, they run the real risk of having their children taken from them and put in cages. Some will never see their children again. Some parents will be deported, without their children, and our government has done an unbelievably poor job of keeping records. They simply can’t match children to families. Some youngsters will be placed in adoptive homes, which I suspect is  illegal without parental consent. The parents themselves will be locked up for long periods in hardship conditions and in most cases ultimately sent back to their homeland. A long, difficult walk for nothing.

And still they come, which makes me wonder how bad conditions are in Honduras, Guatemala, and El Salvador. What is bad enough to make them risk the journey and the unpleasant reception at the end? We hear tales of murder and rape, starvation and poverty, but those ae only tales—until you see people desperate enough to undertake this uncertain journey.

I saw a clip this morning of trump talking about the immigrant caravan. He, who usually is harsh in his criticism of Mexico, praised that country for its efforts to stop the caravan. But what really caught my attention was his insistence that the people of the caravan are hardened criminals, “really bad guys.”

Sure they are—that’s why they carry their children in their arms and the few possessions on their backs.

No doubt there are some bad guys among the 4,000 people. But statistics I’ve read indicate that most immigrants want to live in peace, work hard, raise their families in safety. And to those who complain about the drain on our economy—think again. The immigrant population picks our crops, cleans our houses and hotels, keep our yards in shape.  In lesser numbers, they are also PhDs, faculty at universities, physicians who protect our health, businessmen who move our society ahead.

Then there’s that sticky issue of legal vs. illegal. Obtaining legal status in the U.S. is a lengthy, expensive, and uncertain process. Many would-be citizens do not have the money and are not allowed to stay here long enough to establish residence, etc. Probably, those “hardened criminals” enter illegally, but I wonder if the same desperation that drove them north doesn’t push some good people to try illegal entry.

We haven’t head as much in the last couple of months about ICE’s cruel and senseless deportation of family members who have lived here a long time, built a business, paid taxes, abided by the law, and been contributing members of society. I think each such case should be carefully considered with compassion rather than that instant deportation we’ve seen.

I have no solution. I wish I had the wisdom for one. We cannot absorb the numbers of people who want to come here—it’s physically and economically impossible. But we do need rational, compassionate immigration reform, done without racial prejudice or economic motives.

Meanwhile, perhaps trump should remember that folk saying: Never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. The last I heard though trump was threatening to deploy the full forces of the military. Where are you, General Mattis?

Ho-hum--and a new veggie dish

Another day of being shut in. Since last Sunday (maybe Saturday) I have been out of the house twice. This is getting old. Tonight my solitude was nicely broken by my Canadian daughter and her partner who came for wine and then went on to a party. Made me feel almost social. They reported driving is easy but walking is treacherous. I'm glad I stayed home.
I discover that if I sit at my desk too long, either writing, checking email, etc., or reading, I develop a sort of inertia. So this afternoon I folded the laundry I'd left in the dryer a shamefully long time, made the first layer of a casserole for tomorrow, and made myself a new dish for supper--pea mash.
I asked my Canadian daughter if she'd ever had pea mash, thinking it sounded British. She said it sounded like bangers and mash (which I love) but no she'd never had it.
I sautéed some defrosted sweet peas in olive oil and mashed them with a fork. Lesson learned: they don't mash with an old-fashioned potato masher. The peas just roll around between the tines of the masher. I seasoned them with a bit of garlic, lemon juice, salt and pepper (got a little heavy on the pepper, which is often a failing of mine), and added a chopped scallion. Really good. I'll do that again. Good thing because I have two full bags of peas in the freezer.
Not a bad day--200 emails, 1000+ words written, some reading, couldn't nap. Tomorrow it's supposed to be fifty, so the great thaw will come. By Tuesday, in the seventies but thunderstorms. I think I'll sing and dance in the rain.

Yep, it's my zoo and my monkies

The sectional couch in all its glories is put together--after 18 cartons and untold hours of work, mostly by Jordan, Christian and Jay. Note one pillow doesn't match--missing a slipcover. It's not quite finished, because we will link the pieces together after we get the TV in place, and also decide what to do about the hassock (nobody seems to know that word) and the coffee table, which is an antique munitions chest and I really want to keep. But it's done, we can sit on it, and it changes the character of the once-playroom completely. I'm excited about it. No red wine can be drunk on it--house rules. One of my daughters (I'm not naming names) will remember a recent disaster with red wine and a couch!
Other than that, it's been a day. You know the phrase, "Not my zoo, not my monkeys"? Today they were all mine. We were iced in this morning and Jacob was to spend the day. He didn't arrive until eleven and then came accompanied by a dog and a flustered mother. They have two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, and one was desperately ill--turns out she has pancreatitis and is in the vet's overnight, maybe for two nights. Meantime they didn't want to leave the other dog, Cricky, home alone because the two are very attached and sort of insecure.
Sophie thought it  was fine, even exciting to have Crickey, but Jacob gets upset when Soph jumps on poor passive Crickey, so I have to tell him to chill. He wants to lock Sophie in the office, which she won't stand for. Eventually everyone calmed down, and Jacob did his studies with his dog curled next to him. Sophie gave it up and retreated to her chair.
Friend Carol called wanting to go to lunch to beat off cabin fever, and I explained I couldn't leave two dogs alone, so we had tuna sandwiches here, and Carol swept me a path to the side steps off the porch--by tonight it had all melted anyway and was fine.
Jordan and Christian arrived about five, Christian left Jordan, Jacob and Crickey here, and I eventually left them to go to dinner with friends--Tuesday night at the Neighborhood Grill. With, I must add, a sense of relief. No ice, good dinner, nice companionship, and I came home to a quiet peaceful house.
No idea what tomorrow will bring--except snow. Supposed to melt by ten or so. This has been the week that was for weather and isn't really supposed to get better until the weekend. Yuck.
Who, me? Write? Not a chance. But I did get some work done. Going to sleep early with a clear conscience.

Gnawing on bones and celebrating life

If you heard a report of two fairly well dressed ladies "of a certain age" gnawing on bones at Ellerbe's (for non-Fort Worthians, that's one of our more upscale--read expensive--restaurants), I confess to being one of them. Went with good friends Betty and Jeannie tonight for our annual Christmas celebration and gift exchange--oops! I didn't realize we were exchanging gifts and had only trinkets while they had lovely, thoughtful gifts. Thought we had agreed before not to do that. Anyway, we had a good visit, great wine (Laird Vineyards which Betty had visited and was enthusiastic about) and a terrific supper. Betty had redfish, but Jeannie and I zeroed in on the rack of lamb. When we had cut as much as we could off the bones, she said, "I wish I could just pick it up and gnaw on it." I thought, Why not?, and picked mine up. She followed suit--and I know I got a lot more meat. The lamb was crispy on the outside and a perfect medium rare inside--what a delight. For dessert, I had a small but oh so rich piece of flourless chocolate cake and they shared an oatmeal cookie with cream cheese filling--looked more like a slice of carrot cake to me. Great evening, great food, and very special company.

The dinner marked the end of my first day back in the outside world--went to the cleaners, hardware, the grocery and the Dollar Store (twice). Felt so efficient to run so many of the errands I worried about the whole time I was housebound. Two things I learned: every store in town is out of rock salt, and doilies are old-fashioned. No one carries them any more. Such a pity. In the Dollar Store the clerk didn't know what I was talking about and offered me tissue paper. No, sweetie, that won't do it.

My driveway is still ice, even after temperatures of 42 today, but Jordan pulled my car up to the back gate where everything has melted due to southern exposure, so getting in and out was a piece of cake, even carrying too many sacks of groceries.. For some time, before I went, a police car blocked off the street just in front of my house and I worried about getting out. I think a water main broke and froze at the other end of the block. But I still didn't feel comfortable walking down the driveway to get Jacob. The street and sidewalks in front of the school are fine--just not my driveway. I am indebted to neighbors with young children who have brought him home to me.

We did homework, but he begged to do his new advent calendar, and we discovered we hadn't found the calendar itself, so we had eleven days to catch up on (his parents have been married nine years today--where does time go?). We did four days until Mom came, and then she was upset we hadn't finished homework. But the calendar--the Jacqui Lawson Edwardian Calendar--sure is fun.
I'm a happier camper tonight..

Icebound Day 5

Yesterday, mail. Today, the Sunday paper. Tonight, dinner at a restaurant, but oh my was it an ordeal to get there. Jordan insisted I couldn't drive and what would I do if I had a wreck at the bottom of the ill where it's still icy. I said I'd call neighbor Jay and see if he and his big truck were going to be home. I called, and he said he'd come walk me from house to car. Jordan backed the car out to the side steps to the porch, and then made me demonstrate how I'd get there.
Trickiest part was getting across the porch, which still has a huge patch of ice, but I had a plan. I used a porch chair as a walker. Worked great. Steps were clear, and she had put rock salt on the small strip of sidewalk, which is edged by crape myrtles that make hand grips. No problem. But the driveway was a solid chunk of ice, slippery than you can imagine. I simply went from tree to car rand edged my way around the car. Not perfect, but it worked.
Jordan left, threatening to call her siblings.
Jay arrived and we made it to the car, although he told me bluntly if I started to pull him down, he'd let go of me. I did get out my Scottish walking stick with the pointy end but didn't use it much. At the Old Neighborhood Grill I had no choice but to park on ice but, holding on to the car and then grabbing the pole of a handicapped parking sign, I made it. Felt like I'd redeemed myself because between Jordan and Jay I was beginning to feel like an idiot.
Had a nice dinner with friend Mary. Comfort food--meatloaf and mashed potatoes--and good conversation. Jay came a little after 6:30, chatted and had a beer, and then I was on my way home. He taught me a lesson I'd forgotten from my years of living on ice and snow. When you walk on ice, you don't lift your feet--your shuffle, keeping your weight equally balanced on both feet. Drove home with no problems, and Jay followed me into the driveway and made sure I was on dry ground. Three cheers to my handsome neighbor who is truly a good neighbor.
Tomorrow, the world. I have so many errands to run. We have a plan--Jordan will drive my car to the backyard, where the snow is melted, and I'll go in and out the back door. Yippee! I can do those errands that have been bugging me! Yes, I'll be careful but I always am. The problem is really a north-facing house and a driveway shaded by trees. Maybe it will melt by tomorrow.
I am really tired of staying home, and while it may be a character flaw, I'm tired of my own company. It was a joy to be among friends tonight.