A blog for a day with nothing much to say

I love finding new words, so here are two to increase your vocabulary:

Ever feel like tearing your hair out? There’s a word for that: trichotillomania. And here’s a word that I think is appropriate for so much around us: jackasseries—the actions of jackasses.

Which brings me to a topic that has been much on my mind and was a major point of discussion at happy hour tonight, with a surgeon chiming in: mask wearing for kids in schools. I have five grandkids going to public school in Texas this fall, and I am indignant, furious, beyond angry at Governor Abbott’s decree (as though he were king) that schools cannot mandate masks. I know teenagers well enough to know that if other kids in the classroom aren’t wearing masks, they won’t either. If they were mandated, no problem. Most would comply, and those that didn’t would be disciplined accordingly. It’s not rocket science, Greg—it’s logical medical science, and if you put your mind to it, instead of concentrating on your political career, you’d see that.

Would you believe I have two granddaughters out of high school? One recently graduated from Colorado University and I’m not sure what she’ll do this year—she’s contemplating a career in nursing. The other, her sister, is off to UCLA and said to me this weekend, “Juju, when you see me next, I’ll be a California girl.” Ha! I told her not to get carried away with the idea, but the truth is she will fit in California perfectly, and like her Colorado sister, I’m afraid she’ll never come back to Texas for more than an occasional brief visit.

But I digress. I am worried about the remaining five: they are all old enough to be vaccinated, thank goodness, but as the current surge continues, I’m afraid we’ll be back to quarantine conditions. This will hamper both their educational and social experiences, and I worry about it a lot. The FWISD, where Jacob is enrolled, reported a major drop in scholastic achievement after last year’s remote schooling. This year, so far, all the kids have to be present in the classroom, but there can be no mask requirement.

Blessings on the Houston mayor who has issued a mask mandate in defiance of Governor Abbott. Let’s see what the guv does about that.

I do realize there are other things going on in the world at large—like the Olympics, and three cheers for Simone Biles who returned to win a bronze today. I saw someplace where she said, “I had to go out there for me.” Best reason ever.

There are also things going on in my small, constricted world. Like I wrote another thousand-plus words today on the novel-in-progress and can suddenly see how it’s going to work out. A criticism I’ve heard of several of my mysteries is that the ending seems rushed, so I’m trying hard to avoid that. But I can see the plot structure—and, for me, a pantser who never outlines, that’s a great plus. What I do, often, after a day of writing is make notes on what it’s occurred to me will happen next.

Tonight neighbors came for happy hour—they had been to El Paso with their four children this weekend for the first communion of their third child, a daughter. Having lived in El Paso for many years, they were full of stories of reunions and good times. Jordan and I on the other hand shared stories of our weekend in Austin. So it was jolly—until we got to the subject of masks.

Jordan had said we would have dinner on our own tonight, so I ordered Dover sole with yesterday’s Central Market order. Cooked it tonight, and guess who ate half with me—Miss Jordan. Jacob, who had his second Covid vaccine yesterday, was asleep, and Christian was at a happy hour. Fish was good and will be the subject of my Gourmet blog this Thursday. Sort of all things fish because I have lots of fishy stories.

But tonight—back to that Diane Mott Davidson mystery that I haven’t gotten to for almost a week. Good times ahead, folks. Wear your masks and be happy.

Good intentions that got it all wrong

These are troubling times, and I for one am often confused about what I’m supposed to believe, what is “right” and “not right” about racism. There are no reliable guidelines for our beliefs or actions. Today I read a long thread, many voices, most if not all white, on Facebook, where I believe the intentions were good, but most of the respondents got it all “not right.”

The general gist of it was defensive—there was never racism in our home, we raised our kids right, they don’t see the difference between black and white, and some of them had to be bussed to black schools, and it did no good because now we are going through it all again. Really? Two of my four children were bussed and liked it; they both had the same, wonderful teacher at Eastland Elementary, and the younger one particularly had a rich experience that both he and I treasure to this day. I didn’t teach anti-racism or racism in my home. I just raised them with what I hoped were values that would enable them to be good citizens, good people in the world. So far, it seems to have worked.

Part of the objection today was that Rayshard Brooks’ funeral was on TV getting national coverage and what about all the cops who died in the line of duty and all those whose loved ones can’t have funerals because of COVID. Seriously? If you lost a loved one tomorrow, would you want the funeral on national TV? Maybe we should devote a channel in each state or county to coverage of funerals. Yes, all lives matter, and, yes, most deaths are tragedies—except those that bring blessed peace to the individual. But most lives and deaths are not national news; Rayshard Brooks’ death was, to his misfortune. I’m sure his widow or his mother would give anything not to be on the news today, probably not to have to share their personal grief with an entire nation, some of whom it appears are skeptical.

Another subject in this stringy thread was the conspiracy of the media. Somehow it had to do with what the media shows us and what it doesn’t. But these folks didn’t mean the trumpian kind of conspiracy to make our leader look bad. I’m not sure what they meant but I suspect it was back to that funeral in Atlanta. To me, a conspiracy occurs when two or more people plan together to accomplish some goal, usually but not always nefarious. So what is the media goal in this so-called conspiracy? The Star-Telegram’s Bud Kennedy suggested that TV media is a business and as such they show what people want to see. He got told he should stick to food writing, though I doubt that flip retort bothered him much.

We sling a lot of terms around these days—integration, diversity, assimilation, reconciliation. There again I am often confused. But when I read this thread today one term jumped into my mind: white privilege. These people were inconvenienced—by bussing, by Rayhard Brooks’ funeral, by disruption of their firmly held beliefs on how life ought to go along day to day, by their comforting conviction they had done it right all along and it hadn’t worked.. And to me they sounded whiney.

Sorry for the rant, but when I read that thread, it struck me as wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why. Sometimes a nap clarifies things, and when I woke up, I wrote this right away while what I wanted to say was clear in my mind. I hope it was clear to you, and I hope I didn’t offend any friends.

The lazies and a discourse on language

What happened to the sunshine? Tuesday was such a pretty day. Seems, though, that spring was teasing us, and March will come in like the proverbial lion. We apparently got precipitation overnight, but all was dry this morning, despite scary TV coverage of fender-benders and icy bridges. Jordan and I got out for a quick grocery run, and then I was in for the day.

It was a soup for lunch, a good book, and a long nap kind of a day. The kind of day when I sit at my desk with a sweater around my shoulders and my prayer shawl draped across my lap. Talk about stereotypes of a little old lady! All I need is a cat and some African violets. Still, it’s the kind of day when you never really get toasty warm.

I have a bad case of the lazies. Spent the late day mostly reading—yes, some in social media—but the book that should really capture my attention is the one I’m supposedly writing. I wrote 500 words, far short of my daily goal but that’s okay. This is the book I tell myself I’m not being compulsive about finishing. I did have a revelation today—about the naming of characters. The protagonist is Cordelia Smith—she makes a fuss about that highfalutin first name with such a simple last night. I gave her Cordy for a nickname, but it never sounded right to my ear. So today I played with nicknames and came up with Delia—I have known women named Delia. But then it occurred to me that in childhood her name might have become Dilly in the speech of other children. I think that fits her personality. At least I’ll try it on her for a while.

Dilly is an assistant to a haughty, pretentious TV chef (with no real reasons for pretension) whose name is Irene Foxglove. I like the play of a chef, fixing food, with a last name that is also a poisonous plant. Too much? I think I even have a title for this fledgling novel—either Saving Irene or Protecting Irene. Opinions welcome. See the conundrums authors deal with, in comparison to weighty matters like the future of our planet?

And since I’m worrying about language in my writing, I’ll share a concern. My church, in its drive to be inclusive (which I much admire and applaud), has announced a change in wording. The word “Creator” may be substituted for “Father”—it’s that gender thing, you know. But if you feel comfortable with “Father,” in say the Doxology, you are welcome to say it. I’m just old-fashioned enough that I do prefer the traditional language. I even wrote a note to the senior minister expressing my hope that in the rush to be inclusive, church leaders would also consider the flow and beauty of the language.

The words of a traditional hymn, “The Church’s One Foundation,” were changed several years ago to be gender neutral. Here’s the original version:

The church's one foundation
Is Jesus Christ her Lord;
She is his new creation
By water and the Word.
From heaven he came and sought her
To be his holy bride;
With his own blood he bought her,
And for her life he died.

Well, you can see how that upset the gender-neutral applecart. That’s the version I grew up with, and I cannot quote the revised to you. I can only tell you it violates grammatical rules such as subject/pronoun agreement, is awkward, and grates on my ear. It seems significant to me that I could not find the revised lyrics online. I’d like to go on record as believing in the generic pronoun.

So call me traditional, a little old huddled in her prayer shawl. Change is good—but not all the time. I’ll be watching what happens to the language.

This, that, and the other

A hodgepodge on my mind tonight, but I have to begin with the delicious dinner we just had.  I bought some really good salmon yesterday but, after cooking all week, I was relieved when Christian said he would cook. I gave him the recipe I wanted to try—a molasses/soy marinade. I volunteered to sauté some asparagus and sugar snap peas.

Christian: I’m not much on sugar snap peas.

Me: Have you ever eaten them?

Christian: Yes. And how will you cook the asparagus? I like mine crisp.

Tactfully said, but I told him he should have more faith in me than to think I would overcook the asparagus. As it was, I sautéed asparagus pieces and snap peas in olive oil with a generous splash of soy. Cooked them just enough to get warm, and he liked them. But the salmon was the pièce de résistance—grilled just right so that it was still soft and moist and topped with toasted sesame seeds. Christian was rightly proud of having done the sesame seeds. I always have to do two batches, because I burn the first batch. The molasses marinade gave it an extraordinarily rich flavor.

I was editing our neighborhood newsletter tonight and came across a sentence where the writer said we would utilize something. Struck a nerve. My red pen came out, and I changed utilize to use. It reminded me of a passage I read recently in an online newsletter, stressing the use of the most straightforward words. Using fancier words simply makes you look pretentious. So here are a few suggestions, beyond use for utilize:

For commence, simply say begin;

For launch, say open;

For myriad, say many;

For prior to, say before.

You get the idea—write as you would talk.

I’ve written before about how kind people are when you have a walker, but I found a passage in a short story collection that states it perfectly. The collected short stories, An Elderly Woman Up to No Good by Swedish author Helen Tursten, feature octogenarian Maud whose sins range from kleptomania to murder, mostly the latter which she meticulously plans when people annoy her. It’s a darkly humorous adventure in reading, and I almost read it in one sitting. One feature is that Maud hides her strong body and active mind behind the façade of a frail, slightly dotty old woman. One of her tricks is to use a walker—which she also employs as a murder weapon when the occasion arises.

But here’s the narrator’s description of Maud’s use of the walker: it provided useful support, she could sit on it and have a rest, she was suddenly offered a seat on the bus, people held the door open for her when she went into the stores, and middle-aged female shop assistants started treating her politely and . . . well, they really were quite sweet to her. The walker was a brilliant acquisition.

I think I shall practice the frail old lady part on occasion—just not the murder part.

But excuse me now, Jacob wants to watch the eclipse, and I’ll join him.

Lessons in semantics

Some lessons in semantics lately have, I hope, made me more sensitive. But they’ve been hard lessons. Last year I published a novel titled Pigface and the Perfect Dog. The sobriquet Pigface refers to the major bad guy in the book. One look at him, and protagonist Susan Hogan is reminded of a pig. We’ve all seen people like that—fat, fleshy face, with beady pink-rimmed eyes buried in the flesh, small, pursed mouths. I didn’t think anything about it when I used the word. Susan simply turned when he bumped into her at the butcher counter, and her immediate thought was that he looked like a pig. The nickname stuck throughout the book.

Alas, that book was not my best-seller, and when I investigated, I discovered several people were vocal about disliking that term. Some said it was an insult to pigs. I am amazed I didn’t think of that—pigs are underestimated but truly intelligent and sensual animals. So, I’m guilty on that count. Others countered that in this age when most of us try to be sensitive to others, it was demeaning and nasty, and I can see that too.,I think it was like a lot of childhood insults—we still use them without thinking first. Finally, there was a Jewish friend who reacted because of her religion’s abhorrence of swine. I suspect that doesn’t count for many, but I respect her position.

Would I do it all over differently? I don’t know. I write by instinct, and that’s what came to me. It fit, and it made the title work and carry on the use of “perfect” established in the first book But authors have to look at the marketing side, and if I’d known that word would affect sales, I might have gone an entirely different direction. Of course, I have no proof that was the cause of the low sales. If you haven’t read it, take a look at Pigface and the Perfect Dog. I still think it’s a pretty good mystery.

Now to my current work-in-progress. Titled “Contact for Chaos,” it’s a Kelly O’Connell Mystery on the theme of racism. For shock value and to emphasize how awful it is, I used the n-word on grafitti and banners from the bad guys and, occasionally, from someone’s mouth. In fact, an early stab at a cover had grafitti with that word on it. Several people objected, and my editor wrote a long note about how that jars people, especially in the black community, and how they would particularly resent it coming from a white woman.

The fact that I used it to emphasize the negativity, to show how wrong it was, got lost in the discussion. I certainly can see why it would put people off on the cover, and I’m bowing to wiser heads and writing it out in the text—mostly writing around it, occasionally using “n-word” or “n-----.” Racism was a difficult topic to tackle, and both my beta reader and my editor have praised my handling of it, but I want to walk that difficult line between marketability and intellectual honesty.

It all reminds me of that childhood verse that began, “Eeny meeny miney moe.” If you’re old enough (as I am), you’ll remember the version I’m referring to.  If not, you know the sanitized version, probably from the sixties, and I won’t repeat the older one.

I fear that Americans of my generation unconsciously absorbed racism and its language, even when we knew better. I was raised on the South Side of Chicago, a diverse area if anything is, but I was early taught to respect all people as equal. Still I absorbed the attitudes of the day—in my case, fear—and the language, and though I know much better, those old habits come out sometimes. I’m working hard to banish them forever. It’s one of the many things we all must do in this troubled political climate.

Not so trivial

Spaghettti on bow-tie pasta

Jordan made it according to Amy Russell's recipe

kudos and thanks to both ladies!

My Society for Uplifting the Language is still on my mind. I have decided we should create a Dunces List, of people who are the worst offenders, and maybe an Honors List for those who are eloquent without sinking to tastelessnessIf you want to use a psychoactive drug to get Hardin addicted, look into the benzodiazepam derivatives (i.e., Valium and others). They do have a high degree of addictiveness, and are classed as controlled substances.

. I’m afraid the man now in the White House is the first entrant on the Dunces List, for his use of denigrating nicknames for people who deserve our respect. The latest is Cheatin’ Obama, hilarious from the lips of a man who has cheated his way through life. Crooked Hilary has been with us awhile, as has Little Rocket Man for Kim Jong-Un and Pocahontas for Senator Elizabeth Warren. The thing is that these are not only insults, they are tasteless—and way beneath the dignity we deserve from the supposed leader of the free world.

Today I ran across a truly eloquent put-down from Sir Winston Churchill to a woman who said to him, “If I were married to you, I would poison your coffee.” Churchill replied, “Madam, if I were married to you, I’d drink the poison.” Another time, at an opera, Churchill, having characteristically over-imbibed, stumbled and fell at the feet of a particularly ugly woman, who cried out, “Sir Winston, you are drunk!” He stumbled to his feet and replied, “Yes, madam. But tomorrow I will be sober, and you will still be ugly.” (Thanks to Randy Eickhoff for reminding me of that one.) Classic, eloquent putdowns. Churchill goes to the head of my Honors List. Does it tell you anything that most candidates for the Honors List are deceased? Ah, the times we live in.

But we do live in interesting times. The student crusade continues, and now teachers across the country are walking out—principally from elementary schools, I gather. It’s like the people have begun to speak out and I’m delighted to hear it. As much as I can I add my voice to their cries of protest. We get a lot of warnings against the encroachment of fascism, and I can certainly see warning signs, particularly in 45’s attempts to consolidate power and control the media, but I am encouraged the Americans as a group. We stand united—most of us. God Bless America!

Closer to home, Texas weather can’t make up its mind. Yesterday was chilly but during the night it warmed up—don’t ask me how that happens. Jordan came out this morning in a workout suit and complained, “It’s supposed to be chilly, and it’s hot out.” The temperature got all the way to 80 or a bit above by noon; shortly thereafter a front came through—lots of wind and some distant thunder but no rain, and now it’s in the sixties and predicted to go into the low forties tonight. April is a most uncertain month.

In spite of a medium-good eye doctor appointment (there’s still a bit of swelling), I was in a blue funk when I got home in the late morning. A couple of reasons which aren’t even worth dignifying with mention, but when that front blew through, I suddenly felt better about the world. Amazing how the weather can affect our moods.

I think it’s a day to be put to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day!

The Society for Uplifting our Language

We seem to have a society for everything, from animal protection to the most highly specialized medical sub-specialty or obscure genetic condition. Do a search for “Society for” and you’ll be astounded. So, I’m proposing a new one: The Society for Uplifting Our Language. (It reminds me of the day Jacob invented a new song, “I’m Uphappy Today!”

I supposed it’s the sudden and highly visible re-emergence of Roseanne Barr and Ted Nugent that have sent my mind in this direction, but really they have just brought some subconscious thoughts to the front. The problem with language today, as I see it, is twofold: incorrect usage and crudity.

I realize and applaud that language is a changing, organic entity, but I think some standards apply. Like the proper use of lay and lie. My childhood neighbor reminds me that her father always said, “People lie. Hens lay.” But it seems to be a distinction that even well-educated minds today can’t grasp. Please don’t go lay out on the beach: lie out on the beach. But don’t lie the book on the table: lay it there.

Frequently when I see misuse of things like their, they’re, and there, I attribute it to a typo. Lord knows my fingers are faster than my brain, and I make a lot of those. But I may start making lists and reporting on egregious errors from time to time.

But then there’s the matter of crudity. Why oh why do people think they have to emphasize everything with an F-bomb. David Hogg made a eloquent response to Laura Ingraham’s personal attack, but for many Americans older than Hogg he ruined it by including three F-bombs. That doesn’t emphasize your idea, it weakens it.

Words like “asshole” are everywhere on Facebook. Our orange leader has exacerbated the problem, with his gross references to women’s anatomy and his denigration of some of our allies as “shithole” countries. Crude is crude, and it is neither clever not effective.

Some will dismiss my complaints as those of an old woman belonging to a different generation. Yes, I’m old, but refined civilization never changes, and effective communication doesn’t morph into crudity. But just as I think there are standards of behavior to pass down through the generations, I think there are standards of language.

My dad used to stress that you never said, “Oh, it’s just family,” and let down your table manners. It was, he said, a matter of respect. Just so, I think the language you use is a matter of respect for the person(s) you’re addressing.

What? You want me to be president of this new society? Well, if you insist, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll monitor. Just remember me next time you post on Facebook.

Outrage

Warning: rant ahead. Detour if you wish.

I am outraged, angry, humiliated, resentful, puzzled—I cannot begin to tell you the emotions that have raged through my mind since I read about 45 referring to people from “shithole countries.”  That such language from the Oval Office is unpresidential goes without saying; so does that it violates every one of our dearly held democratic principles, the ideas that our country was founded on. “Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry.” The statement is racist beyond belief.

And sadly, it will appeal to his base, those people who are desperate to find some way to feel better about themselves. LBJ, whose wisdom was probably underappreciated in his day, said it: If you can convince the lowest white man that he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice that you’re picking his pocket.”  Unfortunately, not much has changed since LBJ’s day, and 45 is playing that song like his theme.

But there’s more. Not only is he a disgrace to democracy, to American principles, and to our presidency and the White House, he is a man with clear mental incompetency, what appears to be dementia.

And nobody is doing anything! That old phrase keeps going through my mind: “If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck . . . .” Well, you know the rest.

Clearly the Republicans are in power, and they are the ones who can do something about this terrible, frightening situation that they have thrust us into. We look to Mueller to save us (and he may, but he’s a slow and deliberate man, carefully building a foolproof case—will he be in time?); recently we’ve looked to Michael Wolff’s book to save us (and again it may—that’s what Kim Jung Un predicts). But it is the Republicans who have the power and the tools in their hands right now to correct what they have wrought. They have the 25^th Amendment.

Suely they don’t think their legislative record, their blind eye to the president will win them votes. Most are seasoned politicians, and they know the odds. The base 45 courts is not big enough to counter a voter wave that will sweep many of them out of office—perhaps that’s why so many are announcing resignation and retirement. But for the nonce, they are unfettered. They have their way, with a president who can be easily manipulated, and they’re going wild with power. Not a conscience or a backbone among them. The best they can do is resign, which doesn’t help us. I call out Senator Bob Corker who seemed for a bright moment there to be earnest, sincere, and aware, but he caved to a little bribery. Greed rules all.

What will save our country at this point? I don’t know. Do you? Will you be the one? Will you vote come November?