A silly dog dream, a couple of politic laughs, and a nice happy hour

 

This morning, Sophie woke with the devil in her. She wanted to run and bark at squirrels and generally be out of control. A little after seven, I fed her, let her out, had to call her name and offer “Cheese!” several times before she came back in. But she did, and I went back to bed. That was my valued time for an hour of “second sleep.” Usually it works; this morning it did not. I barely got scrunched down in the covers, all comfy and warm, when she began that little dance by my bed, clicking her nails on the hardwood floor. I explained gently; didn’t work. So then I got a bit more stern; still made no impression. Finally—I am ashamed to admit this—I yelled at her. She went to her crate, and I was left with guilt—what if she really needed to pee or there was some compelling reason for her to be outside? 

I have heard and read that dogs abandoned in shelters cry, great tears running down their faces. So when I went back to sleep, I dreamt that Sophie was not just crying, but lying on the floor sobbing. Like a two-year-old when Mom has hurt the feelings. And then I was on the floor, holding her, reassuring her that I loved her, and so on. About that time, she came happily bouncing up to the bed and began her little dance again. We’ve had a frosty relationship all day, though I think it’s beginning to mend. Dogs do not forget, but then, neither do I.

Most mornings, I am dismayed by the news, these days particularly the genocide taking place in Gaza. But the Republicans, bless their hearts, are always good for a bit of a laugh, even if it is a bitter one. Texas’ impeached AG, Ken Paxton, has sued Pfizer for misleading the public about their COVID vaccine. His complaint: It didn’t end the pandemic as quickly as they promised it would. Even I can see the hole in this argument: wasn’t it Paxton and his good pal, the guv, who loosened restrictions on masks and vaccination requirements. Of course, the pandemic didn’t end. And it may well come again, since there is now a state law that businesses cannot require masks and vaccinations.

And then there’s Marjorie Taylor Greene, who is complaining about low unemployment in the country. What? Low unemployment is one of the signature accomplishments of the Biden administration as it avoided a recession. It’s a good thing. People are back at work after the pandemic. That’s democracy functioning as it should. Yes, it’s harder for employers to find good help, because not everyone is desperate for a job these days. But Greene, in her own benighted way, knows what the problem is: not enough women are spitting out enough babies to fill those jobs. Never mind that there’s at least an eighteen-year gap before those babies could fill the jobs. Or that Republican reproductive restrictions have made the idea of pregnancy scary for most women. Or that just maybe population growth is one of the world’s major problems. Greene marches to a drummer the rest of us hope never to hear.

Finally there’s the Florida couple, he the GOP chairman for the state and she, a co-founder of the extremist Moms for Liberty who fight against LGBTQ and sexual content of any kind in schools. They ban books with abandonment. Except, oops, on the side, out of sight, they have engaged in a little menage a trois activity, and he has now been accused of rape. Yep, those, good, upright, morally responsible Republicans. Maybe we should just assume everyone has their little peccadilloes? I don’t think so.

Nice happy hour tonight with a relatively new friend. We talked about publishing and the Texas Book Festival and book people we know in Texas—and the state of the world. Then Jordan and I made a supper of Hassebrock kielbasa and green bean casserole. A lovely, relaxing evening. And I think I’m beginning to get a handle on Christmas. Today I got the new Discover card I needed after my account was closed because of possible fraud. I am still bothered by that and want to be assured that iStock really understands I am cancelling a $700 contract I had no idea I signed. But at least I can finish my online shopping. And then there’s the text telling me I have a ticket on the North Tollway Express—since I haven’t driven in over three years, that’s a bit impossible. I think the text is phishing, but Christian has promised to help me sort it out. I hate loose ends, unsolved problems.

Still, this is the season of great good will and lots of hope. I hope you feel that.

 

Gratitude, blessings, and tragedy

 

Thinking tonight about the many blessings so many of us enjoy. We’ve been eating high on the hog around here lately—a ribeye steak dinner with sour cream mashed potatoes one night, a delicious squash casserole another because someone brought me fresh squash from a farmer’s market, tonight a carefully made BLT—it still fell apart but did better than many I’ve made, and it was so good.

And while much of the world is sweltering going about their business in days that are 107 and 108, I am comfortable and happy in my cottage, never sticking my nose out in the heat. Oh, it gets a bit warm in the late afternoon, but it’s not bad. And Sophie sleeps contentedly in whatever room I choose to be in. She sleeps on her side, which is supposed to be a relaxed position indicating she feels perfectly safe.

So here we are, with our petty First World problems. And then I think of the people of Lahaina. Like many of you, I have been there. In truth, it wasn’t my favorite place in Hawaii—Jordan and I had come from Kauai, which I thought was magical. Lahaina, to me, was T-shirt shops and restaurants all with the same food, and a resort hotel indistinguishable from others.

But in the days since the fire, I have learned of other sides of that iconic town—it was home for many, and now those homes and all in them are gone. Beyond that Lahaina has a storied history as the capital of the kingdom of Hawaii. As one scholar said, “It is a place where the past is always present.” Hawaiian kings and queens are buried there, and buildings along Front Street, some 150 years old, traced the history of the kingdom. But they are destroyed or severely damaged now. The banyan tree, planted to commemorate the establishment of the first mission on Maui (perhaps a dubious reason for celebration considering much of Hawaii’s history) is now burnt and stark, though we are told the roots survive, and the famous tree will flourish again. As of tonight, fifty-nine people are dead and untold numbers are missing.

One thing that strikes me about this catastrophic tragedy is that it shouldn’t have happened. We don’t expect a fire to wipe out a city in this day and age. Somehow, I have the comforting thought that modern firefighting techniques and dedicated firefighters will be able to stop any fire before it destroys an entire town. And yet, a few years back, we saw towns in West Texas wiped out by wildfires. The Lahaina fire was fanned by high winds, a phenomenon that we, for all our technology, cannot control. Such destruction should make us realize we are still vulnerable, still not in control. It should humble us.

The pictures of the devastation, the individual stories of survivors, the pleas of families who cannot locate loved ones are heartbreaking. And the online postings asking for help are compelling. It’s nice to know that Jeff Bezos has pledged $100 million to the recovery, but as posts make clear, any and all donations, however small, are solicited.

And that brings me to a point that has bothered me for some time. My instinct is to write the biggest check I can (after checking to differentiate true Maui rescue groups from scams), but the truth is I am besieged by so many needy causes. Every picture of a hungry child or an abused dog tears at my heartstrings. The pictures of people trying to flee some African countries in boats bring me to tears. So many worthy causes present someone like me, with limited ability to give, with a dilemma: is it better to choose one cause and donate a significant amount or to donate a bit here and a bit there.

When my father died, we discovered he had been sending $5 a month to countless charities and political causes, many of which we had never heard of. So far, I follow a moderated form of his giving, but oh to have Bezos’ funds at hand.

Politicians beg us for just $5 or even just $3 (though then the giving screen often shows $25 as the lowest gift, which is sort of a come-on). But I have the same problem with politicians as I do with charities—I have a list, relatively long, of moderate to liberal politicians who I think would make real contributions to the country should they be elected. But how do I choose? For instance, almost every Democratic senatorial candidate will tell you keeping the Senate depends on their race. How do we know? A friend who is a political consultant advised me to give to lesser-known races and not California where, he assured me, there is plenty of money. But I sure would like to see McCarthy defeated.

Politics aside, may God bless the people of Maui, both those in Lahaina and the other areas affected by wildfires. Recovery will be slow, but pray it will be steady, with Federal help already promised. And perhaps the banyan tree as an enduring symbol for hope.

Flowers, food, and happiness

Jordan, Christian, and even Jacob did yard work this past weekend, getting us ready for spring. Jacob would rather have been fishing, thank you very much, but this morning he was elated that he caught (and released) six bass last night. Back to the garden=-they even swept the cobwebs off my house, something I was afraid to try for fear of losing my balance—I had a graphic vision of one hand wielding the broom and the other desperately clutching the walker—and the whole thing dumping over, me included. So thanks to Christian for that chore. And to Jordan for planting all those wonderful things we bought. And to Jacob for emptying my overflowing garbage.

The back yard (my domain) is beginning to look good. Much of the day I sit at my desk, with a big window to my right and French doors dead ahead, so spring beauty is important to me. Christian has put his big bougainvillea out on the deck railing, where I have a clear view of it, and I’m just waiting for it to bloom. I can’t see the hydrangeas in the bed directly under my office window, but I when they bloom I will see them as I come in the driveway. The patio is alive with purple phlox (we’ll replace with plumbago when the phlox dies out), daisies, and bright red geraniums. Patio weather coming up!

I am thoroughly enjoying the NYT Cooking Community page on Facebook. On a lengthy thread the other day, someone posted that they fried polenta in butter and served it with maple syrup for breakfast. I immediately replied that we had that when I was a kid, but my mom called it fried mush. Nothing would do but that I get some polenta, and this morning I had fried mush with maple syrup. So good.

Yesterday was fried chicken day—lunch at Button’s with a friend (they have the best fried chicken in town—hold out for the old-fashioned bone-in, none of this chicken-fried chicken stuff). Ate one piece, with mashed potatoes and green beans, and brought the other piece home. With a salad and fresh raspberries (an indulgence on my part), it made a great meal. Unlike a lot of leftovers, it didn’t lose its flavor.

Then this morning I got hooked on one of those internet sites that gives you the iconic meal for each state. You know what Texas’ is—no, not barbecue, but chicken-fried steak. There were a couple of Polish and Russian dishes that I was surprised to see, but the New Jersey dish is a ham roll sandwich for breakfast—thinly sliced Taylor’s pork roll (It’s pork, not ham) with cheddar cheese and a fried egg. Yum.

I’ve been thinking about happiness and what dour, unhappy people most Republican politicians seem to be. I read that the trump administration is considering tracking the disabled on social media to see if they’re “too happy” and therefore not qualified for disability benefits. How miserable you must be yourself to decide others are too happy. It seems they want to do everything they can to make us unhappy—cutting benefits from food, health, and education, cutting veteran benefits, polluting our world. I pity them for their antagonistic view of life.

As for me, I choose to be happy. How about you?

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.

The walking school bus

This morning, Jacob was part of the walking school bus program designed to encourage physical fitness in elementary school. I'd seen it on Facebook before but was delighted that it came to our neighborhood. There is an actual yellow school bus--a cardboard cut out that two children carry by putting their arms through the windows. Others trail behind. Jacob went specially to a friends' house to be part of this parade and got his picture taken with no less than Her Honor Mayor Betsy Price. Jacob is collecting celebrities--told his mom he was going to tell the Mayor that he knew Senator Wendy Davis. That's a stretch but he was a year or so ago part of a photo shoot stressing Senator Davis' interest in elementary education. The photographer happened to be a member of our extended family who said to himself, "I know that voice." So now we have pictures of Jacob with both a mayor and a senator (he's in the red shirt in the latter). He's pictured above with Caroline Cornelius, daughter of good friends of Jacob's parents. I think it's an omen for the future. And I truly applaud the walking school bus idea.
Dog report: Sophie and Luke spend long hours in the back yard together, sometimes playing, sometimes sleeping. They get along well--until I bring Luke in. Sophie commences to bark at him like the fishwife I've mentioned before. I think it's jealousy; Jay thinks she's saying play with me. But poor Luke is often so grateful to be in his crate and out of her reach. I try in the evening to give each of them some alone time in the house with me. We're adjusting, they're working out their roles with each other, and I'm optimistic.
Rain tonight and tomorrow--I may have dogs underfoot all day. When they're in the house together, then want to tussle right under my feet.
I'm reading a manuscript about the Garden of Eden community, one of the first African American communities settled in greater Fort Worth. Fascinating stuff, but it makes my editing pencil itch, so when I was asked to read for content I'm marking commas, asking questions, putting on my editorial hat again. I find that it sits quite comfortably on my head.
Y'all have a good weekend.