Keep a cheerful heart

 

Tuna and rice bowl with furikake
All hidden under wonderful crisp watercress.

With all that’s wrong with our world, from the suddenly very frightening increase in climate change to Russia’s continuing aggression in Ukraine to the divisive political situation in our country and the crazies who are trying to run things, you’d think we don’t need anything more to worry about. Especially those of us who are in the third stage of life and hoping for a lot of peace and quiet, good times with the worries of the world behind us. It is not to be so.

My mom lived into her late eighties (since I’m approaching her years, I take heart from that). But I remember her saying to me that the trouble with living so long was that all your friends were gone. I can count many people, once big parts of my life, who have passed on, and I miss them. But lately my thoughts are less on those who died than those with serious health problems that cause me to worry about them a great deal. Right now I can count two broken shoulders, three serious falls (when I said that Jordan added two more older relatives of a friend who had both just taken bad falls), two cases of dizziness, a hip replacement in recovery, a case of unexplained weakness. It’s tempting to say none of these are life-threatening, but the truth is when you get to your eighties, anything can be life threatening. In recent months, for instance, I have learned how serious—and sometime fatal—a UTI is. They call pneumonia “the old man’s friend” for obvious reasons, but it seems to me that any number of conditions can fit that moniker.

And when physical problems hit us elderly—there, I said the word! —they seem to hit in clusters. An email from my best friend in high school and beyond tells me she fell, broke her shoulder, came home, and began experiencing dizzy spells to the point she couldn’t navigate in her own house alone. I am glad to report that she is better. My own brother a while back was in rehab after surgery on a knee, caught Covid, followed by pneumonia, followed by am array of ills including dizziness when he stood. I am so happy to report that he too seems to be doing better but it is after a long spell of being bedridden.

It’s as though there’s a monster out there, lurking, waiting for that one sign of weakness, which will be a signal to attack with an array of problems. I guess our option is to vote for health, watch for tiny symptoms before they turn into big problems, and keep a cheerful heart. Proverbs 17:22 tells us, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” It’s a philosophy I try to live by, but I think no matter how hard we try, each of us falls off that cheerful wagon from time to time.

I did have a healthy, cheerful dinner guest tonight. My friend, Mary V., who is a retired political science professor. We get into spirited political discussions, but of course we are both on almost the same page—I am a bit more enthusiastic about another term for Biden than she is, but she agrees that he has done remarkable things and that his expertise particularly on the international front is amazing. She is one of my friends who scorns Facebook—how I wish I could tell them to pick and choose and take advantage of the good stuff and the fun stuff! Anyway I was able to enlighten her on a couple of things I saw: one was a new name for Moms for Liberty (forgive my language): Assholes with casseroles! The other was James Comer’s whistleblower—the MAGA chair of the Oversight Committee has been crowing about a witness who would totally unmask the Biden crime family. Turns out the guy has been indicted on several counts, including acting as an unregistered foreign agent for China, and has skipped bail and is now a fugitive at large. I do love it when these out-of-control Republicans end with egg on their face.

Another experimental dinner tonight. Mary is one of the people for whom I can try out new things, and she inevitably likes them. Tonight was a rice bowl with tuna, flavored with soy and sesame oil and sparked up with watercress and furikake, a Japanese seasoning made with dried seaweed, dried fish, dried herbs, etc. I didn’t taste it much, but it did make the dish look pretty.

Now it’s late, I’ve been working on my neighborhood newsletter, and I’m ready to close out the day by reading a bit.

Sweet dreams to all, and stay cool, drink water, keep a cheerful heart—please! I already have enough people to worry about.

The summer doldrums

 

A place where I can lost the summer doldrums
Colin's lake in Tomball. Note Sophie next to me. 

It’s hot, and I’m in the doldrums. Or am I just lazy? Or is age creeping up on me? I have a friend, slightly younger than me, who says she no longer has the focus for long projects--like novels--and she is considering other ways to keep writing. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me, but Missing Irene, the fifth adventure for my diva chef, is dragging along. For a while, it was going great, and I could see the road ahead for some distance. But now it’s ground to a crawl, and the road is murky. Oh, I know what’s going to happen, but I’m having trouble getting there. And I’ve only just begun.

I think if you’ve been writing long enough, you know when your writing sings—and you know when it doesn’t. Years ago, my then-agent asked me to do a proposal for a publisher who wanted a young-adult book about a girl in the American West. I wrote what I thought was an acceptable proposal and sent it off. It came back with one devastating comment from the publisher: “Frankly, we find Mrs. Alter’s writing pedestrian.” Pedestrian! What a devastating word! But it probably was spot on, and I was young and green enough not to recognize it. But now, with a long career behind me—forty-plus years and over a hundred books of various types, plus articles, reviews, columns, etc.—I am very aware when my writing “feels” pedestrian. And that’s where I’ve been the last couple of days.

Lately on a writing listserv I follow, there’s been a thread about how to tell a budding author what’s wrong with a manuscript, especially if everything’s wrong from syntax to plot to character. I remember once submitting a sixty-page manuscript, on assignment, to a pamphlet series about western authors. It came back with the first twelve pages so heavily edited I could hardly find my own words amidst the red pen notes. It was absolutely the best writing lesson I have ever had and much of it has stood me in good stead over the years. So maybe that’s what I need now—a heavy red pencil.

I know the best thing to do when a project seems stalled is walk away from it and let it sit for days, even weeks. Then go back to it with new eyes. But when I do that, I feel guilty for not writing, even though I set my own deadlines. No one else is telling me I must write a certain number of words a day or produce a finished manuscript by a certain date. It’s one of the big reasons I am an indie-published author.

I can put it aside because I have other interests and projects, principally cooking. With this hot weather, Jordan has challenged me to cook light meals, and I’ve been happy with my results. Like the open-faced sandwich (see last night’s “Gourmet on a Hot Plate”) or the old-fashioned layer salad I made last night and had for lunch today (probably see next Thursday’s “Gourmet on a Hot Plate”).

I so enjoy meal planning that my grocery bill is out of sight, but I have figured something out. I buy groceries for happy hour snacks (I limit happy hour these days to a few close friends who I know haven’t been traveling—call me cautious, but the cases of Covid I’ve known have almost all been people who’ve been traveling). And I buy groceries for dinner for the three of us—Jacob is now working at Joe T.s almost every night, so I don’t figure him in. That’s a lot of groceries, between Central Market and Albertson’s, but the thing I don’t do is go out to eat. I figure I save a whole bunch of money by cooking at home. Of course, because I experiment, I buy things I wouldn’t ordinarily, which increases my bill (I just ordered furikake—look it up if you’re puzzled).

I’ve been thinking, while my novel lingers in the doldrums, of doing another cookbook. I’ve learned a lot, found a lot of new dishes in the five years since Gourmet on a Hot Plate. And I have a thick file now of what I call “keepers.” I’d love any feedback on whether it would be a good idea or not to combine my food blogs into a book.

There’s one more thing that keeps me occupied, and that’s what I see as the state of our country and the need to speak out. I could blog about that every night, but I figure I’d begin to sound shrill and would become one of those with lots of indignation and no solutions. So I save such blogs for only occasionally, and only specific topics I consider crucial—hard to define that because so many are crucial.

And that’s where I am in the doldrums. I will appreciate any cheering words, advice, suggestions, jokes, and the like. This too shall pass, and I know it, but friends are gootd to have when you’re in the doldrums.

And now, I’m off to read an old Jessica Fletcher mystery set in my heart’s country, Scotland. I missed it the first time around. Stay cool.

Judy’s list

 

The red, white, and blue.
May it proudly wave over freedom for ages to come.

I am about to rant, so if you want to skip this post, please feel free. As a graduate and former staff member at TCU, a private university, I was dismayed to read that right-wing sources are attacking the university for a class on the history of drag. Texas has passed a censorship law forbidding such topics in public schools (likely unconstitutional), but extremists want to go beyond that. The issue speaks to me of the culture problems in our society.

In a world that is warming so rapidly scientists are alarmed (and Texans are hot!), in a country that averages more than one mass shooting a day, where women are dying because proper gynecological medical care is denied them, politicians and influencers are focused on banning books and outlawing drag shows, silencing drag queens who do a public service by reading to children, muzzing teachers who might teach CRT (which they don’t and nobody understands). Could we please get our priorities straight?

I don’t think it’s enough to urge people to vote blue. Clearly, candidates like Ron DeSantis and Donald Trump not only a march toward authoritarian rule, where our voices would be silnced, but represent the opposite of the traditional Republican Party. Instead of small government and fiscal conservatism, they are reaching into all areas of our private lives, their intrusion cloaked in the name of morality and justified by distorted references to Christianity (which is NOT the founding religion of our country—sorry Josh Hawley!). Fiscal conservatism has turned into conserving money for the very rich and letting middle- and lower-class families be damned to poverty.

Democracy is a participatory form of government. We are told every voice counts. Conventional wisdom suggests that if eligible Texan voted, we could turn Texas blue and get rid of Greg Abbott, the mean little despot. Or take the Colorado district where Lauren Boebbert won by less than 500 votes and is again being challenged by Adam Frisch—that race proves that each vote counts. So I am more than weary of my friends, educated and liberal, who can’t be bothered with politics. Their excuses include, “I’m not interested,” or “It makes me uncomfortable” or “I have better things to do than keep up.” None of these, to me, hold water.

Here's what you can and should do: 1) Write to your representatives—local, state, and federal. Concerned about the ban on gender medical care? Let officials know, even if you feel like a voice crying in the wilderness. 2) be active in campaigning for candidates you support—walk the block if you are able, man a telephone bank, hold small group meet-ups in your home—be active; 3) attend open meetings, candidate fund raisers (you can attend without giving a hundred dollars), and sessions of the political party of your choice; 4) support candidates financially.

If I were a rich man (hat tip to Tevye), I’d give a thousand dollars right away to several candidates now in the running, mostly for the US Senate. As it is, I send much smaller amounts here and there when a candidate says or does something that catches my eye. I have a list of those I support: Jacky Rosen of Nevada, Jon Tester of Montana, Colin Allred of Texas, Bob Casey of Pennsylvania, Sherrod Brown of Ohio, Ruben Gallego of Arizona. I support both Katie Porter and Adam Schiff and am dismayed that they are running against each other—we need both in our national government, because they are experts on widely differing issues.

I could rant on about why I support President Biden and Bidenomics and the many things that are wrong with the fearmongers and moral police of the right, but you can read that daily in the paper and on social media. Later, I may write about my feelings as an author about book censorship or my feelings as a woman and an adoptive  mother about abortion, but today my plea is please, please don’t be passive. Take part in your government, make your voice heard.

Rant over—but probably only temporarily.

All’s right with the world—or is it?

 

Oh glorious day!
Six years ago, finally getting read to leave rehab and go home.

Jordan’s home from Hawaii, the sun was shining all day and the ice melting, and Sophie got a good doctor’s report. All’s right with my world.

But we all know all’s not right with the world in general. My usual habit is to start the morning with the news and emails before I get to my own work. And today I barely got to my own work, mostly because so much is out of kilter in the world. I think I am fixated on being aware of what’s going on, particularly with our government in my state, Texas, and in Washing, D.C., because I came late to political awareness. And it was even later that I realized my voice might accomplish something, even that I had not just a wish to speak out but an obligation because I felt so strongly about some things.

I don’t know if the way I speak out—this blog and Facebook and occasionally Twitter—is effective or not. I’ve read statistics that claim you’re not going to change anyone’s mind on social media, and some days I’m really afraid that’s true. On Facebook, I stumble across people whose minds are held captive by conspiracy theories. They truly believe that Biden is out to destroy the country, and it does no good to ask them why he would want to do that. Here's a man who has devoted a lifetime to American politics, who has risen above personal tragedy to put the good of the country first, who generally by those who know him is considered a genuinely good man. Remember what Lindsay Graham said (before he was held in thrall to trump): “God never created a better man than Joe Biden.” And now, Biden has saved us from the brink of recession, created programs to bolster not just the infrastructure and the economy but the lives of ordinary Americans—and created new job numbers that are so good they confound the experts. But yeah, he’s out to destroy the country.

Today as in many days I was captivated, not happily, by the antics of House Republicans: Jim Jordan claiming that Biden is intentionally flooding the country with dangerous immigrants; MTG defining CRT as a theory that teaches grade school kids that their white skin is not as good as another kid’s black skin; Texas representative Chip Roy announcing that the armed forces should be out with lethality killing people and blowing things up (yeah, that’s for sure what I want our country known for). Don’t even ask about the debt ceiling which they are deliberately conflating with the budget. I wish more Americans would educate themselves about the way our government works.

Mondays and Fridays are also busy days on two writing listservs I follow—on Mondays in one group, we commit to our work plans for the week and on Fridays, in both, we brag about our accomplishments and praise others on what they’ve done. If you read everybody’s posts, as I feel I should, it takes a lot of time. But if I want people to comment on what I post, I must return the courtesy.

As you can see, it was a busy day, and I barely got to Irene and her Texas adventure. But yesterday I sent the manuscript off to the mystery editor I use and to the man who has been my mentor (he hates the term) for fifty years. I am still left with putting together front matter, a recipe section, and a blurb. Didn’t get to it today, because in addition to keeping up with our out-of-kilter world, I cooked a big dinner to welcome Jordan home—an herb-stuffed sheet pan chicken on a bed of onion, potato and carrot, with a lettuce wedge dressed in a blue cheese sauce.

And that brings me to recipes, which also take up a bunch of my time. I subscribe to the New York Times cooking column and America’s Test Kitchen and perhaps my favorite, the online “Kitchn.” Sometimes I find recipes that really speak to me; other days, not so much. Today what I found included a recipe for creamed kale pizza—uh, no thank you. And in the Times, a recipe for white soondubu jjigae, which is described as a tofu stew.

I’m out of here on that note. Need chocolate and wine.

 

Sadness and Safety

 

Hiding from the world
behind a book.

I was horrified a day or so ago to learn that a seventeen-year-old and a five-year-old had died and an eighteen-month-old was wounded in a daytime drive-by shooting in a peaceful neighborhood. Then this morning I read of two more shooting death of males seventeen years old. Put aside the fact that I have four grands who are close to or at that age in my family, I am saddened. My first thought was, “We are shooting our children.” Today I read of a twelve-year-old in California who shot a classmate.

I am so weary of those who proclaim loudly if we outlaw guns, only the bad guys will have guns. Or laws don’t matter. It won’t work. It works in other countries, and it can work here. We have got to get guns out of the hands of young people and the mentally ill. There’s absolutely no excuse for the horrific statistics of gun deaths in this country—so many of them our children. I don’t even know what to say about the greed that perpetuates this killing—congressmen who pocket gun lobby money, gun manufacturers who are making enormous profits. They are all stepping on the broken bodies, slopping through the blood of dead children.

Today I answered a political questionnaire—I usually don’t do that because they always end being a guise for asking for money. This though was from Sarah Longwell, founder of Republicans Against Trump. I respect her common sense, and I knew I wouldn’t feel guilty about not giving money to Republicans, even good ones, so I answered. It was straightforward, asking what party if any I identified with, how I voted in 2020, how I intend to vote in November. Then I was stumped: what one issue was most important to me. I wavered between gun violence and abortion. Ultimately, I chose abortion and now I’m second-guessing myself. The conservative stance on both issues is immoral, selfish, cruel—I could go on and on.

But as most things are circular, that brings me to Greg Abbott. Beto warned us Abbott would dump a lot of money into advertising, and now we’re seeing it. I’ve seen the same ad countless time—a casual Abbott in a sport shirt is sitting in a restaurant. Plastic dispensers for ketchup and mustard are at his elbow. You know—good guy, one of us, eats ketchup on his burger. But one thing is wrong: the restaurant is totally empty except for Abbott. If it were Beto sitting at that table, he’d be chatting with someone, the restaurant would be noisily full, people everywhere, some waving Beto signs.

Consistently I’ve noticed the Abbott keeps his distance. He’s on stage, above the audience, sometimes alone. Beto on the other hand is in the midst of the throngs of people who come to see him. He really is one of us. Abbott is not. Mean, little man. Who favors guns and letting women die from toxic pregnancies. Who knows nothing about medicine, the female body, or the female reproductive process, but oh boy, can he make laws. Why require seventeen-year-olds to take gun safety courses or be licensed? Might hurt Abbott’s big business buddies. Just like fixing the grid would.

Okay, Judith, stop. You’re rambling and getting carried away. It’s easy to do.

Distant thunder rumbled late this afternoon but, alas, no rain. Mary Dulle is back from almost a month at Chautauqua, so we had a happy hour visit, caught up on news. Then she and Joe went off to supper, Jordan and Christian went to a concert, and I heated leftover spaghetti. A thoroughly pleasant evening. Tonight I’ll do some menu planning and then settle down with a cozy mystery. No sign of that rain.

It's nice to feel safe from the world. Maybe that’s fooling myself, and none of us ever are really safe, but for now it’s nice to retreat into a fictional world when reality seems to much with us, from national and local politics to drive-by shootings.

A significant birthday

 

Tulips is a lovely delicate pink shading,
a gift from friends that
brightens my desk

This was to be posted last night. Somehow, that didn't get done. So sorry.

No, it wasn’t my birthday. I will grow another year older soon enough. But yesterday was Jacob Burton’s sixteenth birthday. My bad that I didn’t get this posted last night, but I think he had a full and happy day. It began with that ritual for teenagers, the driving license test. Jacob passed with a score of ninety (parallel parking a suburban cost him a bit), but the way things work these days he has to wait until tomorrow for an appointment at the DPS to get his license. I’m not sure how the rest of his day went—I was home buried in my computer screen—but apparently, he and his parents went to lunch and then he “hung out” with some buddies.

But last night the four of us had dinner at Joe T.’s. Yes, it was hot, but pleasant enough on the patio with a slight breeze. Dinner was as always huge and a big heavy meal for hot weather. Joe T.’s was Jacob’s choice, and I am always glad to go sit on the patio. We sat right near the large fountain which if it didn’t actually cool us, was a source of cooling thoughts.

Then it was back to the cottage for cake and my presents—a check of course. For years I ranted that I did not want to give the grands money or gift cards—I wanted something they could hold in their hands and say, “My grandmother gave me this.” I have given up that battle and, gosh!, does it make Christmas easier with seven grands. But I did give Jacob two books. It’s a joke in the family that I always give books, and by some, like son-in-law Brandon, books are a welcome gift, even the old and unusual ones I find for him. Jacob is not a reader, never has been, but I gave him two books on golf, and he actually seemed interested. One was Harvey Penick’s Little Red Book of Golf, co-authored by the late Bud Shrake, which I understand is a classic that every serious golfer should have and read, and the other was a book on the business of golf. We had that wonderful chocolate mousse cake from Central Market, but I was the only one who ate any. And I’ll eat it again tonight!

Tonight Mary came for happy hour, and I actually put out food—hummus, carrots, snap peas, and crackers. That’s mostly because my friends who were here for the Van Cliburn Competition stayed in an Air BnB and brought me their leftovers which included hummus and a ton of carrots. Leftover chicken queso casserole and a fresh green salad for supper—so good.

I am still finalizing details for the Juy 5^th launch of Finding Florence, and every day I think I will clear my desk and be able to get to the Helen Corbitt digital files that I now have and the start I have on a manuscript. A stack of Helen Corbitt cookbooks stares at me from my coffee table—I haven’t gotten to straightening up the bookcase so that I can fit them in where I can conveniently get to them as I write, but I figure the cookbook section is a ways off. I think once I can focus on that project, it will go easily (am I feeling myself?) and will be lots of fun (I know that will be true).

I admit that politics distracts me these days. With regret, I missed today’s January 6 Committee hearing, though I hear it was pretty damning for trump. A doctor’s appointment kept me from it, but tonight I’ll internet prowl and see what I can find about it. It’s scary times we live in with extremists ready to threaten citizens and take up arms for their cause. But I have a great deal of faith that democracy will triumph. I just hope it’s in my lifespan.

So, goodnight, sweet dreams, keep up with the news, and pray for our country.

A lovely memory and lazy leftovers

 

Would you believe I wrote this blog, went to save it, and lost it? The post was mostly inspired by this picture that popped up on my computer this morning. Now I consider it a challenge to see how much I can recover from memory. Here goes: fifteen years ago, my grands were dedicated at my home church, University Christian in Fort Worth. We had the ceremony in the chapel, not before the congregation, because not all of my children belong to this church. The picture was taken right afterward. Maddie the oldest, is holding Kegan, the youngest. Kegan was then all of three weeks old. Jacob, to my left, was intrigued by this thing called a baby and desperate to get at it. I had my arm firmly around him. To Maddie’s left, Sawyer and Eden seem oblivious to whatever was going on. In my lap is Ford, who was about eight months old and had a dump in his diaper—I handed him to his mom as soon as the picture was done. To my right is Morgan who kept creeping away as though she wanted to pretend she had never seen any of us. They are all now grown or well on the way there. Maddie is twenty-three, Kegan fifteen, and they are all still wonderful. After this ceremony, we had a porch party, of course—a brunch buffet. Such good memories.

I decided today that the day after a party is meant for slow moving. It didn’t help my focus or ambition that Zenaida was here cleaning the cottage, and I could be easily distracted by talking to her. I kept up with emails, read some political articles online, wrote just a bit, and piddled, this afternoon spending a lot of time looking for a recipe I’ve lost and never did find.

It was also a leftover day. Yesterday, despite the party looming in the evening, I had a lunch of leftover salmon, marinated cucumber, guacamole, and some squash and sweet onion I’d sauteed—the squash/onion combination is my new summer favorite. I consider it a blessing when I open my fridge and see leftovers. My neighbor, one of seven children , refuses to eat leftovers because he had too many as a child. I think that's sad.

Today my lunch was a sandwich with the salmon spread I made for last night’s party—it is the best stuff, surely one of my favorite recipes, equally good on crackers or in a sandwich. Tonight, while the family ate brats I had more salmon, this time with lemon and mayonnaise, and Jordan’s good blue cheese salad. I figure tomorrow I’ll have salmon for lunch and serve the spread at happy hour. And then the salmon will have seen its day. But Wednesday, when I’m home alone for supper, I’ll probably put some canned salmon with pasta for a one-dish meal. Thank goodness, it’s good for you.

Christian is a genius at saving orchids to rebloom, and this picture shows one once given to me. When it had seen its day, I turned it over to Christian. He recently sent it back to the cottage, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one with so many full, large blooms that lasted so long. The dog in front is Shea, done by my pal Jean’s late husband, Jim Clark. It’s a treasure.

This promises to be an interesting week of news, what with the national furor over guns and the televised sessions of the House of Representatives Special Committee to investigate the January 6 insurrection. I am geared up to follow all of it. I have strong feelings, as you may have suspected, and I’ll probably rant in this space before the week is over.

Meantime, tonight I plan to go to bed early and wake in the morning full of energy and rarin’ to go. Maybe you should too.

Cooking dinner all day long

 

It didn’t really take all day, but cooking Eggplant Parmesan took up much of my day. I had invited Teddy and Sue for dinner and promised to cook it because Teddy’s favorite food is apparently eggplant. So this morning, knowing I was between projects, I planned to spend the morning cooking. I read my emails, took a quick look at comments on Facebook, and was ready to roll.

When I cook what Jordan calls casserole dishes, the worst part to me is the chopping. So I did it in order of hardest to easiest—chopped and sauteed the onion. The recipe said for each thing, “In another skillet ….” How many skillets do they think I have? I cooked one thing, dumped it into a bowl, cooked the next, dumped it into the same bowl, and moved on. So I got to a point where I had onion and ground beef cooked and in the bowl. I added breadcrumbs, pecorino cheese, tomato sauce, egg—and then tackled the eggplant. Halved the two eggplants Sue had brought me and found, to my dismay, that both were—I don’t know—not right. Eggplant discolors quickly when cut, but these were discolored form the getgo. Teddy brought me two new ones.

It’s not easy to scoop the insides out of an eggplant half, but I did it, using the cross hatch method my girls have taught me for scooping out avocados. The recipe said to boil the diced eggplant, but my note on it said sauté, so I did. By early afternoon, I finally had four stuffed eggplant halves. I took a nap. One thing about this dish is the lovely presentation—so of course I forgot to take a picture.

We had a fine dinner, and they seemed to like the eggplant. And we had long discussions, ranging from relatives and friends to politics. Sue insists trump will be president in 2024 because Republicans will vote their pocketbooks. I insist that he may be indicted by then, and whether he is or not, enough Americans, even Republicans, have the good sense not to vote for him. His presidency was a disaster for everyone but the one percent—and those who are brainwashed by disinformation.

Those are the folks that worry me—the ones who believe every conspiracy theory that comes down the road. They still think Hilary Clinton was operating a pedophile ring out of a pizza parlor, Joe Biden is responsible for everything from supply chain problems to the shortage of baby formula, Democrats are replacing whites with people of color as a path to power (can you believe anyone believes that?). I am particularly angry with those who claim that Biden is senile—everything he has done and accomplished, from stopping the pandemic deaths to orchestrating international support for Ukraine, argues that he is a man in full command of an incredible mind. His style is certainly different from trump—he goes quietly along, often with his head slightly down, doing what he thinks is right and not bothering about ratings and the like. I have felt the sincerity of his words several times, most recently at the memorial to the victims of the Buffalo shooting.

I just don’t believe that Americans will vote again for the man who unleashed that much hate on America, a man who is now supporting Putin and criticizing US support for Ukraine—he never was able to think beyond the immediate moment to the consequences, in this case of Russia rolling over all of Europe. Yes, he has followers, but their numbers are not overwhelming when compared to the citizens of this country. And those Republican pocketbooks—really, how many will vote that way?

I didn’t start out to proselytize, but now I find I have backed myself into a corner, but it’s a corner I’m comfortable in: Vote blue at all levels. The future of this country, the future of women depends on it.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to rant. But politics engages so much of my mind these days. It’s either politics or cooking with me, unless you want to hear more about the writing process, which also fills my days.

Sunday night thoughts in a jumble

 

 

University Christian Church
Fort Worth

 My thoughts are all mixed up tonight with politics and religion. While I, perhaps too often, let this blog veer into politics because I can’t keep quiet, tonight I feel compelled to talk about the intersection of politics and faith. Because deep down, I know as sure as anything that my politics are dictated by my faith.

I am still chewing on the quote in Heather Cox Richardson’s column a day or two ago to the effect that William Barr, former Attorney General, believes that the constitution does not separate church and state. Somehow, he works the First Amendment, which states that Congress shall make no law regarding religion, into a statement that the Founding Fathers believed that man, being inherently evil, needs a strong Christian government. For one thing, that’s a terribly arrogant argument—does he believe that he is above evil and knows better what us poor nasty folk need? For another, how does he mis-read the Constitution to that extent?

Separation of church and state is generally traced back to a letter by Thomas Jefferson which essentially put into words the concept of the First Amendment (remember, I’m no constitutional scholar, so I’m on shaky ground here). But Article Six of the Constitution effectively rules out the establishment of any state religion. I wish I could just dismiss Barr as a wild hare, except he speaks for the “originalists,” people like Amy Comey Barrett, maybe Brett Kavanaugh and Clarence Thomas (that’s a whole different story for another time), and the whole of the Federalist Society. He’s not just a lone voice. Even Senator Ben Sasse, obliquely chastising Ted Cruz for seeking a Fox news spot with his rudeness to Judge Kentanji Brown Jackson, said he admired the judge but could not vote for her judicial philosophy.

Then this morning a state legislature candidate in Tarrant Country made oblique reference to the death penalty for abortion. That logic is so screwed I won’t even attempt to wrap my mind around it. But just after I read that I listened to Russ Peterman’s sermon at University Christian Church, where he talked about prescriptive or legalistic religions—religions with strict rules. The question: is religion made for rules or for mankind? Evoking those Christian churches where congregants emerge every Sunday filled with guilt for their sins, Russ questioned whether religion is about guilt or grace. You know the answer he led us to.

I want so badly to remind those who would restrict our lives with laws—against abortion, against gender affirming care, against widespread voting, against interracial marriage (yes, that has been mentioned), against certain books, that if they follow Jesus’ example, it’s all about love, not about hate nor rules. Read 1 Corinthians 13: 13 or better yet read all of 1 Corinthians. What these people are talking about is in no way a Christian state. And even if it were, that overlooks our Constitution. We are not a Christian nation; we are a nation of diverse people and faiths that welcomes all. Christianity in its many forms is the most followed religion, but it has no corner on the market.

What scares me about all this is that it all ties together—William Barr, the Federalist Society, Amy Comey Barrett, Greg Abbott’s mean and inhumane laws, Proud Boys, trump (though I doubt he understands the philosophy and just considers it from an opportunistic point of view), Ginni and Clarence Thomas (she apparently is a passionate believer). I don't mean to be a conspiracy theorist and yet I can see how this all comes together in a vast network conspiring to overthrow democracy as the Founding Fathers intended it and as, until recent years, we knew it. The emails exchanged by Ginni Thomas and Mark Meadows confirm this.

And it sort of comes down to your view of mankind—evil or beloved of the god of your choice. My faith dictates that I am on the side of those who believe, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. And of these, the greatest is love.”

I’ll quit preaching now and promise tomorrow a light-hearted post about busy days and good food at the cottage. It’s hard to be lighthearted these days, but there is always a positive side to life.

Cooking cheers me

Ravioli dinner with
pear/radish/blue cheese salad
One of my few truly gourmet meals

A friend posted recently that after a spell of illness and no energy, she was now back to cooking again and surprised at how much better and more energetic she felt. I think that’s true for me. Cooking renews me.

A confession: I had a pity party yesterday. It had been three days since I had seen another human being, except for two minutes when Jordan, masked, whisked in to deposit grocery bags and once when she came to stand on the patio and talk across the distance, which doesn’t make for easy conversation. It’s clear to all who read my blog that I adore my dog, but her company is not the same as seeing another human, talking with someone. Plainly, I had cabin fever. I was mad at Covid, mad at the cold weather which keeps patio guests away, mad at the rodeo which exposes my family (or so I’m convinced) to omicron, mad at the world in general.

And I wasn’t cooking. I was tired of “pick up” dinners—scrambled eggs, leftover soup from the freezer, a salmon platter. Those things are okay for lunch, but I want a proper dinner. The last good dinner I cooked was meatballs and gravy for the family last Sunday—I kept a portion for me, sent most of it into the main house, and got back enough for leftovers for Monday lunch. I have to say they were extraordinarily good.

It all changed today. In the early afternoon, Jordan and Jacob, masked, brought out the toaster oven/air fryer the children gave me for Christmas. While they unpacked and installed, Jordan made me sit far across the room. The Breville (that’s the brand)  now sits in splendid glory on my counter, unused, because I haven’t had time to read the directions. But the first thing I will fix is lemony chicken drumettes. I can hardly wait. But first I have to read and digest the directions.

My new toaster oven/air fryer
Hoping it ups my cooking game

Tonight, Jean came for dinner, and I got to cook. For some reason I had a dozen wild mushroom/truffle ravioli in the freezer—Christian won’t eat mushrooms, and Jordan’s diet doesn’t allow pasta. Jean got the brunt of my experimenting again. After much online exploration, I decided to serve them with brown butter, something I’d never made before. My report is that if you brown it slowly, as I did, it takes a long time and a lot of stirring, but I was leery of burning it. My big mistake: I added the garlic, didn’t have the tiny bit of spinach suggested, though it would have been good, didn’t want the chopped walnuts (to me they would have been the wrong texture), and—big goof! —forgot the rubbed sage that should have gone in the butter. Still, it was really good, although I could have cooked the ravioli just a tad longer. We ate six, so I have six to cook another time and add the sage.

I accompanied this with a salad of sliced pears, sliced radishes, and blue cheese in a lemon/olive oil dressing and garnished with watercress. I did that particularly for Christian because he loves radishes. I thought it was terrific. Waiting for Christian’s verdict, since I sent some into the house for them.

But I was energized, enjoyed Jean’s company, felt good about the evening.

I have set myself a goal of a thousand words a day on the third Irene story that I’m working on. That, of course, depends on whether or not I have a thousand words worth of inspiration. Today, with having to proof the 28-page neighborhood newsletter and keep up with emails, I managed 991 words. I don’t think I’ll agonize over those last nine words. Maybe tomorrow I can do 1009. Then again, I have set myself another goal—clean out those two out-of-control drawers in my closet. And sometime, I have to do my tax stuff.

Tomorrow, per request, I’m going to cook a beef stew. I am now a convert to an air fryer, but don’t talk to me about InstaPot. I have no room for it, and no patience for the learning curve. I will cook the stew the old-fashioned way—long and slow, all day. I’ll use a recipe I adapted from a popular mystery series set in a coffee house. Yes, it calls for marinating the beef in coffee. Since I don’t drink or make coffee these days, I’ll have to have the Burtons run two cups out to me. But I made this last year and remember that it was good.

I wouldn’t say the world looks better to me tonight. I have a lot of loud opinions on the political scene in America—and the crimes. I may feel I need to rant someday soon but meantime I suggest all of you who are on Facebook read the columns of Heather Cox Richardson, a historian from Boston University. Her last three columns will make you realize how close we came to a coup, how extensive the planning for that was (no, it was not at all spontaneous), and—wait for it—what a roaring success Biden’s first year has been. I can’t repeat that too often!

And me? I’ll be making stew. Long and slow.

A long day, a lazy day…and some political naivete

 

Sophie, listening to what I have to say

Yesterday was a long day. Jordan’s allergy were severe, and she took the day off and stayed in bed. I’m spoiled—used to her popping in and out periodically during the day. Gave me great empathy for those who live truly alone and went through long days of quarantine with no human contact. I had just a smidgeon—Jordan came out in the morning to tell me she was taking the day off, Jacob came out in the late afternoon chasing a dog who, with inadequate bathroom manners, is not supposed to be in the cottage, and Christian came out about seven bringing me the dinner he brought from King Tut. Other than that, it was me and Sophie—so glad to have her to talk to.

Last night was long too but not unpleasant. One of life’s many pleasures to me is lying in your bed, all cozy and comfortable and safe, listening to thunder roll overhead and a steady rain come down. I understand some parts of the Metroplex got hail and damage and I am so sorry about that, but here it was just rain—no wind, not much lightning that I knew. Just that thunder. As my mom used to say, “The gods were bowling.” Sophie was not nearly as pleased as I was.

Today all I wanted to do was sleep—maybe it was being awake so much in the night, but I kept trying to sneak a nap and Sophie kept demanding I get up. I got distracted from my morning routine making a “night-before” salad this morning that I should have made last night. Threw my whole schedule off, and I did no proofreading today. As a result, my conscience is suffering a bit. Not badly, though. I think I’m ahead of schedule.

I have had a political epiphany. It now seems I was incredibly naïve to think that once Joe Biden was president and trump gone, things would work themselves out. Not so. I cannot wrap my mind around the lies most Republicans are telling themselves about everything from who was responsible for the January 6 insurrection (no, it clearly was not Antifa and BLM) to the Big Lie that trump won the election in a landslide and it was stolen from him. They apparently can’t do the math that ties a raise in the minimum wage to the exponential rise in the cost of living, and they are opposed to COVID-relief, for reasons I yet cannot understand except that they, who gave the 1% huge tax cuts, claim we can’t afford to help those who work for hourly wages. They blithely ignore the record in some states where a raise in minimum wage has had widespread economic benefit. They also ignore that small businesses, about which they profess so much worry, suffer when people have no pocket money to spend.

If you read Heather Cox Richardon’s daily column, which I recommend you do (Find it on Facebook among other places), you learn that Biden’s approval numbers are astoundingly good. He’s doing the things America wants—vaccinations, legislation to help those who are struggling to feed family and pay rent, restoring environmental protections, the list is endless. Most Republicans, on the other hand, seem to have a death wish for their party and have dug in their heels as the literal opposition party. They have no plan, no platform, except they are opposed to Biden and Democrats.

The big trouble with Republican gaslighting is that the gullible among them believe what old white men like Ron Johnson, Louie Gohmert, Rand Paul and others say. And I’m not even talking about the extremists, though I did hear the other day about someone who claimed Biden has been dead for years and what we see is a clone who will be replaced March 4 when trump is inaugurated again. Oh, and they want to blow up the Capitol Building during the as-yet-unscheduled State of the Union Address.

Whatever will become of our beloved country?

Creeping into 2021

The woods are lovely, deep and dark--Robert Frost

The world looks a whole lot brighter to me on January 3rd than it did January 1. I see sunshine and blue sky and bare branches—the leaves have all, finally, come down. Still I have the feeling of creeping into the new year instead of bounding joyously. Maybe it’s the internet meme advising going in “real slowly. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

On New Year’s Day, the internet was full of the usual joyous wishes, this time made more poignant by a lot of gleeful farewells to 2020, the worst year in modern memory. But I am not at all sure we have put the problems of 2020 behind us—the pandemic is infecting and killing record numbers of our families, friends, and neighbors, and trump is protesting he will not leave the White House, even as he continues to try for a coup on January 6 when the electoral ballots are officially counted. And he is openly calling for violence in our nation’s capital on that day. I read one account that the Proud Boys or some of similar inclination would target the halls of Congress in an effort to attack congressmen who don’t back trump’s delusional campaign. It’s enough to scare anyone, and I, safely removed in Texas, am scared—for our country and our democracy, let alone our worldwide reputation.

An email from a small online writers’ group yesterday suggested that I sum up what I’ve learned from almost a year of quarantining. I had to think long and hard about that because I’m not sure I’ve learned anything except that old bromide, “Life isn’t necessarily fair.” The COVID-19 virus is whimsical in who it affects, who it kills. Many who have been infected followed every single caution from the CDC on prevention—and yet caught it. Others, seemingly indifferent or unbelieving, went about unmasked, gathered in large groups, and did not, so far as we know, contract the virus.

And the sense of fairness or collegiality has totally disappeared from politics. Joe Biden won a landslide, and yet he’s having the most difficult transition into power in the history of our country. At every turn, trump and his followers are working to thwart Biden’s solid plans for the future, for a return to government as most of us would like to see and know it.

My biggest fear is that president-elect Biden will not be able to work miracles, and the country will turn optimism into anger. He cannot work miracles—what’s been done to our country will require long, slow rebuilding. I think Biden is going into the new term with clear vision and solid plans, but he can only do so much. A lot will depend on the outcome of the runoff in Georgia on Tuesday. But either way I think “real slowly. Don’t. Touch. Anything,” is good advice.

What I personally have learned is that I’m okay with quarantine and isolation, as long as I have work to keep me busy and occupied and a few people in my pod. But right now, I am between projects and don’t seem to be able to focus on a new one. I find it frustrating, mostly because I think I came into this world with an ingrained work ethic, and I’m not comfortable not working. To top it off today my internet connection is down, and “unable to connect.”  This too shall pass if I can only muster a bit of patience.

As I reread what I’ve just written, it seems pessimistic to me, even reflecting a bit of depression. I hope that’s not true. I hope it is realistic. I also firmly believe there are things each of us can do to make the future better—find meaningful activity, continue to stay as safe as possible and follow health guidelines, write to your politicians or call them—tell them when you think they’re right and why you think they’re wrong (in Texas that opens a whole new can of worms!).

I’m not giving up on 2021. We are in a time of great change, and we have a lot to look forward to—the vaccine (if we every figure out who can get it and where) and a new administration. I expect good things—I just don’t expect instant miracles, and I don’t want anyone else to either. On Facebook someone commented, “We aren’t out of the woods yet,” and someone else replied, “We’re not even all the way into the words yet.”                        

The Cowtown Marathon, the dreaded pandemic, and politics

Jordan and Marge cheering for runners

especially Marge's husband Colman

If I did the math right in my head, the forty-second Cowtown Marathon was run today, a beautiful, sunny clear day—with a high temperature of 77 predicted. Way too hot for runners, though most seasoned marathoners probably finished before the temperature hit seventy.

I well remember sitting in our office area at home late the night before the first marathon. My then-husband suddenly came out with, “*&%$! Sleet! I don’t want to hear sleet.” He was one among several men instrumental in planning and putting together the early marathons in this city. To his dismay, the next day revealed ice-covered, sleet-slick streets—hazardous for runners. With a courage I lack today, I packed four young children into a big old Cadillac sedan and headed cautiously for the race, although I don’t remember much about the rest of the day. Just that scary drive.

The late February date makes weather always unpredictable, and I don’t know which is worse—heat or precipitation. I am guessing that in 1978 there were already so many marathons scheduled across the country, that Cowtown planners took whatever open date they could—and crossed their fingers.

On another front, primary elections now share the spotlight with the corona virus 19 or COVID19. The government is cracking down on information and distorting statistics, but wise, sensible advice is out there if you can find it. I read an article today by a Dr. James Robb, with practical suggestions for protecting  yourself and your family, from frequent handwashing to latex gloves for the grocery store. According to Dr. Robb, the virus is lung specific—it only attacks the lungs and is carried in the air and on objects by droplets from sneezes and coughs. The virus can stay active on a surface for up to ten days—so that means protection when you pump gas, push an elevator button, grasp a railing. Read his suggestions here: https://www.lotterypost.com/blogentry/151944 Instead of blocking information and downplaying the threat, the government would do well to go on a massive education campaign.

A bit of irony: the governor of the state of Washington has declared an emergency because of the virus, while the national government in Washington, D.C. says the threat to most Americans is minimal. Dr. Robb would support the Washington governor.

Just my opinion: I’m pretty happy about the results of the South Carolina Democratic primary. Several people claim it is now a race between Biden and Sanders and the rest should drop out. Maybe it’s just my personal wish, but I want Elizabeth Warren to hang in there, though I’ll be really happy with Joe Biden as the next president of the United States.

I do get frustrated with campaigns that play the panic button as part of their fundraising efforts. The campaigns (though not necessarily the candidates) of Mark Kelly in Arizona and Jaimie Harrison in South Carolina are the worst about it. This morning, I saw advice to pack it up and go home because Harrison is losing; five minutes later another post crowed that he’s surging.

Reacting to election news is like reacting to the corona virus news—take it all with a grain of  salt and look for the sensible middle ground.

Colman giving his fans the high sign

Catching up and reaching out

One of the first things I read this morning was a short blog by an author friend about how she’d devoted a day to doing the odd details that often slipped through the cracks of her life. She must have read my mind, because I’d decided to take care of odds and ends—that stack of papers on the corner of the desk needs sorting, and there are odd bits of paper and notes scattered everywhere with things for me to do.

So I called my accountant, called the supervisor of the yard guys and then watched with bated breath while two went on the roof to cut a tree branch that had worked it’s way around a live power wire. Filed some papers for a possible project on down the road and wrote a note to an old acquaintance who’d written after she found me on the Women Writing the West listserv. I had promised to give my suggestions on another author’s query letter—I was pretty drastic and hope she took it well. She used way too many adjectives, and I kept thinking, “Just the facts, ma’am, just the facts.” A synopsis isn’t the place to showcase your writing style—that can come in the actual manuscript.

I sent several emails to friends about everything from last night’s supper to an upcoming gathering to remember a friend who died a couple of months ago. Supper last night came from Eatzi’s—a sort of cafeteria of prepared foods. Upscale and very good. Linda came in from Granbury, and we shopped together for supper. But when I said, “I’ll have a crab cake,” she said, “I will too.” And when I said, “Green beans, please,” she said, “For me too.” We laughed at what they must have thought about us. I also bought a Cotswold cheese with chives—new to me and delicious. The three of us—Jordan joined us—almost ate the whole hunk, so we’ll have to go back from more. The crab cake was almost pure crab, low on filling, and that made it delicious.

But a big thing I did today was to wade through a podcast and a rather long book review friends had said I “must” read and/or hear. In addition, I found a lengthy excerpt from a new book on the online weekday newsletter, Wake Up to Politics. If you don’t know it, do look it up. The excerpt is from The Ones We’ve Been Waiting For, by Charlotte Alter (no relation, but I’d sure claim her). The book appears to be about the changes millennials will bring to our culture and our politics, but in the quoted section, called “The Last Dinosaurs,” she makes some amazing points: Google only launched in 1998; Wikipedia came along in 2001, and the iPhone in 2007. Those social media changes have had an enormous impact on us in a relatively short time. By contrast, the telephone was not in common use until almost seventy-five years after its introduction, and both radio and TV were slow to be found in most households. Millennials are the first generation who never knew anything but this digital world.

The other book that impressed me was Why We Are So Polarized by Ezra Klein. Klein points out that these days few people vote a split ticket—we are less tied to a candidate than to the party. And criticism of our party’s positions doesn’t sway us—we just look for ways to validate our opinions. I confess that I keep thinking that if I can just present the inescapable facts, trumpers will see that he is a thug and a criminal without knowledge and in mental health trouble. I know it really just makes them dig their heels in deeper, but I can’t give it up. The other thing he says is that as our country grows more diverse, representation will grow even less inclusive. Thirty per cent of the population, in certain states with heavy electoral count, will elect the president. It’s a lesson trump learned well in 2016. And what, to me, Klein was basically saying, is that the Constitution as written may not work in this bright new world. He made me re-examine a position that I had denounced as heresy, especially when it came from trump.

All this was heavy reading, but it sure made for an interesting day. Oh, and there was a podcast from “Pod Save America,” which pointed out that Tuesday evening, after the debate, some wag edited the Wikipedia entry on Mike Bloomberg to show his date of death as 02/18/2020. Cause of death? Senator Elizabeth Warren.

Sleep well in these troubled times.

Things I am weary of

            There some general, apparently widespread beliefs going around that I am increasingly weary of. I disagree with them, but you may disagree with me. Mostly these ideas are found on Facebook, and while many may dismiss that particular social medium as a font of misinformation, I find, read judiciously, it’s informative and helpful. Certainly, it helped me see these trends in thinking, but maybe that’s a negative.

The general public doesn’t care about the shenanigans going on in our government these days. I don’t find this true at all. Republican senators turn a blind eye to quid pro quo, witness tampering, and other unlawful acts by the administration, and trump’s supporters applaud his every move. But polls show that more than half the nation wants him removed from office. I quote from a meme I saw today:

“I am so tired of him. Truly, so incredibly tired. I’m tired of people pretending that he’s not a hateful, lecherous, narcissistic, megalomaniacal, despotic, rapacious, compulsively lying, lifelong common man. I’m tired of his lies. I’m tired of his sickening moral bankruptcy. I’m tired of his face, his voice, his smirk, his family. I’m tired of his complete inability to say even one thing that is kind, or humble, or appropriate, or TRUE, ever. So. Damn. Tired.”

I think pushing the idea of an apathetic nation is a propaganda tool. If we believe that nobody else cares, maybe we’ll shrug and think, “I can’t do it by myself.” It’s our country trump and his enablers are ruining, and we’ve got to band together and resist. Such groups as Indivisible are doing that every day, along with several splinter Republican groups.

Democrats are hopelessly disorganized and don’t have a single strong candidate. Look at the Iowa caucuses. The debacle of the Iowa caucuses was a state problem and does not reflect on the national party, which had nothing to do with it. As for strong candidates, we have a diverse field of them, so diverse that it’s hard to choose. That’s how it should be during primaries. Primaries are a chance for each candidate to showcase his or her policies, and they certainly are not meant to be a lovefest. Each of the remaining candidates would lead an administration a thousand times better than what we have now. Of course, trump demeans them with derogatory nicknames—Sleepy Joe, Pocahontas, Mini Mike. It’s another propaganda tool—he believes if you hear that often enough it will stick in your mind and taint the person.

Religion is the whole problem. This usually comes from the progressive or liberal side, but the answer is no, it’s not. Alt-right religion or what is called evangelistic Christianity is a huge part of the problem. Some of those folks are so focused on one issue—abortion—that they  can’t see the forest for the trees, or maybe it’s the trees for the forest. I also think victimhood plays a part in binding his follows to trump in a cult. They are mostly but not all people who are angry at the system, think they never get a break, think the government is out to get them. Trump promised to fight the government, and they’re all for it. Blind loyalty keeps them from seeing that he’s destroying the government.

Religion can be a good thing. Answer churches that tell you the answers to questions you haven’t even asked and tell you exactly what to believe and how to act scare me. What we call journey churches, those that believe each one’s journey toward faith is an individual experience to be respected, can foster hope and a sense of community. No, you’ll not convince me churches in general are the problem—or mosques or temples.

A Democratic president will lead us right down the road to socialism. Republicans use socialism as the big, bad, fear-inspiring word. They’re going to take all your wealth and use it for the state (I think that’s communism, folks). What Bernie Sanders preaches is Democratic socialism. (I’m not shilling for Bernie here).There are a lot  of  definitions floating around, but I think one meme this morning put the simplest is that often it is more economical to band together for services than to have each individual have to secure their own. Hence we have police and fire protection, public schools, postal service, public museums and libraries, highway maintenance, and a hundred other things that make our lives better.

Lecture over. But these things have been on my mind. I’d be delighted to hear other opinions.