The folly of a pity party

There some wisdom going around the internet to the effect that if you’re complaining about the high price of gas or having to wear a mask in your favorite grocery store, you need to be grateful that you have food on the table, are sleeping in your bed and not in an underground bomb shelter, and aren’t sewing your children’s blood type into their clothes before sending them off to school.

That certainly hit home with me yesterday when I had myself a little pity party, mostly because I have an infected tooth (no, it doesn’t hurt, thank you), I had a bloody nose (while eating lunch—lots of fun), Sophie threw up on the living room rug, and the few words I did write were uninspired and will be deleted later today. And on a weekend, when I usually have fun cooking, I was eating leftovers. The world seemed pretty bleak to me, and I guess I was determined not to see all my many blessings.

The saving grace of the day was that Jordan and Christian both came out for happy hour on the patio, and while we studied calendars and planned menus, we had several good laughs. And last night I finished a book that I much enjoyed—The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valraux, by French chef Samantha Verant. You can read my review here: The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux by Samantha Verant | Goodreads or here: Amazon.com: Customer reviews: The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux.

Yesterday brought one other highlight (see? I’m getting better already at looking on the positive side). Every day I faithfully read “Letters from an American,” the column by Boston University history professor Heather Cox Richardson. If you don’t already know her, I recommend it. Yesterday I came across a one-on-one interview she did on February 25 with President Joe Biden. It was a momentous day: Russia invaded Ukraine, and President Biden nominated Ketanji Brown Jackson to be the first Black woman on the Supreme Court.

Biden spoke naturally but without hesitation, displaying a deep knowledge of American history and politics and a passionate belief in the ordinary people of our society. He is dedicated to maintaining democracy and to opposing those who would replace it with autocracy. (Side note: he pointed out there are fewer democracies in the world today than there were some years ago.) Already a fan of both Richardson and Biden, I was tremendously impressed. You can watch it here: Historian Heather Cox Richardson interviews President Joe Biden February 25, 2022 - Bing video

My instincts are not peaceful. I want to take every person who rails about Biden being weak or senile or not a leader, strap them in a chair, and force them to watch this. I know, I know, force is not the way to change minds. But there is a definite smear campaign against a man who was bold enough to take on the presidency in a time of unprecedented crises—pandemic, supply chain, rampant racism, cratering economy with high unemployment, climate crisis, etc. And now Putin has added the Ukraine invasion to the international scene. The campaign against Biden makes me angry to an extent my mom would have told me was unladylike.

While I’m on my not-so-peaceful instincts, I want to mention Margery Taylor Green and Lauren Boebert. Their behavior at the State of the Union confirmed what we all already knew: they are not fit to represent the American people. Uneducated, unknowledgeable, lacking class let alone grace and common sense, they need to be silenced. I truly don’t understand why at the least Speaker Pelosi has not moved to sanction them. If I knew how and who to ask I would.

I hope there’s a point to this rambling post. I think it is that if you look back on a day, it’s not quite as dismal as it seemed. We in this country are so blessed, and we need to fight for our way of life. Today I am over my pity party. Not exactly full of enthusiasm, but I’m getting there. Now to cut those unsatisfactory words out of Irene Keeps a Secret and get back to Irene’s misadventures—and murder.

Whining about a pity party and an honest look at myself

Confession: I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because I’ve mostly been home alone for days while my family was at the Fort Worth International PGA Golf Tournament, what we always referred to casually as “the Colonial.”

Several rational thoughts indicate I should not feel sorry for myself. In truth, I got out for supper one night, the grocery store with a good friend another day, and had company last night. If the kids weren’t at the golf tournament, I probably wouldn’t see much more of them than I am right now---just knowing they’re out of pocket makes a psychological difference. I have projects to keep me busy at home—first edits on a manuscript that I’m slowly working through, a book I’m enjoying, blogs to write, all that cooking I did. And, were I offered a chance to go to the tournament, I’d decline in a flash—sun and heat are not my friends, and I’ve never seen much point to golf, though my mother loved it, both of my sons have played at one time or another.

So this morning, I took a long hard look at myself and came to a conclusion. It has to do with aging. Jordan and Christian and my other children are in the midst of life—in their forties, they’re in the midst of careers (and career change for some), an active social life, the joy of children. And I’m on the edges of life.

Don’t get me wrong. My kids, as regular readers of this blog know, are unbelievably good to me. Jordan always goes out of her way to include me in things. For a few summers, they used to have Friday night potluck open house, and I was always invited. Their friends were (and are) my friends; one even said to a stranger who queried my attending these parties, “Are you kidding? She’s the star.” An exaggeration, but it made me feel good. But that was then—they lived about 20 minutes away, and I drove my car out there, could drive myself home whenever. All that has changed.

Maybe, I said to myself, I’m not accepting aging gracefully. But another part of my mind countered with the thought that if you don’t stay in the mid-stream of life, you wither and waste away. I could become a little old lady in a rocking chair—well, I hope not.

There’s got to be a middle ground, and some days I think I’ve found it; others, like this weekend, I indulge in a bit of self-pity. Maybe my mind is just unstable. And maybe I need to shut up and count my blessings, which are many.

Sometimes it’s risky to share moments of honesty with your grown children. You never know what the reaction will be. But this morning, when Jordan came out to say good morning (see what a good girl she is), I told her that I was feeling lonely and I thought maybe I was jealous. She asked for an explanation, and I told her the conclusion I’d reached.

Her response took me by surprise. “But you’ve done all that,” she said. Perhaps she thinks I should live on memories, of which I have many. But that’s not enough. I still want to be in the middle of life. Maybe that’s the eternal dilemma of aging.

Which brings me back to my car. Somehow, I think when I get it, fully repaired, and I am cleared to drive, I can plunge right back into the mainstream of life, even on a walker. May it be true.

Poor Pitiful Pearl

That was me when I woke up yesterday morning—deep into a pity party. My local family was going out of town (hey, for a big four days!), more than half the people I rely on for companionship were everywhere from New Mexico to Spain, and I envisioned a long lonely week at my desk. I may love working at my computer, but I also thrive on people.

I know that old dictum: the only person who can make you happy is you. So I dug in: called my colleague Melinda to see if she could do lunch today; went to dinner at the Grill not sure who I’d have for company and had three lovely neighbors—Garrett and Bonnie Tucker and Sally Dalton. Today I had lunch with Melinda, which is always a happy occasion—we take little travel bottles of wine to our favorite tiny Italian restaurant where I always eat Braseola (beef version of prosciutto). Tonight I went with Mary V. and had a Caesar salad with scallops at Pacific Table.

My week is filling up—grocery and lunch plans tomorrow, plus that good supper I’ve been meaning to cook for myself for over a week; Friday, grocery and tentative lunch plans; Saturday the kids will be back and we’re talking about barbecue for supper; Sunday I’ll fix a welcome-home dish for Subie and Phil, something I’ve been wanting to try. Shh! Don’t tell.

Meantime I have work on my desk—got 2^nd edits on the Peacock Mansion and am over halfway through reading a manuscript for TCU Press.

This morning all the subcontractors for the bathroom redo were here to gather info for their estimates, so this really is becoming a reality. I groan a bit about the construction process, the cleaning I’ll have to do, etc. But I’m really excited.

Moral of my story: life is good. But only if you yourself determine to make it so. Pollyanna is now signing off and going to read that manuscript.