Groceries and other excitement

Big outing of the day was to the grocery store. We’ve found a new one—literally a new Tom Thumb, close to downtown where so many urban dwellers live these days. Its aisles are wide, and it’s rarely crowded. Perfect for my motorized cart adventures. Having been out of town most of the past week, I didn’t shop much last weekend, so my list was long today and my basket ended up full. Jordan and I separated, with the result that we bought two of some things, but that was easily straightened out.

I know a lot of people dread shopping, but for me it’s fun. I envision all the things I can cook with what I buy, and I have to restrain myself from buying—oh, say, eggplant. Nobody eats it but me. But I bought blackberries, which I intend to pickle. I never heard of pickled blackberries but in the last week I’ve found two recipes for them—one called for fish sauce. I’ll used the other recipe. I think I’ll put them in a salad.

Tonight, we had a dinner specially for Jacob, because tomorrow he goes to camp for two weeks: asparagus, which he just discovered he liked, to my great surprise and delight. And breaded and baked chicken fingers. His Aunt Lisa fixed both the last night we were in Tomball, and he anxiously added items to our grocery list so we could duplicate the meal. Hats off to Aunt Lisa for cooking success. And, since he told me he still likes it, we had sparkling cider, known around here as kid wine. Dessert? Drumsticks, which I bought specially because Jacob liked them. Tonight, he decided he wouldn’t eat them because he doesn’t like them. Then he seemed to change his mind and say later, but not now. By glory, I’m going to have mine now.

My political thought for the day: several senators are up at arms about the way President Trumpf is treating AG Jeff Sessions, and I’ve seen Facebook posts expressing sympathy for him, praise for his hanging tough. I abhor the way Trumpf is treating him, as I would that treatment of any person. It may be political—I’ve seen suggestions Trumpf is waiting until Congress recesses so he can fire Sessions and name a replacement without Congressional approval. I’m inclined to think though that this obvious daily humiliation is more the cowardly expression of a small man’s petty anger.

But I cannot summon up sympathy for Jeff Sessions. He is a holdover from the sixties, at least, a man who believes in the supremacy of straight white men, the degradation of minorities, and the second-class citizenship of women. His stance on immigration, police search and seizure and other things appalls me. He would take us back in time and undo the progress this nation has made, painfully and slowly, over fifty or so years. He must have known what kind of man he was signing on to support, though I will say the depths to which Trumpf has sunk have surprised most of us. But, no, no sympathy for Jeff Sessions.

Besides, he really does look like Granny from “The Beverly Hillbillies.”

Conflicting emotions...and a big to-do-list

My cousin died Tuesday night in a Toronto nursing home. She'd been in nursing homes for ten years or more and before that lived unhappily, sometimes almost homeless, dumpster diving and all when she'd get off her meds. I never have known a specific diagnosis but I'm sure she was bipolar. I have not seen her since I was twelve--a long time ago, believe me--but for at least seven years I've been taking care of her affairs. I could not understand her on the phone since she had a stroke and my hearing is bad, and her handwriting is illegible (which caused some legal problems). I know she loved dogs, live and stuffed, and she was a pack rat, her room crowded with "stuff."
When I was about twenty, my parents were taking off on a road trip and that morning my dad fixed me with a solemn look and said, "Judy, if anything happens to us, you will take care of Jenny, won't you?" At twenty I didn't want to even think about something happening to my parents, but about ten years ago, when the aunt who watched over Jenny as best she could, began to fail, my dad's words came thundering back at me.
When people offer sympathy, I'm a bit at a loss. She was happy where she was, in a provincial home where people loved her. They've written me about her laughter and her sense of humor and I'm sad for her that's gone. I'm sad too for her miserable life and all that she missed. But she left no hole in my life, no personal sense of loss--and that too is sad.
What I am left with is all the details of administering estate, complicated greatly by the fact that she was in Canada and I am a non-resident. I now have a Canadian lawyer, have sent an obituary to the Toronto paper, have filled out cemetery papers, and done all sorts of other paper work. Yesterday, every time I did one thing, five more ran through my brain. I was exhausted last night but have a better handle on things today.
Colin, my oldest, will go with me to Canada sometime soon for a graveside service. To my surprise, the staff of the nursing home want to attend. I thought we would be the only mourners, and I am pleased. But I somehow just couldn't let her leave without some sort of farewell.
And we're going to see if my grandmother's house is still standing. I have such lovely memories of it. It will be good to be in Ontario again.