Seventy

Today is my seventieth birthday. I don't think I ever thought about seventy--it always seemed so far away. However, as milestones go, it's fairly significant. JC suggested a party, but I said 'no'. Too much work, too much expense, right when Christmas is gearing up, right when there is so much to do, when no-one has time. I don't often admit this, but he was right and I was oh, so wrong. We did the party--and a lovely one it was.

I don't often think about friends. It is so easy to take them for granted. When JC told me to make a list, I demurred, saying I didn't have many friends anymore, and nothing is worse than a fancy party featuring a small group of acquaintances, desperately making small talk, while glancing surreptitiously at their watches. I made the list, reluctantly. None of them had anything in common, a fact that struck terror in my heart. Did I say nothing was worse than a small group? Think about a LARGE group with nothing to talk about.

But, there was a list, and by the time we added family, and an assortment of people I cared about, we were up to about forty. We put in the reservation, figuring we'd probably get 35 or so. Then we thought of a few more. We were up to 50. Then 52.  The number wavered a bit up and down, but most everyone accepted. How did this happen? Our event planner at the Metropolitan Club even said this doesn't happen. She planned for 50; we ended up with 56. Of which 55 actually showed up.

So, where does that leave me? Grateful. There, amidst a crowd of friends (none of whom had any difficulty conversing) I realized the most important fact of my life: it is friends and family who make you who you are. Every person in that room--and many who were too far away, or were unable to travel, or had to work--the list goes on...was important. I think of all the people who have touched my life and am amazed at how many there are, at how many people have made me who I am by caring and supporting and keeping me going through thick and thin.

Which makes my birthday an occasion for gratitude. Not for the inevitable aging process; I am not offering up prayers of gratitude for arthritis and memory loss and general decrepitude. Instead, I am grateful for the laughter and the tears and the support and the unwavering loyalty through the years, for the people who listened, and the people who talked to me, and all those events that made it all worthwhile. It has been--as a friend of mine once said--a good run. Even if I'm not running anymore, I can always enjoy a good walk.

Overload 3 and 4

Overload-3

I do not doubt there are some   

who deserve to be thrown to the wolves. 

I do not doubt there are some 

completely out of touch, 

scandalously overpaid 

in salary, and respect,

who masquerade as representatives.    

I do not doubt that many are 

cowed by the bully-in-chief,  

concerned about their futures,    

refusing to do the right thing because 

it would imperil the life they’ve chosen. 

Cowards all.

Let us choose this time

the truth-tellers, the courageous, the dedicated, 
the servants of our nation, rather than 
the profiteers.

Overload-4

The United States is not the country 

of “one nation, indivisible, 

with liberty and justice for all.” 

That place does not exist. 

It probably never did. 

That was the goal. 

That was the promise. 

That was our job: 

to build that country.   

That pledge gives no timeline,  

nor does it define a straight line 

from the Constitutional Convention 

to where we stand today. 

We have been led astray.

We have lost that focus. 

We have forgotten 

that we move together 

or not at all. 

My Vote

I will vote today:

for intelligence, not fear;

for understanding, not anger;

for reason, not rhetoric.

I will vote today

for history and its lessons,

for thoughtful assemblies,

not inflammatory mobs.

I vote for peace and justice,

not guns and violence,

for safety for my children and their children,

and for others who come here seeking that.

I vote for forgiveness and kindness, 

not punishment and rejection,

for caring over cash,

for prayer over profit.

I do not listen for the loudest voice,

or the most abhorrent accusations.

I vote for what’s good about my country,

though it may still be flawed.

I vote for the dreams there, 

for all that still could be, 

for the builders, not the breakers,

for the ones who still believe.  

Overload-2

Educated. A citizen. I read. I vote.

These advantages should insure

a more-or-less sane existence.

No.

Advantages are buffeted into liabilities

by the prevailing winds of two years’ insanity.

The elected con man

owes his position to

anger and fear, to the disadvantaged,

who bit the hands that fed them,

who embraced the slick sales pitch,

who sold their livelihoods

for a sack of worthless promises.

Jack-and-the-beanstalk all over again.

Who knows what angry giant they've

awakened?

Overload 1

Overload

Too much, too many

things to process,   

to adequately pursue.   

Shootings and killings,

Political wrestling,

domestic and global.   

Elections and 

over the top ads.  

Troops at the border 

with razor-wire and guns,

throngs of desperate people 

with nowhere else to turn. 

Republicans turn on each other 

(is that, perhaps, good?) and 

Democrats are asking ‘one last time’ 

for money—every day. 

Sexual harassments are 

a commonplace, and 

college football is the new football 

to toss around in conversation:

a good metaphor for a world   

obsessed with offense and defense. 

Offense is winning. 

Seeing and Hearings

I don't know about anyone else, but I am disturbed. I suspect that is the state most people are in this month. I deliberately avoided watching THE HEARINGS because I suspected I would be even more upset, angered, frustrated, divided, unhinged than I already was. I was right, as I found out when I started reading accounts of what went on.

I like to think that I am a logical thinker. As such, I looked at Kavanaugh and his record and thought he might be the best we could do, given that we knew we'd be saddled with a conservative justice, no matter what. Then, Dr. Ford entered the arena, and threw a gigantic monkey wrench into the machinery.

The idea of dispassionate government and judicial procedure is a long way from the circus environment engendered by the injection of emotion into the world of politics. Trump has somehow let loose the floodgates on emotion. His is a government where emotion trumps (sorry) facts and theories. You can give a toddler all sorts of warnings and explanations of consequences, but he's going to proceed on emotion, no matter what. So does Trump. And electing him gave everyone the permission to be guided by emotion as well. If you are racist, if you are a white supremacist, if you (irrationally) hate any ethnic group, if you dislike your neighbor...go ahead. Call them names, shout them down, threaten them, lie about them. If the president can do it, it must be okay.

Into this maelstrom of anger and hate and lies and persecution complexes, comes the appointment of a Supreme Court justice. And not just any Supreme Court justice. Here is a guy who'll be there for life, who will change the balance of the court, who will be handing down judgments that will affect all of us for years to come. There is a lot on the line.

The atmosphere is fraught to begin with. The Republicans have sat on judicial appointments--including a Supreme Court vacancy--preventing Democratic appointments. Now, as they try to push through a confirmation that will solidify their dominance on the court, Democrats are reacting with a (not unexpected) "Not so fast..." and are dragging their heels. Enter Dr. Ford.

No matter whom you believe, this has slowed down the process. And it's hard to know whom to believe. I think both believe what they are saying. I find Dr. Ford more believable in her account. Kavanaugh is too defensive, too angry, too emotional, too irrational at times, for me to look at him and say he should sit on the highest court in the country.

But, this confirmation hearing is not going to hang on who did what 30 years ago. When reality sets in, nobody really knows, or can prove what went on. Times were different, 'normal' behavior was different. Things that happened might have been horrible; girls were subjected to all sorts of horrendous behavior, and boys got away with it. It was wrong. But going back and judging past behavior by today's standards is ...well, wrong as well. Nothing makes frat-boy behavior acceptable, but ..more understandable, at least. And you have to allow for growing up. I wouldn't want to be judged today on my behavior when I was in high school, college, or grad school. There was a lot I didn't know, then, and I have changed. So have Dr. Ford and Brett Kavanaugh, I am sure.

BUT...and this is a huge "but": the performance we saw in the hearings is happening today. We're not looking at a frightened 15-year-old girl, anymore, but a poised and thoughtful woman who, despite her pain, has come to understand what happened to her.  We are not seeing a teenage Kavanaugh today when we see him losing his temper, threatening those who oppose him, ignoring questions, or turning them back on his questioners. (or maybe we ARE.) What we are seeing is Kavanaugh under duress, and that ...is not an encouraging spectacle. I can understand a certain degree of anger and indignation--particularly if  innocent (which is debatable, still.) However, he demonstrated no grace under pressure, no judicial calm, no damping down of emotion. His was a Trumpian performance, and I would never want to seat a mercurial, adversarial, rude, entitled, self-aggrandizing person as a judge at any level, much less the Supreme Court. In the words of a number of commentators, this was a job interview, and he blew it. Teenage foibles can be understood, and perhaps even forgiven, but carrying that defensive attitude into adulthood just doesn't work.

We have been emotionally hijacked in this proceeding. No matter how hard we try to be fair and open to all information we receive, we all have an emotional response--to Dr. Ford's wrenching testimony, to Judge Kavanaugh's heated denials, to the accounts we see and hear and read in magazines, on TV, and in the newspapers--even on Saturday Night Live. Heart and head are under assault. Deciding which to listen to is no easy task. Perhaps we should just set this aside and start anew.

But that is no longer an option. Kavanagh has been confirmed and we will just have to live with that fact. I disagree with that confirmation. I care, deeply, about what I think was a colossal mistake, but have no authority in the matter except for the most indirect influence: my ability to vote for or against those who made this decision.  I intend to exercise that right, and I pray daily for a return to normalcy, a return to balance--and the continued good health of Ruth Bader Ginsberg and her liberal colleagues on the court. We cannot survive another Trump justice.

Bread

I'm baking bread this morning. Our daughter is coming this evening to attend her cousin's wedding on Saturday. Such a thing is possible in our world of limited families. I had over 40 first cousins--on my mother's side alone!--and the thought of attending each wedding, or buying a gift for each of them, boggled the mind. So we mostly ignored, and were ignored by those who even bothered to issue invitations. But our current extended family has only six first cousins, and they are invited and attend most family gatherings.

But I digress. Cinnamon bread. A recipe that dates back to the earliest years of our marriage..close to forty-five years. And every time I make it, I thank heaven for my fearless mother, who taught us (if only by example) to be fearless, as well. Long before it was trendy, my mom showed us that we could do anything (even though we were girls!) The story I always relate is that of my mom, after my dad left for his night shift job, knocking down a wall between the living room and dining room because (again, long before it was popular) she wanted an open floorplan. She didn't need anyone to do it for her--she could swing a hammer as well as anyone else. (Of course, I suppose, the ceiling could have fallen in, had it been a load-bearing wall, but maybe she had already figured that out..)

I don't remember ever being taught how to make bread. My mom's general process was to shoo us out of the kitchen, unless she needed someone to clean up or to keep an eye on something on the stove or in the oven. We were the scullery maids to her Mrs. Patmore. More important, however, than direct instruction was the notion she imparted that we could do it. I have never hesitated to tackle a recipe, no matter how complex (except maybe cassoulet, where the recipe began, "Three days before serving, kill the duck..") I am pretty confident that I can figure things out, even if I get stuck in the middle. And that attitude has spilled over into all areas of my life. Enter an essay contest? Sure, why not? Give a speech? What could go wrong with that? Major in chemistry? Go to grad school? Marry and move to California? Challenges all, but not insurmountable. My mom would have done it. She would have at least tried.

So I am here, kneading dough for who knows how many times in my life, wondering about all the people I know (good cooks all) who say they can't do bread, about all the people I know who say they "can't", who never even try. My dough is a smooth, round ball, being rolled into a bowl for rising. The filling is ready and by noon, I will have a couple loaves, warm and smelling like heaven, on my cooling rack. And in my head, I can hear my mom say, "So? What's next?"