Barbara Froman's Blog, page 4

Blood Money

By now you’re aware of the revelations made in Bob Woodward’s new book, Rage, based on 18 interviews with Donald Trump, and have probably heard the most damning excerpts from those interviews regarding COVID-19.

That Trump knew how deadly the virus was, and chose to lie about it, claim the virus would magically “disappear,” and that young people were “immune” to it, or that it was the Democrat’s new “hoax,” even as disease spread was filling hospitals to capacity and claiming lives, shoul...

Clichés

William Shakespeare

Griselda disappeared a couple of months ago.

Before setting off for subconscious terrain, she left a long letter on my desktop, beside a file of the novella I was writing, accusing me of suffering from a “Plague of clichés.”

I didn’t scoff, as I might have if anyone else had said it. Her list of grievances was too long, and too pointed. All I could do was sigh and groan.

“Perhaps,” she concluded, “you should take that statue of Shakespeare you’ve had since child...

It’s Time

Like many others, for four years I have sat aghast as the Republican party sold their souls to Donald Trump for no other reasons than doing so protected their seats and served their agendas.

As Trump’s lawlessness and reign of terror escalates, they continue to support him, even as he rallies his base of bigots to take arms and storm the streets, and intimidates the institutions that are supposed to guard our health and safety into authorizing the use of questionable treatments, and press...

2020

“…in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort….” (From The Republic, Plato)

It’s hard to avoid the irony—the titular year of perfect vision, the unraveling of once reliable norms, political structures, checks and balances, civility in all arenas, the losses of loved ones and heroes to injustice and disease.

And it’s equally hard to avoid the comparison—between that titular year of sudden perfect vision, and the years of blurring and disto...

Significance

It’s hot here, in the nineties. I haven’t yet turned on the air conditioning, but the window in my office is shut because there’s a wasp trapped between the screen and glass. At least, I think that’s where it is. It could be between the upturned blinds and screen, but I won’t check. I don’t even know if it is a wasp. I only know it buzzes, furiously at times, then not at all.

It’s not a fly. That’s a buzz I know well—lower in pitch than the mosquito hum that threatens in the dark during l...

Change

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Our sparrows did not return this year. Their little brown house is empty and still. Only the wind shakes it now.

Last year at this time they were busy caring for their young. She, flying off to find food, and he, standing guard outside, darting off when she returned.

I wonder about them, the generations they hatched and raised while we looked on. And I wonder about their offspring, all grown now, and where they have settled, if theyve found a shelter as secure as the one we provided for...

Why…

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The seats were metal then, cold even in summer. We didnt need a push, we didnt need a reasonwe swung, pumped our legs until the sun seemed close enough to singe, until our lungs swelled fat with breath.

The ground beneath us could have killed, but didntwe pumped and swung until it disappeared, until the iron chains we clung to wore patterns in our palms.

Circles, lines, and flecks of rust. No adults in sight, it was the two of us, dodging cars in search of freedom, flight.

Those times are...

Notice

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So, COVID-19.

Its enough to drive us out of our heads. I fully appreciate the need for hand sanitizer and soap and wipes and alcohol and hydrogen peroxide and pasta and rice and canned tuna and toilet tissue and and and

We need to stock up, the experts have said, and Ive taken them as seriously as everyone else who is freaked out by the virus, but.

Lately, against my own self-interest, Ive ventured out of my head in a way thats brought the number of seniors in my life into sharp focus, and...

Hats

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I wear them when it’s cold and when it’s blazing hot. Winter hats cover my ears and brow, and summer hats shield my eyes and keep my cheeks and nose from frying and blistering.

A fedora of my husband’s was made of a straw-like mesh. He thought it would keep his head cool and wore it to a picnic. When it left a uniform pattern of pinprick burns on his face, it went into the back of the closet for a while, then disappeared.

Some hats will protect you, and others will not.

But this is what I...

Holes in the Theory

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His rhythmic strikes,
and dawn’s harsh glare
arrive at once,
a shrill alarm.

Relentlessly,
he hammers,
plumbs,
exposing crumbs
of wood and grubs.

His point is clear:

how sharp of him
to make it so precisely,

at facade’s expense.

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