Judy Alter's Blog, page 3

Sunday evening supper and tears near the surface

 

One of my favorite pictures. 
John and I enjoying a happy time at his ranch.
Renee came for Sunday suppertonight, and we had a high old time talking about everything from Jacob’supcoming prom to osteopathic medicine. Sunday supper is a longstandingtradition in my family, the sense that it should be just a little bit better, alittle bit different from ordinary supper. When I was living at home and mybrother gone to college or the Navy, Mom rolled her tea cart into the livingroom, in front of the fireplace, and we had a casual, light supper—a souffle orcheese strata. Today, Sunday supper is still special—we try to have everyonehome and the menu is carefully chosen. Tonight Christian cooked an Asian beefand green bean stir fry, and, mixing cultures a bit, I fixed a Lebanese potatosalad. Christian didn’t think the two would go together but admitted tonightthey did complement each other

But tonight it was the Sundaysuppers of my children’s high school years that were much on my mind. My bigbrother, the patriarch of our family, died yesterday morning at the age ofninety-two. He was my last surviving blood relative and the man I knew all mylife would protect me. Everyone asks how I am, and the answer is “fine, butteary.” John and I have lived in close proximity probably more than not—as children,of course. He went to boarding school as a high school junior and was neverhome again, but in 1961, he declared I needed to get out on my own and took meoff to Kirksville, Missouri where he was studying osteopathic medicine and hiswife was working on a master’s in English. I too worked on that master’s. Thatmove set the course for my life, including marriage to an osteopathic studentand a doctorate in English. I moved to Texas in 1965, and he to Colorado in1966. In 1980, he moved to Fort Worth to join the faculty of the Texas Collegeof Osteopathic Medicine.

In the early 1980s, John and Ifound ourselves both single with six teen-agers between us. Sunday suppersbecame an institution. We gathered at my house each week, inviting stray peoplewe thought needed to join us—the parents of my goddaughter often, a good friendrecently divorced several times, the kids’ friends. I fed anywhere from ten to fifteenthose nights. Presence was required for the kids unless they had a jobobligation, which some did. John presided over the table, led us in grace, andceremoniously served the meal. Table manners were strictly monitored,  mostly by John, and I’m proud to say todayall six of those kids have great table manners.

I loved cooking those dinners.Mostly they were a success, though sometimes not. I remember a turkeyWellington recipe which I have long since lost to my regret, and I distinctlyremember one night I did a marinated butterflied leg of lamb (I must havethought I was a rich woman). Sometimes we had a turkey or a casserole orwhatever I chose. One night, when my office was working on a regional cookbook,I fixed a cornbread/hamburger casserole I’d found the recipe for. John took onebite, looked at me, and asked, “Sis, is the budget the problem?”

Probably though the kids mostremember the conversation. John went around the table, asking each personperhaps what they were grateful for or what they had done that week. No one wasallowed to shrug it off—you had to have a cogent, intelligent answer. Theclassic that everyone laughs about to this day is the time we were asked whatwe were grateful for. Megan had brought a new beau to dinner (in retrospect quitebrave of her) and the young man stood (his first mistake—none of the rest of usstood) and said, “I am grateful for Megan and her beauty.” The adults managedstraight faces, but the teens couldn’t handle it. To this day, everyone laughsabout this.

Today, Sunday dinner is servedaround the coffee table in my cottage, a far cry from that crowded, formaldining room on Winslow Avenue. But John will always be at my dinner table—and inmy heart. We had our differences, particularly political—how he grew up in astaunch FDR/Mayon Richard Daley household and turned out a conservative isbeyond me. But we learned, especially in our golden years, to put those asidein favor of our strong bond. We loved to talk, for instance, about the IndianaDunes where our family had a cottage or Chicago, about which these days I ammore nostalgic than he was.

John was sick, mostlybedridden for over a year, and our togetherness, such as it was, was always byphone—he lived south of Granbury on his ranch. We talked every few days, and Ialways ended the conversation with, “I love you.” It was hard for him, and he’dsay, “Back at ya.” So here’s back at you John!

Benji has a fan club

My brother John and his puppy
Benji is so grateful for allthe welcoming comments and praise for his good looks. He is especially gratefulto one anonymous fan who sent him a gift—wonderful health bar treats in a varietyof flavors and a chew toy he has not been parted with. I wish I had a name so Icould thank the donor, but I hope he or she reads this and knows how tickled wewere to receive this bounty and how grateful. Benji has found himself a specialplace in the yard, by a tree, where he hollowed out a hidey hole and stashedhis favorites, such as the most ragged rope chew thing you ever saw. Now thenew bacon-flavored bone is there too, after banging its way around the cottagewhile I napped. On the whole, Benji is really good about my naps—he puts himselfto bed in his crate.

The barking is getting somewhatbetter. At least, I think so though I may be grasping at straws. He spentperiods quietly outside today. I think that advice that he needs to get used tothe neighborhood is spot on. In his previous home, as good as they were to him,he did not spend much time outdoors. Now he’s outside every minute he can be,although he frequently comes to the door to check and see that I’m still inhere. If his barking gets to be too much, I simply bring him inside, and hetakes this with good grace, going immediately to his crate. But he will emergeto lie on the floor by my desk, and this evening, I could hear him and his bonein the bedroom. Knock on wood, but so far he has not bothered one thing heshouldn’t, and his food manners are good. He’s not a beggar.

I had a chance to test my ownfood manners last night when Carol Roark picked me up for dinner at the BlueSpire, the upscale dining area at Trinity Terrace, the high-rise retirementcommunity where so many of my friends live. It was one thing for Carol toinvite me, but another much bigger one for her to have to leave TT to pick me upand deliver me after dinner. And on top of that to wheel me in the transportchair because it is a very long walk from the front door to the elevator in thenewest tower which houses the Blue Spire. So I am most grateful. We had a deliciousdinner—veal piccata for me (Christian fixes chicken piccata frequently but Inever splurge and buy veal) and stroganoff for Carol. Beter yet, Carol and Ihad a good visit. We don’t have get a one-on-one visit—we are part of a groupof four who dine together. But last night, it was just us, and I got a slidetour of her recent trip to New Zealand (all those exotic birds and plants whosenames I can’t pronounce!) and she listened about Benji and the goings on of myfamily and even my cooking. A lovely evening.

Tonight, my heart is heavy. My92-year-old big brother is in the hospital—again! —and not doing well. He has always,since I was small, been my protector, and as we raised our children, he filledthe roll of patriarch with admirable grace—my kids and his know their tablemanners to this day! John and I have had our differences—politics! —but in thelast year plus, we have again become close, talking on the phone every four orfive days. And we have so many rich, good memories that they outweigh thedifferences in our views and sometimes our lifestyle. I am not rushing to hisbedside, because I think that would be extremely difficult for both of us—we arethe last of our family on the side of our mother, my father, and his father. Hiswife said she would she would ask what he wants, but I suspect he will tell menot to come. And so I wait on tenterhooks. Prayers for peace and acceptance arewelcomed.

Update on Benji, history repeats itself, and a kitchen surprise

Benji was a dream overnight—Jacobenticed him into the crate with a couple of small treats, and I never heardanother peep out of him until morning. I know he woke about six, but he waspatient until seven when I let him out and fed him. Then back inside, I grabbedan extra snooze, and he was quiet and good. This afternoon, even before Iheaded for a nap, he put himself in his crate and settled down for a longsleep. He’s responsive, enthusiastic about being loved and talked to, and easy.And he’s loving having almost constant access to the backyard, although when heis in the cottage, he now mostly lies by my desk while I work—yesterday hepaced. Just now, he put himself in his crate. I guess, like Soph, he considersit his safe spot.

But  yes, there’s a downside. He has the highest,shrillest bark ever—and he barks, as far as I can tell, for no reason. Christianasked why it bothers me, since Sophie was also inclined to bark—but she barkedat squirrels and was quiet for long periods outside. Benji barks every fewminutes, and I am hoarse from calling him to come inside—which he mostly doeshappily. I don’t want him barking incessantly and offending the neighbors. I’vehad long conversations with him about this, but they don’t appear to be taking.It’s still early in the game. Christian’s theory is that Benji has discoveredlots of new friends in the neighbors’ dogs and is talking to them.

AS I posted elsewhere, I wasappalled to read that state troopers in riot gear were called out to quell astudent protest at UT/Austin. For those of you my age and even a bit younger, I’msure that brings memories of the horror of the sixties and the Kent StateMassacre (actually 1970). Apparently it’s not just UT/Austin but there arestudent protests across the country. All on behalf of Gaza. I read somethingtoday that said, in effect, if you find yourself opposing the student protestsand siding with the establishment, you are on the wrong side of history—and thishas been true throughout history. I don’t know about such a sweeping statement,but I think it applies to the protests of the sixties and seventies and totoday.

I feel great sympathy and alot of connection to the Jewish people. I was once married to a Jewish man whois now deceased, but my children and I remain close to his family. I am notready to throw Israel to the wolves, but I wouldn’t mind tossing Netanyahu andsome of his cohorts in that direction. I think there’s a huge differencebetween Israelites and Netanyahu’s official policies. I think what they’ve doneto the people of Gaza is beyond horrifying. Yes, October 7 was a nightmare and Hamasmust be conquered—but at the cost of all those civilian Palestinian lives? Especiallythe children? Today I read of victims at two Gaza hospitals whose bodies werefound with their hands tied behind their backs. I suppose we aren’t sure ifHamas did that or the IDF. Supposedly Netanyahu said recently, “You will notteach us about morality.” But I think someone needs to. If those poor hostages,the few left alive, never come home, it will be because of Netanyahu’s scorchedearth policies. And we frequently read that many Israelis are as upset as weare.

My measured take on this: itis possible to grieve for both groups of people at the same time, and Americashould reconsider the extent of its longtime support of Israel until Israelchanges leadership. I thought this even before this war, when Israel was beinga bully and grabbing Palestinian land on the West Bank. Over the yearsPalestinian-occupied territory has shrunk to almost nothing, evoking in my mindsome sympathy for the Palestinian people. Now, what we see is awful. I don’tunderstand the politics of campus protests and the positions of various campus administrators,but my instinct is to listen to the students.

On a lighter note, I tried a SouthernLiving recipe for roast chicken Caesar salad tonight. First of all, I didn’tread carefully enough to realize I needed a bottle of commercial dressing as abase. Luckily, Jordan had one. Next I realized I didn’t have croutons, so everythingcame to a halt while I fished in the freezer for odds and ends of bread, let itdefrost, and made croutons. Then I realized the recipe called for liningromaine leaves on a sheet pan, brushing with oil, and broiling. A quick surveyindicated that Jordan and Christian both share my antipathy to charred lettuce.Now, finally, the chicken is coated with dressing and broiling—and Jordan saysit’s turning black. Ah, the suspense of dinner in the cottage! A PS I was quitesure this was not a keeper recipe: they both loved it! Go figure.

A mixed day, good and bad, andI’m tired. But like Robert Frost, I have miles to go.

Meet Benji

 

With great enthusiasm andunbounded energy, Benji has taken up residence on Park Place in Berkeley. Hethinks his person is Juju, but he’s not sure because then there are Jordan andChristian—and then those three high-school boys who came and rough-housed withhim this afternoon. And that woman who came for happy hour and loved on him alot. It’s a dog’s life, learning to go in and out of the flexible screen,running in the yard tossing his string toy for himself if no one else wasaround, even resting while Juju napped—though ever on the alert andoccasionally letting out an ear-piercing howl. Who needs to eat? Life here istoo exciting. He’s not sure about sleeping tonight, though Juju wants to put himin a crate, which is where he’s used too sleeping. Here are some pictures of hisfirst day. And the facts: Benji is a two-year-old border collie mix, black withbrown socks and white on his chest. He was rescued from a shelter as a pup, butnow his first family must move to an apartment and couldn’t take him with them.

PS from Juju: I am so grateful for the love and support I have gotten from my blog community during this emotional dog journey I have been on. You all are the best, and I love you.

An emotional evening

 

My appetizer dip.
There are layers of hummus and yogurt under all the veggies.
If my friend Subie reads this,she will assume it was an emotional evening because we apparently got our wirescrossed, and she and Phil did not appear for happy hour as anticipated. Toobad, because I made an extraordinary appetizer. And I was disappointed because Ihad new to share. So now I’ll share it with you.

Tomorrow morning a woman isbringing her dog, Benji, for a meet-and-greet. She and her family are movinginto an apartment and cannot take the dog, though I sense that she is pretty muchheartbroken about it. Benji is a border collie mix, on the small side (22 lbs.)which is good for us, He is two years old, crate-trained, house-trained, andapparently a low-key inside dog though he does need exercise. I called thismorning to interview her about the dog, and she turned the tables and asked melots of questions, beginning with had I ever had any animals? I surely could answerthat in the affirmative. The one thing she asked that impressed me was about aregular veterinarian, and I was able to give her the name and phone number ofthe clinic where I have been taking animals since the 1970s—I have the secondoldest record in their files, and the first is inactive.

I’m a bit anxious abouttomorrow’s meeting. As I said to the kids tonight, it’s a bit like getting married:did I make the right choice? Of course nothing is carved in stone, and I amfree to thank Mrs. Reed for bringing the dog and tell her no, thank you. And,truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets cold feet and cancels.Meantime, the Burtons and I drew up a list of questions and brought Sophie’scrate into the cottage. If Benji and I mesh, the next few days will be interesting.

An odd side note: whenChristian was a pre-teen, he was a child model and eventually starred in a TVseries that featured a dog named Benji. That dog, however, did not look anythinglike this one.

But even that was not the cruxof my emotional evening: Jordan and Christian took their kitten to the vet tohave his claws trimmed. While there, they collected Sophie’s ashes. I havenever before saved a dog’s ashes but always sent them to a pet cemetery. Jordan,however, is more sentimental—I guess that’s what you’d say. She has her father’sashes in the kitchen and threatened to put Sophie next to him if I didn’t wanther. On the other hand, my mother’s ashes are safely in a nearby cemetery. Ijust never thought of keeping ashes at home. So tonight they brought out a carefullythought-out package—papers with her paw print and nose print, a small framedpaw print, a lovely wood box with the ashes, and little vials of her hair. Itall absolutely undid me, and I began to cry. In fact, I’m tearing as I writethis, and if the kids hadn’t been here, I would have cried uncontrollably.

Christian said he thought itright that Sophie be here tomorrow when a potential new dog arrives. Be still,my heart. More tears.

In other, more cheerful news,my grandson Kegan loved the U. of Arkansas in his visit today and, as his momsaid, seems pretty much sold. It’s amazing how many kids with connections gothere. Turns out Kristi Griesbach, Lisa’s lifelong friend, has a nephew there, andJacob knows countless seniors who will enroll with him in the fall. And now itlooks like I will have two grandsons there.

Because Arkansas is not aprogressive state—how could it be with Sarah Huckabee at the helm?—I worryabout such things as a DEI initiative (probably missing) and other issues, likeabortion or support for Ukraine. I know college kids are pretty much obliviousto such matters, but then this is when their characters are shaped. My familywould tell me to hush, and so I will.

We will all be on handtomorrow (except Jacob who will be in school), and I’ll report. Meantime, sweetdreams!

Rain and company and dogs

 

Kegan (left) and Colin in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Kegan is visiting the University of Arkansas.
I love the angle of this picture--and the view.

Rain gauges all over the cityprobably varied, but I heard we got anywhere from three to five inches of rainyesterday. It was, to my delight, an all-day, rolling thunder kind of rain—sometimesfairly heavy, sometimes slower so that it would soak in. The sun never peekedat us, and sometimes it was as dark asevening. I wouldn’t want a steady diet, don’t think I could live in the PacificNorthwest, but occasionally, such a day is a welcome break. The wonderfulZenaida cleaned my cottage, I did some cooking, and had a great nap—rainy daysinspire naps! Yesterday, I outdid myself—my afternoon nap was followed by along evening nap, from nine to eleven. I then spent over an hour looking at dogpictures and went to bed at twelve-thirty. Had the best, soundest sleep inforever.

About five-thirty yesterday myfriend Katie made her way up the soggy driveway, reporting that traffic was amess, she was wearing her old clothes and no make-up, and she was wet. It’slovely to have friends who know they can come to your home without fussing overtheir appearance. I didn’t invite Katie to look at her and how she was dressed,but to talk to her and pick her mind. And pick I did the minute she walked in. She’sknowledgeable about plants so I thought she could tell me what my great yellowwildflowers are. She said she thought—wait a minute? Thought? She wasn’t certain?—they were cosmos. We looked at cosmos online, and it comes in many forms, so it’seasy to say that’s what I have. That’s my story from now on. I had alreadyidentified the coreopsis tucked in next to the taller cosmos.

Our talk was not limited togardening, though we did touch on composting—which her grandson is doing. Isaid I don’t care if we ever use my compost as fertilizer—I’m just glad not tobe throwing all those scraps into the trash and eventually the landfill. It’sremarkable to me how much composting is lessening my footprint on the earth. Speakingof fertilizer, though, I did read a neat hint today: when potting a new plant,put a raw egg on a small bed of dirt in the bottom of the pot. It will disintegrateand is wonderful fertilizer. Also save the water when you boil eggs—it’s richin calcium and good for your plants.

As usual, Katie and I caughtup on grandchildren and talked a lot about dogs and some about the Episcopalianchurch in Fort Worth—she is the assistant to the bishop. Katie is also anactivist, so we did discuss politics, especially local—there’s one onerousRepublican official whose ears should have been burning. Somehow, we missed thenews of the day which seems historic to me now: the bipartisan passage in theHouse of the three separate foreign aid bills. It’s almost like Speaker MikeJohnson, who had been castigated by many for refusing to bring such a bill tothe floor, pulled a rabbit out of a hat and became a magician. However he didit, my hat’s off to him, although I know we have vast political differences. Likemost of us, I was anxious to get supplies and help to Ukraine, though I have mydoubts about how much we should continue to support Israel, and I know littleof the Taiwanese situation, less about TikTok. I do know however that thebipartisan effort was significant and a resounding defeat for trump and his MAGAsupporters of Putin.

It being the weekend, I didcook: last night we had a combination of chopped chicken, mushrooms, greenonion, and cream cheese baked in crescent roll dough and served with a tossedsalad, with a store-bought blueberry pie for dessert—the latter was a suddenimpulse buy and now I’m left wondering what to do with all that pie. Tonight Imade a baked goat cheese dip—so rich and so good—when dear friend Betty and herdaughter, Dana, came for an early happy hour. Another joyous visit, this with alot of cooking talk, with Dana paying tribute to her mom for all she taughther. Later in the evening, Christian grilled his terrific hamburgers for us.Are we spoiled?

Much of my weekend has beendevoted to the study of dogs. Colin and Lisa went to meet the dog I thoughtsounded just right and reported that he was calm, sweet, easy with new people—allgood, but they sensed health problems. I texted the owners that if they metcertain conditions—a health certificate, long overdue neutering—I would takethe dog. I have not heard from them, so I guess that’s a no, and I am back tolooking at endless pictures of available dogs. Picked out a couple to callabout tomorrow. This dog business is a huge problem for me, and I want to settlewith a new companion. Patience is not my strong suit, and I do not like beingwithout a dog. For one thing, I’ve taken to setting my alarm system at night.

Another week, and I have muchI want to get done. I bet you do too. Sweet dreams.

All the news that fits to print—or is it?

 

Watching the nightly news onTV or reading your morning paper can be disheartening. The world, clearly, isin a mess. The former president’s outrageous behavior at his current federaltrial dominates the news, but Iran and Israel sniping at each other is a close second.I don’t understand why the media refer to Iran’s “unprecedented” attack on Israel.Didn’t Israel start it by taking out a consulate and killing several of Iran’sleading either diplomats or generals. That seems a bit of provocation to me. Andwhoever is at fault first, their conflict could escalate tensions in the MiddleEast. And then we read that famine is about to be declared in Gaza where halfthe citizens are in danger of starvation—where does starvation legally becomefamine? Is there some kind of line of statistic? Ukraine desperately needstangible support—including arms and ammunition—from  the US but the MAGA caucus in the House seemsto support Russia’s position in annexing Ukraine. They have voted againstseveral bipartisan foreign aid bills, and hotheads like MTG are calling for usto withdraw from NATO—shortsighted if not outright stupid. Speaker Mike Johnson’sposition is in jeopardy, but his removal could once again throw the House into confusion.So far they have accomplished less than any other House in any term.

Closer to home, some conservativestates continue to pass draconian anti-abortion laws and voter suppression measures.Inflation continues, but few will believe that it is not government-inspiredbut due to greedy corporations that are making extraordinary profits. Thedisaster clock, driven by climate change, continues to click dangerously close todoom for the earth, and yet many don’t believe that either. We are told that iftrump wins he November election, he will “Drill, baby, drill” and roll back allclimate regulations. The southern border continues to be a mess, with MAGA folkblaming the increase in crossings on Biden, who is supposedly rubbing his handswith glee (please note not all immigrants are illegal—most have legal statuspending asylum hearings—the only illegals are those that sneak across theborder instead of crossing at checkpoints). Yet the House refused to support abipartisan immigration reform bill.

Occasionally, the news is morepuzzling than frightening. I read that Russian hackers have attacked the watertower in Muleshoe, Texas. Muleshoe is a town of about 5,000 out near Lubbock.Why in heaven’s name would Russian hackers be interested in its water tower?Did their girls basketball team just win a championship? Is Muleshoe the homeof a hidden, secret spy group for the US.? Is there something special about thewater tower. I’m sorry for the discomfort to Muleshoe’s citizens, but thatalmost made me laugh aloud. Most of the news does not do that.

So how can anyone, with allthis and more, be an optimist? I can be and am. This morning I read a post byan author I know who said every morning she resolves to look for one occasionof joy in the world. As I look out my desk window, I look at those wonderfulyellow wildflowers I posted about yesterday. Now they are about to be hidden bythe oak leaf hydrangea growing tall and laden with blooms right by my window.Trite to begin with flowers, I know, but they truly do give me joy every time Ilook out the window at them.

But there are biggervictories: a panel of the 5th court of appeals has refused to liftan earlier court order that bars Texas from enforcing a ridiculous book lawthat would have required every vendor to check every page of every book for explicitlysexual images and references before selling to a school district—this wouldhave put many small vendors out of business, besides reinforcing our statesalready ridiculous book banning laws. A victory for reason.

A new federal order allows theBureau of Land Management to protect 4200 acres of tribal-owned land fromdrilling and mining for the next 50 years—a huge victory for conservation. Morecollege loans have been forgiven—not the principal but the outrageous interestrates which had people paying long after they repaid the principal. The economyis on track to best China’s economy for the first time in years, and unemploymenthas remained at a record-setting low for 50 years.

See? My wildflowers lookpretty good. And there’s reason for joy in the world. Now I’ve got anotherreason—leftover meatloaf and I’m going to go ea my supper. Please remember tolook for the joy in your life. It occurs to me that in focusing on national andinternational things, I have forgotten to mention the joy I get daily fromfamily and friends. Never discount that.

 

Wildflowers, grandsons, and Ann Lamott

 

From my desk, I can look outat these beautiful, wonderful wildflowers in full bloom. It makes me smile justto see their yellow brightness. Across the walk is another bunch, lower andcloser to the ground but every bit as bright. The yard guy didn’t remember whathe planted, so I’m waiting for a friend, knowledgeable about flowers, to cometell me what they are. My view is about to be obstructed just a bit by the oakleaf hydrangeas right by my window—they are flourishing and have grown tall,covered with about-to-be blooms. After the last few years when we had frigidwinters and blistering summers and nothing did well, seeing my garden in bloomis a real joy. Jordan has bought potted plants for the patio, and Christian haslined the deck with flowering plants—a bougainvillea that is trying hard tobreak out in blooms, a plant that had purple flowers until they opened full upand turned white, and a couple of smaller plants.

My dad was a gardener. When hebought the house I grew up in, he bought the lot next door, and that was hisgarden. Every weekend would find him, on his hands and knees in awful, grubbyclothes, working away. It was always beautiful. In pleasant evenings, we’d sitin the garden before supper, and he’d tell us about each plant. I didn’tinherit that gene. I’ve often felt deficient that I don’t get the calm,soothing healing from working in the garden that many do. But I love to havesomeone else to do the work, so I can enjoy it. In my defense, maybe thecooking and writing genes were my creative inheritance.

 My grandsons are on a roll.Jacob played in the last golf tournament of his senior year this week—and shota 70, his career best! And as my brother said, “Pretty damn good. I know lotsof seasoned golfers who’d love to shoot anywhere near that.” My youngestgrandson, Kegan  Kegan David

David, a junior in high school, made the National HonorSociety. And the oldest of the boys, Sawyer, will be off to Denver this fall tostudy music business—he is so very excited about that, and I am excited forhim. (Confession: he looked at both University of Denver and ColoradoUniversity/Denver, and I’m not sure now which he chose.) But he will be inDenver with us Uncle Jamie and his cousin Maddie. Good times coming. We haveyet to hear from Ford, the next to youngest, but he is an outstanding studentand will probably outshine them all. Sawyer Hudgeons
The three girls are doing fine, thank you,but it’s the boys who shine right now.

I’ve been reading Ann Lamott’snewest book, Somehow, and I am enthralled. If you don’t have it, pleaserush right out and get it. She has an uncanny ability to juxtapose the sublimeand the mundane and leave you laughing but also a bit wiser. She is, as mywriter friend Susan Albert says, reverent and cheeky at the same time. One ofthe things writers worry about—or should—is finding their own unique voice.Lamott has done it in spades.

While I was in the midst ofthe book, I watched two interviews with her. She is not at all pretentious. Infact my impression is that she’s bit unsure, a bit self-conscious. She assuredYoda and Jenna that she was not nervous, an indication that she expected shemight be. There are probably others, but she is the only Anglo woman I’ve everseen with dreadlocks. I kind of want to ask her how she does that. Her dress isequally individual, as though she put on whatever appealed to her that morningand never looked back. She is honest about her life—her hard-won sobriety, thejoy of her late-in-life marriage, the trials she went through with her son’saddiction, and most of all her rock-solid faith. This is not a woman who playsaround with the concept of God, mulling the meaning. She fully believes in God,prayer, the afterlife—and she is anxious to share that with all of us. I forone am a ready recipient of her words of belief.

She also doesn’t mince wordsand there is profanity scattered throughout the book. I remember many years agowhen a group in my church read, Bird by Bird, Lamott’s classichow-to-write book. One good church woman complained, “Could she just say itwithout all the profanity?” (I’m sure she meant the f-bomb.) It was hard for meto explain that no, she couldn’t. That vocabulary was part of her voice, partof who she is. IF the title, Bird by Bird, puzzles you, it came from heryoung brother’s assignment to write an essay on birds. He left it to the lastminute and then was predictably overwhelmed. “How can I do this?” he wailed.(I’m paraphrasing—it’s been a while since I read the book.) His father said,“Just take it bird by bird, son.” You can see where Lamott gets her writingskills.

Some lines I particularlylike: “Courage is fear that has said its prayers”; “I hate it when God does notagree with my particularly good ideas”; and, admitting that there are annoyingpeople in this world, she writes, “Jesus frequently had to lie down with a coldcompress on his head.” The image of Jesus taking to his bed with a compress isso hysterical—and yet so humanizing. I wish I had one-tenth of her skill, herquick mind. But meantime, I’ll keep letting her inspire me.

Odd inconveniences, a good dinner, and Omigosh! What are Republicans doing to poor Ukraine

 

This morning I woke to a gray,dull day that seemed to threaten rain at any moment. Stretching and lying inbed enjoying the moment, I thought a day of reading and napping sounded just perfect.Of course, that’s not what happened. Jordan and I were out the door at 9:15 fora doctor’s appointment for me. All is well, and I got a good report, includingpraise for doing all the things I should—vaccinations, mammograms, etc. But Iwill have to take a swallow test because I’ve been having difficulty swallowinglarge pills lately, pills that I’ve taken for years with no problem. My doctorexplained I would drink barium and they would x-ray it going down—yuck! It’sbeen over thirty years since I had to drink barium and I still havenot-so-pleasant memories. What struck this osteopathic child was that my doctordid not palpate my throat (he said if it were thyroid there’d be a big andvisible mass) and he didn’t look down my throat. He knew, without touching me,what the problem was—almost certainly not serious—and how to deal with it. ButI grew up in the old days when a doctor laid hands on. I guess, like manythings, I have to learn to adapt. He did come in physical contact to listen tohear and lungs and examine the healing lesion on my scalp.

When we left the doctor’soffice, the sun was peeking out, and the day ultimately turned out to bepretty. I meant to get someone to take pictures of my wildflowers but didn’tget it done. But we came home to no water—it’s not as though the whole blockwas cut off. It was just our house. Christian called the water department, andthey said it was probably a problem with our meter. They would have someone outto fix it today. Fortunately, I had leftovers in the fridge for lunch, but itwas a bit frustrating to leave the unrinsed decision in the sink. To saynothing of not flushing the toilet. My nap came in handy because when I wokeup, the water was back on. I don’t say this often, so here’s a cheer for theFort Worth Water Department.

Christian fixed chickenpiccata tonight following a Southern Living recipe and I made cheesegrits from the same source, plus we had the cucumber salad I made earlier inthe week. A really good dinner, if a bit lemony. After all these years, SouthernLiving is still my go-to.

Tonight I shared Dan Rather’sdaily column on my Facebook page. I hope you’ll take time to read it. Rather,whom I admire a great deal, points out that by stalling aid to UkraineRepublicans in the House are fulfilling Putin’s every wish. Ukraine, which hasalready suffered so badly in the name of democracy for all of us, is losingterritory (and men) in the eastern part of the country. MAGA Republicans don’tseem to get it through their thick heads that the freedom of Europe is a stake,and if Europe falls America is at best isolated, at the worst without tradepartners and vulnerable to miliary takeover. To me, it’s as simple as teachingmath to a first grader—two plus two equals Russia steamrolls across Europe.Marjorie Taylor Greene, the dimmest bulb in Congress, says Putin claims he wantsno more land, just Ukraine, and she believes him. I have a bridge in Arizona tosell her. As Rather says, men like Mike Johnson are playing politics withpeople’s lives. Is Johnson stalling because he’s afraid of losing his speakership?I cannot tell. It’s too late to hold his caucus together—that ship sailed longago. I suspect his motivation lies in his recent trips to Mar-a-Largo, and theidea that trump is pulling political strings to get back in the presidency, asthe cost of man’s lives on the battlefield, is so abhorrent I’m speechless. AndI can’t even begin to contemplate what would happen to poor Ukraine if trumpweaseled his way back into the Whie House.

Please do whatever you can—writeyour congressman, your senator, anyone who can put pressure on Johnson. Isuspect Democrats will swallow hard and support him because they simply don’twant the upheaval of having to choose another speaker, poor choice though heis. Without saying that, maybe reassure him. We’ve got to raise our voices andget the off dead center. It’s unconscionable.

Seems rather silly after thatto say, “Sweet Dreams,” but that’s my wish for you. And maybe positive thoughtsabout the world situation.

Monday all day long

 

This is one of those days whenI’m tempted to shrug it off with the explanation, “All work and no play makesJudy a dull girl.” I have nothing outstanding to report from my day—or maybe Ido—and the national news did not inspire me to comment. One report I read wasfull of minute by minute reports of jury selection in the trump trial—well, hohum! I’m waiting for something blockbuster to break loose, or maybe at leastfor Stormy Daniels’ testimony. And, mostly I guess, I’m waiting to see what thedecision will be. You hear so many things—some pundits say this is the mostconsequential of trump’s trials, and other say it will be impossibly hard toprove that he had felonious intent. I’m not holding my breath. It seems to methe American public is going to have to consider, when they vote, not thesecases and their many delays which may well stretch out beyond our Novemberelections. What they must consider is the no former American president has everstood trial for a felony nor ever been indicted on 91 counts. Meantime, I amreally tired of trump everywhere in the news.

Otherwise, the internationalnews is discouraging. Netanyahu is promising revenge on Iran where, if I’m notmistaken, he started the pissing war that is taking real human lives. I oncesaw a map that showed Israel’s geographic place in the vast Middle East—it isbut a tiny dot. You’d think Netanyahu would realize the precariousness of hisposition, but I suspect he’s gloating because Israel’s defense network was ableto deflect most of the attack, which of course is a good thing in terms oflives saved. That doesn’t mean they will always be able to do so. To me, theyare like David and Goliath—only this time I’m not so sure David hasrighteousness on his side. I weep for the people of Israel and for the peopleof Gaza. I don’t know much about it, but I like the name of a group that sendsme emails: Win without War.

And Mike Johnson has stillrefused to bring before the House a bill that would aid Ukraine and Gaza. He isso in thrall to trump that he does whatever the former, twice-impeachedpresident wants. And trump apparently wants revenge on Ukraine because Zelenskyrefused to support his attempt to smear Biden during the 2020 election campaignand also is in thrall to Putin because he admires blind power. What a chain of thralldomthey present. And how directly they violate the principles of Americandemocracy. As for Johnson, I am tired of pseudo-sanctimonious Christians. Thereis no question in my mind that the American people at large understand theimportance of supporting Ukraine and, despite our long ties to Israel, thehumanitarian need in Gaza.

One of the things I’veincreasingly come to believe is that compassion and empathy are always moreeffective than punishment. I believe with all my might it holds true for ourwhole correctional/penal system which needs a massive overhaul. It is true inour treatment of the homeless—countries and local communities which haveresponded with compassion and provided homes and stipends for the homeless haveseen that some large percentage go on to build productive lives. What do weaccomplish by criminalizing those who would feed them, kicking them out oftheir encampments but offering no alternative. It is true for immigrants—in communitieswhere they are welcomed, they become contributing members of society. “We haveto stop criminalizing poverty.” When we yank lunch programs from children whoare food-starved, we create a rebellious segment of society; feed them, andthey become contributing members of our society.

Okay, I’m wandering aroundtonight in philosophical fields, and I am much more at home with the concrete,with specific facts. So I will say today I went back to Irene in a GhostKitchen, wrote a blurb and copy for Amazon. Then, with perfect timing, Igot the beta reader’s comments. Lots for me to think about as I dig into yetanother trip through the manuscript but basically good comments. He thinks it’sa book that will work. So now I have a project, and that makes me happy. Watchfor a cover reveal soon!

Tonight my friend Mary V. camefor supper. I had grave doubts what I intended to feed her—the spinach dish Ididn’t make for my chef friend last week because I had no spinach. Now I hadspinach, saved from my kitchen fail with spinach and scrambled eggs. Not a goodstart. But I chopped the spinach, added more salt, sauteed in butter and meltedcream cheese—which made creamed spinach. I heated heirloom tomato slices, piledthe spinach on top of them, and topped with grated cheddar. Ran the whole thingunder the broiler—it was delicious. Mary brought grits; I added marinatedcheddar, just a few cubes each, and cucumber salad, and called it a hodgepodgedinner. Mary called it a success.

So I have a positive reader’sreport, with suggestions I understand and can see will make the book better,and I have served a good dinner. I think I’ll go to sleep with happy dreamstonight. But no dog news. I leave you with this quote from Ann Lamott: Courageis fear that has said its prayers.

Sleep tight, my friends.