Vicki Lane's Blog, page 46

Salade 'Week-End'

                                                                          

Yesterday I was still a little hung-over from the excitement of the convention and the unusual for me late night. 
After cleaning and reorganizing the refrigerator--a terrible smell caused by a hidden plastic bag full of the liquid remains of a forgotten squash made it necessary--I realized that there were some other veg on the edge and what I needed to do was make a salad for dinner.
I had a good start with a simple potato salad I'd made the day before with some extra boiled potatoes--just added a bit of mayo, dill weed, and chopped celery and onion.
A bed of Romaine lettuce, the potato salad, tomato wedges, sliced cucumber, ditto onion, leftover cooked green beans, a little salt, a drizzle of olive oil and white balsamic vinegar and the fancy touch of a handful of shrimp, sauteed in a little butter and Sriracha sauce came together to make this not-quite Salade Nicoise.
Some ciabattas toasted with garlic butter and a glass of white wine made for a rather elegant summer supper.
And now for an early night.

I Saw America Last Night . . .

                                                                            

                                                                             

     

 I saw America last night . . . 

A rainbow of people . . .

Ordinary, extraordinary people . . .

United in purpose, in joy, in love.

As it should be . . .

As it could be . . .

And, if we do the work,

As it will be.

One of the New Neighbors

What a sweet face! Still makes me say Aye, law! though.
                                                                                 

Blue Moon --Tuesday and Monday

                                                                                    

Monday night was cloudy and the moon was shy. Last night was clear, but she rose just behind a large poplar and took a while to show her splendor.   

                                                                        

                                                                                

                                                                                          
These last two are from Monday night.

 

A Little Political

It wasn't till Obama's first campaign that I really became interested in following political news. Even Watergate went by in a blur as I was dealing with a toddler. I'd always voted and voted Democrat--not particularly for the candidate but because it was my feeling that, on the whole, the Democrats were more interested in taking care of ordinary folks, as opposed to Republicans, kowtowing to the wealthy.

Obama was something different. I felt really invested in his candidacy and was delighted when he won two terms.

I was impressed with Hilary's intelligence and composure during her debate with the Orange man and bereft when she lost--not the popular vote but in the Electoral College.

Four years of the Orange One were, in my opinion, a national embarrassment. And worse was seeing how his crass and vulgar demeanor emboldened so many of my fellow citizens to give vent to their racism and misogyny.
Joe Biden served his country well these past three and a half years. And, unlike the Former Guy, he proved himself capable of putting his country and party ahead of his ego. 
And now we have Kamala--whose vision and happy energy have brought forth a surge of support.
Yeah, I'm deep in the daily reports--as well as the odd stuff that washes up on Facebook (my only social media.) 
And I watch in amazement as the MAGA crowd decorate their ears with sanitary pads, wear adult diapers over their clothes, and wave plastic cups purporting to be filled with JD Vance's semen.
WTAF?
As John said, If this were a novel you were writing, you'd dismiss most of this as too far-fetched. 
True.
I only wish I could read the history of this time, say fifty years from now. Assuming, of course, that propaganda hasn't replaced history by then.
Interesting times. . .
                                                                                          

Promethea

This pretty thing is a Promethea Silk Moth (I think.) I found it on our hearth hidden behind some of Josie's books, and carried it outside, pausing to grab my camera.

How and when it got in, I do not know. The caterpillars are said to feed on apple trees, and we do have an apple tree just behind the house. It looked unharmed and I watched it flutter off. I hope it finds a mate.

For moths, like the worldview of a certain VP candidate, reproduction is everything.

 

Wait for It

                                                                                   

 

All Around

Dancing in the light

Lost another tooth                                                                                       
Let there always be geraniums

                                                     And long-leggity girls

Pensive pibble

Oh, so welcome volunteers--morning glory, autumn clematis (maiden's bower), and hollyhocks.


 

Speaking as a Post-Menopausal Tradwife . . .

                                                                         

 With the latest (the latest as I write this, no doubt there'll be more) revelation of JD Vance's deeply weird world view--i.e., that post-menopausal women's primary function is childcare, I find myself in a bit of a quandary.

I mean, here I am, happily providing a significant amount of childcare, while at the same time deploring the view that it's my only worth.

I disagree strongly with this view. Post menopause, I wrote and saw published seven novels and taught writing classes for many years. This was pre-childcare. Now I'm retired from the writing game and enjoying seeing the world through the eyes of my granddaughter.

Then I realize that for most of my life, I've also been a stay-at-home mom and housewife--a tradwife, as some would call it. Yikes! (Except for nine years spent as a teacher. According to the Orange One, that's not a job in the private sector and makes me almost a Communist. Oh, but wait, eight of those years were in private schools . . .it's complicated, isn't it?)

There's something disturbing about a party that is so up in everyone's business--worried about restrooms and life choices and books and religion--a party that was once all about personal freedom from government.

I'm with the Harris/Walz team--Mind Your Own Damn Business. 

As for the view that women belong at home, making and caring for children--there's nothing wrong with that IF IT'S YOUR CHOICE. 

But I choose a world where folks like Nancy Pelosi and Kamala Harris--or Mary Oliver or Taylor Swift or Jane Goodall-- aren't defined by the number of children they birth or care for, but by what they choose to do with their lives.

Memorable Moments

                                                    

                                               

Lying awake one night, I found myself remembering certain moments--all involving food and/or drink. Vivid memories, as I've always been probably overly fond of food and drink.

 There was the tall glass of a perfect vodka and tonic, the rim rubbed with lime and a generous slice of lime within. Back in the early Seventies, our friends Bob and Eleanor had invited us to dinner. We'd spent a hot summer day working on the house we were building on a lake outside Tampa. We showered and drove in to Tampa and our friends' place. The house was air conditioned; the meal was undoubtedly excellent as Eleanor was and is a fantastic cook; but it's that vodka and tonic that lingers in my memory. Respite!

 Another hot day memory-- late Fifties. Bahamas with my friend Lynn and her family. and the amazing jolt of an iced coca cola after hours of snorkeling--and I didn't even much like cola drinks.

July 1972--just home from the hospital with a new baby and recovering from a C-section. My mother-in-law appeared with a cold bowl of sliced mangoes. Absolute heaven! Bless you, Frances!

And then there's the cup of coffee that John brings me every morning and most evenings--the elixir of magic beans, made even more potent because someone else fixed it. 

Sometimes it's the simplest things that mean the most. Do you have any similar memories?