Category: Commentary

Sweet Home

Thank you to the people of Alabama. A special thanks to minority voters who stood up to voter suppression and waited in long lines to vote for and elect Doug Jones, the first Democrat to hold an Alabama senate seat in 25 years.

https://youtu.be/6SQjVtKEXTg

Now, a majority of white evangelical voters, including women, stuck with accused pedophile Roy Moore as their choice. I cannot understand their lack of decency in their choice, but then, these are the same folks who helped elect an admitted perpetrator of sexual assault to the White House. Party over country, don’t you know.

While I’ll never understand that mindset, I can still celebrate this win for Alabama and for all Americans. Congrats to Doug Jones and to all of us. What a great Christmas gift!

Peace, people.

Knit Wit

On Sunday afternoon I went to a Meetup group at a Tallahassee assisted living facility. Our group’s activity was to knit hats for cancer patients who’ve lost their hair due to chemotherapy treatments.

I haven’t knitted in years. As a kid I used to knit misshapen pot holders, but whatever dubious skills I once possessed have been lost forever.

Fortunately for me, the knitting done by members of the Meetup group is done using a loom similar to the one featured below.

After a couple of false starts I managed to knit several rows before Studly called wondering where I was.

“I’m knitting,” I told him.

“Does that make you a nitwit?” he quipped.

“No,” I said. “That happened when I married you.”

Occasionally I’m the one with a witty comeback in this relationship. Or in this case, a knit witty comeback. I enjoyed knitting so much that I bought a loom of my own to practice the art. Who knows what creations I’ll produce? I think I’ll start by trying to make a decent potholder.

Peace, people!

Quick Post

Read The Nightingale by Kristen Hannah.

I started it yesterday and finished it early this morning. Cried like a baby and never could go back to sleep.

In these days of Americans parading around as would-be Nazis and proudly proclaiming white supremacy we need books like The Nightingale to remind us of the horrors perpetrated by those who fought for Hitler’s Germany.

Never forget the atrocities.

For Your Sartorial Consideration

Since moving to the Tallahassee, Florida, area Studly Doright and I have had very little need for cold weather wear. I’ll dig my jacket out of the guest room closet every now and then, and both of us have hoodies we wear on cooler days, but for the most part we can just wear long sleeved shirts and jeans and be perfectly comfortable.

But we’ve had a cold front move into our neck of the woods just in time for Studly’s company Christmas party, and he wanted a new sweater for the event. Our search for the right garment took us to Beall’s department store. In Studly’s mind there’s no other place to shop for his clothing, and he can usually find something that suits him fairly quickly. Emphasis on quickly.

At this stage in our marriage I don’t even try to offer my advice. He’s going to buy whatever plain blue or red or green sweater he sees first, so I went looking for fun stuff. I didn’t have to look very far:

When Studly came to the checkout counter I led him over to these festive suits. “You could wear one of these to the party,” I told him.

“And you could wear that,” he said, pointing to this rack:

I told him I was game, but he backed out, so he’ll be wearing his plain red sweater tomorrow night. Bah. Humbug.

Peace, people.

Swimming With Beasts

A few nights ago I had a dream in which Studly Doright and I had taken our kids and grandkids on a trip to an indoor pool. The pool was huge, larger even than Olympic sized, but that wasn’t the oddest thing about it. As we walked around we realized that large animals were swimming with people in the pool.

There were lions and sharks, alligators and tigers swimming menacingly, seeming to stalk the humans who’d risked their necks to join in the activity. I was appalled, but everyone else in our family group began to jump in. My youngest granddaughter and her dad raced a cheetah to the side of the pool, narrowly missing becoming a snack for the feline.

I was pacing up and down urging everyone to get out of the pool before it was too late, but they all just pooh-poohed my concerns. A shrill blast from the lifeguard’s whistle signaled that it was time for a change in animals, so all of the humans were herded into cages while the pool was cleaned and the new animals emerged.

This time there were elephants and polar bears, llamas and giraffes in the pool. I found myself tempted to enter the water figuring it might be my only chance to swim with an elephant. Just before I took the plunge Studly Doright awakened me to lean over and kiss me goodbye before heading off to work.

“Whoa!” I mumbled. “I thought you were a polar bear.”

He didn’t bat an eye, responding, “That’s because I’m so chill.”

Peace, people.

Birthday Boy

Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandson, Garrett. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. We paced the halls and worried the hospital staff with endless questions. It seemed like you’d never arrive, and once you did, our lives were forever changed.

You’ve enriched our family in so many ways that I’ve lost count, and you’re the only kid I know who can consistently spell better than I can. Love you more today than the day before.

I can’t wait to see what your future holds.

Barely Related Ponderables

What wine pairs best with a white nightshirt?

A red blend of course. Somewhere between the table and my mouth my wine took a detour, landing in a splatter pattern on my chest.

I know I should have immediately applied Shout or some other brand name stain treatment, but I elected to wear it as is, pretending it’s a work of high end non-representational art.

For some reason this spillage caused me to ponder the music of Neil Young. I’ve been listening to Neil on my Alexa device quite a bit lately, and I have to wonder: Where are the Neil Youngs of today? Where are the singers who are raw and real, who wouldn’t have gotten past the audition stage of The Voice or American Idol, but who speak to the soul of the resistance?

Nowadays someone would try to clean Neil’s vocals up. They’d treat the stains and strains and commercialize the lyrics. Screw that. My nightshirt and Neil are gonna resist that shit.

Peace, people.

Here’s Neil’s Old Man. Enjoy.

https://g.co/kgs/xQedfy

A Drop in the Bucket

A Drop in the Bucket

by Leslie Noyes

One shard’s sharp clatter

Finally hitting bottom

Way down in the well

No splash forthcoming

Water dried up years ago

Does no good to cry

Keep shoveling dirt

Keep plowing those narrow rows

Keep harvesting naught

I grew up in the Texas panhandle, one of the areas hardest hit by the Dust Bowl. Although that was before my time, I heard many a tale from my grandparents about the dark days when the dirt blew non-stop, filling every nook and cranny and clogging lungs.

Several years ago, a book club I belonged to in Illinois, read the book, The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan. It’s a rather long book filled with firsthand accounts of the Dust Bowl Days, and while I don’t usually indulge in nonfiction, I found this book fascinating.

When the book club members met to discuss The Worst Hard Time I was excited to share my perspectives. One woman, a New Yorker transplanted to Illinois, couldn’t believe that people still live in the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles. I assured her that not only did people still live there, they thrived.

I highly recommend the book. If you read it, let me know what you think.

Peace, people.

Christmas Shopping Angst

Every January I pledge to begin my Christmas shopping in August, yet every December finds me scrambling to buy the perfect gifts for my grandchildren. I’m such a loser.

We’ve done the “something they want, something they need, something to wear, something to read” method of buying Christmas gifts for the grandchildren for the past few years, but I’ll be the first to admit that this system has its drawbacks.

For one thing, I’m woefully out of touch with the current styles. I’m happy wearing flip flops and capris every day. Why shouldn’t the grandkids be satisfied with the same attire? Sure, it’s 32° in Illinois, where three of the kids live, but maybe they should toughen up a bit.

And what if the line between a want and a need is blurry? Maybe they WANT new shoes, but they also NEED them. Then what?

I’ve already bought each of the five grands two books each whether they want them or not. I like books, so by golly, they’re getting books.

Two of the girls are easy to buy for. One is into American Girl dolls while the other likes Disney princesses. The other three kids, though, are nearly impossible to shop for. They don’t want clothes or toys. I’m thinking lumps of coal might be an option.

I’ve texted their parents, a.k.a. my children, to press the kids into declaring their wants and/or needs. Hopefully they’ll torture the kids into coming up with some affordable ideas. I know one of them wants a horse, but that’s not happening. Can’t we all just get along?

Peace, people.

Hostess with the Leastest

I used to fantasize endlessly about being the perfect hostess for a holiday soirée. As a young bride I immersed myself in the Christmas catalogs from major retailers like JC Penney, Sears, and Spiegel, picturing myself in the ideal hostess gown, serving cute petit fours from a silver tray, while guests milled about my tastefully decorated home with crystal tumblers filled with tasteful cocktails in their hands.

Indeed, I hadn’t a clue about hosting any kind of elegant gathering. My knowledge of the social graces was limited to what I’d watched on the silver screen: Extended pinkie, napkin on lap. Besides, Studly Doright and I had barely two cents to rub together, and the resources we did have would certainly not have been spent on something as frivolous as a party. But I did a lot of dreaming.

The Hickory Farms catalog was an important part of the fantasy, as well. I received one in the mail today, and that triggered this post.

As a terrible cook, I reasoned that all I’d need to do to insure a picture perfect party was to order the right combination of sausages, cheeses, and spreads from Hickory Farms in order to impress my guests.

Everything they offer looks so festive.

Now that I’m much older and can afford to throw a really elegant event I find I don’t want to; although, part of me still wants to order from Hickory Farms and wear a vintage hostess dress. May I interest you in some hors d’oeuvres?

Am I the only one who did this kind of thing? Please tell me I’m not alone.

Peace, people.