WWW.WEDNESDAY

 

WWW. WEDNESDAY asks three questions to prompt you to speak bookishly. To participate, and to see how other book lovers responded, click here. 

PS I no longer participate in WWW.WEDNESDAY via that link because her blog won't accept Blogger comments. I mention this only to save you the frustration I experienced trying to link up.

1. What are you currently reading? Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham by MC Beaton. My girl Agatha begins this story at loose ends. Her neighbor (and great love) James Lacey has left town on an extended vacation didn't even bother to say goodbye. She's bored and anxious in her little Cottswold cottage and believes a change of scenery will help. She recalled that a fortune teller told her that her future and true loves lies in Norfolk, so she decides to pack up the cats and spend autumn about 3 hours away in Norfolk.

 

She lands in Fryham. It's an odd little town. Very insular. Everyone knows everyone else, so she sticks out like a sore thumb. Weird shit starts happening – items disappear from her rented cottage while unidentified lights flicker in her backyard. None of her new neighbors seem willing to weigh in on, or even acknowledge, these occurrences. No one has gotten dead yet, but it's only a matter of pages, I'm sure.

 

I enjoy Agatha because she is a lot like me – short tempered, cynical, yet romantic. If I had more money, I'd love to spend my retirement like she's spending hers – taking off on short trips and having adventures. (Though I really don't think I'd like to run into dead bodies everywhere I go.) 

2. What did you recently finish reading? JFK Jr.: An Intimate Oral Biography by RoseMarie Terenzio and Liz McNeil. John's friends and coworkers remember his life and their relationships.They paint a three-dimensional picture of a complex man. He was impatient and impulsive but driven and self-aware. He was very loyal and kept friends throughout his life, and the vast majority of them were neither wealthy nor celebrities. He suffered three major traumas by the age of 14 – he lost his father, his uncle and his stepfather – and was forced to mourn in public each time. The psychic toll, plus the price of fame and the weight of carrying his father's name, may have contributed to his recklessness. It also imbued him with empathy. I liked him. (Even though his taste in music left me cold.)

This book found me at the right time. It ends with the people who loved him recounting their reaction to his death in real time, and how they've dealt with the aftermath. It was strangely comforting to read of their fury, even 25 years later. The tragic, unvarnished truth is that his bad judgement killed him, his wife and her sister. 

In 2024 I lost my friends Henry and John. Henry got drunk and rode his bike through a red light and into the side of a van. John knew he was ill and refused to see a doctor until it was too late. I loved them both so very much and am so very mad at them for leaving me when I still need them. When they didn't have to! Reading the passages from John's friends was cathartic. I was heartened by something a priest said to Ann Freeman, mother of both Carolyn and Lauren Bessette: "God is big enough to handle our anger." I will carry that in my heart.

3. What will you read next?

 

  

 

I am a lucky gal

When I heard the news during tonight's game, I cried. The emotions stirred by Ryne Sandberg's death were powerful, but not all bad.

I was fortunate to see him play. He was so good, so reliable I took him for granted. MVP, 10-time All Star, Hall of Famer. 

What's more, my favorite grandmother loooved Ryne Sandberg. He was not only her favorite Cub, he was one of her favorite people on the planet. I enjoyed watching baseball with her and when she would get started on her Ryno, I'd tease her. "You like me, but you love him." OR "If Ryno and I were both drowning and you could only save one of us, I'd be dead, wouldn't I?" How she'd laugh. "Oh, Gal!" she'd say. "But that's not a denial, Grandma." She'd laugh some more.

I love this memory. I love thinking of Grandma finally getting to meet her Ryno in heaven. And yes, I am certain both my Grandma and Ryno are in heaven. I know that just like I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

I am a Cub fan. I am a Christian. I am lucky that I have things in my life I love this much, even if they make me cry once in a while.  

 

Mothers and sons

I'm going to begin this post with a disclaimer: I had a fractious relationship with my father. He thought I was, in the vernacular of the time, "a bleeding heart liberal," unfeminine and uninclined to accept what he felt was "the natural order of things." Meaning that blacks and women should "wait" for equal rights and not question the white patriarchy. Because I so comfortably toss the word "fuck" around, he used to cluck that it was "sad" I had to "advertise" my "poor vocabulary." Toward the end of my father's life, when his career had crashed on the shoals, I helped my parents out financially. I am proud to say I never once said, "Your homeowner's insurance, gas and electricity come to you courtesy of my career as a writer and my poor vocabulary." (I'm not a saint; I was tempted. But I didn't do it. Perhaps because, at our core, bleeding heart liberals are compassionate.)

Why this preamble? Because I'm about to write about a phenomenon I see all around me and don't understand: Sons who have cut contact with their mothers. 

1) My oldest sister and her son. Patty has two kids with her first husband. Brent, the first grandchild on either side of the family, was treated as something glorious and retained his halo, even into adulthood. Patty and her husband had a very angry divorce and her ex was out of the picture. Brent struggled mightily in school. College was out of the question and he couldn't keep a job. Patty told him he had to enlist in the military. He made a career for himself in the Navy and this gave him the confidence to say "aloha" to his mother. He moved to Oregon with his new wife and doesn't visit, doesn't return phone calls. He has a daughter Patty hasn't seen. I don't know exactly what Patty did that he deems so monstrous. I don't get along with her either, so I don't judge. I'm just reporting it.

2) Kathy and Rick. My friend Kathy worshipped Rick. She referred to his blond locks as "a wheat field." She excused every instance of his bad behavior, even as he caused her grief. I recall her agony when he was suspended for going to school with a knife strapped to his calf. "Why does he have to do that to express himself?" I always thought Rick was an ass, but that's because when he was in his teens I was in my mid-20s and he'd flirt with me. I mean really, how many of your parents' friends did you hit on? Anyway, Kathy also had a daughter. When Kathy hit hard times financially, it was her daughter and son-in-law who (reluctantly) took her in. This is where the story gets complicated. Kathy's son-in-law and son became business partners. When the business fell apart, Kathy sided with her son-in-law because she had to. After all, he was providing the roof over her head. Rick felt betrayed and hasn't spoken to his mother or sister since. He lives within a half hour of his mother, now 78, and likely isn't aware that she's disappearing into dementia. I think this is tragic. 

3) My aunt and my cousin. This is the one I know the most about because I've worked hard to stay out of it. Back in the summer of 2016, when most of my family was consumed with Cub Fever (we were en route to our first World Series championship in 108 years), my aunt/godmother was bit by the MAGA bug. That summer she and her husband went on a family vacation – Friday to Monday – with my cousin, his wife and their two kids (one finishing high school, the other just returned from college). The first night, she just couldn't resist being Trumpy. Her grandchildren were shocked to learn that Oma was, in their words, "a racist homophobe." The vacation was over by dinnertime Saturday. When the grandson got married two summers later, they invited her to the wedding – all the while hoping she wouldn't make the trip. But she did, and it did not go well. They felt she was unnecessarily provocative, she felt unwelcome and deeply hurt. 

My cousin has told me how desperately disillusioned he is with his mother and her hypocrisy. After all, she's the one who made him go to Sunday School, the one who insisted he follow Christ, and she spews nothing but intolerance and grievance. I get it, of course. But while he, his wife and kids have ended communication with her, I just sent her a pair of books for her birthday and Mother's Day (she's my godmother). Donald Trump has cost us all so much already. Our humanity, our dignity, the separation of powers, and now our retirement savings. I refuse to let him take my aunt away from me. She's one of two people left on the planet who held me as a baby. I know she is confused and hurt and misses her son, but she has learned nothing from this and still occasionally goes MAGA on my ass. It's like an addiction she can't control. 

4) My oldest friend and her son. She got pregnant the first time when she didn't think she could and consequently always thought of her son as "a miracle." "The most beautiful baby ever." Her daughter, born eight years later, was planned but somehow not so miraculous. She and her husband divorced when the boy was in junior high. She relied on her son too much. I told her so. He wasn't ready to be "the man of the house." He had his own anger/anxiety issues and needed a mother, not another responsibility. However I know she was doing the best she could and I am not judging. I just see it from his point of view, too. Anyway, long story short, he got married and moved to Philadelphia and is completely unavailable to his mother. He hasn't spoken to her since Christmas, even though he knows she's been in and out of the ER and the hospital since February. When his sister texts him for help, his responses are short and dismissive: "5150 her" and "Told you so." If he doesn't reach out to her this Sunday for Mother's Day, my oldest friend will be so hurt. I hope he surprises me and calls or at least texts her, but I doubt that will happen.

Back to me and my dad. No one has ever made me angrier. I can recall him literally making my knees go weak in rage. I regularly felt misunderstood and confused. Someone who was supposed to love me undermined me instead of supporting me. And yet, there was never a birthday or Father's Day that my dad didn't get a card from me. I didn't always sign them, "With love," but they arrived on time. I showed up for every (awkward) Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. When he needed financial help, I opened my checkbook. To be honest, that was more to help my mother. Still, as I said before, I'm proud that I allowed my father to retain his dignity even as I rescued him. As he lie dying in the hospital, I showed up to say goodbye and called him "Daddy."

So I don't understand these mothers and sons and their estrangements. I just don't. I do understand the hurt on both sides. I also appreciate that some relationships are so toxic and emotionally expensive you simply have to walk away. But in my life, that has applied to lovers and my older sister, Patty. I can't imagine amputating my parents. 

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Thursday Thirteen #409

The worrisome edition. I'm a worrier. It's my go-to. I want everyone in my sphere – pets, friends, family, ballplayers, you name it – to be happy and well and when I can't fix what's bothering them, I fixate. I also want projects to go well and feel achingly responsible when they don't, which is why I'm grateful for my job at the card shop. When I leave at the end of my shift, there's really nothing for me to worry about.

 

I'm not alone in this worrying thing. According to Forbes magazine, anxiety disorders are the most commonly treated mental health condition in the US today. So, what are we all worrying about? I tooled around the web and here's what I found. (My personal demons italicized.)

1. Job and/for financial security. (Which is why anyone who applauds a billionaire taking a chainsaw to people's jobs and emotional/fiscal well being is an asshole.)

2. Health concerns.

3. Death.

4. Romantic relationships.

5. Parents worried about children.

6. Social situations.

7. Environmental concerns/global warning.

8. Travel. (I love being on vacation, but going to/from is a torment.)

9. Adult children worried about parents.

10. Fear of failure. (In my previous life, I handled big budgets and I worried about disappointing my client or, by failing, putting my team at risk.)

11. Aging. (My friend Kathy's age-related mental decline has scared the shit out of me.)

12. Concern over the state of the nation. (Me? I'm a fan of Madisonian Democracy, so I see Donald Trump as a threat.)

13.  Technological privacy.

There are those who advise, "Let go and let God." Yeah, but it doesn't work that way. I believe God gives us our lives, His unfailing love and the promise of Eternal Life, but what we do here on earth is on us. I don't believe that God will make sure the mechanic does a good job on the plane before I board any more than He will help when the bases are loaded and there are two outs in the bottom of the 9th. (And if He were to help, would He intervene on the batter's behalf or the pitcher's?) When I pray, it's for strength and wisdom, not an outcome.

What about you? What keeps you up, and why?

Please join us for THURSDAY THIRTEEN. Click here to play along, and to see other interesting compilations of 13 things.

I'm verklempt

Part of why the pregnant girl chose my niece and her husband to adopt her baby is LGBTQ rights. Apparently she and her boyfriend both have gay relatives and want to be sure that if their baby turns out to be homosexual, she will be raised in a loving, accepting environment.

It's a sign of how comfortable we've become with homophobia that this is a concern of a young girl looking do right for her unborn child. I mean, it's easy to laugh at the hysterical MAGA attack on DEI extending to the Enola Gay, but when you think it through, it's not funny. Trump supporters seem to embrace the idea that gay pride should not be celebrated. Many wrap themselves in my Christian faith, which not only offends me personally, it's unconstitutional, since we are supposed to have a secular government. It's sad and worrying for young people trying to find acceptance in our society.

Which is why I'm so grateful – again and always – that God brought Henry into my life. Henry was not only an out-and-proud gay man, he was all about love and empathy. My niece never knew a time without Henry as a positive role model in her life. Example: During the summer between second and third grade, she had a growth spurt. When she returned to school, she was a head taller than her tallest classmate. She felt like a giantess. She compensated by insisting on wearing only dresses -- the frillier the better -- never slacks because dresses were what she needed to feel pretty. The battles between my little niece and her mother were fucking epic. I shared this Henry. He promptly got on his bike and rode across the island to the Lilly Pulitzer outlet store. He reasoned -- correctly, of course -- that none of her midwestern classmates would be wearing resortwear for back-to-school. She felt beautiful and proud in her lilac and pink floral dresses from faraway Key West. My niece is now over 30 and can still describe those dresses in detail. 

I know that, when the birth parents questioned my niece and her husband about their LGBTQ attitudes, Henry was not far from my niece's mind. So Henry is helping to deliver the baby they want into their family. I believe that where he is, he knows this, and he's smiling.

Henry may be gone, but his love and lessons are ours forever.

 

 

Me and Kate and Amy and Jamie and Joan

 

Apparently we're all actors and will be receiving big checks for our actions of April 5. While I stayed local, I'm very excited because my minister led a group of 27 downtown to the rally at the Daley Center. All that money pouring into our congregation!

But seriously, folks ... posts like this, where he shamelessly lies to his supporters, only make me more proud to be part of the resistance.

 

 

I'd Rather Be Lonely Alone

The Oscars were difficult for me this year. Not because the show wasn't good. It started early and, at least in my humble opinion, didn't drag. But the traditional telecast made me miss my departed friends, Henry and John.

How Henry would have loved Conclave! He was raised in the Catholic Church and proud that he was educated by Jesuits. Henry did indeed find God in all things, and it wounded him desperately that, as a gay man, he was precluded from the pageantry and music he dearly loved. I worshiped with him at his Key West church, MCC, and teased him it was like sharing a pew with a Kardashian because everyone knew him. Even though his fellow congregants came island casual, Henry always chose his church clothes with care. He would literally take my hand when it was time for communion. My church doesn't offer it so it's not a big deal to me. But oh! Communion meant so much to him and he wanted me to take the sacrament because he loved me. So I would have loved to discussing Conclave with him, asking him specifically about Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci) and Cardinal Benitez of Kabul. I would have loved to have watched his face as he took in the red robes, black habits and white umbrellas. Back in 2016 he told me that seeing Pablo Larrain's Jackie with me made it better. I know what he meant. I miss him so.

I swear I could hear John complaining during the Oscars. During the tribute to Quincy Jones, Queen Latifah sang "Ease on Down the Road." HELL NO, he would say. His goddess, Diana Ross, performed the song in The Wiz. She also worked with Jones on "We Are the World," and she was an Oscar nominee herself. We often discussed how the entertainment world doesn't give Miss Ross the credit she deserves. The Grammys got it right when they had her close the show. It brought John such joy to see her in sequins and a big, big weave. So here she is in Grammy glory. This is for you, Buddy.

I loved these men so. I belong to a movie group and didn't need to watch the Oscars alone. But if even if I had gone to a viewing party, I still would have been lonely and I find it's easier to be lonely all alone.

 

Thursday Thirteen #398

The "joyful heart" edition. I'm working on my taxes, which is not the most fun I'm going to have this month. But I do enjoy this part: Reviewing my charitable giving. Every one of this contributions brought me joy. Giving grounds me and presents an opportunity to live my faith. Remember what we learned in Sunday School? "God loves a cheerful giver." 

So, without further ado, here are the 13 charities I donated to the most and most often during 2024. I've included links, if you're interested in giving.

1. My church

2. The local food pantry. To find a food pantry in your community, click here.

3. Harmony House for Cats. Chicagoland has many shelters, but for some reason this one doesn't get a lot of local buzz. That's why I've singled them out for attention and dollars.

4. Doctors without Borders. I'm grateful for this monthly donation because it stops me from being reactive. When I see a tragedy on foreign shores and I want to reach for my wallet, I pause and say to myself: DWB is there, so you've already helped.

5. Feeding America. While I prioritize my neighbors and neighborhood, I don't ignore the rest of the country.

6. Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation. My favorite ballplayer is my hero. Anthony Rizzo is always giving back and his joy is undeniable. One baseball fan said he's so happy, she suspects "Anthony Rizzo is really a golden retriever turned into a man by a good witch."

7. Greenpeace. I like thinking that I've helped leave a better world for the next generation.

8. Hephzibah Children's Association. Provides foster care and daycare for families in need.

9. Marine Toys for Tots. This one is my penance. I worked in advertising for 43 years, which means I did my part in commercializing Christmas and teaching wee ones to expect glorious stuff from Santa. What about kids whose parents can't afford stuff?

10. Fried's Cat Shelter. I do this in my uncle's memory. He was a cat lover and more than that, deeply touched by the Frieds' story. This Indiana shelter was started by Hans and Lucille Fried, Jews who fled the Nazis and ended up here in the Midwest. When they retired, they sold their home and bought a roadside motel, turning it into a no-kill shelter. It was Hans' way of giving back, and often said, "To save a life is more in conformity with God's law than to kill." Between the cats, the Frieds, and my favorite uncle, how could helping them not bring me joy?

11. The Night Ministry. The homeless are my neighbors. I want to help, but I often don't know how. The Night Ministry provides food, health care and human connection.

12. Metropolitan Community Church of Key West. This was Henry's church. I worshiped there with him many times. How he loved his spiritual home! He died this past year and I felt it keenly that he didn't have a formal service. So I did this, and it brought me comfort.

13. World Wildlife Fund. I do this in my mom's memory. Penguins, seals, elephants ... she worried that her not-yet-born great grandchildren wouldn't get to see those wonderful creatures and every Christmas she donated $10 to WWF. That $10 was a big deal to her. I like to think of how proud she'd be that I'm trying to expand on her good works.

Lest you think I'm a wealthy philanthropist ... I see a receipt here for $3 donated to Petco's animal organization. Yes, I'm deducting it.

Please join us for THURSDAY THIRTEEN. Click here to play along, and to see other interesting compilations of 13 things.

 

A Sign of the Times

This was taped to the door of the administrative office of my church. My. Church. Is this what half the country voted for? For the most vulnerable among us to be frightened in a house of worship?

I haven't seen a dip in the cost of eggs. I've heard drivers whine about gas prices. There is no peace treaty between Russia and Ukraine. Those are things the new President promised "on day one" and they haven't happened. But he has made cruelty a priority during his first week.

That's a reflection of my elbow under the sign. I'll never forget how shocked I was when I saw this sign at my church.

My church.

Why aren't the uber Christians who support MAGA ashamed? Didn't they learn this in Sunday School: "Treat the least among us as you treat me?"

But I'm proud of my community and my congregation for making federal law enforcement obey the law.

An appreciation of imperfection

Like most Americans, I've been thinking a lot about Jimmy Carter. He was my first Presidential vote, and it was a privilege. He was a serious, patriotic and deeply religious man. He lived that old Methodist maxim: Do all the good you can, in all the ways you can, all the times you can, for all the people you can, as long as you can.

He built homes, swinging the hammer himself, for Habitat for Humanity. He helped eliminate Guinea worm disease. He was born 100 years ago, but remained so relevant he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize early in 2002. He never shied away from speaking his mind. While he made himself available to every subsequent President -- including Trump -- they each felt the sting of his criticism. That didn't stop him from standing with Barack Obama, George W. Bush and Bill Clinton in condemning Trump's January 6 "Day of Love", calling it "a national tragedy."

Jimmy Carter was so inherently good and decent that his example could be intimidating. That's why I don't view what I am about to say here as a criticism.

He could be remarkably petty. Jimmy Carter couldn't stand Ted Kennedy. It was, on the President's side, immediate and personal. Like every President from Richard Nixon to George W. Bush, Carter initially grappled with how to "handle" the senior Senator from MA. But where the others found a way forward, even forging a legislative relationship with him, Carter did not. Would not. Could not. 

He insisted Ted Kennedy's opposition to him was personal. It was not. Kennedy thought Carter was both legislatively naive and too moderate, squandering an opportunity to move America to the left after Nixon and Watergate. Kennedy wasn't wrong about that, and it was a political -- not personal -- assessment.

Jimmy Carter just didn't like Ted Kennedy. He thought his achievements -- especially in the environment and education -- were dismissed by Kennedy, and it hurt. That's fair. He was resentful that Kennedy gave him no credit for breaking the mold of "Southern governor" set by George Wallace and Huey Long. That's also fair. Most of all, it galled him that Kennedy's destiny was "scripted," that the youngest brother's life was charmed and "easy." That is so incredibly unfair.

It's always shocked me that Jimmy Carter, the soul of empathy and charity, viewed Kennedy's life that way. Since the Kennedys were the original Kardashians, I refuse to believe Carter wasn't aware of this litany of tragedy and pain.

Age 9: His oldest sister, Rosemary, was incapacitated by a lobotomy and he never saw her again.* As an adult, he referred to it as when she was "disappeared" and poignantly recalled that as a little boy, he was afraid he'd be "disappeared," too.

Age 12: His oldest brother, Joe, was killed in WWII, blown apart in a mid-air explosion. No remains were recovered. Just one month later, his brother-in-law, Billy Cavendish, was killed by Nazi sniper.

Age 14: His sister, Kathleen (Billy's widow), died in plane crash.

Age 31: His brother was assassinated in Dallas.

Age 36: His brother was assassinated in Los Angeles. This left him patriarch and surrogate father to 13 children, in addition to his own 3.

Age 41: His 12-year-old son was diagnosed with cancer and lost a leg.

That brings us to 1973, when Carter and Kennedy were working together. How could a man as compassionate as Carter view such a life as "easy?" Yet Carter never backed away from his assessment. In fact, in 2010, a year after Kennedy's death, he mentioned on-camera to CBS' Lesley Stahl that Ted Kennedy had been expelled from college. Really? That is so beneath Jimmy Carter's dignity.

Yet I find it very comforting. I am far from perfect. I try to live a life that honors my faith, but I often fall short. So Jimmy Carter's life is an example to me yet again. Being imperfect is no excuse to not try to do better. Being imperfect does not mean I can't succeed.

Do all the good you can, in all the ways you can, all the times you can, for all the people you can, as long as you can.

That was you, Mr. President. Thank you for your example. May you rest in the peace you so richly deserved.

*To clarify, he never saw her again during his father's' lifetime. None of the family defied old Joe's edict, not even the President of the United States. While nothing was officially announced, photos reveal Ted Kennedy (as well as Eunice, Rose and John, Jr.) began visiting Rosemary often in the 1980s, 40 years after her lobotomy. Rosemary outlived him.

Grateful that I can

My Christmas shopping is done, and in this post I'm focusing on gifts for people I don't even know.

Harriet. She's 9 years old and either lives in, or attends daycare at, the local children's home. The kids there share their Christmas wishes, which are printed on ornaments hung on the tree at our neighborhood Whole Foods. I chose to deliver on Harriet's wish because while other little girls longed for Barbie, she asked for STEM. Now I was a Barbie girl and would never throw shade, but I admire Harriet for marching to her own drummer. So I got her this rock kit and a $10 Target gift card (because it was noted she also needs a new sweater).

Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation. I read the story of a mom with a couple kids, one of whom was battling cancer. She explained that with between jobs and medical appointments, she and her husband were just spread too thin to provide a Merry Christmas for her family, and she was very grateful when my favorite ballplayer and his charity team stepped in and took over. Already wrapped gifts showed up for both her sick child and his sibling. Another parent reported that, even though they didn't have time to decorate their home, the Rizzo foundation contracted a local hardware store and outdoor lights were purchased and hung, enabling Santa to find their house on Christmas Eve. So when I saw their toy drive and this Nerf football was listed, it seemed quite literally like the least I could do to help. I am grateful that my favorite ballplayer has opened my eyes to the fact that when a child is battling cancer, his brothers and sisters are effected, too. If you're looking for a charity to support, you could do far worse than this one. 

Toys for Tots. Have you noticed that for the last few years, this venerable organization has been asking for books as well? I think that's awesome, and so I dropped a pair of books into the collection box at my local Walgreen's. (This is the only one I remember; the other one had stickers in the back.)

JFK said "God's work must be our own." That seems especially important this time of year. Giving is the best way to honor the spirit of the season, and I'm grateful I can do it.

November Challenge: Day 2

Find the challenge here

November Challenge: Something I feel strongly about.  

"As you did it to the least of these my brothers, you did it to me." From the Book of Matthew. That's what I try to keep in mind when I encounter the migrants who have ended up in my community because Governor Abbott of Texas callously sent them up here.

I've heard all the political ads that demonize migrants. They tell me that these lonely, confused people panhandling on my local street corners are criminals and terrorists. Trump supporters would have me believe they are "poisoning the blood of our country." It's not lost on me that they claim to be loud and proud Christians. Guess their Bibles don't include The Book of Matthew. 

I take my faith seriously and it offends me when people use it to justify their xenophobia.

Photo by Andreas Rasmussen on Unsplash 

Sunday Stealing

MORE OF THOSE 200 QUESTIONS

1. What do you want to be remembered for? I was there when my friends needed me.

2. If you were put in solitary confinement for a year, what would you do to stay sane? Read. A lot, and a wide variety.

3. If you could have video of any one event in your life, what event would you choose? There's a memory that stays with me: I'm 10 years old, stretched out on the grass in the backyard, reading a book called The Flying Nun: Miracle at San Tanco. I have no idea why this memory is so indelible. Maybe if I saw a video of it, including a few minutes before and after, I'd know.

4. What are the top 3 things you want to accomplish before you die?  Have you accomplished them? Sorry, but I don't do the whole "bucket list" thing. I think it's morbid.

5. If you were forced to live one 10-minute block of your life again and again, what 10 minutes of your life would you choose. The bottom of the 10th inning, Game 7, World Series 2016.

6. Have you ever saved someone’s life? Nope.

7. What are you addicted to? Coke (caffeine).

8. What keeps you up at night? MAGA

9. What do you regret not doing? I'm sorry I didn't volunteer for Hillary Clinton in 2016. Oh, the damage and darkness we could have avoided!

10. What gives your life meaning? Doing good.

11. What are you most insecure about? My looks.

12. What’s the most illegal thing you’ve done? Back in the 1980s I indulged in cocaine, which was quite illegal.

13. What’s the most surprising self-realization you’ve had? Each time I fell in love, I was gobsmacked.

14. If you could make one rule that everyone had to follow, what would it be? Remember that Jesus said, "Whatever you do for the least of these brothers and sisters, you did for me." Maybe then some of us wouldn't be so determined to demonize the poor and the migrants. Or perhaps they could stop pronouncing themselves as Christian, even as they do the demonizing.

15. In what situation or place would you feel most out of place? A Trump rally.

 

 

August Happiness Challenge -- Day 9

My 2024 Happiness Icon

Today's happiness: "I really liked the berry!"

I always have "blessing bags" in my purse. Each zip-lock bag* includes $1, a lip balm, a tissue packet, a couple tiny hand sanitizer pouches, and a breakfast bar. Except for the buck, each of these items comes from the dollar store, so it's not a great investment on my part.

 

The folks I give the bags to often don't speak English, and others seem to have emotional problems, so we don't have much conversation beyond my "good luck" and their "thank you." Which is fine. I don't do it for praise. I'm inspired by that Bible quote: "As you did to the least of my brothers, you did to me." 

But that doesn't mean acknowledgement doesn't make me happy. Like today. I gave one of my regulars his bag as I went into Target. On the way out, he thanked me again and added, "I really liked the berry!" He'd noticed that I'd switched breakfast bar flavors and he'd snarfed his down already. 

One of my neighbors ate something nutritious today because of me and what's more, he enjoyed it. Something so small on my part made a difference to someone. I'm both humbled and very happy.

 

Happy August Happiness Challenge!

 

Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

 *When you spend most of your life outdoors, the zip-lock bag is important in and of itself because you can use it to keep your belongings organized and dry.

Today is a nightmare come true

After Bobby Kennedy was shot at the conclusion of a political rally, before he lapsed out of consciousness forever with Rosary beads in his hand, he asked, "Is everybody OK?" Today, after being shot during a political rally, Donald Trump asked for his shoes, pumped his fist, and said, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Now I'm not going to make fun of Donald Trump, the way he and Don Jr. both made fun of Paul Pelosi after being attacked in the Pelosi home. I'm not going to imply that Trump was shot by enraged and spurned gay lover, though I have just as much evidence of that as the Trumps have about Mr. Pelosi and his assailant.  

I'm not going to call it a false flag or a set up. I'm not going to question how an assailant could get to a former POTUS and candidate who has Secret Service protection, the way the MAGA World questioned how the man with the hammer got past security measures to enter the Pelosi home. 

I'm not going to mock the pink bald spot that was evident as the Secret Service pushed Donald Trump into the van and into safety. Though I am sure if it was reversed, Trump and his supporters would be mocking Joe Biden's vulnerability. 

I'm not going to dismiss today's events with a facile response about "sending thoughts and prayers," while blaming mental health issues and not guns for what happened.

I'm an American. I remember the President's and Bobby's assassinations. I remember Dr. King and George Wallace. I remember two attempts on Gerald Ford and one on Ronald Reagan. Those memories are as much a part of me as the vaccination scar on my left arm. They haunt me. Today is a nightmare come true.

I'm a Chicagoan. I live in a city awash in guns, despite strict laws, because they come floating through our porous borders from Indiana and Kentucky. Sorry, Mr. Trump, but if I'm going to "Fight! Fight! Fight!" it's to keep you out of office and get real Federal laws passed that successfully restrict handguns and automatic weapons.

I'm a Christian. Though I won't be a hypocrite and deny that I despise Donald Trump, I will say that my first thought when I heard the news was, "Please love him, God." No one wins when a gun goes off. Deplorable MAGA cruelty coarsens and diminishes us all.

I pray for soul of the MAGA supporter who died today.

I pray for the full recovery of both Donald Trump and the as-yet unnamed supporters who were also injured.

I also pray for, and will work for, his defeat in November.

Guns are never the answer. Violent rhetoric is never the answer. How I wish Trump's words had been "Is everybody OK?" instead of "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Of course he died in June

His soul soars free

I found out Saturday night that my friend Henry is gone. He actually passed away at 7:45 PM on Friday, June 22. We knew the end was near for a while now. I am just grateful that he died during Pride Month, because Henry defined himself as a proud gay man, and looking back on his loving life, I can see how his homosexuality colored his life.

He grew up in Puerto Rico and went to Catholic grammar and high schools. He always knew he was "different," never romantically drawn to women, never had any interest in sports.*

This outsider status drove him to find ways to express himself. He was fluent in Spanish and English and could read/translate Italian and French. At one time he was a wizard at computer graphics -- that's what brought him to the advertising agency where we both worked -- and later he won local Key West awards for his poetry and fiction.

It also imbued him with sympathy, empathy and compassion. There wasn't a stray dog, cat or person who didn't touch his heart. When they left Chicago for Key West, they took two cars -- one for their belongings and the other for the two dogs and two cats they'd adopted. 

Not long after they arrived in Key West, Henry and Reg added a third dog to the menagerie. A small black mop with short legs. He was the dog of a young man, a fellow busboy Henry had befriended while working at a hotel restaurant. The busboy died of AIDS. His parents, in Miami, had disowned him "for his lifestyle" and refused to come down to Key West for the dog. It's important to note that these parents requested their son's "property of value" be shipped to them. But they would not travel the 160 miles to tend to their son's remains or get his dog. My Henry handled that for these fabulous "Christian" parents.

About a decade later, Henry was teaching at the college. One of his students took a job in Miami and promised to come back for his cat. I think you can guess what happened. Renamed Annie Wilkes after the Kathy Bates character in Misery, this ornery old girlcat lived out her life with Henry and Reg, where the windowsill was her favorite spot. Yes, she was moody and mean when they took her in, but that's because she was in pain. Her teeth were literally rotting in her head. They restored her health and gave her comfort and peace. At this time, Henry and Reg were working four jobs between them, and they chose to spend their money the cat under their roof who was in discomfort.

And the Lilly Pulitzer dresses! During the summer between second and third grade, my niece had a growth spurt. When she returned to school, she was a head taller than her tallest classmate. She felt like a giantess. She compensated by insisting on wearing only dresses -- the frillier the better -- never slacks because dresses were what she needed to feel pretty. The battles between my little niece and her mother were fucking epic. I shared this Henry. He promptly got on his bike and rode across the island to the Lilly Pulitzer outlet store. He reasoned -- correctly, of course -- that none of her Chicagoland classmates would be wearing resortwear for back-to-school. She felt beautiful and proud in her lilac and pink floral dresses from faraway Key West. My niece is now married and over 30, and can still describe those dresses in detail. 

I could go on ... and on ... and on about the kindnesses Henry showed me and others. His heart was open to anyone who was sensitive, alone, or in distress.

Thank God he found MCC. He always loved and accepted Christ but felt that the Catholic Church had rejected him. With MCC, he finally had a spiritual home, where he was welcome to both love his husband and worship. I attended Christmas Eve services there with him and being part of that congregation filled him with such joy. He and I were so different in that way. I consider my faith private. When I go to church, I want to contemplate my personal relationship with God. I don't care if I don't speak to another soul. Not Henry. He thrived on the fellowship and hymns. He loved translating the week's lesson to Spanish for those in the congregation who were ESL.

Saturday night, when I heard of his passing, one of the first things I did was set the alarm clock. Even though it's unseasonably hot, even though I could stream the service and worship while still in my pajamas, I knew -- just knew -- how Henry would want me to celebrate his life. I got up early, put on makeup and jewelry, and hauled my fat ass to church. I sat alone in the pew and cried a little. 

I was sorry for the suffering he'd endured at the end, and grateful that he is finally at peace.

I was grateful that God sent him to me. Henry used to say I was his "true sister," and I loved him like a brother. I will miss him forever.

*Oh, but he was handy around the house. Going to The Home Depot with Henry was an education. Furniture, glass, plumbing ... before his accident, he was adept at it all. And so I leave with you Henry's travel hack: Before setting out on a road trip, check in advance for the Home Depot locations along the way. They are uniformly open until 9:00 or 10:00 PM, sell things you always need (like cleansing wipes and bottled water) and have the cleanest, safest bathrooms. You're welcome.

Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe on Unsplash

Trustbridge, Hospice by the Sea

That's where Henry will live out his remaining days. He's receiving palliative care, so I am trying to find comfort in his comfort.

I found out the way Reg's 552 Facebook Friends did, with a social media post titled, "Hello, Everyone." He reports he hasn't cried. Just like Reg, to make this about Reg. I wonder how different Henry's life would be today if Reg could have just once gotten out of his own way and listened to other people who also love Henry.

But I'll never know that.

Henry's faith in God has always been unwavering. As a gay man raised Catholic, he's had major problems with organized religion over the years. But never with his faith. I don't know for sure what's going on in that bruised and broken mind of his, but I know he's conversing somehow with God. 

For his body to be in comfort and his soul at peace, that's what I wish for him now. He was a dear, loving man. If he loved you -- and he loved me -- he saw only good. He deserves all the grace God can give.

His mother died recently. She's waiting for him in Heaven. Their reunion will be beautiful.

 

  

Melly and Scarlett and Audrey and Kathy

Every day I try. I do. I want to live my life in a way that would please the Lord. Or, to put it in classic movie terms, I try to be more Melly and less Scarlett. Sometimes I succeed. Not always. But every now and again, goodness prevails.

Like with Audrey. She's a movie group regular, and usually she annoys the living shit out of me. First of all, after three years she still doesn't understand how Zoom works. She forever leans into the camera and looks down, treating all of us to a lovely view of the part of her hair and her dandruff. And you can count on Audrey to lose the thread of the conversation and ask a dumb question. She reliably brings out my inner Scarlett.

Until last weekend. We met in person to see From Here to Eternity on the big screen in celebration of Memorial Day and then for lunch afterward. I don't think I've ever been physically close to Audrey before. In person, her fragility touched my inner Melly. 

Her vision is severely compromised. The reason she looks down so often during our online meetups is that she practically has to put her nose on her laptop keyboard to see. Zoom isn't the only thing she doesn't understand. When we sat down to lunch, it was established that we would either give Betty -- seated at the head of the table -- cash or we'd send her funds via Zelle or Venmo. Yet when the check came, Audrey kept trying to give our moderator, Will, her credit card. So that conversation that swirled around her when we took our seats, that thing she agreed to about paying Betty with cash or by online payment service? She didn't understand any of it. I sensed her confusion and was touched by how hard it must be for her to navigate the world.

On the way out of the restaurant I saw her backpack was wide open. I stopped her and zipped it. As we watched her disappear down the busy city sidewalk, I asked Elaine if maybe we shouldn't try to walk with her. "Oh, Gal," Elaine said, aware of how I fixate on problems I can't solve, "who is going to keep an eye on her for the 51 other weekends when we aren't there?" 

Still, my humanity was awakened. I liked myself just then. From now on, I will be more patient and engaged with Audrey.

But that doesn't mean Scarlett is gone forever. My old friend Kathy has dementia ... or something. I don't know because she won't see a doctor. Our relationship was complicated even before her cognitive difficulties because she was always jealous of how comfortable our friend John and I were. Kathy was always more than a little in love with John -- even though he was gay as a box of Crayolas -- and she viewed me as a competitor. Since her brain battles she's been even more difficult.

When John died last month, two of our mutual friends asked me if I was going to tell Kathy. Fuck to the no. John's passing has broken my heart. I can't deal with Kathy on top of that. If Mindy and Vanessa think Kathy needs to be told, let one of them tell her. I have every right to protect myself as I heal from the shock of losing someone I loved.

Still every time my phone chirps, I swallow hard. I'm afraid that somehow Kathy has figured out that John is dead and reaching out. Maybe to commiserate, maybe to yell at me (she's quick to temper these days). I'm sorry, but I'm in pain and the price of admission to my life right now is that you not yell at me.

So when Kathy's adult granddaughter posted to Facebook first that Kathy lost her phone and then, days later, that while the phone was found, her contacts can't be recovered, my first and enduring reaction was, "GOOD!"

Yes, I know Kathy can't help her dementia. Yes, I know her phone is the lifeline that connects her to the outside world and she must be lonely without it. I know Melly would have compassion for her, but I'm still full-metal Scarlett on this one and glad I don't have to deal with her.

I admit I'm a work in progress. I'll try to do better tomorrow because, as Scarlett herself said, "tomorrow is another day."