Love can heal what's broken in America

MAGA was repudiated this week in a stunning blue tsunami, and on a very personal level, I feel like I got my faith back.   

My Christianity is very important to me. Every day, I try to live in a way that would please Him. I remember that passage from the Book of Matthew: "Whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters, you did for me."

So my heart sang when I listened to James Talarico, the new Senator from Texas. He delivered his acceptance speech from a podium emblazoned with LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.

"Not just my neighbor who looks like me. Not just my neighbor who prays like me. Not just my neighbor who votes like me. I am called to love all of my neighbors the way I love myself."

I've been appalled by the Islamophobia of this campaign season. Our President insisted on calling Abdul el-Sayad "Muhammed," and a "Jihadist lunatic." That's our President, ladies and gentlemen. Hearing that rhetoric from the leader of the free world makes many so-called Christians more comfortable with their bigotry. I've heard MAGA enthusiasts say, "Who or what is Ilhan Omar?" Do they really think that's how Christ wants them to speak? I guess they figure Donald Trump has given them some kind of hall pass allowing them to dismiss another's very humanity based on religion.

And oh yeah, it's unpatriotic. They ignore that the Constitution specifically prohibits the government from establishing a religion or interfering with the free exercise of religion. I don't believe our forefathers meant it was OK to be Lutheran instead of Methodist. It means we can all worship any way we wish, or not at all. 

Didn't we adjudicate this as a country in 1960? It sounds stupid now, but there were actually voters who were afraid that as our first Roman Catholic President, JFK would ignore the Constitution and instead be a puppet of the Pope. I just hope that in 60 years, another generation will hear this fear of Muslims as just as ignorant and silly.

I know that Ted Cruz, Donald Trump and JD Vance have all made fun of Talarico's masculinity. He's not their kind of man. Thank God!

I think it’s safe to say that we are tired of being pitted against each other. We are tired of being told to hate each other. It has been ten years of this kind of politics. Politics as blood sport. Politics as trolling and owning. Politics as professional wrestling. It tears families apart. It ends friendships, and it leaves us all feeling terrible all the time.

I know it leaves me feeling terrible. I hear those of the Christian right demonize and scapegoat gays and transsexuals. They claim that this is some convoluted way of protecting our children.

OK, then. How can they still support the mainstream GOP after both JD Vance and Donald Trump gave their full-throated support to the attack ad on Amy Acton? Instead of helping a victim of childhood sexual abuse heal, they applaud publicly retraumatizing her for political gain. If that's solid, red-blooded American masculinity, I'm with wimpy Talarico.

I know it's a cliche, but my best friends were gay. I miss them every day. I loved them. They behaved in a more Christian way on a day-to-day basis than those who wrap themselves in Christianity while denying my friends equal respect and equal rights. 

Oh, and while we're at it, if these holier-than-thou folks are so worried about the well-being of our children, why aren't they up in arms over the way Ghislaine Maxwell has been treated by the current administration? Convicted of sex trafficking and abusing underage girls, she was moved to a minimum security prison after meeting with the DOJ's Todd Blanche. No, MAGA doesn't care about protecting children. They're just indulging their own worst anti-gay impulses.

I could go on, of course. When MAGA clutches their pearls and gasps over "socialism" and "communism," I wonder where they were these past two years when our President slapped his name on a memorial, had banners of himself displayed on public buildings, enriched himself to the tune of billions, cast doubts on election integrity, interfered with the news networks and – most seriously from where I sit – unleashed undertrained, masked paramilitary troops on our streets. The authoritarian antics of Donald Trump as chief executive have done more damage to this country than the DSA candidates elected to Congress. (Who, by the way, haven't even been seated yet.)

Love requires that we stand between the bullies and the bullied. Love requires that we look evil in the eye and not blink. That kind of love has always been a threat to the powers that be. That kind of love is revolutionary. That kind of love is creative. Hate is predictable. Hate is boring. Hate can’t lower our energy bills. Hate can’t teach a child to read. Hate can’t build a future. But what hate can’t do, love can.

Those are the words of James Talarico. They inspire me to do better. To shake off the ugliness of the last two years. To go into the Christmas season with renewed hope. 

We can’t defeat the politics of division with more division. We can’t win that game. We have to change the game.

Read the Senator-elect's entire speech here. You will love it! 

"Yer OUT!"

After just over 3 months of sessions, my oldest friend has fired her therapist. This makes me sad. Bertha had been making progress, and I believe my friend is more fragile without her. Plus, I was relieved that she was depending less on me and more on a trained professional with knowledge of her situation.

I found out about this in a flurry of overwrought texts when I was in Grand Rapids visiting Violet. Because that's how my oldest friend rolls. It's like she has a sonar that can tell when I'm really happy and that's when she implodes.*

She was in a motel. She ran away from her housemates because Robert, her landlord and on-again/off-again lover, "has directed some awful, humiliating comments" her way. This is important because she is not in any physical peril. This is a romance gone wrong because he is still seeing other women and since they live under the same roof, she knows all about it. Anyway, first she went to a crisis center in tears and they assigned her a social worker and advised she not go home in her current state. Since she has no friends out there, and her daughter was on vacation with her dad (my friend's still-hated ex-husband), she checked into a motel.

She also sent me a screen shot of paperwork she gave them at the crisis clinic. My name appears. I am to call them if she seems suicidal and they will head over for a wellness check. Oh, for fuck's sake. I am 2000 miles away and in a different time zone. I don't often see these texts until hours later. I can't be her "back up!"

I asked her where Bertha was. After all, I have no good advice to ever give anyone about romance. But Bertha seemed to making real headway with my friend. Since working with Bertha, she reported that she had "booed her last hoo" over Robert, was looking to find alternate housing, and had begun exploring volunteer opportunities at the local library and Red Cross to get her out of the house, out of her own head, and interacting with others.  

She's not seeing Bertha anymore. She can't afford it. I repeated what I've been telling her – her mental and emotional health are important and I'll pay Bertha. OK, no, it's not really the money. She switched her story to say that Bertha is only a LCSW, a licensed clinical social worker, and my friend believes her problems are too sophisticated and complex for Bertha.

I am, of course, crying "shenanigans" here. I have known my friend since Kindergarten. When the going gets tough, she caves. Bertha obviously gave her advice she didn't like, or perhaps held her responsible for the decision to resume sleeping with Robert. Or perhaps pointed out – as my friend's daughter and I both have – that Robert's motive could very well be practical and financial rather than romantic. She pays him rent, he gets voucher money from the State of California for giving her a break on housing, and she is the only one of the housemates who is physically able to help out around the house. Yes, I believe that he slips it to her every now and again to keep her in love and in line. 

So no more Bertha. But she is back with Robert. Last night she sent me a picture of the curtain going up on a performance of Sweeney Todd. Yes, she and Robert are celebrating Halloween with a night out. So much for him being a cruel narcissist. That was last week. Now they realize they are "happier together than apart." However today (Saturday) she is off to stay with her daughter in Los Angeles for a few days because Robert spends his Saturdays and Tuesdays with his "real girlfriend" and that is too depressing for her. I see that this situation is untenable, even though my friend does not.

No more talk of volunteer work. No more talk of alternate housing. I asked her about her spiritual journey but she brushed it off, explaining that she no longer believes in God because He hasn't shown her the way to go. I started to tell her that faith doesn't work that way – that a bluebird won't appear outside your window if God wants you to stop sleeping with your landlord. But I gave up. She's not open to hearing it.

I am completely dispirited as I post this. I will be 69 in a matter of weeks. My friend turns 70 in December. We known one another since 1962. I can't tell you how many conversations we've had about, "WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME?" It took me until I was 30 to learn that when I say to myself or others, "Oh, he doesn't mean it," he really does. That I can't make a man love me through the force of my will or love. That lovers come and go but good friends are forever. That the most solid, lasting and fortifying relationship I will ever have is with God. 

Life has taught her none of these things. She is sick in body (depression, diabetes, heart disease, chronic UTIs) and soul. I can't help her. I am not equipped. And I am sick, too. Sick of the ennui.

*Yes, I know it's not about me. I realize it's only a coincidence, and my friend isn't thinking of me at all as her chaotic life goes off the rails. But I'm not going to lie: I resent her timing, no matter how unintentional, enormously.

 

"... If that's what's bothering you"

Yesterday my shrink and I were discussing my recent, and increasingly more frequent, bouts of irritability. I have infinite patience with my cats. I never lose my temper with customers at the card shop. I can comfortably chat up a seatmate on public transportation. But Christine from movie group, my neighbor at the end of the hall, they exasperate me. Perhaps beyond proportion. 

I have not been having "bad days." I'm feeling well. There is nothing going on that I can attribute my snappishness to.

Christine is a kind, well-meaning woman who is trying to expand her social circle. There is no shortage of online articles that will reinforce how difficult this can be for women of our age. Yet planning and spending a movie day with her left me ill-tempered and worn out. No, I didn't say anything to her about it. I try not to be mean. But she was high-maintenance and intellectually incurious and I couldn't wait to get away from her. Even though she had a lovely time, brought me a book she found at a library sale, and followed up with texts the next day. She seemed to enjoy the same day that left me exhausted. What's wrong with me?

My neighbor at the end of the hall has disabilities. He has to wear a brace on one of his legs. He has some form of Tourette syndrome that causes him to yell loudly when he's alone. He is lonely and has trouble with boundaries. He is always asking me where I'm going, what's in that shopping bag I'm carrying, etc. I don't think he means to be creepy, but he is. Last week he banged and banged on my door, demanding I answer even though I was busy doing something more than a little private.* When I finally answered, what he wanted was not remotely urgent or even my issue. He asked what I thought we should do about the Amazon package that had been delivered here by mistake. I yelled at him, telling him I'm not on-call 24/7, not his employee. He looked as though I'd stricken him. Yes, I raised my voice and made a man with disabilities feel bad. What's wrong with me?

"There's nothing wrong with you, if that's what's bothering you." So said my shrink. OK, so let's work on what's wrong with these situations ...

Regarding Christine: Maybe I just don't vibe with her. If you can't talk politics, baseball, or pop culture, or if you don't make me laugh, we're not going to click. That's no one's fault, it's just chemistry. Also, compared with recent get togethers with friends that I have enjoyed, Christine and I were together for nine hours. That is too much for me. I'm not that social anymore and my introversive streak has gotten wider. Christine is a nice woman who is trying to make friends so I'm not going to snub her. That would be mean and I refuse to do it. But I can limit the length of time we're together when we see each other.

Regarding my neighbor: He suffers from neurodiversity. He does not respect boundaries and cannot pick up subtle cues. I wasn't being a reactive bully, I was doing what was necessary. If I hadn't yelled at him, he would continue becoming more intrusive. That is simply the way it is. His very real issues, which I see and have compassion for, do not give him the right to make me uncomfortable in my own home. 

I am an old dog but I am still learning. I guess at core, what I have been struggling with is how to live my Christian faith. I want to be a kind person. I want to treat everyone as I wish to be treated. I want to end each day knowing the way I behaved toward others is a way that would please Him.

But sometimes I lose myself in the equation. Christ's plan for me is not that I be inherently unhappy, is it? So I will develop a relationship with Christine that works for both of us. I will be nice and gracious to my neighbor but insist he respect my privacy.

Therapy is worth the time and worth the dime.

  

*I had just applied prescription cream to a rash that I'd rather not talk about, but let's just say I wasn't dressed to welcome visitors. So I had to smear the expensive cream to get dressed to answer the door and yes, this really pissed me off.

 

9/11

25 years ago everything changed. Forever. I say a prayer that today we mourn and honor those who were lost with our kindness and empathy.

 

 

 

A-HA!

The lightbulb went off first thing. This morning at church, our service opened with a prayer that advised us: "Choosing joy is a holy act of defiance." 

 

It's hard in the Age of Trump. MAGA has co-opted my Christian faith and pretends it is about xenophobia, homo/transphobia, and casual cruelty. That does not remotely represent the Jesus of my heart, and this makes me want to shake my fist at the clouds. It leaves me rebellious.

 

Then I heard the prayer. A-ha! I get it now. I'm not going to deny the ugliness of our times. That would be delusional. But I'm going to rebel, to defy MAGA by being a happy warrior. By choosing to face forward and joyfully work on change with love. Yesterday I posted about how my favorite most Cub always seems so passionate and happy in his mission to help pediatric cancer patients. He's like a golden retriever puppy in human form. Maybe he already knows what I'm trying to learn: that choosing joy in the face of sorrow and fear is "a holy act of defiance."

 

Then there's our prayer at the offertory: "May we be transformed by our giving, and may the world be transformed by our gifts." My giving is not limited to money (though money is important). It's my time and my gifts and my spirit, too. So this week, as I write my Letters Against Isolation and my Postcards to Swing States, I want to be more intentional. That way my acts can bring me joy and solace as I change my country around me. 

 

It's getting deep

I pay little attention to Zohran Mamdani. The nice thing about being this old is that I know that, no matter what, the Mayor of New York will not have a major impact on my life here in Chicago. When I was a little girl, John Lindsay was all the rage. Batman even featured a character based on him. Remember when Bloomberg and Giuliani were going to be President? It was all much ado about nothing.

No mayor of any major city has ever become President. In fact, no mayor has been President since Coolidge, and he held higher office before ascending to the Presidency. Not that Mamdani could be President anyway. I know my Constitution.

So why is my aunt obsessed with Mamdani? She lives in a small town outside of Tampa, for fuck's sake. He has no power over her. Yet she follows his public statements so she can share her outrage.

It's because he's Muslim. "Can you believe that New York City elected a Muslim?" She posted those very words, with pictures of the World Trade Center. How ridiculous is that? Mamdani was 10 years old in 2001. By the way, Muhammad Ali was a Muslim. Was he involved in 9/11, too?

Now her Facebook feed is abuzz because Mamdani had the temerity to ask New Yorkers to use power wisely.

  

Notice that was a request. It's not like masked agents would be knocking on doors demanding to see your thermostat. (As opposed to the ICE agents who ... don't get me started. You have no idea how ugly, dispiriting and scary it was here.)

And it sounds like commonsense to me. Preserves the grid, makes sure we all have comfort during a heatwave. Here in Chicago, ComEd pays us to do that. During peak times, if we reduce our consumption we get a break on our bills. (I saved $3.00 last week.)

But according to my aunt, Mamdani is Communist who is placing an unreasonable burden on his citizens. "This is how it starts," she says. Her friends agree. Creeping Socialism in on the way! (Wait, weren't we talking about Communism? Oh, never mind.)

My aunt is grateful that she lives in The Land of the Free – Florida! Where Ron Desantis is governor!  She seems blissfully unaware that just weeks before, the Florida Public Service Commission — chosen by and answering to Gov. DeSantis — issued the very same suggestion that residents to set their AC units to 78º degrees in the summer.

If I were to ask her, I'm sure that she'd say "Ron" (whom she adores) is civic minded. He's looking out for the people who elected him.

Don't you agree we're about hip deep in bullshit and hypocrisy?

She's my aunt. She's one of two people left on the planet who held me as a baby. She's my last direct tie to the grandparents I adored. I respect and treasure that connection, so I bite my tongue and keep the lines of communication open.

But here's the most disturbing part. She's my godmother. When I was downstairs in Sunday School in the church basement, learning about Jesus and His love, she was upstairs in a pew. Same building. Same Jesus. When I was a little girl, I remember she had a framed photo of JFK in her bedroom. But now she seems to get satisfaction not from brotherhood but from knee-jerk negativity about Muslims, gays, blacks, and immigrants. 

While my aunt's rants gets lots of "thumbs up" from her Tampa buds on Facebook, she no longer hears from one of her sons and two of her grandchildren. She has a great grandchild she has never held. If it wasn't for me, she'd never have seen a photo of my niece's daughter, Violet.

I hope living in a Fox News bubble and spouting the glories of living in "The Land of the Free – Florida" is worth what it's cost her.

 

 

I take this entirely too personally

Our minister resigned. He got an offer to be an interim minister for a congregation near his hometown in Michigan. When that assignment is done – likely by year-end –he's going to hang up his robe and retire. He and his wife are very happy that this new opportunity has come their way. He will stay with us until August. By that time, he will have been with us for three years.

I'm pissed.

He must have been looking for a new role, or at least been receptive to one. When he first joined us in 2023, he said this would be "his last stop." I remember this distinctly because I had been unsettled by the tumult when our minister was let go. So now I feel betrayed and abandoned.

Which is silly. Or at least certainly an overreaction. 

Three years is not an insignificant amount of time. He walked into a fractious situation – many in the congregation didn't think our previous minister had been treated fairly, others heartily disliked our interim minister. All of us seemed to feel battered and he calmed us. He's also guided us through the ICE invasion. It felt like a gut punch the first time I saw that sign on the door, demanding agents present warrants before invading our house of worship. But he has helped us see that we are not helpless, and that we can act in faith and solidarity and make a difference.

I should be grateful. In time, I'm sure I will be. But right now, it feels like he's leaving me. 

 

Easter Love

This morning our minister called upon us to listen to our hearts and ask ourselves, "What is love calling us to do?" DO is the operative word here, isn't it? On Easter Sunday, and beyond, I must think about what I can do to make our world a more loving place.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Farewell, Amanda (1949)

Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here. 

 

1) The record begins with a long instrumental interlude, and when the lyrics kick in at about the 1:00 mark, they bid Amanda "farewell, adios, addio, adieu." Of course you recognize "farewell" as English. Without looking it up, can you identify the other languages? Spanish, Italian, French.

 

2) Can you say "goodbye" in a language not represented in question #1? Aloha!

3) The lyrics reference a night full of stars. When did you last take a moment to check out the night sky? I glance out the living room window every night. Does that count as "checking out?"

 

4) This song was written for Adam's Rib, a comedy starring Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. The movie is about husband-and-wife lawyers who square off against one another in court. Have you ever served on a jury? Yes. I've gone down to the courthouse four times, been through voir dire three times and was chosen twice. 

 

5) "Farewell, Amanda" was composed by Noel Coward. Though best known as a playwright, he also wrote more than a thousand songs and was a director and an actor. His epitaph reads, "A talent to amuse." How would you like to be remembered? As someone who tried to live a purpose driven life. 

  

6) There's even a book of Noel Coward paintings. It was published after his death, in part because Coward considered himself only an amateur painter. When did you last pick up a paintbrush? About four years ago. It wasn't for the sake of art. I was touching up the floorboard heater in the bathroom.

 

7) In 1949, when audiences first heard "Farewell, Amanda," Americans began playing Clue. What's the last board game you played? Don't recall.

 

8) The best-selling novel of 1949 was Point of No Return by John P. Marquand. Tell us about the last book you finished. Just yesterday I finished an 800+ page biography of J. Edgar Hoover. I learned a lot about America in the 20th century, but little of it was pleasant. 

 

9) Random question: Growing up, did you share a bedroom? No. Unless cats count, I've never shared a bedroom for longer than a vacation.

 

   

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: With or Without You (1987) 

 
Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

 

1) "With or Without You" is about the pain of love. What song reminds you of an old romance? Is it about the joy of love or the pain? Lately this one has been going through my mind. I love the tension between sound of it – very upbeat – and the melancholy message. Our hearts get broken, but we get on with it. 

 

 

 

 

 

2) U2 lead singer Bono has admitted that, when the group recorded this song in the 1980s, he was wrestling with his real-life commitment issues. He was trying to resolve the responsibilities of being a husband with the demands of his career. He worked it through, and decades later both his marriage and his career are still going strong. Do you feel you have been more successful in your personal or professional relationships? Ha! My career, no question.

 

3) Bono credits his wife Ali with helping him through a tough period of writer's block, saying she put the pen in his hand each morning. What time of day finds you the most energized, productive or creative? Whenever I should be doing housework.

 

4) Bono likes to pedal around town when he's not onstage. What do you do for exercise? Yoga.

 

5) Bono is U2's lead singer, backed by three very talented bandmates: The Edge, Larry Mullen, Jr., and Adam Clayton. Bruce Springsteen is a big fan of U2's concert performances. If Saturday 9 were to bestow upon you a free ticket to any see any band or performer live, who would you choose? I just saw Sir Paul in November. It would be hard to top that.

 

6) U2 got together 50 years ago, when they were school boys in Dublin. Have you ever visited Ireland? If not, would you like to go? I've never been but were I to go to Europe, I'd plan to stop there.

 
7) In 1987, the year this song was popular, Cher won the Academy Award for Best Actress. Her most famous line was, "Snap out of it!" Without looking it up, can you name the movie that made her an Oscar winner? Moonstruck

 

8) Also in 1987, the first Starbucks opened. What's your standard Starbucks order? I don't drink coffee. I'll have hot chocolate, to be sociable with friends when we stop, or maybe just a bottle of water.

 

9) Random question – Which self-help book would you be more likely to pick up, the one designed to improve your body or your mind? Don't mean to sound contrary, but neither. I tried self-help books a while ago and found they didn't help me much. No judgement if you're into them, but I have found more success and contentment with therapy, prayer and introspection.

 

 

Shecky is in the house!

The National Prayer Breakfast has been held in Washington DC every year since before I was born. Billy Graham was a force in its early days, helping to convince President Eisenhower to address religious, social, and business leaders from around the world. Christians, Muslims and Jews gather to talk about faith – in one another, in community and in a higher power. Mother Teresa used the National Prayer Breakfast to condemn abortion as "a war against children." Bono spoke about how his personal spiritual journey led him to Africa to fight disease and hunger.

Want to know what President Donald Trump spoke about on Thursday?

•  He mocked Joe Biden's cognitive abilities. When the response was awkward, he went on to joke that Biden "had no idea he was President so he doesn't take it personally." 

•  He dismissed Rep. Thomas Massie as "a moron." Massie is one of Congress' most vocal advocates for the victims of convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.

•  He repeated lies about the 2020 election being "rigged" and admitted he had to win the 2024 election to salve his "big ego."

This was a prayer breakfast, not Don Rickles at The Sands. There was nothing humble, compassionate or reflective about his remarks. (OK, he did joke about whether he would make it to Heaven.)

He didn't take this opportunity to share firmly held beliefs because he doesn't seem to have any, except that he deserves praise and his enemies deserve derision. 

Don't take my word for any of this. Here is a transcript of your President's self-aggrandizing remarks. 

That was Thursday. But no one was talking about the Prayer Breakfast any more on Friday. Do you know why?

Trump's racist post about Obamas is deleted after backlash despite White House earlier defending it.

Isn't that a knee slapper?

Just to recap: He lies at a prayer breakfast where he celebrates his own ego and uses terms like "moron" to diminish others. He is unable to keep a civil tongue in his head for 30 minutes out of respect to religiosity. Then he shares a post where the Obamas are depicted as apes but insists he's done nothing wrong. That's just two days! I'm exhausted just watching him. I guess bile gives him stamina.

But at least he is cruel to people of color and the LGBTQ community. I guess as long as he hates who they hate, that's enough for 35% to 40% of our fellow Americans.

When are his "devout Christian" supporters finally going to have enough of this charlatan?

In the meantime, the rest of us have to stay alert and active. It's so easy to feel beaten down by all this hate. But we can't afford to. 

Combat Donald Trump with love. Let his supporters be motivated by fear and anger. I'm going to act out of positivity. I'm finding mid-term and special election candidates to support, giving money to organizations that protect the civil rights of those ensnared by ICE, and strengthening my ties to my own community.

My church has placed a refrigerator and a cabinet on the porch of the rectory. This is unrelated to the local food pantry. This is for those who can't/won't fill out the paperwork at the food pantry. They are either homeless or undocumented. Since ICE invaded Chicagoland, many have been afraid to go to their jobs and so food insecurity is a real issue. Now whenever I go to the grocery store, in addition to the beans or pasta I pick up for the food pantry,* I add ramen for the pantry on the porch. It feels good.

Don't let Donald Trump and MAGA beat you down. Live your faith. Find ways to respond that lift your spirits.

 

*Our food pantry serves people who are un- or under-employed and seniors for whom Social Security just isn't cutting it. This is important work and I'm happy to support it with cash and canned goods. But there's paperwork attached to getting the food. Clients need a photo ID with an address.

Not the first time I've been this wrong

In January 2020, I was sure that Harry and Meghan stepping away from Royal duties would be the biggest news story of the year. Then everything shut down for Covid. 

I had another Great Moment in Wrongness on January 24. Elaine had invited Will and me to meet her at the deli next to the Music Box Theater. The plan was bagels at 10:45 and Barbara Stanwyck on the big screen at 11:30. I'd have to leave my home around 10:00 AM. No biggie, right?

I was surprised when I woke up later than I'd intended. Usually the cats don't let me sleep in because they want breakfast. But on Saturday, January 24, nobody was walking on me, purring and willing me awake. I padded into the kitchen and found out why.

Roy Hobbs has somehow managed to get past the childproof lock and climbed into the kitchen cabinet.  He ate through the bag and gorged himself on Connie's prescription cat food. There was kibble everywhere. For good measure, he vomited. 

So I had to wrap what was left of the cat food bag in Saran Wrap and encase it in a paper bag. And vacuum out the cabinet. And clean up the puke, all before my shower. I was running short on time. I was stressed.

Elaine was in a weird mood. I thought the movie was rather trippy. On the way home, I stopped for a burger and reflected on what a crappy Saturday it had been. I got home about 3:30, sure the worst was behind me. I'd curl up on the sofa, watch Columbo reruns, and shop Amazon for containers that lock to keep Roy Hobbs out of the kibble.

Then I turned on the TV. Alex Pretti had been shot in the back by ICE agents. While he was on the ground. Just weeks after Renee Good had been shot after telling an ICE agent, "I'm not mad at you, dude."

I remember Kent State. This image is seared on my soul. Here we are again. This anguished girl is all of us right now.

 

What the ever loving fuck. Our government is shooting our citizens in the street. Their crime? Disagreeing with the policies of Dear Leader, Donald J. Trump.

Do not tell me that Alex Pretti spat at an ICE agent and kicked out a tail light. That happened more than a week before the shooting so it's not relevant. And even if it was, those are not death penalty offenses. The officers should have arrested Pretti, not executed him in the street.

Don't you dare mention that Pretti was carrying a gun to a protest. The GOP has been arguing for decades that we all have a Second Amendment right to bear arms. And Donald J. Trump pardoned rioters who brought bear spray, zip ties and, yes, firearms to the Capitol on January 6.

I have not been the same since January 24, and no, it wasn't the kibble incident in the kitchen. Alex Pretti happened. After ICE agents here in Chicagoland haunted school parking lots and loitered outside The Home Depot and (wait for it) the children's museum in search of "the worst of the worst." After Renee Good. After five-year-old Liam Ramos was shipped away to a detention center in another state.

OK, so what am I going to do about this?

I'm sending incremental money to the ACLU. I'm working on Democratic voter registration in red states. I'm concentrating my efforts lower ballot initiatives and special elections. 

I still believe in America. I still believe in the system. 

But we are broken. Approximately 35%-40% of Americans still approve of Donald Trump. They are so afraid of the LGBTQ community and people of color that they excuse his cruelty and disregard for the rule of law. And they so often do it while wrapping themselves in my Christian faith!

Whatever happened to, "whatever you did for the least of my brothers and sisters, you did for me?" I guess they found the loophole, which is, of course, that you don't have to love brothers or sisters who are trans or brown. After all, Donald Trump has made terror and cruelty OK. Patriotic, even.

So prayer is important here, too. But I won't pray to change the hearts of  35%-40% of Americans. I have to concentrate on my own heart and not let myself get too exhausted by this blanket of unremitting ugliness.

 

PS I truly believe that ICE began entering Blue State cities as a political calculation, to change the headlines away from Epstein. Just like Greenland and Venezuela and the Kennedy Center and the East Wing were designed to distract us from Epstein. The shenanigans in Georgia are meant to rig the mid-terms and protect Trump from Epstein. I have no idea what's in those files, but he must believe it would shake the faith of his loyal 35%-40%. I want those files released, if only to put an end to the desperate self-preservation measures of Donald J. Trump.

 

A candle for Henry

I attended Christmas Eve service this evening from my hotel room in Grand Rapids. I admit it was kinda neat to be in my pajamas, propped up by pillows, worshiping. I've attended Zoom church before, but I've never been this casual about it. At home, I'm always at my dining room table, and I'm never in my pjs.

The informality made it easy for me to be distracted. For example, when the choir began singing "Veni, Emmanuel," I opened another window and checked my Facebook feed. I flashed back to all those Christmas Eves I worshiped with Henry in Key West. He would not have approved of my flippancy. Raised Catholic, schooled by Jesuits, he respected all aspects of a church service and loved a hymn in Latin. When I didn't bother to stifle a yawn during the homily, I could feel Henry's side eye from above.

When we got to my favorite part of the Christmas Eve service – when the lights go down and we sing "Silent Night" by candlelight – I was rapt. But again, I was thinking more of Henry than the Christmas story. We sang the verse three times: first in English, then to show solidarity with our neighbors besieged by ICE we sang in Spanish, then we closed in English. Yes, from my tummy in my hotel room, I sang along. "Brilla la estrella de paz," or "the star of peace shines." 

Our minister told those in attendance: "As the candlelight in the sanctuary increases, so does the hope and courage and love that we bring to one another." In 2026, as we approach the midterms, I must do what I can to bring hope and courage and love to my fellow Americans. To see that the star of peace shines. That was my Christmas Eve takeaway. It may have been more obviously about Henry than the birth of the Christ child, but then again, who brought Henry into my life in the first place, and who is Henry with now? So it's full circle. It goes back to Christ exactly the way it's supposed to. 

When I'm away from home on Christmas – which has been more often than not these past 15 years – I always pack a teeny-tiny nativity scene for my nightstand. I will say a prayer tomorrow, as I do on hotel Christmas mornings. 

But that's Christmas morning. Tonight, Christmas Eve, is about candles and light and hope and courage and love. And Henry. His goodness and his example. I miss him desperately, but am grateful I knew him and am grateful that he's in Heaven and grateful I can carry him with me.

  

Photo by Kabir Tamang on Unsplash 

Religion and legislation

A young (20something) man in my movie group is a devout Jew. In addition to movies, we both follow baseball* and politics. He has educated me on what his religion has taught him about the LGBTQ community, explaining Jews are called to "acknowledge the sacredness of every human being and rededicate ourselves to creating a world where every person can live with dignity, safety, and pride." 

His rabbi has told him that abortion must be seen not in absolute terms but reviewed on a case-by-case basis. My friends Nancy and Mindy, also Jews but of my generation, have said that they were taught once a fetus is born, it's a baby. Until birth, the mother's life and decisions are honored.

The First Amendment states Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, ensuring the right to practice any religion or none at all. 

You know where I'm going with this: Why does the Religious Right feel it can/should pass laws that go against the sincere beliefs of other established religions? What about the rights of Americans who don't believe in God at all? Why is this group so willing to celebrate the Constitution yet so eager to blur or downright ignore the separation between Church and State?

At a time when Tucker Carlson is comfortable giving Nick Fuentes a platform, and Donald Trump defends Tucker for this – while demanding Jimmy Kimmel be taken off the air – this looks darker and darker. 

America should belong to all of us. Our tent should be big enough for everyone. As a Christian, I have no problem with inclusion. After all, my faith has taught me about love and activism. If I believe abortion should be rare – and I do – that's what sex education is for. That's what adoption advocacy is for. That's not what legislation is for. 

Apparently Catholics are the wrong kind of Christians in Trump's America, too. Immigrants being held here in Chicagoland are not only deprived of due process, they are not allowed to take communion. Convicted prisoners on death row get to observe their faith, but not detainees here. Maybe I'm wrong about this. Perhaps it's easy to ignore the human rights of people who have yet to be found guilty of anything not because they are Catholic but because they aren't white. Either way, I find this chilling. And more than a little hypocritical. 

I also am not for telling consenting adults what they should be able to do in the privacy of their bedrooms. Denying tax-paying gays the legal rights that come with marriage? How can that possibly be fair? What's next? Denying gays jury trials because you don't like their lifestyle? Maybe transsexuals should no longer be allowed to vote because some (by all means not all) Christians don't "approve."

To me, this is the scariest thing about MAGA: It's made us comfortable with intolerance from people who claim patriotism, but aren't willing to live it. We're complacent and don't see where we're headed. As my late friend John liked to say, "People living in Berlin before the war didn't know they were living in Berlin before the war." Of course, he was gay, so why should we listen to him?

 

*He and I disagree on the AL MVP, though. Fond as I am of Aaron Judge, I'm just in awe of what Cal Raleigh was able to accomplish with his bat this year while playing more than 120 games as catcher. What a player!

Happy Birthday to Me, Part 2

My aunt sent me a big box of teas again this year. It's very sweet, really. Since she moved to Florida decades ago, she recalls Chicagoland as an arctic tundra and wants to help me ward off the cold. The thing of it is she sends me more than I can ever drink. So I will go through the box and what I know I won't consume, I'll either donate to the food pantry or give to Will and Gregory when we meet for Thanksgiving dinner. 

She also included a festive little Christmas pin. I mentioned on Facebook that I lost one last year and was bummed about it. Again, it was so sweet of her to remember that after all this time and act on it.

What's sad about this is how small her world has become. Like many who are MAGA (or MAGA adjacent), she just can't resist telling the rest of us how very wrong we are. And reveal what a racist homophobe she is. Her oldest son, my sisters, and her adult grandchildren are all estranged from her. She has a great grandchild she hasn't seen. She's been enduring health problems – as people knocking on 80 will – and is hurt that they don't check on her. The only Mother's Day gifts she receives anymore are from me (she's my Godmother). 

I wonder if the cold comfort she receives by "being right" about Trump is worth it. 

I prefer to focus on the fact that she's one of two people left on earth who held me as a baby. I choose to treasure that she loves me and is my last tie to my favorite grandparents.*

And I cannot wait until this MAGA fever breaks and I can celebrate my birthday without Donald Trump intruding on it!

*My grandmother never missed church and was very active in the congregation and the Girl Scouts. She was every inch a lady. My grandfather was a German immigrant who was outspoken in his support of unions and Democrats from FDR to Jimmy Carter (<<< President when he died). They would be appalled by MAGA.

 

Photo by Olena Bohovyk on Unsplash

 

Sunday Stealing

Memememe -- Part 1

1. The phone rings. Who do you want it to be? The doctor's office. I have a check up scheduled with my prospective new primary care physician and they said they'd call if something earlier opened up. 

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart? I don't use a cart. I bring my own canvas bag, and when it's full I know I'm done shopping.

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener? Talker.

4. Do you take compliments well? I can be rather self deprecating.

5. Do you play Sudoku or Wordle? Yes. Wordle. My starting word is "PLATE."

6. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? I went to Girl Scout day camp every summer.

7. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you? I have. It didn't really make much difference. My faith is very personal to me. As long as you respect that, we'll get along.

8. Would you rather pursue or be pursued? Pursue.  

9. Have you ever fired a gun? Once, when I was a very little girl. We were visiting my mother's great aunt and uncle on "The Farm." This was the one and only time I met them. Anyway, I got up really early and my dad took me along with him and Unc when they went to fire at cans on a fence. They had a special rifle for kids. When we got back, he told my mother how funny I looked holding the rifle and she went absolutely nuts. My parents were very careful about not disagreeing in front of us kids, but she emphatically disagreed that morning. That's a clearer memory than actually firing the rifle. I don't recall that at all. I do remember drinking unpasteurized milk that had come straight from the cow. I thought that was neat, even though I didn't finish it because it was warm. 

10. Would you rather dine at Olive Garden or Panera? Olive Garden 

Thank you for playing! Please come back next week.

 

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