Sick

Little Cuter has bronchitis.

FlapJilly screamed for an hour after pre-school yesterday.  DOUGHNUTS!!! DOUGHNUTS!!! DOUGHNUTS!!!

TBG has had a chest cold for nearly two weeks, a cold I'd been fighting with Zicam spray until I decided that I was healthy and stopped medicating.  Now that cold is back, with a vengeance, and my throat is scratchy and my head hurts and my tummy isn't happy at all.

But what's making me sick is Kris Kobach insisting that registering enemy aliens, or potential enemy aliens, or just Muslims in general is based on long-standing legal precedent.  Korematsu v United States was the 6-3 Supreme Court decision allowing for the registration and, ultimately, the internment of Americans of Japanese origin during FDR's administration.

Antonin Scalia had this to say on Korematsu, back in 2014:

“Well, of course, Korematsu was wrong,” Scalia said. “And I think we have repudiated it in a later case. But you are kidding yourself if you think the same thing will not happen again.”

He predicted it.  Trump's transition team is talking about it.  And I am sick about it.

But, for this one, I have a plan.  

I'll register along with them, just as the Dutch did with the Jews in the 1940's.  I've always cherished the notion that common folk took a small but significant step to express their displeasure with an unwelcome regime.  They were thinking that all Dutch lives mattered, even ones who didn't worship Jesus Christ.  They were willing to stand in harms way to make their dissatisfaction known.  

It's scary to think about, but all disease has an element of terror attached to it.  The fragmentation of our society is sickening.  I'm pledging to take steps to combat the infestation.

I can't believe I'm writing this post.  What has happened to my America?  

The Day After

A friend threw up.

I spent the day wondering ... about freedom of choice, about the status of friends, about bullying, and about Pantsuit Nation

Young people were taking ownership of not doing enough, and then promising to share the love as they carried on.

Mostly, I felt lost.

And then the oddest thing happened; I held Robert Redford and Donald Trump in my brain at the same time.  The Donald didn't look any more comfortable than Redford's candidate after his unlikely win.

(start at 2:04)

,

Checks and Balances.  The rule of law.  A free press.  An independent judiciary.  I pin my hopes on America.

Can This Really Be Happening?

I'm typing this on Monday night.  No matter what happens tomorrow, this post starts the same way:
Can this really be happening?

It's what Little Cuter and I kept repeating last Wednesday in the bottom of the 9th.
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I'm typing this on Tuesday at midnight.

Can this really be happening?

John Podesta sent the campaign workers home.  Big Cuter and TBG and I have been on the phone for hours.  JannyLou and I have been trying not to puke. I've stayed away from Facebook; there's only so much angst I can handle.

Can this really be happening?

Is this my country?  Am I that out of touch?  Is most of America opposed to everything I hold dear?

Can this really be happening?

It was much more fun to say that when the Cubbies were winning.

Not Everyone Is Happy

I left one episode out of yesterday's post.  It didn't fit with the overall tenor, but it exists out there.

I was teary, standing outside the voting area, and an elderly man and woman smiled with are you okay? looks on their faces.  I smiled back at them.  

"I just voted for a woman for president and I'm a little overwhelmed."

The woman smiled back as the man  said "Yeah, get ready for a woman president." 

"From your mouth to God's ear," I replied, channeling G'ma and Bubba and all the women in my lineage who never had the opportunity to hope for this very moment.......

and he GRIMACED!

Say what you will about Hillary, growing up when we did it was impossible to imagine  a female POTUS. What she had to do in order to get to this place, without tons of money (Diane Feinstein comes to mind), on a national scale, for sure left detritus in her wake. How could it not? But she has my same body parts, has had my same experiences, and is poised to smash that glass ceiling into a million pieces.

I wish there were less baggage so that we could all revel in it, but I'm not letting that get in the way of my joy.  This is a seminal moment in American politics, and, like the sun coming up this morning, I was here to see it.

By definition, it's a very good day.

A Very Special Day

Dear FlapJilly,

You were in pre-school today, all the way across the country from your grandparents.  That's the only reason I didn't take you with me this afternoon.  Your absence is the only unfortunate part of an otherwise remarkable day.

I voted for a woman to be the President of the United States.

I didn't see her opponent's name on the ballot; my gaze stopped right at the top.  PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES - Clinton/Kane was all that I could read.  There were tears, FlapJilly, real wet tears in my eyes.

The world is a far more accommodating place right now than it was when I was 2.  You'll never need a man to co-sign a loan or a credit card application.  No salesman will refuse to talk to you without your husband standing by your side... no salesman with whom you'd do business, that is.  You can secure birth control without a marriage license and a willing gynecologist.

You'll never know a world where race or gender determines whether you can run for office, even for the highest office in the land.  This is the piece that touches me most deeply.  In my lifetime, a black man has sat in the Oval Office and, fingers crossed and breath bated, a woman will sit there soon.  We've gone from Jim Crow and parietal hours to looking beyond the exterior and judging on value and merit.

Is that really true?  Are voters choosing policy and content over the externals?  I'd like to think so.  Perhaps because she's 69, no one has wondered if her menstrual cycle will affect her judgment.  Don't laugh, kiddo.  That was a major talking point when I was in junior high and high school whenever this issue arose.  Hard to imagine, perhaps, but definitely true.

Women were viewed through the lens of biology, deemed inferior because we were different. Disabled people were excluded from public life because steps precluded their entry to the buildings.  People of color used separate water fountains.  There were quotas not to be exceeded when Jews were considered for admission to our nation's top institutions of higher education; your great-uncle Martin was one of the four Jews at MIT his year.  It rankled, but it was our reality.

It wasn't something we talked about, not until the Civil Rights movement woke us up to the fact that major change was possible if right was on your side.  It wasn't easy or painless but the fight was the good fight and, burning bras and draft cards aside, it was won with ethical arguments.  After all, it's really hard to make a case for exclusions based solely on gender or race.

And so, my darling grand-child, you will never know a world where a woman can't be President and the Cubs can't be in the World Series.  Today is a very special day, indeed.

With much love,
G'amma

Woe is Me

I'm a Cubs fan.  It's my natural state of affairs.

I allowed myself to buy into the hype this year.  I was foolish and I was forgetful and I got what I deserved.

Only 2 out of the last 20 winningest teams in baseball have won the World Series.  When you hit a losing streak in a seven game series it's hard to regroup, to recoup, to make the fans smile again.

And so, tonight, when I should be able to turn to Fox Sports One for an escape from debate, I have no alternative but to stick with Hillary and The Donald.  I'll have a belly ache no matter where I land.

Woe is me, I'm a Cubs fan.  I don't mess with the mojo.  When we checked in on-line and saw that Chicago was ahead we knew that we couldn't start the tape delay until it was all over.  They were doing just fine without us.

And I fell right back into it, along with half the crowd in Dodger Stadium.  Russel and Rizzo broke out of their slumps and everyone was smiling and, once again, I was reminded that the roller coaster nature of the relationship is half the fun.

Woe is me.  I'm a Cubs fan.

Dear Ivanka,

Dear Ivanka,

I know what you're going through. I had a difficult father, too.

He asked a young father at an adjoining restaurant booth if his almost-2 year old son was "retarded.... why isn't he talking if he's not?  Are you talking to him?  He should be talking......" and when the over-6'-tall-muscled-and-furious gentleman stood up, I just shrugged.

"Go ahead.  Smack him.  He's totally out of control."  And then, because I really didn't want him to come to any physical harm, I added this harmless lie: "You should see him when he's off his meds."
I ushered my embarrassment and my never-medicated-even-though-he-should-have-been paternal unit out the door, apologizing to the point where the insulted father smiled and shrugged back.

"Good luck," he said, "you've got your hands full."

And so do you, Ivanka.

The difference is, I recognized my father's outrageous behavior, and never considered it anything other than reprehensible.  I knew him to be a warm and loving Daddy, when he wasn't creating tumult for the sake of creating tumult.  Those delightful times made it easier to ride out the nauseating ones, but, eventually, I decided to keep him to myself and not foist him on others.

My parents missed many graduations and championship games because Daddooooo couldn't be taken out in public.  The Ballerina had a similar parental situation, and she loved me enough to be the one sitting beside him at the soccer games we could not avoid.  Off to one side, in low chairs that, once-he-was-in-he-couldn't-get-out-of, she kept him occupied and away from anyone he might have insulted or annoyed.

I kept him involved in our lives but refused to allow him to become the center of attention, even if that meant not inviting him if I couldn't keep him contained.  That's what you do with those you love who can't be taken out in public; you protect the rest of the world from their madness while doing all you can to maintain a relationship.  This is neither easy nor fun.  There's guilt and there's trying to fix that which cannot be fixed and there is, at the end, resignation.

Daddooooo and I had many fantastic adventures.... just the two of us or with The Cuters.... surrounded by love and by those who could call him on his nonsense.  He loved us.  He listened to us.  He was often surprised that we were remembered the words.  It was more than the content.  It was being the center of attention.  It was the celebrity.

I had no problem with that around his adoring grandchildren and me, his semi-tolerant offspring, the one most like him, the one he never worried about, the one who began calling him Herb when she was 16, because a Daddy wouldn't treat his son that way.  Was he hurt?  It never crossed my teenage mind to wonder.  I bought him personalized Herb the Superb gear and he seemed to love it.  

But, Ivanka, even at 16 I knew what was right and what was wrong.  I didn't stay silent.

You, however, are enabling the behavior, and the rest of us are suffering.

Y'know what, kiddo?  It's on you.  Daddooooo had a wife of many decades whose Oh, Herbert, Shut UP! was the Muzak of my childhood.  Since most of us think that one of your dad's wives leaked his tax returns, looking in that direction probably won't get you very far.  Your  brothers don't give me much confidence and Tiffany is wisely staying away.  You're all that's left.

And honestly, sweetheart, don't you want to tell him to put a sock in it?

Your father is talking about International Bankers, Ivanka.  Those are your people, the Jewish people, the ones you dunked in the mikvah to join, and I bet that the phrase resonated with the Kushners even if it didn't for you.  Has no one mentioned it to you if you didn't get it yourself? They've come for us before and there's hardly a Jew on earth who doesn't worry, in a small corner of her mind, if they'll come for us again.

Us, Ivanka.  Not just me and mine, but you and yours.

You father is pandering to a very dangerous element of our society, an element which until his rise was suitably hidden under a rock.  He's brought it into the sunshine, and that is terrifying to me and, I think, it should be terrifying to you.... and your children.

He's your father.  You're stuck with him.  Perhaps you could do the rest of us a favor and tell him to Shut UP, Donald!

Words

There's been a lot said about words this weekend.

Should some words be bleeped out in audio?  Should some words be repeated by commentators?There was no consistency - neither within nor between the outlets.

How private are your words?  Is wearing a microphone enough evidence ?

How about giggling at those words?  I heard no embarrassed twittering; I heard coarse laughter.

And there was much discussion of the meta-issue, the framing of the dialogue.  And this is where it got interesting.

Predatory (those tic tacs) Sexual (that word we're not saying) Assault (without waiting).  Not bad language.  Sexual Assault.... that which boys all over America, Freshman Orientations heavy on respect for boundaries still ringing in their ears, have now heard the Republican Candidate for President announce that he'd disregard it all, and it's okay, because he's a star.

This is about all our children - boys and girls.

CNN's John King's defense of men in locker rooms was the first time anyone on tv repeated what TBG has been shouting at the screen since late Friday night.  That was when locker room banter became synonymous with you can say whatever kind of shit you want.  Like my husband, his outrage was palpable.

Both of them have spent lots of time in lots of locker rooms.  Neither of them had ever heard anything like that.  But they don't stop there.  To be sure, they insist, if either of them had heard it, the speaker would have been shoved up against the wall and told in no uncertain terms that the locker room was filled with sons and brothers and cousins and uncles, men who have no use for that kind of behavior.

They are offended on behalf of their gender.  Just as TBG was offended on behalf of all middle aged men managing younger women when Bill Clinton didn't have sex in the Oval Office, so Mr. Trump's assumption that his words are acceptable in a naked, single gender environment offends the athlete in him.

But mostly, I go back to the words.

Princess Myrtle posted the best(?) catcall in a while - Lady, I'd vote for you for President this week, so we know that words are still being flung at those not yet invisible women who dare to use the streets.  I can't begin to fathom being a survivor of sexual assault who listened to those words, over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

Words matter.  No matter where or when you say them.

Debate Blather - Random Thoughts

I have anecdotal evidence that the debate influenced at least one voter. Princess Myrtle reports an acquaintance shifting from Trump to Clinton, after watching Donald (if Hillary can call him that then so can I) last night.

At least someone was paying attention.
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At cards today, a Happy Lady remarked that Hillary left the Cabinet because she was ill.  She said it with certainty, the way you'd talk about the weather.  When confronted with the notion that the Secretary of State left because it was time for her to run for President, when we wondered about the nature of the supposed illness, when we asked where she'd heard about it, she was stunned.

It had never occurred to her that this was not a fact.  She likes us and she trusts us so she didn't dismiss us out of hand.  Instead, she listened and saw the merit of our argument.  She's already disgusted with Donald, but she feels a lot better about Hillary right now.
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This is a change election.

I heard it so often last night and this morning and this afternoon that I began to wonder:  were there crib sheets handed out by the media gods?

And anyway, doesn't every challenger run on change?

Hillary's as close to an incumbent as we have in this election and I need her to make my point.

Donald said she'd been fighting ISIS all her adult life, that she'd been making policy for 30 years.  She's got experience, I agree.  But it's bad ... bad experience.

He saw no problem in blaming her for everything.  Why not?

And the media is calling it a change election, feeding into the narrative.
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I've been enjoying Sniffgate.

I especially like the fact that Donald says he wasn't sniffling at all.  It's impressive, watching someone lie about a viewable fact.
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Poor Chris Christie.

Not only did he have the unenviable job of spinning Donald's performance last night, today a former aide described, in court, the Governor laughing about the traffic on the George Washington Bridge.  As if that weren't enough, there's a clip of Donald brushing off Governor Chrisite's role in the Bridgegate scandal this way: Of course he knew about it.

Poor Chris Christie.
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My favorite part was Donald interrupting Hillary.

I love the fact that Lester Holt let him be Donald, making no effort to rein him in.  Instead, he allowed Donald to demonstrate that he is that guy who talks over you, who smirks at you, who makes it about himself and his version of reality... that guy who's in every workspace... who knows that he's better and bigger and cannier than you are....

I can't imagine that was lost on those white, suburban women who are or were in the workplace.  It's happened to every one of us.
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Does anybody else find it unusual that you can't get a casino license in New Jersey without making your tax returns public but you can try to get elected to the Presidency without sharing the same information?

I want everyone to know where the Donald's debts lie.

Alt-Right - What Upsets Me

I'd never heard the term until this weekend.  Alt-Right was everywhere and I was flummoxed. Everyone knew about it but me.  The talking heads speak to TBG all day long; how had the phrase not osmosed into my brain?

I investigated the situation on-line, read Bannon's screeds and his history, and found myself awash in mainstream media trying to find the least offensive synonyms for racist, homophobic, xenophobic rants.  I thought that Alt-Right was another synonym.

Big Cuter disabused me of that notion.  Alt-Right is what the people who used to keep their beliefs under a rock have taken to calling themselves.  I guess I've been living in a bubble of people who think, but the words and the ?logic? are awful.

I refuse to provide links because nobody else should have that nonsense running around in their brain.

It's not that these are new ideas.  There has always been an ugly current in America - from the Salem Witch Trials to burning crosses to No Dogs No Jews Nobody Who Isn't a Real American... a David Duke American.... an American who doesn't threaten those who feel the most left behind.... I suppose... I don't understand it and I'm not sure I want to spend the time required to do so.

What upsets me is the 40% of Americans who plan to vote for a man espousing those values.

What upsets me is the mainstream media using Alt-Right instead of Far Right Extremists or the Splinter Wingnuts of the Party Formerly Known as Republican when they talk about people they despise but to whom they must give air time.

What upsets me is that this is happening in my America.

Words matter.

Putting lipstick on a pig still leaves you with Sarah Palin.

Hell in a Handbasket

The Conservative talking head listed the NSA hack, Aetna pulling out of health care exchanges, and something else monumental and potentially lethal to Hillary Clinton, all of which have been lost in the uproar over Donald Trump's new campaign staff.  A pollster and a media mogul with a Goldman Sachs heritage folded over his naval career will be running things from now on, if anyone can be said to be running things on the Trump side of the campaign.

All this because The Donald has "been very unhappy over the past few weeks," according to MSNBC.  Everyone wants him to change.  Everyone wants him to be someone he is not.  Everyone wants to find depths in the shallows, sincerity in the sophistry, calm amidst the storm.  Everyone keeps trying, but The Donald knows in his heart what they do not - that he is who he is.

Looking for that which does not exist is quixotic, by definition.  In that sense, Trump is saner than the Republicans who want him to represent them and their Party in a manner that is somewhat more respectable than the behavior their chosen candidate has displayed thus far.  They want him to be someone he is not.

The man can read from a teleprompter.  He doesn't do it with much enthusiasm, but he can accomplish the task.  That made Republican fundraisers happy; two weeks ago they asked for donations based on the fact that their candidate didn't make a single faux pas while reading aloud.  I watched that speech; he seemed to be seeing the words for the first time.  There was no bombast, no declarative cadence, no head shaking or finger pointing.  It was boring.  The audience was as numbed as I was.

Boring is not something that Mr. Trump does well.  He has a finely tuned sense of the audience, and knows when dropping a Crooked Hillary bomb will fire them up.  But speechwriters don't put those kinds of incendiary devices in carefully crafted public policy tracts.  Those are filled with facts and nuance and compare-and-contrast statements that don't involve name calling.  Those are not areas of comfort for The Donald.

And so, as his daughter vacations with Vladimir Putin's girlfriend, as his son is on a (big game hunting?) vacation, Trump shoved the RNC's Paul Manafort aside.  Manafort's problems have been all over the news.... overshadowing The Donald.... and that, I fear, more than the substance of the accusations being hurled at Manafort, is why he made the move.

He wants to be who he is.  "I don't want to change" might be acceptable from a 4 year old, but "I don't want to pivot," isn't designed to bring comfort to the hearts of those who would like to see a Republican in the White House next January.

The world is going to hell in a hand basket, and the news is filled with the rantings of a man who's in over his head and can't figure out an exit strategy.  If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.

Somehow, though, I'm not laughing.

Pants, and the Wearing Thereof

I commented every time she posted a picture of her toddler daughter sauntering through the neighborhood, clad in a t-shirt and a diaper and pink cowboy boots:

PANTS!!! WHERE ARE HER PANTS!!!!

Her replies were always a variation on the same theme:

Pants are vastly over-rated, especially when you are 2.

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In Miss Adelaide's honor, perhaps, FlapJilly, my very favorite little poy-son, develop(ed) a bad, bad cold. She and her parents spent the weekend inside, having home repair adventures and playing with helium filled birthday balloons on looooong strings.

Apparently, my granddaughter spent the entire weekend wearing butterfly panties.... and nothing else.

Toddler Wisdom:  Pants are unnecessary accouterments and shall not be tolerated.
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The talking and tweeting and posting people are all agog over the existence of nude photos of Mrs. Trump.  As I understand it, these were professional photos for a now defunct French men's magazine.  She's pretty naked in the pictures I could find on-line, and I'm sure Mamie Eisenhower is rolling in her permanent waved grave right now, but I don't think that attacking the candidate's wife is an effective assault on Donald Trump's run for the Presidency.

After all, Bill Clinton would have to be Hillary's response.

So, perhaps, we should all take a deep breath and a big dose of Toddler Wisdom:

No Pants.