Living in a Battleground State

The Democrats have purchased a great deal of airtime here in Arizona.  In addition to the constant stream of snail mail from Joe Biden and my Instagram feed, TBG's chosen medium, broadcast television, is a non-stop political diatribe. 

Between MSNBC and all sports known to man, there's a lot of television advertising in my house.  I've seen it all.

Beginning with the early college football games (10am Arizona time) and peaking during the UofA game, we were reminded that Kari Lake thinks abortion is murder. 

We watched Kamala's border speech. Pieces of it appeared in an ad the next day.  Her ads feature the bumbling and rambling word salad and absurd promises to protect women (where are Ivanka and Melania these days?), the love affair with Putin, the weakness and vanity and vulnerability and basic unfitness for any position of responsibility let alone the Presidency.

According to his side, their country is going to hell in a handbasket, and if they have to lie to get you riled up then so be it.  They are peddling alternative facts, thankfully less frequently than the Democrats have been looking ahead.*

So when Big Cuter mentioned seeing the Republicans' overtly racist and homophobic attack ad, we knew exactly what he meant.  We acknowledged the drag queen smear and the stupidity of the rest of that nonsense.

He said he'd seen the Kamala ad during that game, too. When we asked Which Kamala ad? there was a pause, and then a small chuckle from our son in deep blue northern California.

Oh, right, you're living in a battleground state.

Yup, It doesn't really matter.  I'm sure we've seen whichever one he meant.  

JannyLou came to town and I got distracted.

Have a wonderful weekend; I'll be back on Monday.

Getting Mail

We are talking real mail here, not email or texts.  

I mean pens and markers and pencils.  Different tools for different purposes. The grandkids get colorful postcards and note cards written in whatever ink strikes my fancy.  I used to keep my calligraphy supplies (a much loved but short lived hobby) in a drawer.  Now they are in the cups I've repurposed as desk accessories.  

I have a drawer full of stationary

and a collection of forever stamps 

bought just before the last price increase  (and whatever happened to our outrage about Mr. DeJoy?).

Little Cuter's colleagues sent Notre Dame swag for the Prince scholars' Colleges in Classrooms project.  I composed a generic, typed letter of thanks.  Along with two of these tiny magnets of the scholars at work and play,

 I sent each donor a personal note, on GRIN stationary accumulated over the last 12 years. 

One recipient sent Little Cuter a picture of her packet with the caption Day Made.

All too often it's flyers and solicitations and bills in the mail (I have a tendency to forget about emailed bills).  But every once in a while there's an envelope addressed to Grandma and Grandpa, or a postcard of a naked lady from someone related to Daddoooooo, who was on a lifelong mission to see what the USPS would consider pornography.  Those kinds of things tend to live on the kitchen island for a while, reminding me that we are loved.

That's Not History, That's My Life

It was sometime between 1963 and 1969, homework on my lap, G'ma in the kitchen, rubbing Twinkle on the bottoms of her Revere ware pots.

She wore gloves for this, long to her elbows, yellow, rubber gloves.  

That's the crucial to the vivid-to-this-day image I have of her standing in the foyer across from my surprised self on the couch, eyes blazing, arms encased in yellow rubber gloves raised in cactus pose

responding to my simple request for a quick answer.  

Mom, where did Patton fight?

Cue loud noise from kitchen, fast stomping feet, and there was my mother, typically a dispassionate and reserved woman, informing me in no uncertain terms, in that voice that mothers' have, loudly and passionately that it was Italy, God Damn It!  My brother fought there!  That is not HISTORY..... that is MY LIFE.

She went back to the sink, nodding her head .... in satisfaction? ..... dismay?.... who knows?  

I have never forgotten the two lessons I learned that night: Patton fought with my Uncle Paul (who never ever except once talked about WWII) in Italy; and History is in the eye of the beholder.

The war ended some 24 years before that conversation.  I've been substituting FlapJilly wondering about Bush v. Gore or 9/11 to get a sense of what she was feeling.  It's a decidedly odd experience.

I'm thinking about all this because I've put Challenger aside for the moment and have been engrossed in  Clara Bingham's The Movement.  

That isn't history; that's my life.

I was in 7th grade in 1963.  I graduated college in 1973.  I'm reading an oral history of the characters I came to know through newspapers and magazines and college courses.  Betty Friedan''s The Feminine Mystique;  Simone de Beauvoir's Marxist The Second Sex;  Eldridge Cleaver's profoundly disturbing  Soul on Ice were foundational texts at Cornell.  

Suburban Long Island was not a hotbed of radical thinking.  I thought these ideas had been out there forever and I wondered why I was just considering them now.  

The interviewees are presented in their own words after Bingham's brief introduction to each section, giving an overview of what will follow.  I've begun to see that what I thought of as common sense and what ought to be was, in fact, being fashioned not out of whole cloth but out of the lived experiences of the humans who transformed America.

It's transfixing.  It's very funny.  It's quite moving.  It has exposed the gaps in what I thought about so many things.  For example, why have I not been a champion of Shirley Chisholm?  She voted against every military spending bill to come before the House of Representatives unless an equal amount was spent on serving families and education.  How did I not know this?

I'm up to the Black Panthers and the Nation of Islam and those women who refused to be silenced or barefoot.  The intersection of the Civil Rights movement and the anti-war movement birthed the Women's Movement; when the patriarchy became too much to bear the women went elsewhere and organized for themselves.  

It's empowering and humbling and very easy to read, even for me, a reluctant non-fiction person. I'm considering buying my own copy and sending it around to my friends.  It's not an eBook yet; check out the library if spending $32.50 isn't in the budget.

Happy Anniversary

Twelve years ago today, I could barely lift my head from the pillow.  Seret warned me that weddings are exhausting; that was why she refused to commit to coming for dinner the Monday after SIR and Little Cuter were married in our backyard.  It was a beautiful setting, and her father and I didn't charge extra for a Saturday night event.   

The weather was perfect.  The officiant (Big Cuter) was outstanding.  The guests were smiling and seemed to be enjoying themselves.  

The police came to enforce the no amplified music after 10pm ordinance.  We turned on the cd player and partied until 4am, Hershey's kisses for energy, and love to fill our hearts.

Now, two children, two houses, several vehicles, and one dog later, she made tacos for dinner and was happy with a text message sharing joy from her mother.  They are as happy (happier?) now as they were then.

Getting Their Attention

Kamala Harris admits that she has to work to gain the votes of young, black men.  Their support is not taken for granted.  Neither are the Black Women for Harris and White Women for Harris and Cat Ladies for Harris (true) and, TBG and Big Cuter's favorite - White Dudes for Harris.

TBG often comments that as a white male, he is part of a reviled subgroup.  He's not surprised; the misogyny is impossible to ignore.  He is appalled at the waste when 50% of the population is devalued and left to flounder; trust his MBA to color his dismay.  He shakes his head at polls showing white men feeling.... doing.... voting.... 

Women are going to save this world comes out of his mouth on a regular basis.   I offered to make him a hat saying something along the lines of this is a decent white guy.  He declined.

When he heard about White Dudes for Harris his mood changed.  There were others out there.  He had someone speaking out in his voice.   

Today, White Dudes for Harris dropped an ad that had us laughing and nodding and clapping by the end.  It's deeper than the usual vote-for-me-and-not-my-awful-opponent fare.  It's unlike anything I've seen before.

Here it is.

I'm sending it to a few young men I know.

Climate Change

I couldn't live there; I love the change of seasons.

How many times I heard that, how many times I laughed.  Marin has seasons.  Tucson has seasons.  The changes are more subtle than in Chicago, that is certain.  They may not be noticeable to those who don't live with that climate all year long, but they exist.

Yesterday was a good example.  I rolled down the windows in the UV; it was suddenly in the high 80's.  

That's still hot, but it's not triple digit hot.  The sidewalk doesn't radiate heat in the same way when it gets this cool.

Okay, cool may be a relative term, but that's how you recognize that the seasons are changing.  Suddenly, overnight, I'm eyeing my shirts with sleeves instead of the tank tops.  

I walked outside this morning and I was cold.  I'm a total weather wimp.  It was in the high 70's.  

Fall has arrived.... this week, at least.  

An Unsolicited Email

 

I don't know what list they bought.  I don't know how I, an active Act Blue donor, ended up on anything remotely connected to The Lying Liar and the Faux Hillbilly.  Still, there it was, staring at me from the screen.

I won't reprint the whole thing.  I don't want to ruin your day.  But I can't ignore the pain in my gut when I look at that emblem.  Police force?  Military force?  There isn't much joy in that emblem, is there?  

The email is an invitation to Trump Force 47 CAPTAIN'S TRAINING.  Yes, that apostrophe is making the Captain possessive.  Are we invited to watch the candidate be trained?  Mike Huckabee is the Special Guest; is he a captain who will be sharing his expertise?  Inquiring voters want to know.

DEFEND DEMOCRACY!  DO YOUR PART! the email exhorts. This seems somewhat disingenuous from a candidate who tried to overthrow that very democracy, who conspires with democracy's enemies, who thinks the Constitution is his to rewrite.

The Harris-Walz campaign, with support from the mainstream media, is misleading the public and launching attacks on President Trump.  I laugh every time he claims that the legacy media outlets are misleading the public.  There is no need to mislead from behind a curtain, as J D Vance pointed out in his latest speech.  He's lying about Haitian immigrants eating pets to draw attention to the issue.

Of course, the attention they are drawing involves bomb threats to schools and hospitals.  Just reporting the consequences of their actions may be considered launching an attack, and rightly so.  It's important that we call out those who are raising the temperature of the debate, who are inciting their followers to throw acid on unsuspecting residents.  Their words should be attacked by the adults in the room.

The Trump Force 47 Team urgently needs every patriot to rise to the challenge and fight for our country’s future.  Is it patriotic to fight for a man who promises to be a dictator on day one?  

I'm deleting the email now.  It has served its purpose and no longer needs to befoul my inbox.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

,  

LiLou, our grand-pig, enjoys the backyard.  She follows the sun from one end to the other, spending the day outdoors, taking care of her biological needs along a secluded side of the yard.

LiLou loves tomatoes, especially cherry tomatoes.  She eats a lot of them.  

This spontaneous garden is the ultimate in recycling.  No one planted any seeds.  There is no irrigation.  

Dozens of tomato plants organically appeared.  

TBG thinks it's pretty weird and isn't sure about the whole concept in general.

Queen T says they are delicious.

Voting

As the Harris/Walz campaign keeps reminding me, there are a dwindling number of days before the results of the November election will be known.  I've made my decisions regarding the humans, but my choices on Propositions must be made before then.  

That would be a lot easier if I knew what the choices were about.

My decision about the access to abortion initiative (meaning it was driven by the citizenry not the legislatures on the ballot, though I have no idea what the initiative's name or number might be has been made for a long time.  (As TBG told the AFL-CIO pollster who rang our bell, reproductive rights is an easy problem to fix.  It takes a vote and a signature, costs nothing, and affects a significant portion of the population immediately.  There are many more pressing issues, climate change chief among them, but only this one rings all three bells)

Is there more?  I do not know.

I will admit that I've skipped reading the local paper for the past few days; there might have been mentions that I missed.  If anyone is running for a local office, they haven't reached out to me.  I know that my County Supervisor is up for reelection only because I've seen his roadside signs and I recognize his name.  

If there's a school board vacancy to be filled I can find no mention of it on the interwebs.  A bond issue and an over-ride for our school district are on the ballot, but no one has reached out to assuage my fears of educational spending run amok.  Our schools should be palaces and I'm not an old fogey who refuses to invest in the future but I don't think it's asking too much to be courted for my vote. Or asked for my vote.  Or even just telling me that there is going to be a vote.  

Even more surprising is that ranked voting and life imprisonment for child sex traffickers and reducing the minimum wage for tipped workers are also on the ballot.  There are several propositions designed to undercut the power of the Governor (a Democrat) by the legislature (Republican).  

I have so many questions.  Is a tipped worker anyone behind a counter with a tip jar?  Allowing property owners to apply for a tax refund if the municipality doesn't enforce laws regulating all sorts of behavior related to poverty and encampments leads me down the rabbit hole of defining enforcement.  There are so many arguments on so many sides of the ranked voting decision; I'd love to hear them explored in the context of our purpling state and radicalized politics.

I may have to join the League of Women Voters.

Football's Back

Dinner plans with friends are now contingent on the 49'ers' schedule.  

I'm thinking of downloading the NFL app for quicker access to the answers to TBG's random questions.  He has his own phone and could search on his own, but it's so much nicer when you tell me things, and how can I argue with that?

RedZone still confuses me.  When I look up and see a red team going from left to right and then look up again and see a red team going from right to left it takes my brain a while to remember that it's probably a different game.  

The Pac 12 became the Pac 2 and is now the Pac 6.  The Big 10 teams were 17-1 in the first week of non-conference play.  This also makes my brain hurt.

With my hearing aids in or out, the game and the commentary become white noise as I type to you or read (Challenger) or play silly games on my phone.  TBG takes great joy in the things I do hear, things that bring me out of my fog and into his.  This evening it was Ice Station Zebra.

And although Mitch Trubitsky (who?), the quarterback the Chicago Bears drafted instead of Patrick Mahomes (best QB ever?) is now riding the bench in Buffalo, he still has a great name for football.

The Day After

I hope you enjoyed today as much as I did.  

MSNBC ran and re-ran my favorite pieces of the debate all day long, each talking head using different clips to make the same point - the guy's a loon.  

Also, she's an adult.  But most of us are accustomed to adults running for President.  A clown in a long red tie is, thankfully, a rarity.  

I love Joe Biden but I'm so glad he's not the candidate.  I've been scaring myself this afternoon, imagining two old white guys behind the podia, trying to make sense of a world gone awry .... how else to describe a world where they were the two most able Americans out of all the Americans in the land to be the leader of the free world.

I was embarrassed for us as a country.

Today was different.  With a little shove from VP Harris, his rhetoric was visible in 67 million households over 17 different media outlets.  Someone so unengaged as to be undecided saw a vital, vibrant, engaging woman verbally out-perform a hunched, oddly tanned, drivel and hatred spouting old man.

She was a grown up disciplining a toddler, then explaining why to the rest of us.  Those who tuned in to hear a thoughtful discussion of the issues saw that she is capable and he is not.  

And more than capable, she is clever and nimble. She's fun to watch and fun to hear and that's such a welcome change.  I had that thought in my head when TBG came home from the gym with a big smile on his face.

Walking across the floor from the locker room to the exit, he passed the 'roid gang, broad and chemically enhanced white men of all ages as an over-large 50-something declared  I've just gotta vote for the smile; I'm sick of all this negativity.  

Yes, it was a good day.

Happy Birthday, Christina-Taylor

You'd be 23 today.  

No doubt you'd be taller than I am.  

No doubt you'd be doing my little errands because taking care of others was embedded in your soul.  

You'd be excited to vote in your second Presidential Election.  I see you registering 1st time voters who become incapable of refusing your entreaties, because you are still a force of nature.

I see you treasuring FlapJilly and Giblet as your own little faux niece and nephew, because, in your life,  there were never too many people to love.

I ran across a picture of you standing, arms akimbo, staring me down for some long-forgotten reason, at the Reid Park Zoo, on the group tour when you charmed the entire Cornell Club of Southern Arizona with your questions and your enthusiasm.  I laughed through the tears that appeared out of nowhere.  You were a presence, kiddo, an honest to God presence.

I carry you with me, in my heart, every day.  You encourage me and annoy me and laugh at me and you're never far when I need you.  I miss you every day.

(and, it's 9/11, which, for me, somehow, takes second place)

Mute the Mic

I'll get it out of the way first.  The moderators lost control in the second half.  He was allowed to rant and she was cut off, not allowed to respond. 

If the intention was to let Trump be Trump and not sane-itize his behavior, they sure did that.  He was himself.  That probably was comforting to those who love him and ridiculous as always to those who don't.  

I don't know how the 20,000 people in six key districts (Steve Kornacki's analysis of what will swing the election) saw it.  That is terrifying.

So is the fact that he firmly believes that immigrants are stealing and eating people's pets.  

Having a plan shouldn't be a novel idea.  Everyone didn't want Roe overturned.  Victor Orban is a questionable character reference.  January 6th. Charlottesville.  I could go on, but it was enough having him in my living room for 90 minutes.  

While he was squinting, she was engaging with the camera.  If he ever looked at her the camera didn't show it.

Should they debate again?  Tim Walz said he'd encourage her to debate every day.  

Taylor Swift endorsed her, thereby influencing millions of girl dads.

It was a good night.  56 more days to go.

Taking A Break

The day got away from me and then the 49'ers got hold of me and then James Patterson wouldn't let me go.

I'll be back tomorrow with all things debate.  

Tech Made Me Smile

Smiling is not something usually associated with my interactions with technology.  Groaning, moaning, growling perhaps, but not smiling.  Not until Friday. 

I was in my closet, evaluating outfits for the evening, when faintly, right at the edge of my brand new right hearing aid's capability, I heard the first few bars of Humoresque.  A little louder, it switched to my left ear, and I realized it was my phone's ring tone.

No way on God's green earth would I have heard that without my updated assistive devices.  

Even better, as I walked out of the closet toward the rest of the house the sound became progressively louder.  The music led me right to my phone.

I don't remember who called.  I was entranced.  I was tempted to call my cell from the land line (don't judge; yes, we like our land line) just to do it all over again.  Tech that seamlessly enhanced my life was hanging over my ears.

It turns out that what I found remarkable is mundane.  Dr. K just nodded and asked if I had Bluetooth.  

I do.  The technician at Costco asked me the same question, so I'm sure a connection was made.  It's still a wonderful surprise.  

And it kept getting better.  I can listen to music from my phone, obviating the need for the very cool but suddenly useless ear buds gifted by my son.  I listened to Cory Booker's Instagram inspiration for my day instead of reading the words with the sound off because I'm sitting on the couch next to a football-comatose-husband.  

They are smaller and charge faster than their predecessors.  They come with a warranty and cleaning help.  And they gently alert me to the fact that my phone, though no longer in my sight or within my hearing distance, has begun to demand my presence.

Tech that makes me smile.  Who knew?

And Then....

As if yesterday wasn't enough, today Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton filed suit against the Texas State Fair.

Because there are not enough fried items n a stick?  Brother counted 58 varieties at the Iowa State Fair; was Texas not competitive enough?

Because the rides were terrifying or the lines too long or the weather wasn't great?

Nope.

The State Fair decided to ban weaponry.  

The State Fair of Texas prohibits fairgoers from carrying all firearms, knives with blades over 5.5 inches long, clubs, explosive devices, ammunition, chemical dispensing devices, replicas or hoaxes, or weapons of any kind. This includes concealed carry and open carry of firearms anywhere on the fairgrounds including Cotton Bowl Stadium. This policy does not include elected, appointed, or employed peace officers.

In the past, licensed concealed carry was permitted.  Not anymore.

Every year, the State Fair of Texas has an ongoing safety and security assessment, adding and adjusting security measures to ensure a safe environment for all fairgoers, employees, and vendors. For us to continue offering a safe event for all, we feel this is an important measure to implement.  

Just like Wyatt Earp in Dodge City, the fair says check your guns at the door.  Apparently, Ken Paxton thinks he knows better.

Once again, I have no words.

giffords.org

  

 

Apalachee

Columbine

Sandy Hook

Uvalde

Parkland

I have no words.  

Done In By the Heat

The scholars kept asking if the garden was open.  My car's thermometer registered in the low 90's.  I wasn't planning to garden; I had neither a hat nor water.  But the little boys already had hold of my hands and their destination was clear.  

I was hooked.  

There's not much to do when the temperatures are so high.  Mr. Guy, our landscape manager, weed whacked the giant cluster of weeds beneath the hose bib, which spread out to the near garden bed.  He swept up a lot of that which he cut, but there was still a lot to do.  

These two set to work without being told, proudly displaying their collections of hay and dead plants before depositing them in the giant white garbage bag which is, for the time being, living in the middle of the garden.

Tasked with clearing out the beds, the scholars discovered a tree, albeit a very small tree.  After some discussion about the merits of a tree growing in the garden bed, extrication was begun.  

Though they toiled diligently, the big boys learned a lesson about the resilience of native plants.  They find a comfy spot and hold on for dear life.  And hold on this one did.

The whistle blew and recess was over for them before they'd made much progress.  This little one sat all by herself for a very long time, using her fingers, a variety of trowels, and a hand rake, all to no avail.

Classmates came to help.

Getting closer and closer became more and more frustrating, but there was laughing, not cursing, and I was reminded why I love my school garden so much.

His hands wrapped tightly around the bottom of the very prickly seedling (another lesson on the advantages of prickers to baby plants) and pulled with all his might.

It was at this point that I realized I was sitting on the bench, wondering if I had the energy to walk into the shade.  The garden's closed, I announced, and we all headed for the shade of what our still stuck in the garden tree would be if we didn't try to kill it.

We agreed that it was too hot for words, thanked one another for the help and the fun and the garden, and then I went inside and the nurse gave me ice water and an ice pack for my pulse points and some more water and quiet conversation.

Grandmas shouldn't be out in the heat without a head covering and water and access to lots of shade.  Yes, to answer TBG's question when the wrung out version of his wife flopped into the house, I did learn my lesson.

100 Best Books?

Full of chutzpah as usual, the New York Times decided now was the time to discover The Best Books of the 21st Century.  

It's not 25 years into the century.  What prompted them to query hundreds of literary luminaries?  Did they grow tired of promoting false equivalencies in the news section, so decided to swing their attention to literature?

There are no poetry collections (if I missed something let me know) nor histories.  The marvelous new translations of the ancients are missing, too.

I've read 10 of them, and put down two of them (Atonement  and The Corrections

I found familiar authors and missed many of the African and Indian novelists I've read over the last few years (Tomi Obaro, Akwaeke Emezi, Vauhini Vara, Sopan Deb, Omolola Ogunyemi).

It's an interesting list, but it's paywalled.  Because that offends me and because I'm aggravated with The Paper of Record and because I can, here's the list, in case you care.

100. Tree of Smoke - Denis Johnson

99. How to Be Both - Ali Smith

98. Bel Canto - Ann Patchett

97. Men We Reaped - Jesmyn Ward

96. Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments - Saidiya Hartman

95. Bring Up the Bodies - Hilary Mantel

94. On Beauty - Zadie Smith

93. Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel

92. The Days of Abandonment - Elena Ferrante

91. The Human Stain - Philip Roth

90. The Sympathizer - Viet Thanh Nguyen

89. The Return - Hisham Matar

88. The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis - Lydia Davis

87. Detransition, Baby - Torrey Peters

86. Frederick Douglass - David W. Blight

85. Pastoralia - George Saunders

84. The Emperor of All Maladies - Siddhartha Mukherjee

83. When We Cease to Understand the World - Benjamín Labatut

82. Hurricane Season - Fernanda Melchor

81. Pulphead - John Jeremiah Sullivan

80. The Story of the Lost Child - Elena Ferrante

79. A Manual for Cleaning Women - Lucia Berlin

78. Septology - Jon Fosse

77. An American Marriage - Tayari Jones

76. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow - Gabrielle Zevin

75. Exit West - Mohsin Hamid

74. Olive Kitteridge - Elizabeth Strout

73. The Passage of Power - Robert Caro

72. Secondhand Time - Svetlana Alexievich

71. The Copenhagen Trilogy - Tove Ditlevsen

70. All Aunt Hagar’s Children - Edward P. Jones

69. The New Jim Crow - Michelle Alexander

68. The Friend - Sigrid Nunez

67. Far From the Tree - Andrew Solomon

66. We the Animals - Justin Torres

65. The Plot Against America - Philip Roth

64. The Great Believers - Rebecca Makkai

63. Veronica - Mary Gaitskill

62. 10:04 - Ben Lerner

61. Demon Copperhead - Barbara Kingsolver

60. Heavy - Kiese Laymon

59. Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides

58. Stay True - Hua Hsu

57. Nickel and Dimed - Barbara Ehrenreich

56. The Flamethrowers - Rachel Kushner

55. The Looming Tower - Lawrence Wright

54. Tenth of December - George Saunders

53. Runaway - Alice Munro

52. Train Dreams - Denis Johnson

51. Life After Life - Kate Atkinson

50. Trust - Hernan Diaz

49. The Vegetarian - Han Kang

48. Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi

47. A Mercy - Toni Morrison

46. The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt

45. The Argonauts - Maggie Nelson

44. The Fifth Season - N.K. Jemisin

43. Postwar - Tony Judt

42. A Brief History of Seven Killings - Marlon James

41. Small Things Like These - Claire Keegan

40. H Is for Hawk - Helen Macdonald

39. A Visit From the Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan

38. The Savage Detectives - Roberto Bolaño

37. The Years - Annie Ernaux

36. Between the World and Me - Ta-Nehisi Coates

35. Fun Home - Alison Bechdel

34. Citizen - Claudia Rankine

33. Salvage the Bones - Jesmyn Ward

32. The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst

31. White Teeth - Zadie Smith

30. Sing, Unburied, Sing - Jesmyn Ward

29. The Last Samurai - Helen DeWitt

28. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

27. Americanah - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

26. Atonement - Ian McEwan

25. Random Family - Adrian Nicole LeBlanc

24. The Overstory - Richard Powers

23. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage - Alice Munro

22. Behind the Beautiful Forevers - Katherine Boo

21. Evicted - Matthew Desmond

20. Erasure - Percival Everett

19. Say Nothing - Patrick Radden Keefe

18. Lincoln in the Bardo - George Saunders

17. The Sellout - Paul Beatty

16. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay - Michael Chabon

15. Pachinko - Min Jin Lee

14. Outline - Rachel Cusk

13. The Road - Cormac McCarthy

12. The Year of Magical Thinking - Joan Didion

11. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Díaz

10. Gilead - Marilynne Robinson

9. Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

8. Austerlitz - W.G. Sebald

7. The Underground Railroad - Colson Whitehead

6. 2666 - Roberto Bolaño

5. The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen

4. The Known World - Edward P. Jones

3. Wolf Hall - Hilary Mantel

2. The Warmth of Other Suns - Isabel Wilkerson

1.  My Brilliant Friend - Elena Ferrante

What do you think?  What do you think they left out? Do you care?

Labor Day

(This is one of my favorite posts, every year. )

My Zaydeh was a paperhanger. So was his son, my uncle. They belonged to the Paperhanger's Union. When he retired, my Zaydeh got a lapel pin and a photograph of himself and the also-retiring Union Rep. The Union Rep got a pension and health insurance. No one knows if he got a copy of the photograph, too.

It was that kind of complicated relationship to Labor, with a capital L, that dominated my growing up years. Daddooooo's father owned a business. G'ma's father was a worker. That dynamic influenced their relationship in the same way that her parents' accented speech and his parents' religious devotion were there, bruising the edges of what must once have been love but wasn't anymore.

I sat on my Zaydeh's shoulders as he bounced me around the living room, singing Zum Gali Gali, a Zionist work song with one line, repeated over and over: the pioneer is meant for work; work is meant for the pioneer. When I needed a biography for a book report in second grade, G'ma suggested Eugene Debs. I was the only one in the class who wrote about the Wobblies, who knew that a Socialist ran for President from prison, who understood the plight of the working man.  It was communal, it was powerful, it was us-against-the-establishment, the entrenched, the people in our way.


There was a sense that he was on the right side of an argument I didn't know we were having.

Daddooooo inherited his father's shop, working alongside his brother and the cutters and pressers and seamstresses he'd known his entire life. He took care of the girls, the worker bees, the ones who created what he tried to sell. He struggled to make a success, and failed, and among those to blame were surely the Union Guys.

I didn't understand his anger. I'm not sure that he did, either.

We needed unions - the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire proved that protections were necessary and that management had no interest in protecting the welfare of the worker. Without collective action, nothing could be achieved. G'ma told me stories of her parents marching in Solidarity Parades, though never when Daddooooo was around to hear.  It wasn't worth giving him the chance to trash her parents' politics.

The battle between labor and management, waged over my kitchen table.

It's there, today, in discussions about the minimum wage and immigrant labor and teacher tenure. The answers don't come any easier, even six decades after Zum Gali Gali.

Stores are open, gyms and restaurants and car washes are welcoming my patronage, and it's Labor Day for crying out loud.  Let the workers go home and enjoy the last weekend of the summer.

A girl can dream......