Yes, him again

My sister pointed out to me that I had goofed in my earlier post "Joe and Don" when I wrote that Trump was longing for a return to the McCarthy era - in the 1980's.  Of course McCarthy was in the 1950's.  I was terribly embarrassed about that gaffe, until I realized why I'd made it.  As I was writing, I wasn't thinking about McCarthy; I was thinking about Nixon.  That was the corrupt government I lived through.  Another time when the men in power were unworthy; a time when citizens lost faith in our leaders.

So if you caught that blooper, now you know where it came from.

And since we're on Trump again, I just have to say how disgusted I am by Trump's statement that during the Jan. 6 assault on the Capitol, the rioters and police were hugging and kissing, all great pals.  Please, please tell me that there is not a single person who has seen the footage of that event who doesn't recognize this statement as a pure and obvious falsehood, who doesn't realize that Trump is a pathological liar, a fraud, a dangerous buffoon.  I mean, how naked can a lie be?

Are we so irreparably adrift that there are people who will accept the despicable ignorance and outright mendacity of this statement?  I am so worried about my country.  I believe that everything that has gone wrong, every mistake and bad choice in U.S. history, is catching up to us: every native killed, every slave whipped, every unfair law, every instance of greed and cruelty shouting down reason, kindness, and justice.

I believe that most of those mistakes are made because we as a nation worship the wrong things: money, power, possessions, sex, fame, gossip, youth, and beauty.  We've turned our backs on even the pretense of being true to the founding and amended principles of this country.  There is no pretense that the will of the people is respected, as evidenced in Georgia, where Gov. Kemp has signed into law a bill curbing voting rights, a bill which is overwhelmingly unpopular by the citizens of that state.  The naked, naked corruption and hunger for power.  I'm sick to my stomach. 

Anger

Sometimes I will be suddenly gripped by an outsized anger, a feeling of aggrievement, of frustrated desires, of powerlessness.  Those feelings become so strong so swiftly that I am almost always taken by surprise.  I have finally learned that my best course when this red darkness is upon me is to shut my mouth and remove myself from the scene, because I know that if I speak, it will be to lash out, to accuse, to blame and criticize.  It is usually in conversation with Sweet Hubby that these flare ups happen, and even though part of me wants to lash out, feels justified - I wouldn't feel this way unless something egregious had actually been done to me, right? - another part of me, the part which remembers going through these episodes so many times in the past, wants to protect SH from the barbs and shivs sticking out of my soul.  

Such an episode occurred two nights ago.  Man oh man, I really wanted the relief of venting and blaming.  But no, I didn't want that at all.  (Oh thank the Great Whatever for the wisdom which occasionally accompanies aging.)  The goddess prevailed over the seven-year-old girl who felt she had to fight for her life.  I went silent and took myself into the bedroom to read.  I figured if there were actually some problem, if  some slight injury had actually been inflicted upon me, it would be better discerned and addressed at a cooler time.

This side of me is pure Dad.  I think he probably had these surges of inchoate anger more often than he was ever able to address verbally.  His jaw would clench and toxins sometimes hissed out of him almost silently.  As a child, I couldn't understand why had had gone dark and glowering, and of course I went through a period of believing his torment to be my fault.  Gradually I came to see that he was battling inner demons, battles for which he had no vocabulary and few tools.  Because he couldn't articulate his inner world, I have never felt as though I knew him very well.  Seeing some of the same rages in my own life has given me more compassion for him.  I'm sure that, like me, he didn't want to scare or alienate the people he loved.  He just couldn't help himself.

Like Dad, I have an enormously generous and loving partner.  When SH came to bed that recent night, he lay close enough that I could have his affection if I wanted it, even though I stiffly rebuffed his slightest touch.  He didn't get huffy, didn't try to make me talk, didn't storm out, but simply asked if I wanted him to sleep in the guest room.  I managed to give him permission to stay; that was about all I trusted myself to say.  So we lay there, both of us hoping for the relief of sleep.  I don't know what he was thinking, but in my mind, silently, over and over, I was saying "Please don't die while I'm being a bitch, please don't die while I'm being a bitch."  

The next morning, I was predictably softened and apologetic and he was predictably kind and loving, as I knew he would be, and we were closer than ever all that day.  How lucky am I?

Joe and Don

Like many folks, I have always wondered what the Again in Make American Great Again refers to.  When was it that Trump and his followers thought the country was great?  In reading Heather Cox Richardson's magnificent and very disturbing book of American history, How the South Won the Civil War, I believe I have found the answer to that riddle.

Trump would like to go back to the early '50's.  And we just about have.  That's the era in which Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy pretty well tore the country apart, abetted by those whose purposes he served.  

The Trump era, which continues still, is chillingly like the McCarthy era: An unworthy man suddenly given an enormous spotlight and microphone.  The bitter partisan hatred.  The stubborn, prideful ignorance of the people in power.  The flagrant abuse of that power.  The unashamed hypocrisy.  The demonizing of groups of people.  The unsubstantiated accusations.  The slavish, cowardly devotion by those who know better to a mean-spirited man, a greedy man given everything and wanting more, a stupid man, a man who delights in poisoning his country.   Can you even tell which one I'm talking about?

I hadn't seen this before, because I was young enough during McCarthy's reign not to remember living through it.  I only knew it after the fact as a brutal time of corruption and destruction.  But now that I've seen its similarities to the time of Trumpism, I can't unsee it.  

This face

My mirror shows me what I look like when I pose.  Now, thanks to Zoom, I know what I look like when I talk, laugh, listen ,think, and eat.  It has been a bit of a shock and plenty dispiriting.  Hard not to judge myself for all of these supposed flaws: the places where my skin is mottled, the thin lips, the pouches under my eyes, the looseness under my chin, the incipient jowls.  (Jowls?  Really??)

During and after every Zoom session - and oh my lord, there are so many - I have to remind myself that this is an older version of the face which won me Sweet Hubby.  (Having boobs helped.)  I'm so glad I don't have to wonder if it would now; the deal is sealed.  This is the face my Mom loved, and would love still.  And this is the face everyone knows me by.  Everyone else is used to it.  Only I am taken by surprise.

A modern conundrum

For political matters, we don't turn to scientists.  So why do so many people turn to politicians in matters of science? 

This being human

The United States is a country with too much religion and not enough spirituality.

Being human means knowing our lives are finite, which raises all sorts of natural, stimulating, and unanswerable questions.  Why am I here?  What does it all mean?  How did it get started?  Is it random or is someone/something in charge?  What am I supposed to do with my time?  Does it make any difference if I'm wicked or good?

Every primitive society has come up with some sort of answer to those questions, almost always involving a god or panel of gods or mountain of gods.  It's reassuring, of course, to believe in a god who is watching over us, wise and pure, who knows all and understands all and has a plan.  The trouble I have with religion is that we are only learning while we're asking the questions.  Learning stops when we think we have an answer.  To have faith in a religious system means swallowing a whole bunch of nonsense.  (The punchline "It's turtles all the way down" comes to mind.)  (Also, who were the children of the animals Noah saved supposed to mate with?  Each other?  Ick.)  I understand the comfort of religious faith.  It takes a certain amount of courage to be willing to be uncomfortable with deep, deep questions for which there are no answers.

In this country, maybe in all countries, spiritual emptiness accounts for an awful lot of behaviors as we try to fill that hollow place with sugar, money, belongings, fame, success, addictions, etc.  We spend our energy and focus on such trivialities.  One example that comes to mind is the enormous fuss made about the fly that landed on Pence's white hair during a debate.  Really?  That's what we want to give our precious life force to?  Video games?  Conspiracy theories?  Endless shopping?  All these distractions from substance.  It sometimes seems to me that a life spent watching flowers grow would be just as full as any life spent doggedly chasing money.

I know I sound a little sour here.  I think this era of COVID and masks and Trump and QAnon and rancor has ground me down, seriously, though not permanently.  I'm the opposite of Charlie Brown.  I love people; it's humanity as a whole I'm having a very hard time with right now.

Happy anniversary, Sweet Hubby!

This has been the best 15 years of my life.  I am loving every bit of this journey.  Thank you for being the best husband in the history of sentient beings.