Van Jones cried about Biden’s character. I would as well, but in reference to the incidents below
Mourning in America
That would be the difference between now and the feeling people had in 1980 when Ronald Reagan was elected. It is supposed to be darkest before the dawn, but today the Dark came when it was announced that “That man” had been announced as the president-elect.
We have been given a mandate
That’s why we’re more than ready to provide Peanut Butter Foldovers and our rustic ambiance to all. Oh, by the way, you don’t need a reservation, and, in fact, we don’t take mail in reservations at all. And any time “that man” has a “date” with with a microphone, we’ll be changing the station.
We have re-opened
Because it is so necessary; because the Hun is at the door; because apparently God ran out of locusts.
Gotta grin
Mask problem
Jeez Louise. At first I thought the mask for the virus was a convenient way for me to hide my mouth, which is large, and, for that matter, larger than my overall dental structure. The latter just emphasizes the bigness of my mouth. I didn’t realize it until the dental hygienist pointed it out – Oh, fie on her. However, I was not aware of how much I depended on that big mouth of mine to grin and navigate through society. Apparently, I have what might be called somewhat of an Eisenhower grin; I believe it has bought me some extra slack with people over the years. (We aren’t even going to talk about the dimples.)
So, now, I have to be extra polite in my body language and I’m not very good at that. Also you don’t have much time when you are passing someone to express a grin in body language. Seventy plus years, taken as a whole, has given me a wide spectrum of grins, and, in other cases, incredible “looks of death”.
And then there is the nose. My nose is normal, not too large and not to small and shaped in no way that would make it easily represented in an identi-kit used by police folks. If anything, it is a not uncute little nose. And it’s covered.
That leaves my eyes, which are deep-set and crowding my nose. There is no mask over them and I wear glasses to boot. I feel unarmed. Maybe I should feel protected since I am less likely to come out with a sarcastic remark while masked. Actually, I miss that also.
The only good thing is that my lips are thin and therefore not Beautiful People lips. But with me and the latter being masked the BP lose their advantage. Of course, those that have paid for lip plumping injections are probably pissed off now. That, however, is not uplifting enough to counter the grin loss.
Well, maybe this is the time to rob a bank.
Recurring thoughts
I have no real idea why I started to think of of the late basketball coach Jimmy Valvano, but I did; for that matter I have been doing so for the last few days. I remember walking out of the kitchen decades ago and meeting my father coming the other way; he was laughing and relating how a winning coach had run around looking for someone to celebrate with and had wound up beening kissed by the Athletic Director. I think I though, “Okaaaaay.”
I didn’t think of it as a touchstone back then, but I realize now that most weekends there would be a sports event on the TV. I’m from Indiana – Hoosiers Indiana – and I went to basketball games at little unconsolidated schools before I have any memory of going. In fact, one of my bedtime stories from before the time I was five was about the night my cousin, who was considerably older, broke his arm playing during a high school game. I remember the story; I don’t remember it happening. My mother once remarked that my dad had gone with his nephew and brother-in-law to the hospital and she and I had come on home with my grandparents.
Basketball was such a part of small town Indiana life that decades later my father would remember some occasion he and and his family attended by starting his sentence with: “I had an 8th grade basketball game that night . . .”
I have let nostalgia get in the way of my little story here. The coach who got kissed was Jimmy Valvano and he would later die of an aggressive cancer. Shortly before his death, he was asked to receive The Arthur Ashe Courage & Humanitarian Award. I doubt the awarding committee realized how incapacitated he was, but, after some consideration, he traveled to accept it . . . and make a speech. And what a speech it was. It’s on YouTube and maybe once a year I listen to it. If you want, you can take the 11 minutes to watch it, and if you do, I think you’ll be glad you did.
Lordy, password hell
AUUUUUGGGGHHHH. My site did not automatically renew because I had to replace the payment card and all the information did not get uploaded. Then the contact email somehow waltzed over to a dormant mail account and after this headache abates, I am going to revamp this entire email thing.
Resting my head now.
Memorial Day (Decoration Day) 2020
Operation Memorial Day Flower was completed yesterday with a trip down to Kingman. I drove; the geraniums napped. This was the 21st Memorial Day for Daddy; it seems like yesterday we were looking at the just-placed headstone on that first Memorial Day trip.
My cousins met me at the cemetery – one of them lives a quarter mile (or maybe 1 1/4) from the rural cemetery. Their parents are buried there, as are our grandparents and great-grandparents, and who knows whatever relatives.
We had a little lunch at a picnic table at “The Oasis” in Kingman. It’s the type of place that you hear about in the song “Americana.”
There are little factoids that you hear and remember in life. Here’s one: For some reason, I know the man who taught my father to play Euchre, an Indiana tradition before video games, is buried very close to him. When I was at IU, it seems we all played Euchre – a different era, I suppose.
Between two cemeteries visited on Saturday and the one yesterday, more than one era was included. I’m talking horse and buggy times and hundreds of little stories I heard from my grandparents while knee-high. Everything from Grandma coming home from teaching in a horse and buggy and her father waiting at the end of the drive with a lantern to Great Uncle Roy dying at 12 when Grandpa was four to my great-grandfather’s picture in Civil War blue above the bed where I would sleep when in Kingman.
Daddy was born in 1918 in a pandemic (my grandmother was suffering from it when he was born) and in another pandemic we remembered those who have gone before.
Sun’s out; I’m not
Well, gee, I could have mowed the lawn today, but I didn’t. I did spend quite a bit of time looking for something and never did find it. That was a bummer. I also gave a go to “Hollywood” on Netflix and just had to say, “No, I don’t think so.” I may be a prude, but gosh, it just seemed to be too much. Or too little.
I am starting to feel the going bananas part of the Covid-19 problem. I almost want to go, “Okay, joke’s over” but it isn’t a joke. It is frustrating to have so much internet connection with the outside world and yet be getting so little accurate information.