While folks like Joyce White Vance keep
pounding on all online readers to “talk with your family, your friends, your
neighbors” about how to ward off the fearful ramifications of dictatorship,
monarchy, and autocracy. Some of us don’t do this. Me, for one. And not because
I don’t interact with others, but in some places—Dollar General, the pharmacy,
the grocery store—it’s not appropriate. Nor does it come up unless you meet a
fellow partisan down one aisle and begin to discuss the state of affairs with
them.
I could not participate
in any conversation about the two-day’s prior Democratic election “blowout”
with a group I have lunch with. After one month’s admonition from one of them: “no
politics,” that pretty much left me out of any meaningful conversation since I
spend most of my unstructured time reading various pundits who analyze the
polls, any scoops they can get or read from another pundit. And commenters,
opinionators, political data specialists, etc.
Two of the others read
mystery series, and other light (to me) books found at second-hand stores,
Goodwill or flea markets. Then they trade books. Nothing wrong with that, of
course, and sometimes, one of them will glom and enthuse over a TV series,
usually domestic arts. Having no TV, I’m completely left out of that
conversation.
The one with the
caregiver doesn’t talk unless spoken to. I always—for some reason—get to sit
next to her; she was my best friend in school. I try to hug her when we meet,
and when we leave, but sometimes Daughter leads her out before I can. This
time, I asked her what she’s been doing. “Been busy,” she answered. Later, I
asked her, “What you been busy doing?” She hesitated. “Whatever comes up,” she
said. End of conversation.
I did begin one
conversation: “Every time I write a check, I’m thankful I took bookkeeping.”
The two others chimed in, “Who taught bookkeeping? It was a man.” None of us
could remember his name. “It started with an H,” I offered, still (to this
writing) unable to pull his name out of the brain. Guess I need to find a
yearbook, but I have only the 10th grade one where I was one of the
(ahem) “Most Beautiful’ (3rd place). The others agreed that Miss
Doak taught typing and shorthand.
Another time, I added to
the conversation. B. said something about one of our women classmates, whom I
thought had died, being “Crazy as a Bessie bug!” That reminded me of one of the
Bombadil’s poems about “a well-thought-of, educated woman after a stroke, asked
the poet to get her a scholarship. Naturally, the poet was non-plussed. She
finally asked the woman why she wanted a scholarship and the lady replied, “To
blow my nose on.” Silence. Duh! I don’t recall any comment, or sniff, or pfuff—nothing.
I don’t know what I expected them to do or say.
We did have a close
encounter with John, the waitperson, when it came time to pay. He muscled in
between me and the wall to begin the process on the apparatus designed for
knowledgeable folks to take care of. Someone on the other end of the table made
some snippy remark about folks not knowing how to do such simple things.
As for talking politics,
I often tell MY daughter about any IMPORTANT thing that had happened while she
was working. And one of my sons has lately been taking the opposite position if
I happen to bring anything political into the phone conversation. So I’ve quit talking
politics. Sad. My siblings are all on the same side as I am, thank goodness. I
wonder what Thanksgiving will bring in that arena.
Speaking of
Thanksgiving, my youngest sister is back to hosting the extended family at her
condo in Hot Springs. Another sister’s family from up east—her estranged
husband and their three adopted grown children––will fly in for two weeks, the
second week to be spent with the long-separated wife.
Host sister asked me to
spend Wednesday and Thursday nights with her since her Portland daughter and
granddaughter won’t be coming, and she’ll be alone. Billy and one other
grandchild will be flying in on Tuesday. That is, if their flights are back to
normal after the shutdown.
I agonized over her
invitation, now proclaiming to myself, ‘I MUST go.’ And alternately whining, ‘I
don’t wanna go.’ Not to Thanksgiving, but to her two-night invitation. Finally,
I took the plunge and called her. Straight to voice mail it went, so I told her
I was declining her kind invitation, but would bum a ride with our brother down
on Thursday. But I DO have a ride down for the gathering.
Lately, online folks are
advising seniors to “get out and socialize; visit your neighbors; have friends
over, etc.” But I want just the opposite: staying at home when I can, working
in the yard when it’s nice out, filing papers in the office, working on the
jigsaw puzzle an hour before nap and an hour before bedtime, reading, working
on a family-history scrapbook—stuff like that.
Oh, and thinking up creative ways to use
leftovers, like those au gratin potatoes. I went online and produced a great
soup today: a chicken-broth cube (one cup liquid), diced cherry tomatoes,
one-fourth a red sweet pepper, a little onion, bacon. Mix, put in a Corning ware dish and cook at 350 until needed. Wonderful! No more leftovers.
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c 2025, Pat Laster, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA
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