Life of Wry

Was pleased to have been invited to the Annual UC Davis Alumni Awards Gala as part of the support team for Brian Sway, who was one of seven (or eight) folks to receive recognition for various achievements and contributions.

The event was held inside the Peter J. Shields library, which was an unexpectedly gorgeous setting.. there among the stacks. We sat at real library tables, surrounded by books and art. Saw lots of friends, all dressed up (quite a novelty for me), and got to spend time with Brian’s daughters, Meagan and Julia, who I knew as toddlers and who are now married and in careers (Meagan’s an established lawyer, Julia’s a brand new nurse).

Here are a few pics:

This is the view from where we sat.  Brian’s on stage accepting his award. Note the library tables. Each table had two monitors, one for each side.

Here’s a close up of Brian at the podium, making his thanks. This is a shot of what we’re looking at on the monitor at our table.

And another monitor shot, this time a video detailing the honorees’ work:

With Julia…

And a final shot of the venue…

See? Lovely.

Attended, last night, the twice-monthly poetry reading at the Natsoulas Gallery. Listened to Julia Levine:

And Susan Browne:

(And yes, I’ve figured out what to do with photos that are low-resolution and otherwise sorta terrible: use a Prisma filter to turn it into something artsy fartsy…. something I can get away with when photographing a poetry reading in an art gallery. And special bonus, it was a dog art exhibit.)

Both poets were just great. I found the readings inspiring. Partly because it made me feel like writing poetry is something I could do.  I enjoy writing, I am observant, I love to describe things in detail, I think about life a lot … just like everybody!  

I realize it’s ignorant to think poetry is easy to do, just like we think abstract art is child’s play. Who hasn’t thought they could paint a canvass red, add some black paint splatters and call it art.

Julia and Susan made poetry look natural, like it just flowed from their observant eyes or day-to-day experiences to paper. They wrote of love, life, death, masturbation.. all the normal stuff, stuff we all think about. To me, it sounds like a perfect thing to do. It’s obvious Julia and Susan are professionals– they have dozens of books and awards between them–but/and I’m still inspired and think it’d be fascinating and fun to try my hand at some poetry.

Jim and I attended the same event a couple months ago and heard Gary Snyder. I struggled to fully grasp (or even partially grasp) his poems.. and he’s a Pulitzer Prize winning poet! Still, I was inspired and ended up buying four books of poetry the next day.  Reading poems is easier, as you can study them at your own pace. Snyder’s seemed less story telling, less prosy than what I heard last night. However a poet might characterize that. His seem more like what I have traditionally thought of as poetry — one line here, a word there, lots of indentations, much symbolism. I’ve found those take a lot of work, and definitely struggle to follow when read. The poems read last night were far easier to absorb and relate to. Readily accessible.

Katy’s son Jack, when he visited Davis last week, told us about a writing class he is taking: Whiskey and Writing, or something close to that. And, in fact, they do consume whiskey as part of the writing process in order to remove barriers and free the imagination. Truly, I can’t imagine a funner exercise.

Check out poetryindavis.com for info on the poetry readings in town.

As seen down by the creek this morning. This is either a new installation, or I just hadn’t noticed until the blooms came out. In any case, it’s a memorial for Katie Sallee, daughter of Joan and Tom, who died in 1977 at age nine. There are four trees planted, representing Katie and her three sisters. It’s just a lovely remembrance.

Full disclosure: our flowering quince popped last week. But well before that–by weeks–were the narcissus. They’re always first.

Today was a very inspiring day.

But I’ll start with where I’ve been for the last couple weeks…. which is thoroughly, emotionally beat down.

Let me say first that I am more or less an optimistic, hopeful person who believes that justice generally prevails and that the good guys usually win, and if you do the right thing the universe usually comes through.

Meaning….  as bad as the state of our world can be, goodness is at its core and we can usually trust that goodness will prevail. Even in politics.

But the last three years under this amoral, egotistical, insufferable president have been scary, shocking and demoralizing.  His reality show presidency has ensnared me (all of us) in his theater-of-the-absurd horror show.  Norms are gone, nothing makes sense anymore.

Then, impeachment. While its outcome didn’t surprise me, the farce of the impeachment trial, as I watched it unfold over the last couple weeks, really felt like a gut punch. I felt like we’d really sunk to an even deeper, more profoundly twisted place where the basic assumptions we’ve always had about our institutions, the lessons we’ve learned over a lifetime about right and wrong, our general trust in authority and in those who’re entrusted with protecting the common good, were now out the window. Everything felt upside down, buried under layers and layers of hypocrisy. If we can’t count on our elected representatives to govern from a common set of rules, we are lost, as Adam Schiff said, far more and so very impressively.

Worse, I felt like there was hardly any point in the kind of grassroots political volunteering I’d been engaged in for the last three years. I felt naive and ridiculous for believing in citizen activism, for believing that there could be a role for citizens to play. Suddenly it felt like a sham democracy.  I felt jerked around and profoundly disrespected as a conscientious, engaged, informed, intelligent American. And no matter how hard we work toward something better, and no matter how right we are (we who believe in truth, facts, science, decency, the rule of law, the constitution) I felt certain we’d lose the battle to those who would lie, cheat and manipulate in order to maintain their grip on power.

A few weeks ago, I thought just get to November 2020, just hold your nose and soldier through his inevitable ugly, juvenile, lying bullshit of a presidential campaign. This will be a long, distressing year, but he just cannot win again…. especially since, I, along with all my Davis comrades, will work our butts off to register voters, canvass, phone bank, text bank, write postcards, contribute money to campaigns and vote, just like our fellow inspired dems across the country. It worked in 2018; it will work again. It will be worth the work because after this train wreck of a presidency, the good guys will surely prevail. It is obvious to me: we’re right, there are more of us, he’s evil and evil can NOT win. I’ll just have to bear the ugliness of the 2020 campaign–and I have strategies for that–but, come November, we’ll be ready to turn the page on this horrific chapter in American history.

But as the impeachment trial wore on, it became clear their team was spinning in the bizarro world of an ever-shifting defense based on fiction and twisted legal technicalities, and our team was presenting a case that was evidence- and fact-based with an indisputable conclusion but we were going to lose anyway.  I felt increasingly hopeless. The unreasonableness and inevitability of his acquittal, and the realization that they were playing a wholly different game with different rules made me viscerally ill. I realized his grip on the impeachment process, via strategies faithfully executed by his lawyers, aided and abetted by the senators who were deciding his fate, made for a lost cause.

As Heather Cox Richardson said, “…this chilling perversion of the American presidency does say a great deal about today’s Republican leaders. They have bought into the idea that they, and only they, should rule. This has been a long time coming.”

And it became clear to me we won’t be saved by the next election… no matter how hard we work. Whether he has the votes or not, and in spite of the fact the majority of people in this country are against his vision and his brand of power, he’ll “win” the election, and maybe every election thereafter. We missed our window. It’s too late, he has seized a hold on power that is un-get-backable. The republican’s decades-long efforts to manipulate the elections through voter suppression and gerrymandering, coupled with T’s eager cheating and complete lack of ethics, with grand assists from his foreign allies ensures it.

I’m not even exaggerating my despair.

I wrote a long, sort of pathetic, email to Kelly describing my need to regroup. I said that I was trying to imagine how to approach the next ten months.. to figure out how and where I might be able to make a difference, but that I was expecting to be pulling back, in the interest of self-preservation.  I said I was having a crisis of political marginalization.  I felt utterly beat.

Nothing has really changed as far as my overall assessment. My hope and optimism are still way down, but my attitude has turned around a little.

Because…

I drove with three others to Modesto today to do some voter registration at Stan State (Cal State University Stanislaus). We talked non-stop all the way down. This was a savvy group, up on the issues and challenges, current on facts and fictions. Tim said something that resonated with me. He spoke about the journey. It may well come to pass that we lose in November, at least the big race. But the past three years, and no doubt the one coming up, have been, will be, instructive and shaping. We’ve learned a lot, we’ve met a lot of good, good people, some of whom are becoming real friends. We’ve struggled to make sense of things that are incredibly bizarre and difficult to process, we’ve learned new vocabularies, we’ve learned how to mobilize and coalesce around shared values. We’ve worked hard together, with others in our community, with groups beyond Davis who are working toward the same ends.  Whole organizations have sprung out of the shock and despair of the 2016 election.  Working together at weekly postcard writing sessions, or learning how to master dozens of text banking apps, or training with Field Team Six or Flip the West on basic political organizing strategies–all of it–has provided a constructive way to channel the rage. It’s offered camaraderie and community in place of the anger, the absurdity, and deep sense of injustice.  It’s all been a journey, and for the most part it’s been fun and healing. It’s the journey not the destination. It was a great observation.

I was extremely inspired by the voter registration we did today at the university. Because: 21-year-olds. I have one of those! To me, this was all about Peter. I was able to articulate to myself, and to some of the kids I spoke to today, that I am registering voters because of him (them). I know, absolutely, and have for all three years of this so far, that this concern about the state of our country and my involvement in all this political volunteering is about Peter and his future. I am worried about the country he’s (they’re) inheriting, the mess we’ve given them: the state of our polarized, compromised democracy; the climate crisis; the wealth gap; the loss of basic safety nets; the failures of education; global financial instability; the prospects of war…and what it means for their qualities of life, and their kids’.  This isn’t about me and Jim; we are old, we are settled in life and want for nothing. We are living wonderful, privileged lives and will, likely, for the duration. Pretty much no matter what happens in Washington or the world, our lives in Davis will be buffered from anything bad; we have thick cushions. We have the luxury of ignoring politics (we don’t). But Peter’s just starting out in life and I’m worried about where this is going.

I also got clarity, again, on why it’s important for young people to vote. So many reasons, not the least of which: it’s their future, not ours. We’re aging out. It’s their voices and their engagement that will shape what happens next. I’m walking around a UNIVERSITY. These are the best and brightest. There are a lot of youths out there.. but these youths are the ones who are getting an education, who will be in positions to effect outcomes, make change. They have to step up, pay attention, figure it out. They can control where this goes.

I feel very strongly about this. I felt it with each kid I registered today. I wanted to hug them (I didn’t), but in all cases I looked them right in eye and smiled and congratulated them on doing something really important, really good for them. I may have even said a couple of times that their parents will be proud of them because I was thinking about Peter and how proud I am that he considers voting a no brainer responsibility and privilege.

This youth voter registration thing gives me something to really focus on in the next 10 months. It’s enormously rewarding and will have benefits well beyond November. Statistics show that the earlier young people register to vote, the more likely they’ll be to stay engaged.

It’s all really good and really inspiring.

I’m planning to up my reading and writing in 2020.  It’s a good idea for many reasons, but, most significantly, it’s going to be my go-to coping strategy during what I expect will be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year of politics.

You may have noticed I re-started my blog… that will be one form of writing. I’ve also been wanting to dabble in poetry, funnily enough. (Course, I also want a cat, wanna grow vegetables, cook more, go to bed earlier… so who knows if poetry will happen.) But I’m blogging, and happy about it.

As for reading, I’m going to finish the two books currently in process and then get started on a collection that seems to grow by the day. Seriously… I accumulate books at an alarming rate and read a minuscule fraction of them.. so hoping to make a dent this year.

Truly, anything to escape what I’m sure will be a painful, soul-crushing, blood pressure raising year of steamy, smelly, grade-A presidential BS.  Been dreading this year…

So.

Books in progress are Lab Girl by Hope Jahren, and Tara Westover’s Educated, which was my State of the Union alternative tonight.

Speaking of the SOTU, I hear Rush Limbaugh was given the Presidential Medal of Freedom (seriously?), Trump didn’t shake Nancy Pelosi’s hand (classless), and Nancy,  in turn, ripped up her copy of Trump’s speech at the conclusion of the evening (I can’t argue with that, but I wouldn’t have done it).

See?

Cue books and blogs.

Oh, the news… it hurts.

The impeachment trial, after two-ish weeks, entered its final stages today–closing arguments from both sides–and I don’t know that anything could be as significant a tipping point in the state and future of our republic (though only one side feels that way). I’m not going to go into any of that, but I cried, again, as Adam Schiff–eloquent and compelling–delivered his closing remarks. The outcome is pre-ordained, the president* will be fully acquitted. It’s breathtaking and shameful and beyond beyond. I have no words (obvs).

That was this morning.

And this evening, after a long, tedious, insanely expensive, make or break year of campaigning by a million presidential candidates, the Iowa caucuses finally arrived.  It’s just mind blowing (and ridiculous) how much effort and attention has gone into this 2020 campaign so far, all leading to tonight’s caucuses… and…  there was a technical glitch in the app that was supposed to tally the results. So, here we are in the wee hours of the next day and we have nothing.. nada. It’s just stunning, as the candidates, the people of Iowa, the media, the public… are all in this no-man’s-land of no results. It’s impossible to process the magnitude of the mess up.  Yet, there we are. The campaigns have now left town, bound for New Hampshire, the next primary.  It’s just weird. Maybe results will come in tomorrow, but will they be trustable, conclusive?

Tomorrow more impeachment trial wrap, though the country is, apparently, so over it, plus the State of the Union (ugh, just one big campaign speech.. one I don’t plan to suffer through). Probably most ominous is the horrifying news of the rapidly spreading Coronavirus which has become an epic, multi-country public health crisis that is also rapidly becoming a threat to the entire global economy.

Did I miss anything in the day’s news?

Here’s a nice picture from the other day… foggy morning down at Putah Creek.

Mmmm, roasted carrots with caramelized maple syrup…

…. tossed in a vinaigrette of olive oil, sherry vinegar and garlic; mixed with a bunch of  Marcona almonds, goat cheese and dried cranberries plumped with orange juice… all on a bed of baby arugula. It looked like this:

And it was quite good.

#notsuperbowlfood  #diningdivas #barefootcontessa

I miss my friend Katy. She ended her life about 16 years ago for reasons that made sense to her, leaving the rest of us wondering how we missed that she was in such pain. I wrote about her death here: https://lifeofwry.com/2014/08/13/katy/

…and still think of her anguish and wish she was here so we could talk about it and find a better way through it. She’s not, though.

But her son Jack is, and he came for a short visit.. left just an hour or so ago. I was extremely pleased that he contacted me a couple weeks ago. He was going to be at Esalen in Big Sur for a 5-day yoga and meditation retreat, and then he was going to spend a few days snowboarding in Tahoe.. and since Davis is between the two, could he stop in for an overnight… and of course I said yes. Wow, yes!

Loved every second of his visit.. from his descriptions of ayurvedic yoga practice to his reading of poems written while in the thermal hot springs at Esalen to the snowboarding tutorial he offered.. enjoyed all of the numerous topics we covered and remembrances we shared.  Jack is a very thoughtful, engaging human being who I met 45 years ago and who became a man his sweet mom would respect and cherish, cut from her cloth.

These aren’t the Sunday best photos, but posting them anyway…
Sally, me, Penny and Katy, first day of school, probably 7th grade:

Julie, me, Katy in about 1975:

Me on top of Julie; Sally on top of Patti; Lisa on top of Jeannie; Robin on top of Katy; Donna on top of Wendy. Girl Scout troop 262, sometime during junior high.

Or… This is so Indefensible. But Go Ahead and Try.

Moments ago, the US Senate voted against the idea of witnesses and documents in Trump’s impeachment trial. Even though a witness with first hand testimony — the thing the republicans said they didn’t have and couldn’t convict without — is available and very willing to share his very important (and of course revealing) perspectives on the story.

On its face, this is just so ugly.  If you know nothing about anything, this factor alone renders the trial a ridiculous sham. Coulda heard from an eyewitness. Wouldn’t. Why? Because John Bolton would offer, as his book manuscript now reveals, incriminating and compelling testimony to support removing the president* from office.

The repubs–backed into a corner by virtue of a rock solid case by the dems that pretty much proves his guilt–say that even if he’s guilty of doing exactly what he is accused of doing, which is now universally accepted (because, duh), these actions are not impeachable. Repubs simply don’t think it’s a high crime…they say now. They think maybe it’s “inartful” and “imperfect” (even if the president thinks his behavior is perfect), but, well..  it’s not IMPEACHABLE bad. (It should be noted that their argument was an ever-shifting one, as they were forced to regroup and alter their talking points as the trial went on and the evidence mounted against their case.) And even if there is a direct witness who can add some info to the story, they don’t want to hear it because 1) they don’t think it adds to the body of evidence they already have (it could); 2) it’d put them in the awkward place of having to support a thug liar of a president (because that surely would be evident); 3) they want to acquit him before the State of the Union in four days so he can crow about his innocence and whine about his victimhood. Those meany dems.

Just. Makes. Me. Sick.

It will be interesting as the days, weeks and months wear on. I’ve dreaded 2020 because of the deeply disgusting 2016 campaign and am certain we’re in for more of the same… likely worse by orders of magnitude. But add what has been unleashed in the president’s acquittal, all that has been undermined and compromised in the realm of co-equal branches of government, checks and balances, executive branch oversight. Oh my god, the dread… it’s palpable in my gut. (Clearly, I let this stuff get to me way too much.) But as I started to say, it will be interesting to see how Senators defend themselves.  Because their actions are, duh, indefensible.

I remember thinking a few months back, and I have to remember this…. Best case: Trump’s guilt is proven, House impeaches, Senate acquits, and the people–angry, betrayed and ready for vengeance–vote out enough Senators that they lose their majority. The dems hold the house, and, with any luck, though I’m doubtful, Trump loses by a landslide. Then, for dessert, faces conviction in so many courts for so many laws broken that he spends the rest of his life humiliated and in prison.

An angry citizen can dream.

Or… wake me up in November.

This being the first month of 2020  (how ’bout that) (hello), I’m getting in a bit under the wire on my sorta New Year’s Resolution to resume blogging. I’m encouraged by Jim’s reaction when, on my way downtown, laptop onboard, he asked, “Where you off to?” and I answered, “I’m going to Cloud Forest to blog.” He reacted just the way you’d hope your husband would — delighted, supportive. And he did that because he knows I’m seriously in the political doldrums and desperately need to change courses here. (Doldrums.. what an understatement.)

We’ll see if I even write about that today.

So here I sit at Cloud Forest, 3:30pm. In an act of defiance, or maybe rather self-preservation, I am forgoing my regular Thursday afternoon postcard group. That’s big for me because if I’m in town, I am there. For the last three years, I have been there. Could probably count on one hand the number of times I did NOT show up if it were humanly possible to do so.

In a probably-too-lengthy email an hour or so ago, and somewhat embarrassingly, I ranted to Kelly — postcard group organizer — who absolutely does not have the time to take care of my fragile nerves (what with the mountain of people, organizations and efforts she coordinates on top of a full time job, and, undoubtedly, the challenge of care-taking her own sanity).  In explaining why I probably wasn’t going to be there today, I used words like demoralized, soul crushing, loss of democracy, power.. and said I wasn’t really sure what my next course of action would be, but that, while I wish I were more savvy and able to better compartmentalize, I was in need of finding a more thoughtful balance between keeping informed/engaged and preserving sanity. A gal’s gotta protect her soul, heart, and sense of inner peace. Methinks.

Because, honest to god, I cried in the shower. I just can’t take this shit.

So I might write more about that later — I’m sure I will — but for now, I want to shift my focus. Just sitting here, listening to some Pink Floyd, a low-fat latte in a huge ceramic mug within reach, and the sun streaming in, I’m already feeling a bit released.

And that’s excellent, right?

Jim suggested I not backfill the first 29 days of January, which of course would be my inclination. Tidy person that I am. Tidy with a New-Year’s-Resolution-to-blog-every-day person that I am. So.. today it is. January 30. The First Day of the Rest of Your Blog.

To that end, this is what happened today.

Lauren and her husband Lucas stopped in Davis for a visit on their way from Mapleton, Oregon to San Diego for a Winter break. We got a decent amount of visiting in during our nearly 24 hours together — a couple walks, a couple meals, and lots of talking.

What’s interesting to me is how bonded I feel to Lauren, even though I’ve only seen her three or four times in the last 50 years. We are largely strangers if you measure our friendship by how much we know of each other’s lives. But given our history and our membership in the Hesse-Osborne-Peterson family triad, the fact our relationship dates back to the 50s — even if it was limited to annual Christmas Eve gatherings — it’s something of a sisterhood. At least I, otherwise sisterless person that I am, find some connection in that.

Unlike my average relationship to folks, there is a safety and unconditional aspect to the bond. And that’s nice.

So..

I’m feeling a little clumsy with the the WordPress software. I trust this will upload… text, photos, and all. And I trust I will get more comfortable with the daily rhythm of posting. No commitments, but this was fun enough.

Also.. impeachment.. what impeachment?