Several things NOT about the election 11/3/2020

(Unripe tomatillos are beautiful.)

Today I am sharing some thoughts not about the election.

I plan to have very strong feelings once the winner of the presidential election, plus the many down-ballot contests, are known. If there is craziness and violence and civil uproar, I will care right away.

But right now, while we don’t know, I don’t want breathless reporting on how dry the paint is.

We've got a few more hours. 

…

I’m reading Outpedaling “The Big C - My healing cycle across America by Elizabeth McGowan. (Previous blog post here.)

Liz and I were friends the several years we both lived in Racine. She’s a good writer; I am not reading this to do her a favor. I’m reading it to see how bicycling 4000 miles will change this woman who lived years dealing with the kind of cancer that took her dad’s life.

Liz and I realized early that we had both had impressive fathers who were often angry and who died when we were teenagers - and this marked us like tattoos. We became women who knew enough to not accept male anger – but we also knew we would walk a long, long way to go around it if we could.

Today I read; “No photos I had of him hinted at his explosiveness. My father’s ire went far beyond impatience. His raw, volcanic temper was unpredictable and downright scary.” (page 42)

When I read that, I remember the coffee shop we were in, the eggs on my plate, the relief it was to talk with a veteran of the same battle. Not to be pitied, not to be coddled, not to be patronized. It was what it was. I remember her also commenting, “I think of the ways it could have been worse and wasn’t. Grateful for that.”

Yup.

I have been thinking about what we mean by “macho.” People, usually male, who are not anxious about intimidating others. People who consider themselves strong, however they define that. People, often male, who veer between being a leader and being a bully. People like my dad and other relatives, some co-workers, customers at jobs I’ve had. So many of the correctional officers in the jail. My office mate during those years.

Power that comes from anger is so much different than power that comes from respect and compassion.

But, like I’m saying, I’m not talking about the election.

Hah.

…

Halloween night there was a second full moon in this month. Mary Invited us to meet her at Retzer Nature Center. Len had never been there before. He brought his tripod.

Just up from the horizon.

Blue Moon and Mars. I can't see Mars, either. But Len says it's there so it's there. 

…

I was becoming anxious thinking of the long winter ahead of us.

I said to Len, “I think it’s time to get pets again.”

He laughed. He is not very macho about determining who we let in or don’t let in.

We mentioned this idea to our kids. Within ten minutes (these kids who can go days without communicating) all of them were were sending photos of pets who need adopters.

We did some shelter applications until one morning there was a mouse in the kitchen and Len mentioned that if we were going to get cats soon, we might as well get them now.

By five that afternoon we were sitting on the floor in the “bonded pairs” room of the Waukesha Humane Society. We were there to meet and adopt sibling cats, one of whom look a lot like a Siamese, cats who were about five years old. Cool. Len pulled the brother cat out of a cubby. It was hard to grab him, he didn’t want to come out. When Len let go of him he climbed into his sister’s cubby whereupon they became a taciturn feline cube of fur.

Meanwhile, a cat who was patchy and not wildly attractive in any conventional sense of that, walked over to me and sat on my lap. I was surprised and said hello. She purred. Her sister, who is, well, very ample about the middle and some of that girth swings a little as she strolls … she walked over to lean against Len.

So that was a done deal. The shelter person laughed. “They are 13 years old and they have been here two months.”

We were chosen by rather plain, good natured, rather old cats. Like likes like?

So now we have two cats.

Like I say, we’re not talking about the election here. But we named our cats Yamiche (Alcindor) and Weijia (Yang). Two award-winning journalists we admire. Journalists who are not white and blonde; Trump has dissed and disrespected both of them. Weijia and Yamiche (the cats) are unflappable, affectionate, interested in life and dinner. They enjoy if one tosses a toy; they will go over and look at it and then mosey on. Yamiche likes to nap under comforters. Weijia spent 10 hours Sunday night to Monday morning staring at our back door. Not easily bored.

Weijia can stare at things for a very long time. 

Yes, Yamiche is under there. 

...

May the Force be with us.