I never intended for this space to be political. I was thinking photos and creative thinking.
It’s been a challenge this year in that regard. I didn’t watch the “debate” last night, but I did catch a lot of chaff this morning in various papers online. I do not know why I even opened them up. I should have just stuck with playing Scrabble online with my like-minded opponents after I finished the crossword.
I did get a good laugh out of, “I brought football back.” You must be very proud.
Of course he won’t condemn white supremacists. That’s his base.
He even gave the Proud Boys a motto: “Stand by.” Does that mean with long guns at the ready? I still don’t understand why grown men would call themselves “boys.” Or “proud.” I’m pretty sure pride is one of the deadly sins. Those folks and their president apparently skipped a lot of Sunday school.
And I bet Chris Wallace is tendering his resignation this morning or is on suicide watch. I sure hope the moderators who are scheduled for the two remaining events opt out. I do not like the USA’s being made a laughing stock on the world stage by the president of the United States. Yet again.
Back to the ball. I believe the good news of the day is that the NBA finals start tonight. If you can find anything uplifting to keep your eye on, do it!
I decided to read Bob Woodward’s second book about Trump partly because I’m bored to death here. Partly because I believe Woodward to be a meticulous and thorough reporter. And, foolishly, I hoped it might change the minds of how a few people would vote.
Naw. Everyone’s mind is made up.
I found the first 27 chapters to be mind-numbingly boring. Painful details about the men Trump chose to advise him. And how, one by one, he dispatched them, often pretending that he barely knew them anyway.
My interest was piqued in Chapter 28 when he began to write about Jared Kushner, who, it turns out, is even creepier than I imagined.
On February 8, 2020, Kushner advised others there were texts someone in a quest to understand Trump needed to absorb. Bizzarely, one was Alice in Wonderland where Kushner likens Trump to the Cheshire Cat. He paraphrased the cat: “If you don’t know where you’re going, any path will get you there.”
Terrifying.
My advice: Google Peggy Noonan to read how she is quoted in the book. She is an able and honest historian.
And, if you can do that, read the Epilogue. How to spoil a good mystery. Jump to the end and read the last chapter. Or just Woodward’s last sentence: When his performance as president is taken in its entirety, I can only reach one conclusion: Trump is the wrong man for the job.
How is it that I can say that when there is so much wrong with the world at the beginning of this new week? But it’s true.
It’s also true that I cannot see across the street because of smoke. But inside 1880, the air is pure. I can stay here safely. I am hearing from everyone who loves me, one way or another.
That is a very narcissistic way to begin a post. I know that.
So many people cannot breathe. Everything has been lost for them. Everyone knows someone who is infected with Covid. The homeless in the streets of my town are covering up with tarps. My neighbor gave birth at home. We are in terror because the most powerful man in the world is, well, terrifying.
That list is very long. But I will stop here.
I want to make another list.
I want to keep my heart full of gratitude. And hope. So, I repeat, inside 1880, the air is pure. I can stay here safely. I am hearing from everyone who loves me, one way or another. I just went to church online. I have clean water to drink and a freezer full of food, and a car full of gas, not that I plan to leave the house anytime soon. I have books to read and music to listen to.
I guess I am now sounding like your 3rd-grade Sunday school teacher. Deal with it. Your street may be filled with smoke, but do not let it into your heart or mind or spirit. Keep it full of gratitude and hope.
I have lived through a lot of extreme weather. I remember in Oklahoma when I was a little girl. The sky would get very dark. Almost green. Very quiet. Everyone would be looking for dark funnels. In the desert of West Texas, I can remember struggling to walk across campus to a college class in a sand storm. I remember a flash flood on Maui where the dry gullies filled up and over flowed.
We have very dark winter days here at the 45th parallel north. Sometimes with rain. Sometimes not.
Today is different. It’s just eerie. The sky was red. Then smoke dark. Now dark yellow. Everything looks sepia. Lots of wind. Branches cracking. Leaves still green blowing down. I’m indoors with all the windows closed and my air filtration system on the job. It looks like it should be cold out there but it’s hot. I’m keeping everything charged in case a tree limp hits in my neighborhood.
At 8 a.m. this morning, the smoke from the not-very distant fires was so thick that it was dark as night. I felt like the apocalypse has occurred and I had been lucky enough to sleep through it. Everyone is staying indoors. Eerie is the only word for it. I walked out back with the dogs and came right back in. They looked very puzzled and my eyes started to water. I can’t seem to take an accurate picture of the sky. My camera keeps “auto-correcting” it.
I have been doing some arm chair traveling and have gone back to reading the sweet little crime books by Donna Leon Do you know her? She writes the most beautiful sentences. Especially turns of phrase by our leading character, Dottore Guido Brunetti.
I have been listening to Italian opera and pretending I was in La Fenice. I have been studying a bit of Italian. I made insalata caprese with tomatoes and basil from the garden. I read Death in Venice.
I was lucky enough to visit Venice twice. I think it may be my favorite city. Florence was “too much.” I could never get it all. But Venice, given a bit of time, I think I could own! I have a huge map of Venice spread out and am following Commissaro Brunetti all over town.
The first time I went, I was at the mercy of the traveling companion from hell. He hated Italians, it turned out. I always say, if you don’t want things to be different, do not go different places.
I loved everything about Venice. On that first trip, I stayed in a pensione. Seguso, overlooking the Canale della Guidecca. Not far from the Accademia. The bath tub was across the hall. I think I was the only one in that entire establishment who didn’t want to take showers, so I had it all to myself. I usually got back to the room just in time to take a long, hot bath before dinner. I opened the big window at the foot (head?) of the tub so I could look out over the roofs and hear the bells all signaling that it was 6 p.m. The pipes are bigger there and the water pressure intense. Took that huge tub about 90 seconds to fill up. The towels are different too. Not terry. huge. Waffled cotton.
The second time I went, I was free to do as I pleased. The first day back, there was a planned, anticipated transportation strike. Very Italian. it was scheduled to end at a certain time. Gondoliers just relaxed until that moment.
In the meantime, I walked everywhere.
I took lots of pictures of the beautiful cisterns.
I went to the Accademia and sat for hours in front of my favorite Titian: Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple.
The Presentation of Mary in the Temple
Had these Venetian S-shaped cookies for lunch. Actually, I think they’re from Burano. They’re called bussola. I never forget a cookie. I think I’ll bake some in a bit. You can find recipes for anything in an instant these days.
Afterwards, I went looking to buy a little photo album and came upon a shop where a man was printing the papers and making beautiful albums all by hand.
I bought this one and he autographed it.
Glad I hadn’t spend all my money on lunch that day.
Next day, I finally made it to Murano after being denied that wish on my first trip. Spent the entire day there looking at all the beautiful glass. I wish I had taken a picture of a boat there in the canal loaded with a roll of bubble wrap about the size of a round bale of hay. The merchants there will ship anything you buy home for you, anywhere in the world. Gotta have a lot of bubble wrap.
I bought this whimsy and carried it home in my bag:
Given unlimited funds, I would have bought a chandelier for the dining room.
And given unlimited time, this post would go on forever. Now, I want to get back to reading about Commissario Brunetti. I have him pictured in my mind as drop-dead gorgeous.
In closing, this is what I posted on the end page of my hand-made Venetian album:
