It is no coincidence that I am back the week after Election Day. For a year and a half I have been captivated by the Presidential campaigns, but never more so than since the conclusion of the party conventions. At which point I bypassed captivation and headed straight to reasonable obsession.
If you happen to be a Facebook friend, then you already know that, as much as possible, I campaigned vigorously for Hillary Clinton, at least as much as I could being homebound quite a bit. As you know, it was a brutal campaign and I would be lying if I told you I wasn't bitterly disappointed. I'm still not up to reliving the horror, and I certainly don't want any part of the post-mortem, but I will say that I am furious with large swathes of the American adult population, half of which could not be bothered to vote, and with the ones that did vote for Donald Trump. Okay, I'll take your word for it that you are not a racist, misogynist, litigious, anti-Semitic, xenophobic, personality disordered sexual predator. What I'm getting stuck on is that you are willing to tolerate someone with all of those negative attributes.
So you tell me, "we wanted change! We wanted an outsider not part of the Washington establishment!" To which I reply, are you effing kidding me? Do you remember the last time this country elected a President who would provide a change from The Old Guard? Someone who was above the scandals, political schemes, and the in-fighting? Someone who wasn't beholden to lobbyists or special interest groups? Well, do you?
For those of you who were born after 1970, let me cut to the chase: did you ever hear of Jimmy Carter? Yes indeed, that nice old man who builds homes - literally - with Habitat for Humanity? A sincere man of God, a good man with a good heart, a man who had executive experience as the Governor of the State of Georgia, yet still from outside the Beltway? Worst President in my lifetime? Fortunately he was a One Term Wonder, but still there were those four cringeworthy years during which people began to think that Gerald Ford's pardon of Richard Nixon wasn't so terrible after all.
Things are going to change, alright. Starting with a President-elect who doesn't really want to live in the White House.
And that's all I'm going to say about that, for now.
The fibromyalgia continues to kick my butt from here to wherever. I tire very easily but still cannot sleep. What can I say, it's a life. My world is much smaller now, and there are more than a few bucket list items I will never be able to fulfill, but it could be a lot worse. I can still cook (just not as often), I can read, and I can knit. Oh, and I can see without my glasses! After so many years, when I wake up in the morning the world around me is no longer one big, fuzzy blur. Look Ma, no cataracts!
I cooked yesterday. Mussels in Wine Sauce, an old faithful recipe that never feels to please my jaded palate. Never mind that I used to use mussels for fish bait back in the old days at Camp Anawana; that was several lifetimes ago, and it is now common culinary knowledge that mussels rock. Better than clams, if you ask me.
The only problem with cooking is that I have to stand up to do it, and there is invariably a price to pay for such physical extravagance. My plan to spend time downstairs watching TV with my husband flew out the window and it was all I could do to creep upstairs, swallow a muscle relaxer, and collapse onto the bed. Sometimes it's a hard-knock life. I woke up with a nearly blinding headache, took some Advil, and re-collapsed (if there is such a word) on the bed. Boom! There went my Saturday.
Speaking of boom, several bombs showed up yesterday, two in Manhattan and one in nearby New Jersey. A number of people were hurt, and no one has stepped up to claim responsibility. New York City Mayor Bill DeBlasio tells us that the bomb was "an intentional act" (no kidding) but "not related to terrorism." Right.
I've been trying to figure out how the new Google photo app, which replaced Picasa, can work for me and my blog, and so far doing a crap job of it. I am reduced to hitting buttons displayed on the screen and hoping for the best.
And here is my rendition of "Frost Flowers", also from Barbara G. Walker. I am particularly pleased with how this one turned out, although it is nowhere near perfect. Knitting perfect lace is beyond my abilities, but I still enjoy trying. I'm not sure how these photos finally showed up in Google, and I'm still having to access my pictures by stopping first at Picasa, but here they are, at least until Google changes something else causing me yet another mini micro meltdown.
I am trying desperately not to start writing about politics, and more specifically, about the upcoming election.