The Humble Things

“The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.”
— St. Thomas More

This morning my husband thanked me for making the bed. That might not seem like a big deal, but in the course of our marriage, he and I have come to take such acts for granted and unfortunately failed to acknowledge each other’s efforts. He went on to say he appreciated the little things I do every day to make our home orderly and livable.

Shortly afterward, when I opened my computer and looked at one of my daily spiritual emails, I encountered the quotation above. How apt it was to my experience just minutes before. My mother would say it was a “God wink,” a coincidence that is not really a coincidence. Whatever the case, St. Thomas More’s statement has caused me to reflect on 30-plus years of married and parental domesticity.

I began adulthood in a somewhat active rebellion against my neatnik mother. In my childhood home, beds were made daily, chores done without delay, and not a glass or utensil allowed to be left in the kitchen sink. So the autonomous new me left the bed clothes mussed and let the dishes go at times. I reveled in eating while watching TV and even in bed of a Sunday morning with the thick Sunday newspaper to entertain me. I disdained cooking, finding sandwiches and frozen foods to be my friends. Occasionally I would entertain and pull out all the stops: cleaning my tiny apartment, prepping glamorous foods I’d read about, and channeling some of my mom’s hostessing traits.

When I got married, I tried to be considerate of my husband and not leave dirt and messes everywhere. But I still had no enthusiasm for cooking or cleaning. My mother-in-law, a very old-fashioned woman from the Middle East, would call my husband and I’d overhear him tell her, “A cheese sandwich, Mom,” in response to her query about what I was making him for dinner. I could actually hear the tsk-tsking from the next room. Still, my husband was not a Neanderthal and did not expect me to be “the little woman” taking care of all things domestic.

Once children came into the mix, however, I was forced to up my game in the household. In order to raise healthy kids, I needed to prepare wholesome meals. This was not always easy, as toddlers tend to like food that is bland and not green. But over the years, I made some inroads in their eating habits. And as they got older, my kids started giving me some cooking pointers to improve my repertoire. Although I will never love cooking, I have come to enjoy other people’s appreciation of my efforts in the kitchen. And I feel healthier and more virtuous cooking for myself and my family.

As far as neatness and cleanliness go, well, they say you grow up to become your parent. I have certainly taken on some of my mother’s traits. Bed-making still sometimes eludes me. But I’m Johnny on the spot when it comes to laundry, doing dishes, and general home maintenance. Just today I went to the trouble of cleaning out the freezer compartments, for instance! I really dislike clutter, and I get a deep sense of accomplishment when I clean out a closet or make the kitchen range surface spotless.

So I guess St. Thomas More had something there. His quote reminds me of the Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts”:

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

I feel fortunate to live in the valley of love, if not always delight. Simple, humble acts keep me grounded and fill me with peace.

You Can Go Home Again

For several months, I have been whiling away my time in the tropics of Florida and trying to convince myself that “I live here now!” Even though life seems to be like one long vacation there, Florida has become my new state of residence. Yet as I planned a trip back to Chicago, I couldn’t help but feel as if I were going back home.

Our plane touched down on a sunny and glorious afternoon last week at O’Hare Airport. As our Uber glided along the leafy streets of the town where we raised our kids, it felt at once familiar and surreal. I recognized all the homes and street signs and the elementary school my children had walked to not so very long ago. Yet I found it hard to picture life going on here without me.

It’s a strange thing returning to one’s home town. While you know the lay of the land, you are now something of an outsider. Returning to our old block, we noticed that a new family had moved into the house next door while we were away. Another neighbor couple informed us that they had just sold their home and were moving to Florida. We saw yet another taking a walk around the block with the brand new dog she had been given by her children at Christmas. But the strangest thing of all was walking into our house and barely recognizing it. We’d decided to give the interior an update in preparation for getting it ready to sell in the not too distant future. Now it doesn’t quite look like our house. For a few days I just wandered around trying to reacquaint myself with a place I’d lived in for almost 20 years. Even the toilet seats felt like they were the wrong height!

Yet as I have settled back into this place, I have enjoyed rediscovering all the things that made it so special to my family for so many years. I sit out on the screened-in porch with my coffee and listen to the birds sing. I sit down at my piano and enjoy the rich deep sound as my fingers float over the keys. I peruse the aisles at the local grocery store and have no trouble finding what I need.

And the people! Going on walks and having lunch with old friends, catching up on the neighborhood gossip, making plans to see family members: it all feels as if I’ve never left. Our son came out from the city to spend Father’s Day with us, and it was like old times – minus a few kids. We watched the boys across the yard from us as they jumped on the trampoline, and I confessed to my son our regret at being too scared to let our own kids have one as they were growing up.

Time gives you a different perspective about so many things. Being back in my old home town reminds me of the countless soccer games and basketball games and football games and swim meets in which our kids participated. It makes me think of long nights when I worried about what my teenager might be up to. It makes me miss the languid summer days when my kids were little and we spent almost the entire day at the community pool. Without so much of a stake in the politics and the goings-on in town nowadays, I am able simply to enjoy what a peaceful and lovely place it is.

It turns out that you can go home again – if you allow yourself to rediscover what you loved about it in the first place.

The Plot Thickens

Jean Hanff Korelitz is not a household name in the world of fiction – yet. It’s only a matter of time, however, before the world discovers her genius. And with the ascension of her latest twisty thriller The Plot on the New York Times bestseller list, I believe Korelitz will finally achieve the fame she deserves.

I discovered the novels of Jean Hanff Korelitz in the most pleasurable way: by perusing the “New Books” shelf at my local library in 1998. On the surface, The Sabbathday River looked to be an interesting thriller. An infant is found murdered in the murky waters of a river in rural New Hampshire, and the lawyer who finds the body becomes embroiled in the case. But the novel turned out to be so much more: a meditation on faith, an examination of scapegoating, an exploration of integrity, love, hope, and despair. I was hooked.

My “discovery” of Korelitz’s writing led me to her other works, some of them thrillers, one comedic, and others spot-on depictions of the rarefied air of academia. I sometimes had to reaffirm that I was reading the work of the same author, so varied and skillful are Korelitz’s treatments of vastly different subjects. In her first novel, A Jury of Her Peers, Korelitz produced a legal thriller worthy of going head to head with any Scott Turow work. Yet in The White Rose, her literary touch is light, an amusing romp through modern-day New York City based upon the opera Der Rosenkavalier.

Jean Hanff Korelitz was educated at Dartmouth College and Clare College, Cambridge. Her erudition shows in her work, but not in a stuffy, overly academic way. She also worked for a time in the admissions department at Princeton, and her insider knowledge of elite East Coast schools informs her novels Admission and The Devil and Webster.

As the years have gone by, I have impatiently awaited the publication of the latest Korelitz novel and been amazed each time that her work has not had more public acclaim. That started to change with the adaptation of her excellent thriller You Should Have Known into the HBO mini-series The Undoing starring Nicole Kidman and Hugh Grant. (Need I tell you that the book is even better than the series?) I had a feeling her star would begin to rise, and with this year’s publication of The Plot, I think Korelitz is finally getting her due. The Plot is a thriller about every writer’s nightmare, being accused of plagiarism. I’ll say no more except to extol it as yet another masterpiece in the oeuvre of Jean Hanff Korelitz. As a reader, I found the story enthralling. As a writer, I was mesmerized by her prose.

I can’t recommend the work of Jean Hanff Korelitz highly enough. So get thee to the library, a bookstore, or the dreaded Amazon and pick up one of her many excellent novels. Once hooked, you’ll agree that you should have known about this excellent author years ago!

I’m F.I.N.E.

One of my favorite authors is Canadian mystery writer Louise Penny. Through sixteen successive novels, Penny has traced the fortunes and misfortunes of Armand Gamache, detective extraordinaire, his family and the friends he makes while investigating murder in the tiny fictional town of Three Pines, Quebec. From said friends, Armand and his wife Reine-Marie learn to use the innocuous phrase, “I’m fine,” sarcastically to project the reality of their situation. In Three Pines parlance, “F.I.N.E.” stands for “F***!ed Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Egotistical.”

I think of this expression often because no matter how fortunate I have been in my life, there are always times when I become overwhelmed. Although my children are grown, they still sometimes have trouble “adulting” and just need assistance or reassurance. At times like these, they can get hysterical and I can get frustrated and tense. For instance, just the other day my daughter called to report that her car had gotten a flat tire. She was completely undone, and no advice on the part of myself or my husband could help her in that moment. For the rest of the day, I tied myself in knots despite the fact that I am about 1,000 miles away, and there is a limit to what I can do to help.

I remind myself that this too shall pass and that the reality is, we are all F.I.N.E. to some degree. Why? Because we are all the stars in the dramas of our own lives. It is hard to see past our own noses, especially in times of difficulty. I just finished a twisty thriller titled The Plot* about a struggling fiction writer who steals a story from a fellow writer and suffers the consequences. One of the reasons for the writer’s fate is that he is so wrapped up in himself and his own needs that he fails to recognize others’ true selves.

Outwardly, I seem to project an air of calm and level-headedness. I know this because others have described their image of me in this way. I’m always surprised by my ability to act so convincingly. Inside I’m a roiling sea of insecurities and contradictions. Maybe I missed my calling as an actor!

Louise Penny’s series will continue with the publication of The Madness of Crowds this August. I cannot wait to return to Three Pines and discover all the ways in which the characters are “F.I.N.E” this time around. Maybe I enjoy the books so much because by comparison, my life seems pretty ordinary. So next time someone asks you how you are, beware of answering, “Fine.”

*I highly recommend the novels of Jean Hanff Korelitz, the author of The Plot.

No Cure for Stupidity

A federal judge in California struck down the state’s assault weapons ban on the heels of a mass shooting there that left 10 people dead. In his ruling, the judge compared an AR-15 to a Swiss Army knife and claimed that the COVID-19 vaccine has killed more Californians than mass shootings. (Kat Schuster, patch.com, June 8, 2021) These are the words of a highly-educated member of the federal bench. Let that sink in for a moment.

Perhaps Judge Roger Benitez has been watching too much Fox News. Fox’s own raging lunatic Tucker Carlson has claimed on his show that the coronavirus vaccine has killed 3,362 Americans, citing unverified data from the federal government. (Schuster) This continual war on facts and evidence is taking its toll on the mind of Americans. We are becoming a nation of idiots.

Take the latest Fox News obsession, Fauci-Gate. Based upon infectious disease specialist Anthony Fauci’s emails throughout the pandemic, conservatives have made much of his so-called flip-flopping on advice and recommendations, particularly in the areas of mask-wearing and the origins of the deadly virus. Heaven forbid the good doctor might get some things wrong about a novel coronavirus as it spread around the world. Fauci has never made a secret about the evolving nature of our knowledge concerning COVID-19. Now Republicans want to fire him over changing his mind about mask-wearing. Unlike many of them, Dr. Fauci has actually been basing his recommendations on facts as they have become available.

But conservatives prefer their “alternative facts,” a trend that has just gotten worse since Trump enabler Kellyanne Conway coined the term early in the Trump Administration. Look at the caliber of people being voted into Congress. We have Marjorie Taylor-Greene with her conspiracy theories about wealthy Jews and space lasers. She and her fellow QAnon enthusiast Lauren Boebert were actually elected to office, most likely because of and not in spite of their theory that the U.S. is being controlled by an evil cabal of Satanists who sexually abuse children. I guess that’s why Boebert has insisted on carrying around her handgun everywhere she goes. Gee, I feel much safer now. Ironically, I’ve never known these two women to criticize U.S. Rep. Matt Gaetz, the charmer who specializes in going after teenage girls.

The anti-vaxxers, anti-maskers, climate science deniers, and election fraud conspiracy theorists pretty much all come from one side of the political divide. They make everything about politics and their supposed rights being trampled on, all the while opposing protections for Americans whose rights really are being seriously denied. Anyone who thinks the spate of election laws being passed in Red states is designed to make elections more fair is either in serious denial or just plain ignorant of the facts. And Americans who decry efforts to improve policing in this country have willfully turned their heads away from the myriad abuses being visited upon minorities by law enforcement.

Just a few minutes ago, my local Patch online newspaper sent me the following headline: “Republican state Sen. shoots Illinois budget papers with a rifle.” Mind you, this is a man who just announced his candidacy for governor in the next election. I guess you really can’t fixed stupid. But for Heaven’s sake, let’s not keep electing it.

Turtle Beach

The other night I was driving home from dinner out and noticed the glowing orange lights along the beachfront. It looked as if residents had started decorating for Halloween. Then I realized that the dim glow of orange was for the benefit of the sea turtles that nest on the beaches here every spring.

Every morning volunteers can be seen patrolling the beach and marking the spots where sea turtles have laid their eggs. Sometimes they even move a clutch of eggs from a spot that is putting the unborn turtles in danger. “Sarasota County hosts the highest density of loggerhead sea turtle nests in the Gulf of Mexico,” according to the tourism website visitsarasota.com. To protect the nests from harm in a busy tourist town, volunteers mark their nests with wooden stakes and orange tape. People are discouraged from trying to interact with or photograph the nesting mothers or their young when they emerge from their shells in July. And because hatching sea turtles head toward light to guide them into the water, it’s important that bright lights along the beach be extinguished or shrouded so that the moonlight is their guide and they don’t become disoriented. Hence the glow of dim orange along the coastline.

At nearby Mote Aquarium, visitors can learn more about sea turtles and their nesting process. The aquarium also helps injured and otherwise compromised sea turtles who can’t make it in the wild, such as a blind green turtle named Hang Tough. Some hatchlings are cared for there as well until they are strong enough to be released into the sea. It’s likely they will make their way back some day to lay their own eggs on the local beaches since female sea turtles typically return over and over to the location of their birth to build their nests. (sciencedaily.com, Jan. 28, 2021)

The perilous journey of sea turtles reminds us that life is incredibly fragile. Each summer, tiny baby turtles make their way by themselves into the vast sea. They are vulnerable to predators and to human intervention. Yet humans also have a role to play in their survival. It is heartening to see the dedication of scientists and ordinary people in helping one species survive and thrive.

The Turtle Walks have been canceled this year, no doubt due to COVID-19. On these walks, naturalists show interested people the sea turtle nests along the beach and strive to educate them about the adorable reptiles. I’m looking forward to next year’s season so that I can take an early morning stroll with other nature lovers and learn more about these amazing creatures that share our beach.

Beware Complacency

*This post contains spoilers about the TV series The Handmaid’s Tale.

In the season 4 finale of the excellent series The Handmaid’s Tale, there is a chilling scene in which two architects of the authoritarian regime of Gilead are leaving jail to face charges in an international crimes court for kidnapping, rape and torture. Bracing themselves to meet the jeers of protestors they can hear from within the walls of the prison, they instead step out and are greeted with wild cheers and supportive signs such as, “Free the Waterfords” and “God Bless Serena Joy.” It becomes clear in that moment that the free Canada to which untold numbers of former U.S. citizens have fled is clearly in danger of itself becoming another Gilead.

Gilead, of course, is a fictional state in which the government of the United States has been overthrown by reactionary forces who use a Draconian interpretation of the Bible to establish and maintain power. Yet Margaret Atwood’s creation, interpreted and expanded on by the Hulu series, is a cautionary one. Even before rioters stormed our Capitol to prevent the lawful transfer of power to a new president, the trends and tendencies in this country have been turning toward an extreme Right.

The election of Joe Biden over the grossly unfit and autocratic Donald Trump made many Americans breathe a huge sigh of relief. Having thwarted the Republican and white supremacist attempts to overturn the election, mainstream Americans were reassured that the system still works. Yet there is a danger that we will become too complacent, too willing to forget the scene at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. We are in danger of forgetting that many of the rioters were both current and former members of the military and law enforcement branches of our government.

Immediately after the riots, Republican lawmakers who had themselves been at risk from the mob violence busied themselves in blocking efforts to hold the insurrectionists accountable for their actions. Americans just want to move on, they disingenuously opined. Meanwhile, Republican-dominated legislatures have been busy passing voter suppression laws aimed at limiting opposition to themselves. With a conservative majority on the Supreme Court, it seems unlikely that these anti-democratic efforts will be struck down. Democrats hold Congress by the slimmest of margins while Republicans continue to turn their backs on democratic norms. Donald Trump still has a hold on the GOP and cannot be ruled out as the presidential candidate in 2024.

All of this should give us pause. In the Handmaid’s Tale version of a future Canada, Canadians and U.S. citizens who have sought asylum there seem to take for granted their freedoms. Some of the former handmaids reassure the escaped June Osborn that she is free now, that the forces of Gilead can’t get her here. Yet the presence of those Waterford sympathizers shows that everyone in Canada is not equally in favor of the individual liberties that are no longer available in the former United States. Ostensibly they have heard about the horrors inflicted on its citizens by the elites in Gilead. Yet they harken to the religiously-tinged rhetoric of its leaders. It reminds me of the acceptance many people showed for migrant families being separated at our border with Mexico. People are willing to accept atrocities when they occur at the behest of leaders they unquestioningly support.

There is no doubt that it is a relief to have a president who refuses to spew hateful rhetoric and who has righted some of the wrongs of the Trump Administration. Yet we are only an election cycle or two away from further attempts to erode our democracy. Democrats need to keep holding Republican feet to the fire on issues of voter suppression, the insurrection at the Capitol, and the very real danger of white supremacist terrorism in this country.

We need to have long memories and firm convictions to maintain our democratic institutions so that America remains a beacon of freedom in the world.

Creature Comforts

When I was in my 20s, I had a slight obsession with bathing suits. I collected bikinis like little boys collected baseball cards. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration. But I do recall thinking that Deborah Walley sporting a different bathing suit in every scene of Gidget Goes Hawaiian was the ultimate. I had a purple bikini and a red, white and blue one with flirty ruffles – and the figure to do them justice.

Back in those days, I had no money but sizable fashion aspirations. I would see something chic in a department store and long to buy it. Sometimes I’d save up for a splurge – like the hot pink silk skirt and blouse I bought during my teaching days. Or the light pink, fitted denim dress I wore to my side job as a legal secretary in downtown Chicago. An outfit was only desirable inasmuch as it highlighted my curves.

Those days have totally given way to a desire for cozy comfort. Nowadays, my favorite articles of clothing are my pajamas. My obsession with them is similar to the one I used to have for bathing suits. I honestly feel that I could never have enough pairs of them. Constantly on the lookout for sales, I stalk the website of Soma, the lingerie division of Chico’s, a brand of clothing for women of a certain age. Their pajamas promise Cool Nights, and their softness only grows with each laundering.

Recently my sister-in-law came for a visit and brought me a pair of Cuddl Duds pajamas. I was in seventh heaven! If she had brought me the rare jewel from the movie Titanic, I could not have been happier. Of course, they are now my favorite pair of pajamas, and I wear them at every opportunity.

It’s funny how our priorities change as we get older. Looking fashionable, dieting, and showing off my figure used to be my preoccupations. But as I got older and had children, I lost the need to dress to the nines and impress others when I went out in public. COVID-19 has only exacerbated this tendency to favor comfort over style. So soft leggings, slouchy tops, breezy sundresses, and cozy pajamas have taken pride of place in my wardrobe. My feet are clad in loafers and lined moccasins rather than strappy heels.

Don’t get me wrong. I can still get excited for the occasional evening of dress-up glamor. I still look at myself in the mirror and hope to see some glimmer of that fashion-conscious twenty-something I once was. But when it comes to a choice between style and comfort, these days comfort wins almost every time.